Page 16 of Torgash

"Morris is still a no-show," he says, not bothering with good mornings. "Checked his place last night before my shift. Car's gone. Mail's piling up."

I push the file aside. "Any calls to his cell?"

"Straight to voicemail." Santos rubs his jaw where stubble has grown past regulation length. "I put in his patrol reports for the week. Filled in the blanks as best I could between me and Walker."

"Good, but you look like hell." The words come out sharper than intended, but Santos just shrugs.

"Double shifts'll do that." He attempts a wary grin. "Nothing I can't handle."

My stomach tightens as I watch him. His exhaustion is written in every line of his face, but I keep my expressionneutral. Santos didn't ask for this mess—a missing deputy, a new sheriff with an agenda, a town balanced on the edge of implosion. Even with Walker picking up extra shifts, we're stretched too thin with Morris gone.

"This can't continue," I say, shuffling papers to avoid meeting his gaze. "You'll run yourself into the ground covering for Morris."

"Someone's gotta patrol the west quadrant."

"I'll take it today." I hold up a hand when he starts to protest. "You're off shift. Go home. Sleep. I need at least one functioning deputy in this department."

Santos straightens slightly, uncertainty crossing his face. Not quite suspicion, but close. "You know the west quadrant runs right along Ironborn territory."

"I'm aware." I meet his stare directly, challenging the unspoken question. "Is that a problem?"

"No, ma'am." He shifts his weight, hesitating.

"First thing we're doing when the council frees up more funds is getting you more backup," I say, changing the subject. "Real backup, not just Roberta answering phones whenever she bothers to show up."

Santos's mouth twists into a smirk. "Heard that before. Dawson promised two more deputies last spring. Then one last summer. Never materialized."

"I'm not Dawson."

"No, ma'am. You're not." His tone stays carefully neutral, but something shifts in his expression. A question he's not going to ask.

I like Santos. He's competent, loyal to the badge if not necessarily to me. But there's something in his careful answers about Morris, in the way he watches me when we discuss the MC, that makes me wonder exactly what he knows and isn't saying.

"Get some rest," I tell him, softening my words. "I'll handle Morris when he decides to show his face again."

Santos nods, pushing off from the doorframe. "10-4." He turns to go, then pauses. "Oh, almost forgot. Helen called. Said she needs to talk to you when you get a chance. Sounded important."

I pause, pen halfway to paper. "Did she say what about?"

"No." Santos shrugs. "Just that she'd be at the diner all morning."

After he leaves, I sit in the silence, staring at my coffee mug. The Henderson file isn't getting any clearer, and every time I try to focus, my brain keeps drifting back to those amber irises and that damned smirk. I could use some decent coffee instead of whatever motor oil I brewed earlier. Might as well see what Helen wants. Better than sitting here with my thoughts running in circles.

The bell over Greene's door announces my arrival, and every head turns my way. Conversations pause, then resume slightly louder. They were talking about me.

Helen spots me from behind the counter, wiping her hands on her apron. She gestures to an empty booth in the corner, away from curious ears.

"Morning, Sheriff," she says, sliding a mug in front of me as I settle into the vinyl seat. "Santos, pass along my message?"

"Said you needed to talk." I watch her pour coffee without asking, the dark liquid steaming in the chipped mug. "Sounded important."

Helen glances over her shoulder, checking who's within earshot. The diner's half-full—truckers passing through, farmers grabbing breakfast before heading to their fields, the regulars who come for the gossip as much as the food. Silas Jenkins is in his usual spot.

Helen leans in, words dropping. "Town's split down the middle after the town hall meeting."

"About the foreclosures?" I wrap my hands around the mug, letting the heat seep into my palms.

"About the fact that people think you and Ash have some kind of understanding." Helen's weathered face hardens with concern. "Half the town thinks you're cozying up to the MC to push your agenda. The other half thinks you're using them to get to Royce."

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