Page 133 of Beat of Love
“Mrs. Bronson’s aware. She’ll wait.”
Rafferty noted the beat of hesitation before the sheriff’s reply, and for the first time, he questioned his decision to come alone. Maybe he should’ve brought Max. Having a lawyer by his side suddenly felt vital.
Still, the task was simple: sign papers, collect the boy, and take him back to Texas. A couple of days. Tops.
Suppressing a sigh, he inclined his head. “Then let’s talk.”
The sheriff turned on his heel and led the way into the building, down a hallway lined with tall windows on his left. Outside, the last of the sun disappeared as the clouds swallowed the light.
Rafferty shivered.
A bad omen? Fuck, he hoped not. But unease gnawed at him.
He shoved the feeling down and kept pace with the sheriff.
Sheriff Sterling halted in front of a steel door, pushed it open, and stepped aside. “After you, Lawson.”
Rafferty walked into the bleak room.
A table. Three chairs. All steel.
A harsh light snapped on, washing the space in sterile brightness.
Everything was a shade of grey — the tiled floor, the utilitarian furniture, even the suspended ceiling.
The door clanged shut behind him.
Metal on metal.
A sound he knew too well.
His skin crawled. A chill coiled around his spine despite the warmth of his jacket.
At least this room had no bars, no guards.
But it might as well have.
Two folders lay on the grey tabletop.
One sported his name.
Rafferty snatched the folder off the table, annoyance replacing the simmer of unease. “You’ve investigated me?” he snarled, waving the brown file.
“I have a problem handing a child over to someone with your notorious background.” Sheriff Stirling settled into the chair across from him, unbothered. “But that’s not the main reason I need to meet with you.” He kicked out the chair nearest Rafferty. “Sit.”
Rafferty slammed the folder back down and dropped into the chair, leveling a cold stare at the sheriff. “Explain yourself.”
His eye caught the label on another file.
Sarah Robertson.
The reason I’m here.
Get the boy. Take him back to Texas. Simple.
He shoved to his feet.
“I’m here to collect my son. I know my rights, Sheriff Stirling. You’ve got no cause to detain me.”
