Page 96 of Fire Fight
I figured that out already.
twenty-six
. . .
CREW
Waitingfor the third shift lieutenant to come in and relieve me the next morning was pure torture, like watching the clock tick down on those final seconds before summer break back in high school. I hadn’t heard from Aspen since our texts the night before, and I’d have been worried if my brother hadn’t stayed with her overnight.
Then again, where Trey was concerned, maybe I shouldhave been worried anyway.
No, I mentally scolded myself.She’s into you. And even if she wasn’t, shedefinitelyisn’t the kind of woman that would hook up with your brother under your own roof.
The moment the lieutenant walked into the firehouse, I was off like a shot, racing down the halls and outside to my truck.
“Someone is in a hurry!” Tuck called after me.
“Yeah, I’m…exhausted!” I called back.
Tuck and the guys snickered behind me and my lame ass excuse.
“Or maybe you’re just pussy whipped!”
Turning toward them, I flipped Childers the bird before throwing myself behind the wheel of my truck. I peeled away,tires squealing, the guys cheering me on. I drove too fast through town, but I couldn’t find a fuck to give.
I was paused at the stoplight when my phone started ringing, and I answered via my truck’s Bluetooth.
“Morning, Sheriff.”
“You leave work yet?” Lane asked.
“Yep. On my way home.”
“Turn around and get your ass to the station.”
“Has there been a break?”
Lane hummed. “You could say that.”
Checking both directions to make sure nothing was coming, I whipped a U-turn in the middle of Cassia and sped back in the opposite direction. Thirty seconds had me parked in front of the station. I hustled inside, the desk clerk buzzing me in before I could utter a word.
“Hey, Cap,” one of Lane’s deputies said. “He’s in interview two.”
The smaller of the interview rooms, I noted, wondering what that could mean.
Unfortunately, I knew the layout of the police station about as well as anyone who worked there did, and it wasn’t thanks to a previous lifetime as an employee.
I’d spent numerous hours across those metal interview room tables from law enforcement, being scolded and questioned about one incident or another.
Spent a decent amount of time in the holding cells in the basement of the building too, drying out after a bender.
My knock preceded me into the room, but I didn’t bother to wait for an invitation. On one side of the table sat my brother in full uniform. Across from him sat a teenage boy, with floppy, dishwater blond hair and pale skin. Even sitting down, I could tell he was tall and lanky. It’d be a few years yet before he grew into his limbs.
“Captain,” Lane said, nodding in my direction.
Ahh, we were using official titles. Okay then.
“Sheriff,” I replied.
