Page 42 of Faking I Do
“Even with me taking the lead, you still don’t have the manpower to do a thorough job on this.” I stopped in front of the sheriff’s desk, my hands set on my hips. Heat raced through my veins. They couldn’t take this away from me. I couldn’t trust anyone else to do a good-enough job.
“You’re not exactly a neutral party here. It’s time to step aside, Deputy Phillips. If I need to bring in additional resources, I will.” Sheriff Suarez signed the paper in front of him then set down his pen.
I nodded, taking in a breath through my nose. Wouldn’t do me any good to lose my cool now. Not when the future of my involvement with this case depended on it. “You think I’d put my family first?”
Sheriff Suarez set his lips in a line and shrugged. “Happens to the best of us.”
“You know I wouldn’t work that way.” I leaned over the desk, placing my palms flat. Maybe I had in the past. If there was a way to get my family out of this without them getting into serious trouble, I’d do my best. But that line I shouldn’t cross seemed to have a little wiggle room in it.
“You trying to intimidate me, son?” Sheriff Suarez had been in office longer than anyone before him. He was a fixture in town. Almost as ingrained as the Phillips family.
“No, sir. Just trying to convince you that you can trust me to do my job, to uphold my oath, and to not put personal relationships before the law.” A muscle in my jaw began to tick.
“No one’s accusing you of that. Hell, I know you’re a trusted member of my team. But when push comes to shove . . .” Bushy eyebrows furrowed, making him look twice as stern.
“There’s not going to be any pushing.” I tapped the toe of my boot on the linoleum floor.
“You’ve got your hands full enough with making sure our new mayor stays out of trouble. Keep your focus on that and I’ll take care of the rest.”
I groaned, careful to keep my mounting frustration from blowing my top. “If you won’t let me be in charge, at least let me help with the investigation.”
“My hands are tied.” The sheriff stood and made his way to the hook on his wall. He grabbed his hat and turned toward the door. “Now, I’ve got a meeting with some supporters, so if you’ll excuse me.”
“Yes, sir.” I followed him through the door and out into the parking lot. The sheriff might be able to keep me from officially working the case, but he couldn’t stop me from having a conversation with family. All of a sudden Mayor Little’s offer seemed somewhat appealing. For the first time in my career, the first time in my life, I considered crossing that line instead of just nudging it farther away. If I got elected sheriff of Sewell County,I’d be able to dethrone Sheriff Suarez and take care of my family. Did the ends justify the means? In this case, I wasn’t sure.
If only Luke were around. He knew my heart better than anyone. He’d always been a safe sounding board in times of doubt. But my friend was off on some top secret mission and not even available by e-mail for the next couple of weeks. At least Shotgun was going to be okay. That seemed to be the only bright spot I had going for me at the moment.
Twenty minutes later I pulled my truck to a stop in front of my dad’s office. Pops sat outside, whittling something with his ancient pocketknife.
I settled into the rocking chair next to him. “Getting some fresh air?”
Pops didn’t answer right away. He was a man of few words and even fewer emotions. “Smells like rain.”
Nodding, I took a better look at the piece of wood in my grandfather’s hands. “What are you working on?”
Pops paused, holding the figurine up for me to take a closer look. The head of a beaver had started to take shape from the hunk of wood. Long buckteeth hung out of a smiling mouth. Nice. That left no doubt in my mind that Pops and Dad were up to their armpits in the illegal import business.
“Is Dad around?” I asked.
Pops jerked his head to the side. “Yeah. He’s hiding out. Doesn’t want anyone to see the shiner he’s sporting.”
Just thinking about confronting my family made my palms sweat. I rubbed them against my jeans, trying to shake off the nervousness. “I need a word with the two of you.”
“Oh yeah?” Pops growled. “About what?”
I turned a pointed look to the beaver. “I believe I figured out why you and Dad wanted those figurines back.”
Pops nodded, a slight movement. “We should talk.”
“That’s what I figured.”
“I’ll get your father. Meet us in his office in five.” Pops handed the partially carved animal to me as he stood. “It’s a shame you never learned how to whittle.”
Before I had a chance to respond, Pops turned and ambled up the walkway leading to the house. I turned the carving over and over in my hands, not looking forward to the talk ahead.
By the time Pops returned, with Dad in tow, my stomach had knotted over and over, turning my gut into a tangled mess of nerves. I’d faced down notorious biker gangs, held my own against drug ring members, and even managed to arrest Lacey’s dad without batting an eye. But facing down my own flesh and blood made me want to lose my lunch all over my mom’s formal succulent garden.
“Shall we?” Pops gestured toward the door.
