Page 11 of In Hiding

3.

The glass and concrete structure looked like it belonged in the middle of a city, not a small town hidden in alpine country. Sunlight reflected off the windows, blinding Jake momentarily as he stood on the footpath. Staring down the guts of Wills Crossing's Main Street, he sensed an identity crisis unfolding before his eyes. Old and new architecture clashed, with quaint English facades competing against encroaching modernization.

Even the vehicles seemed at odds, with shiny new SUVs vying for a place amongst the old beat-up paddock bashers.

Swirling gusts of cold wind buffeted him. He watched a pile of dead leaves twirl across the footpath and crossed the road. Wincing as icy cold air stabbed his ears, he tried not to remember the last time he’d been here. Past-Jake had been nothing more than a drunken douche of the highest caliber. He’d thought himself tough, the kind of guy no one messed with. Desperate and stricken with grief, Lucy took his shit—until she didn’t and exposed him to be little more than a violent thug.

Back then, it had been the middle of winter, a good sight colder than it was now. He’d slept in his car and stayed out of sight, like the kind of man who had something to hide. It had been for the best, and maybe—if Lady Luck was on his side—Wills Crossing wouldn't remember him and he could make a fresh start.

Until now, it hadn’t occurred to him how long he’d need to stay. Assuming he could even win the Danish woman’s trust, it might be weeks before there was any news about Mitchell’s parole hearing. He could be stuck here a month or a year. The idea of staying in the room above the pub for that long made him groan, but he had no choice. Not if he was ever to face the Great Dane again. Besides, what else was he to do?

Go back to his old life of biking, boozing, and whoring?

He huffed at his own stupidity. While the consequences of confessing his sins to a copper had crossed his mind, he’d always thought he’d escape the long arm of the law. As much as he didn’t think his stint behind bars had changed him, this moment proved him wrong. If it hadn’t had an impact, he’d be drunk in some dive of a bar eying a warm body for the night.

Yet here he was. Freezing his ass off in the middle of the mountains about to front to the local authorities as a condition of his release.

Fuck.

He stepped forward and stared at the ugly-ass police station. A drop of rain smacked against his forehead. Half of him wanted to turn back, clear his belongings out of the pub and ride back to Melbourne. The last time he stepped into a cop shop hadn’t ended well, but since he wasn’t here to bare his soul, he pushed on.

With a grunt of resignation, he walked along the path toward the building. A pair of tinted glass doors slid open when he neared, allowing him to enter without breaking his stride. Warmth greeted him before the doors closed and swallowed him in silence. A line of plastic chairs sat to his right while a long counter to his left cut the reception in half.

Behind the counter, an older woman with brown curls and purple glasses sat at a computer, the tapping of her fingers on the keys the only sound in the room. She assessed him with a frown. He guessed her to be in her late-fifties, maybe even early-sixties, but there was one thing he knew for sure. She did not like the look of him.

“Morning.” He smiled, hoping to appear less intimidating. “Is your Sergeant in?”

She rose slowly, her eyes narrowing. “You are?”

“Here to report in, though he won’t be expecting me.”

Her hands came together in front of her. “Name.”

“Jake Langley.”

Her lips pursed and her jaw set like concrete. “Don’t move, Jake Langley.”

He watched the woman in the brown cardigan and gray slacks shuffle across the reception area before disappearing through a doorway. He took a minute to glance around his surroundings, almost amused by his subconscious obedience of her instruction not to move.

The place was quiet and calm. Did it ever see real action? He doubted a small town like this even needed a police station, let alone something as modern as this. Maybe there was some cattle rustling, or horse thieving but anything beyond that... nah. A soft chuckle escaped his lips. He rubbed his hands together and blew on them, hoping the feeling would come back into his fingers sooner rather than later.

“Something amusing there, Mr. Langley?”

A figure appeared in the doorway and made him take notice. A little over six foot with a strong build and a hard expression that didn’t bode well, a blond man in uniform caused the hairs on the back of Jake’s neck to jitter. He decided to take the lead. “It’s a strange predicament I find myself in, Sir.”

A corner of the man’s mouth quirked as he studied Jake. A long moment of silence passed. “I’m Senior Sergeant Neville Wilson.”

“I’d like to say I’m pleased to make your acquaintance, but,” he winked, “I don’t normally keep the company of cops.”

Wilson nodded. “No. I don’t suppose you do. We should talk. Follow me.”

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