“Let them go.” Hunter handed the file to Chief Deputy Bobby Sawyer McGuire and motioned to the cell and the two men sitting on the bench behind the iron bars.
“You’re kidding, right?” Bobby shook his head. “These two jokers shot up the Tucker place.”
“It was just two bullets,” one of the men offered. “Why, that ain’t nothing a little spackle cain’t fix.”
“Put a sock in it,” Bobby growled at the man before arching an eyebrow at Hunter. “Are you really serious?”
“They claim they were hunting and accidentally shot in the wrong direction.” Hunter shrugged. “There are no other witnesses to dispute the claim, so let ’em go.”
“Can’t we at least charge them for trespassing?”
They could, but that would undermine Hunter’s entire surveillance operation. His hunch had been right and the men hadn’t seen who’d snuck up on them. They’d been chasing him, but they hadn’t known for sure that it was him, and he meant to keep it that way. That meant no coming forward as an eyewitness. Even more, he couldn’t very well keep tabs on their operation if there was no muscle to keep the still churning. No, he needed to let them go and proceed with the surveillance.
That, and he needed to keep an eye on Jenna Tucker.
“No one was home at the Tucker house,” he said again, raising his voice a notch so as to make sure the two men heard, “so no one’s pressing any charges. A good thing for you two.” Hunter walked forward then, stopping just a foot shy of the cell door. “Those bullets could have done some serious damage if someone had been home.”
“I’m telling you, Sheriff, it was an accident,” Cole Mayweather grumbled. The man was in his midfifties, with snow-white hair and a mustache to match. “That hog climbed right up there on the front porch. I couldn’t let him get away. Why, that sumbitch has been tearing up all my wife’s tomato plants. I promised I’d bring him in for her. Ain’t nobody gets away with poaching on my property.”
“Damn straight,” the other man offered. Monty Mayweather, Cole’s younger brother by three years shrugged. “We almost had him, too.” His gaze caught and held Hunter’s.
No glimmer of recognition. No hint of awareness. Nothing to indicate that the person he’d seen out in the woods had been the local sheriff.
Then again, Hunter had worn civilian clothes for a reason. That, and the cover of darkness had saved his ass in a major way by concealing his identity. They’d only gotten a look at the back of his head.
This time.
He had no doubt that Cole and Monty would step up their precautions from here on out. Maybe even move their still site.
If it, indeed, belonged to them. They could just be the muscle behind the actual moonshiners.
While he wouldn’t consider the middle-aged brothers much when it came to muscle, they had a hardness in their eyes that said they would gladly take down not just a hog, but anything else that crossed them.
He just wasn’t so sure they were actually smart enough to be behind the brewing.
Maybe. Maybe not.
He shook his head, filing away the unanswered questions with the dozens of others that sailed in and out of his head. He had a lot more work to do if he wanted to blow the lid off their moonshine operation, and he couldn’t do it with either man sitting in jail.
“Sheriff?” the female voice crackled over the mic pinned to his collar. “We’ve got a hostage situation.”
“Come again?”
“I just got a call from Lorelei Sawyer. She said that Gerald was out picking figs off that tree that sits on the property line when Haywood Tucker climbed over the fence with a twelve-gauge shotgun.”
“Don’t tell me he shot Gerald?”
“Sort of.”
“How do you sort of shoot someone?”
“He shot the heads off of two of his garden gnomes. Said he was going to do even worse to Gerald if he didn’t let loose of his figs. Long story short, Gerald refused to give up the goods, Haywood aimed for another garden gnome that exploded and sent a piece of concrete flying. The concrete nearly decapitated Gerald’s big toe. He’s at the Urgent Care and Lorelei is here to file charges because Haywood is holed up in her greenhouse with her prize-winning roses.”
“That was the short of it?”
“I could have mentioned that he put the remaining garden gnomes in some very interesting sexual positions while he was killing time in the greenhouse, waiting for justice as he called it, but I figured this was need-to-know only.” At that moment, he heard Lorelei Sawyer’s voice in the background as she sent up a vengeful prayer to God to strike Haywood dead with a lightning bolt, or at least blast a certain body part, in the name of the Father, the Son, and the ever-lovin’ Holy Ghost, all three of which knew beyond a doubt that that fig tree was on Sawyer property.
“Tell her to head over to the Urgent Care to check on her husband. I’ll take care of Haywood. You’re damn lucky the Tuckers aren’t pressing any charges,” he said again, trying to convince both shiners that whoever they’d been chasing had been running for cover, not for home. The last thing he wanted was for Cole and Monty to think that Jenna was involved in any way. “And even luckier the house was empty.”
“Yeah, yeah,” Cole muttered. “We’re the two luckiest sumbitches alive.” He rolled his eyes. “Are we getting out anytime soon, hoss? I’d like to get home in time to watch Jimmy Fallon.”
“Me, too,” Monty chimed in. “I love Fallon. At the same time, I sure-as-shootin’ wouldn’t mind seeing you drag old Haywood out of that greenhouse and smackdab into one of these cells.” He grinned. “Ain’t nothing better than seeing a Tucker get what’s coming to him.”
Hunter shrugged. “Then again, it is getting kind of late and you boys were trespassing…”
“Sorry, Sheriff,” Cole blurted, throwing up his hands. “Don’t worry about us. We’re going straight home.” He slapped a hand against Monty’s chest. “Ain’t that right, brother?”
“You bet.”
He arched an eyebrow. “No detours?” Both men shook their heads profusely and he motioned to his deputy. “Open it up and get these boys out of here.” Hunter turned on his heel and cast a glance at the storeroom that led to the back door and freedom. He tamped down on the sudden urge to run, to get the hell out of Dodge and never look back.
If only for a little while.
But a small taste would only make him want more and so he did what he always did—he headed for the front of the building and the SUV parked at the curb.
“Shouldn’t you be sending someone else?” Marge asked as he passed the dispatch desk where she stood opposite a frazzled redhead wearing a REBEL COUNTY ROSE CLUB T-shirt and a vengeful expression.
“Bobby’s busy processing paperwork. I’ll take care of Haywood.”
“But you’ve had your nose to the blacktop since the crack of dawn,” Marge reminded him. “Why, I bet you haven’t even ate a lick of supper.”
“What can I say?” Hunter gave her a wink. “Duty calls.” And he answered. He’d made that promise to the good citizens of the town when they’d elected him.
And to himself when he’d said good-bye to his baby brother and his own unreliable ways.
He just wished that keeping his vow, that doing the right thing for the first time in his life, didn’t always feel so fucking wrong.