Dad drove his truck as I rode shotgun. We were riding in complete silence, refusing to talk to one another after the revelation.

“Don’t look at me like that,” he grunted.

“Like what?” I snapped at him.

He glanced over at me. “Like you think that I’m some despicable human being.”

My eyes narrowed.

“Asshole, you had my fiancé arrested.”

He swallowed dryly.

“I know. And I’m gonna make it all right.”

“Oh yeah?” I grumbled. I tried, in vain, to get more comfortable by shifting position in my seat. “And how are you planning on doing that, huh? Unless the police force here is more corrupt than I remember…”

“I’m going to drop the charges,” he said.

“Well duh. But what else?”

“What do you mean, ‘what else?’”

“Dad… you’ve made it no secret that you’ve had it out for Hunter since he was a teenager,” I pointed out to him. “Don’t you think the precinct is going to find it just a little strange that you’re rolling in and suddenly exonerating him?”

“I’ll have you,” he affirmed patiently. “That’s reason enough. They know you two were close.”

“Close,” I scoffed.

“You know what I mean.”

I rolled my eyes and gazed out the window. It was going to be another ten minutes before we could get to the police station, and I was tired already of being in such small space with him.

His phone rang.

His expression darkened. Dad disengaged it from the center console, a look of dread clouding his eyes.

“Are you seriously going to answer that?”

“It’s important,” he grunted.

“Important?”

Dad ignored the question, lifting the phone to his ear. “Yeah. I’m driving. What is it?”

He paused, listening for a minute.

“What? Surely that’s a mistake–”

He was cut off, and kept listening intently as he took us on a hard turn. I shook my head at the blatant hypocrisy of a retired sheriff using his cell phone in a moving vehicle, especially while roaring down the road in a heavy truck.

“I don’t understand,” he replied finally.

There was a lengthy answer of some sort.

“So you’re saying… really?”

As if coming to his senses, Dad pulled us over on a curb and put us in park. He was listening to this call as if his life depended on it.

“I see… thank you for the update.”

There was one last exchange.

“You too. Thanks again.”

He hung up, set the phone back in its dock, and stared into space like a haunted man.

Anger and concern mixed hard in my head.

“What the fuck was all that?”

My father didn’t budge for a moment.

“Was that about Hunter?”

He stayed silent.

“Daddy… you’re scaring me.”

That snapped him out of whatever was going through his head. He turned to me, looking at me as if seeing me for the first time.

“That was my doctor.”

“Your doctor?” I stared at his clouded eyes, unable to read his expression. “Why was your doctor calling you?”

“Because I was diagnosed with throat cancer two weeks ago,” Dad answered calmly.

I felt my world come crashing down.

“No. That can’t… that can’t be.”

He looked straight ahead.

“That was the doc, calling back. As it turns out, there was a fault. He thinks someone mixed up slides or something. Either way… doc says that I was misdiagnosed. I’m clean.”

I was stunned by this emotional rollercoaster.

“That’s… amazing news!”

“Yeah,” he nodded, unconvinced.

“What is it?” I asked. “What’s the matter?”

“These last few days…are because I thought I was dying. When I saw you bring Hunter back, it felt like a massive slap in the face to everything I had tried to accomplish with you. I knew I was going to be dead soon, and I didn’t have any time left to stop this…”

“Dad, you sound like you weren’t going to go on any treat…” I paused. “Oh, you fucking prick! You were going to let it kill you?!”

“Yes,” he replied. “But now, I guess it doesn’t even matter. What I did to Hunter was my last way of lashing out. I knew full well that I was going to probably never see you again, at least not before the funeral in a few months. The clinic led me to believe that this was a real bitch of a throat cancer case. Now, it was all for nothing…”

Silence fell between us.

My mind was running at a million thoughts per second, but I had no idea what to say. After all of that, I was struggling not to–

“I’m sorry.”

I thought I misheard him.

My father looked over at me again. Those hard, haggard eyes were the most sincere that I’d ever seen them.

“I’m sorry for what I’ve done to you,” he clarified, “to you and your growing family…no, for everything. I tried my best to raise you the way I thought was right. My childhood was…” he trailed off, then shook his head. “It doesn’t matter. Your mother was always much better at this kind of shit than I ever was, and that’s not an excuse….”

“Dad,” I turned to him. “I know it was hard on you when Mom died. It was hard on both of us. You did the best you could, even if you were a real pain in the ass. I don’t begrudge you that.”

He met my gaze for a moment.

“You weren’t an easy kid, you know. When the switch flipped, it flipped hard. You went from being my little girl to constantly fighting me on every last little thing… I see now that the harder I came down on you, the more it pushed you to rebel, that much harder…”

It had been a long time since I’d considered what I must have put him through. Being the lone daughter – hell, the lone child – of an embittered sheriff, particularly one still coping with the loss of his wife, was hard enough.

But I’d really gone out of my way to alienate him as the years went on, up until Hunter was totally driven from our lives.

After that, I’d calmed down.

Putting the pieces together, it wasn’t hard to see how he might have seen Hunter as the single, damning influence in my life. All this time, I’d thought my father had just known that I didn’t need a direct catalyst to push the boundaries to learn what I could and couldn’t get away with.

But if he saw Hunter as kick-starting that…

“Just let me bust your man out of jail,” he told me firmly. “Then… if you two still want… we can all sit down together and do this. We’ll do this the right way this time.”

I nodded thoughtfully.

“That’s all I ever wanted, from the start.”

He kept his eyes on the road. His tone was one of grave disappointment, all aimed at himself.

“I know, sweetie… I know.”

* * *

Shortly after, we arrived at the headquarters for the Phoenix police department. My father climbed out of his truck on his cane, and I slowly lowered myself, fighting how sick I felt in the baking sun.

He took a calm look at me.

“You don’t look like you’re feeling well.”

“I’ll be fine,” I muttered.

He looked unconvinced. “Are you sure?”

“I appreciate the concern, but let’s just go.”

Dad frowned, but he didn’t push the point.

“Alright,” he hobbled forward on his cane. “Let’s rescue the man, then.”

The architecture had always struck me as more of a library than the main center for police activity in the city. Only the topmost level had a consistent string of windows; the lower three floors were mostly hidden behind thick concrete. But they made the most of all that blank space. Dominating the sides of the imposing building were nine vertically lined, two-story panels – each with a single blackout window per floor on either side, then a thin, flat ridge that stretched from street to rooftop to further divide them apart.

The building was long enough for twenty police cruisers to park outside on the curb, back to back. The exterior was recessed all around the building on the ground floor, allowing us to walk in shade as we approached the front doors.

It had felt like forever since I’d been here.

So much had happened in the last year…

I tried to hold a glass door open for my father, but I was already beginning to feel weak. Taking pity on us, a nearby, portly officer strolled by and held it for me.

“Thanks, Officer.” I was grateful as I blew strands of matted hair out of my face.

“Not a problem,” he asserted.

The cop took a quick look at my father as he passed through. Recognition flickered across his face before he stood up straighter.

“Sheriff Buchanan, Sir.”

“Retired,” my father grumbled.

“Either way, it’s an honor, sir.”

My father smiled to himself but continued on his way, with me at his side.

The interior lobby was a large, polished atrium, hugged on the left side by a long marble counter and a desk clerk at every eight feet. As we walked across and surveyed the level of activity, uniformed eyes began to slowly recognize us.

“Sheriff Jack Buchanan! What a pleasure!”

I turned, making quick eye contact with the approaching Lieutenant Rick Johnson, a man of considerable senior status. Spry and lively for his mid-sixties, my former superior came to a stop before us and I realized that he was looking at me with considerable surprise.

Oh, right, I remembered emotionally.

I was technically a disgraced detective…

“Retired,” my father clarified.

“Be that as it may, Jack, what brings you back to the force?” He winked lightly. “You thinking about coming back and stirring the old beehive?”

My father briefly looked at me.

“There is a man who has been detained under wrongful imprisonment. It’s my fault,” he admitted gruffly. “As it turns out, I called for his arrest under a bit of a misunderstanding…I’m here to drop any and all charges.”

“Oh?” Lieutenant Johnson looked a little bit baffled. “Well, in that case, let’s check the system for where he is. Can you tell me the name?”

“Hunter Hargreaves.”

The lieutenant’s face fell.

“Hunter Hargreaves? The very same Hunter Hargreaves you had a hard-on for putting behind bars? Jack, why on earth would you want to remove him from custody?”

“Because I was drunk,” he spoke shamefully.

Lieutenant Johnson’s face slowly hardened into a darkened, grave expression. He leaned in quietly and asked, his eyes on the two of us: “Jack, you called in an order and had a man arrested while you were under the influence?”

I felt my father’s reputation crumbling.

“I’m not proud of it, but yes.”

The lieutenant covered his face.

“Jesus Christ… then you’ve just handed me a huge fucking mess, Jack.”

I spoke up defiantly.

“What are you talking about?”

Lieutenant Johnson sighed. He lowered his hand from his face, suddenly looking his age.

My spirits fell as he glowered at us.

“Both of you,” he snapped. “My office. Now.”

* * *

The lieutenant closed the door behind us as we entered his sheltered office, then walked around and took a seat behind his desk. He waved with a quick grunt for us to both take a seat in front.

I could feel anger wafting off of him.

Once we were seated, his clasped his hands together and placed them on the desk in front.

“Jack Buchanan, I’ve known you for years. Goddamn decades, even. We go back, you and I…so, here’s what I want you to do.”

His narrowed gaze glided between us.

“I want you to look me in the eye, and tell me that this is some huge practical joke, and that you aren’t here to bust my fucking balls.”

“Is there a problem?” Dad asked.

Lieutenant Johnson leaned forward.

“You’ve drunkenly put into police custody a man with a suspected rap sheet long enough to build the papier-mâché volcano for my goddamn granddaughter’s science class,” he replied bitterly.

I felt my optimism dying in my chest.

“So yes, Jack,” Lieutenant Johnson grunted, “I would say that there’s a goddamn problem.”

We sat in stoned silence.

My father swallowed.

“Does Hunter Hargreaves have an existing warrant for his arrest?”

The lieutenant looked stupefied.

“Right now? One. Your old chew-toy was pulled over near Phoenix for a speeding ticket less than six months ago.”

I was incensed.

“A speeding ticket?”

“That’s for right now. But our records show a goddamn laundry list of charges and warrants on his name that have collected so much dust in the system that they’ve expired. But we could never get to him before. He’s spent enough time off the grid that the statute of limitations died on all of that crap, but the evidence was enough to throw him in lock-up for a day or two when he came around, starting some shit over those missing cheerleaders a while back…”

The Lieutenant looked at me.

“No idea how you pulled it off but… off the record? Your supervisor was a fool and your talent was squandered. I never thought we’d see those girls again, alive or dead. It’s a damn shame that they let you go over that.”

“Then do me this favor,” I demanded.

Our host sighed heavily, leaning into his splayed fingers as he held his eyebrows.

“The warrant over his speeding ticket is just our ‘in’,” the Lieutenant clarified. “We are hoping to hit this suspected criminal with everything plus the kitchen sink to make him pay for any and all of that we can get away with…”

I leaned back in my chair, defeated.

“There has to be something we can do, Rick,” my father pressed him. “Brush it under the table. Bend a rule. Whatever it takes to get him back out. Work with me here.”

The Lieutenant leaned back in his chair.

“What changed, Jack? I don’t get it. You have it out for this man for ages, convincing all of us how he’s a local menace, and you finally put him behind bars – for good. Now, you want to rip him back out?”

He turned to me.

“It’s because of you, isn’t it?” He accused me. “That boy was always sniffing around you when you were kids. But Hunter was in the case file, if memory serves… unbelievable. You just couldn’t keep away from this guy, could you?”

I was indignant, even defiant.

“Excuse me?”

“We finally nail this guy, and you want your father to have him ripped out of the system? One solid payoff isn’t enough to move mountains, kid. You don’t have the clout or the reputation.”

Jack locked stern eyes with him.

“But I do.”

The Lieutenant stayed leaned back. His chair swiveled lightly as he held his hand near his chin, eying the two of us warily.

“Jack, think about this.”

“I’ve thought about it plenty,” he insisted.

“You know, I don’t think that you have,” my former superior continued gravely. “You know that you’re staking a career of service on this guy. Let me remind you that you spent a long time using police resources to antagonize him, while he was a juvenile, at every turn…”

My father looked at me softly.

“I am making amends for that.”

Lieutenant Johnson sighed.

“Fine. If that’s how you want this thing to happen, then so be it. You’ve spent a long time lining up this sword, Jack, and I’ll let you fall on it. But there’s a problem.”

I turned to him.

“What’s the problem?”

“A judge has already set bail.”

I almost jumped from my chair.

“What?! He’s been incarcerated for less than a goddamn day! What do you mean, ‘A judge has already set bail?’ That’s bullshit!”

“He was a high priority target based on past suspected offenses,” the Lieutenant insisted, “as well as present reputation. Your little boyfriend is the president of a gang of motorcycle thugs, Sarah. What the hell did you think was going to happen when we finally got handcuffs on him?”

I sat back in total disbelief. After all this time, Hunter had been tossed in the slammer, and now getting him back out was quickly turning into a goddamn nightmare…

My father asked: “What’s the bail?”

“Bail was set at fifty-thousand dollars.”

I slammed my fist down on the desk.

“That’s fucking ridiculous!” I declared. “Why on earth did he get a bail of fifty-thousand dollars, over a goddamn speeding ticket?”

“Because the state is going to compile every drop of evidence they can, before that court date, that would tie him towards illegal activities,” he matter-of-factly replied. “There is a lot to suggest that they can drop the entire book on him.”

My head was reeling.

Maybe I could get access to the club funds. But I’d have to reach out to Grizz and see where we sat in our coffers, and that would loop the Devil’s Dragons into a spiraling paper trail.

This is a total fucking disaster…

“Hunter Hargreaves is suspected of not only committing a wide variety of criminal offenses in multiple jurisdictions and across numerous state borders, but also heading a motorcycle charter that does the same.

“But, between you and me…”

He leaned forward, smiling sadistically.

“There’s even talk that he’s involved in a large conspiracy, an honor among thieves sort of idea. We can’t prove it yet, but we have been seeing some interesting developments in other districts. Some of us think that Hunter heads a crime syndicate of cooperating criminal elements that have brought their own version of ‘order’ to the overlap of a four-state zone…”

I held my gaze with disgust.

“But that’s hearsay,” he leaned back, changing tone. “For now, the State of Arizona simply wants the man to appear in court. Once they get him on lesser charges, the State will consider whether or not to pursue this other little investigation…”

“Fifty-thousand dollars,” my father noted.

“Yes, Jack. That’s bail.”

“Done.”

We both looked at him incredulously.

“You’re kidding,” the Lieutenant groaned.

“Don’t make me say it again, Rick,” my father kept his gaze. “I will pay his bail myself. Get the man who will be my son-in-law out of jail. He can answer to those charges another day.”

“Jack… don’t make any rash–”

“I swear on my wife’s grave,” my father rose, stomping the butt of his cane on the ground, “if you don’t cooperate and get Hunter Hargreaves back out of that cell, I will come fucking unglued on you like you wouldn’t believe!”

The two former companions stared across at one another, locked into a battle of wills.

“Fine,” the Lieutenant muttered.

His gaze sucked me into its darkening glare.

“Sarah Buchanan, I don’t know how you finally fooled your father after all these years, but I hope this is all fucking worth it to you…”