Chapter Eight

Milo

I walk a few blocks out of my way, just to blow off some steam. I wanted to beat the shit out of Clyde. I knew if I did though, I could very well kill him. And that wasn't going to do me any favors. My blood is up though, and the adrenaline and testosterone flow freely through me.

I may not be as removed from the family's blood feud as I want to believe.

No, this has nothing to do with Sheridan versus Longstreet. Clyde is just a prick who never fails to get under my skin. Always has and probably always will. His last name could be Smith, and he'd still find ways to piss me off. That's just who he is. And I doubt that's ever going to change.

There's a small park with a playground up ahead, so I walk to it and sit down on one of the benches. It looks like a playground meant for mothers and their children. But, there's nobody here right now, so I'm just going to sit for a few minutes and clear my head.

Before running into Clyde, my day had been going well. Running into Bree again, after all these years, had been a bit unexpected, but nice. Of course, given how small Folson Forge is, maybe I should have expected to run into her sooner or later.

As beautiful as she'd been when she was younger, she was easily ten times lovelier now. She'd grown into a stunning woman. Her beauty is startling. She’s absolutely gorgeous. The long red hair that cascades down to the middle of her back, contrasted against her flawless ivory skin, is ethereal.

Running into her and seeing how she'd turned out, of course, brought to mind the incredible night we'd spent together. Well – not that she knew it was me at the time, but that's irrelevant at this point.

Remembering that night stirred something deep within me and I feel my groin tightening in response to it. The feel of her skin. The musky scent and sweet taste of her. Feeling how tight and wet she was when I was inside of her. It's an experience I wish I could have again. The sound of her voice as she moaned and the feel of her body as she writhed beneath me.

But, given the fact that she hates me beyond belief, I know sex with Bree was one of those rare, exquisite, treats in life you only get one bite of. Still, I can't seem to get her out of my head. Of course, that's been the case since the night of the masked ball. Seeing her all grown up has only intensified those feelings.

When my pulse stops racing and the adrenaline slows down to a trickle, I start to calm down. I take a few deep breaths and let them out, slowly trying to compose myself using a meditation technique I picked up overseas. It's been a while since I've been in that kind of rage. I run a hand through my hair and scratch my beard thoughtlessly, releasing another long breath.

Two women pushing strollers, Starbucks cups in hand, make their way into the small park. I hear the sound of children laughing and cooing inside the strollers and smile. Once upon a time, I'd assumed I'd be married by now with some kids, and a house with a white picket fence. The American dream, right? I thought my fate was to take over as the head of my father's company and settle into a quiet, suburban life.

Or, depending on how you look at it, my curse.

I simply wouldn’t be the man I am today if I had followed the path that had been laid out for me. And I have to say, Sheriff Burns was right all those years ago – I'm much happier as the man I am today, the man I willed into being, than who my father wanted me to be. I'm going to have to make a point of telling the Sher – excuse me, the Mayor – that.

It remains the best piece of advice I've ever received.

The two young mothers look at me, a shadow of fear crossing their faces. I suppose I can't blame them. I'm a large, intimidating man hanging out in a space meant for mothers and their kids. I get up from the bench and give them a nod as I make my way out of the park. The last thing I want to do is make them feel uncomfortable or unsafe.

I feel sufficiently calm enough to do what I came out for this morning – go and talk to this Sheriff Keyes. Longstreet man or not, he's a man of the law. I have questions and I need some answers. Something still isn't sitting right with me about Timmy's death and I'm going to find out what it is.

I consult my phone and locate the Sheriff's office using GPS. Thankfully, unlike so many other things in town, it's still in the same place as before. I head off on foot, figuring a brisk walk will help finish clearing out my head.

The day is warm and is only getting warmer. Having been away for so long, I've almost forgotten just how nasty summertime in good ol' Georgia actually is. Beads of sweat roll down my back, making my damp shirt cling to my skin. There's a breath of fall in the air, but summer hasn't quite relinquished its grip on this part of the world just yet.

I climb the steps and walk into the lobby of the Sheriff's station, taking a deep breath, and relishing the blessed feel of cool air conditioning. Damn, living in California these last couple of years has thinned my blood. I've gotten spoiled by the temperate climate and mostly humidity-free weather.

“Can I help ya?”

I turn at the sound of the familiar voice and smile. Maggie Perkins has been the receptionist in the Sheriff's station for longer than I can remember. And if I’m being honest, probably longer than she would care to admit. She is a sweet, older lady, who never casts judgment or scorn, despite seeing some of the worst this town has to offer. I know that when I was younger, I saw her more times than I can count. Sheriff Burns was always dragging me in for one thing or another – usually for getting into some sort of mischief or fighting with the Longstreet clan.

“Well, as I live and breathe,” she gasps, a wide grin on her face. “Milo Sheridan. Is that really you under that big, scruffy beard?”

My smile broadens, and I nod. Back in the day, I was always clean-cut and freshly shaven. It was something of a code in our family that we were to remain upright, well-dressed, respectable, and presentable at all times when in the public eye. We had to present ourselves as gentlemen – even though we were anything but.

I threw that code right out the window the moment I put Folson Forge in the rear-view mirror. Jeans and t-shirts are my uniform now that I was out of the Corps. And although I keep my hair trimmed and neat, it's a little longer than it used to be. I'm also sporting a thick beard. The beard is mostly to hide a scar that runs along the right side of my jaw – something I picked up from an IED blast over in Afghanistan.

“Guilty as charged,” I say.

Maggie gets up and comes around her desk, throwing her arms around me, and squeezing me tight. Though a short slip of a woman, she's a lot stronger than she appears. I stand there stiff and awkward for a second, but eventually hug her in return.

A few moments later, she steps back and looks up at me, her eyes shimmering with unshed tears and a smile on her face.

“It's good to see you again, Milo,” she says. “We're all so very proud of you.”

A rueful grin touches my lips. “Nothing to be proud of, Maggie,” I say. “I'm just a man who did a job. Nothing more, nothing less.”

She slaps me on the arm playfully. “We're proud of you nonetheless.”

“Appreciate that,” I say. “And it's good to see you too, ma’am. I have to say, it’s a nice change of pace that I’m not being dragged in here in cuffs.”

Maggie laughs as if it’s the funniest thing she's heard in ages. Eventually, her laughter tapers off and she stands there, staring at me.

“You've grown into such a fine, handsome man,” she says. “So, what can we do for you today, Milo?”

“Actually, I was hoping to have a word with Sheriff Keyes.”

She nods. “He's in his office right now, actually.”

I look beyond Maggie, across the bullpen in the station, and see Keyes sitting in his office. At least, I'm assuming it's Keyes. All I can see from where I'm standing is a man with his feet up on his desk and a newspaper in front of his face.

“Mind if I go on back?” I ask.

Maggie smiles. “Of course not, dear.”

“Thanks, darlin',” I say.

She titters as I step through the small swinging gate and make my way across the station. The few deputies on duty, none of whom I recognize, look at me blankly as I pass by. I lean against the doorway and cross my arms over my chest. Keyes, completely oblivious to my presence, continues reading his paper.

I clear my throat. Slowly, the paper is lowered, revealing the fat, ruddy face of Folson Forge's top lawman. The buttons on his uniform shirt are straining to contain his girth, his hair is thinning and shot through with gray, and he's got thick jowls. His dark eyes, small and porcine, stare me down, unblinking.

Goddamn. If he actually has to run to save someone’s life – it’s obvious they aren’t going to make it.

“Heard you was back in town,” he says.

“You heard right, obviously.”

“What do you want?”

“Got some questions for you,” I say. “About Timmy's death.”

He drops the newspaper on his desk and picks up a donut that looks dry and crusty – like it's been sitting there a good long while. Keyes gives it a sniff and shrugs, taking a big bite of it anyway.

“Nothin' to tell,” he says around a mouthful of donut. “Died of smoke inhalation when his office burned down. Thoughts and prayers to you and your family.”

I smirk at him, doing my best to resist the sudden urge to punch him square in his fat face.

“Yeah, I heard about the smoke inhalation,” I say. “I'm looking for the cause of the fire though.”

Keyes shrugs. “Fire Chief ruled it an electrical issue,” he says. “Some bad wiring sparked off or something and started a fire.”

“Uh-huh,” I say. “Heard that too.”

“Then you heard the whole story, Milo,” he says. “The fuck you want from me?”

“Got a copy of the coroner's report?”

“Do I look like the goddamn coroner?”

“Honestly, you barely look like a sheriff.”

As he glares at me, eyes narrowed, and jaws clenched, I count to ten internally. This fat man is really trying my patience and it's taking all my self-control not to walk over there and beat his ass.

“Time for you to go,” he says. “Been nice seein' ya and catchin' up but get the fuck outta my office.”

“I need a copy of the coroner's report,” I reply, my voice low and cold.

“I'll be sure to mail you a copy, Milo.”

“I'm not leaving without a copy of that report,” I growl. “He was my brother and it's my right.”

“Your family has a copy already,” he hisses. “Go get it from them.”

“I'm asking you.”

Keyes struggles with his girth, but finally manages to get to his feet. He leans across the desk, staring holes through me.

“If you don't leave right now, I'm gonna charge you with trespassing and throw your ass in a cell, you entitled prick,” he sneers.

I feel a hand on my arm and spin around, fist raised, expecting it to be one of Keyes' deputies. Maggie looks back at me, a little startled, but mostly unafraid. She knows I'd never hit her.

“We should go, dear,” she says gently.

“Do what the old woman tells you to do,” Keyes sneers.

I turn to him and glare. My jaw clenches tight and my hands curl into fists. Keyes knows that I'm on the verge of giving him a beatdown and even though I see absolute terror in his eyes, it’s plain that he wants me to. He’s dying for me to give him a reason to lock me up.

“You show Maggie the respect she deserves,” I growl. “I see you disrespect her again – hell, if I even hear of you doing it – your little tin badge isn’t going to keep me from beating you to a bloody pulp. Again. You got that?”

He opens his fat mouth to speak, but no words come out. He clears his throat and tries to give me his most intimidating look – which, coming from him, is about as intimidating as a mall Santa. Maggie guides me away from his office and escorts me back through the station and to the front door. As she holds it open for me, she hands me an envelope. I look from the envelope to her and she shakes her head slightly.

The message is clear – I didn’t get this from her.

“Thank you,” I whisper.

She gives me a warm smile as I tuck it into my back pocket and head out onto the street. I have a feeling I know what's in the envelope already – a copy of the coroner's report. I make my way down the street, the heat and humidity already starting to bother me. Grudgingly, I walk into a Starbucks – one of four I learned are now in town – and order a cold drink. When my name is called, I grab the cup and head for a table.

The place is only half-filled, so I don't have to worry about anyone reading over my shoulder as I slip the envelope out of my pocket. I pull out the sheet of paper, and it's just as I thought – a copy of the coroner's report.

I honestly don't know what I'd hoped to glean from it. It lists the cause of death as smoke inhalation, just like everyone else has said. It doesn't say much else that makes sense to me. And it certainly doesn't tell me why warning bells are sounding off in my head. I'm not a coroner or a member of law enforcement or anything, so it's not like I can completely understand everything that I'm reading. For some strange reason, it just felt important for me to have a copy of it.

My phone rings. As I slip it out of my pocket and check the display, I’m surprised to see who's calling. I punch a button, connecting the call, and press the phone to my ear.

“Zach,” I say.

“You're in town,” he says.

It's a statement, not a question. Given how quickly word tends to travel around a town as small as ours, I'm not shocked he already knows.

“Obviously,” I reply.

“You plan on stopping by the house?” he asks. “Or are you going to keep hiding at that hotel?”

I chuckle. “Hiding?” I ask. “Hardly. Just trying to keep things as calm and peaceful as I can. This isn't about us, Zach. I'm here for Timmy. He's the only reason I'm here.”

“Your parents would like to see you,” he says.

He sounds like even more of a pretentious prick than I remember him. Obviously, having wealth and power agrees with his transition into his role as CE-Asshole quite nicely. Not even the old man was this much of a prick – and that's really saying something.

“Yeah, I'll be by,” I say.

“When?”

“When I get there,” I reply.

“I'd like to know –”

“I'll see you soon,” I say and disconnect the call.

Yeah, I'm so glad I came back for this. This little family reunion is going to be a blast. I take a sip of drink, knowing I can't put it off forever. Sooner or later, I'm going to have to go face the music at the home.

I opt for later though, as I pick up my drink and slip my phone back into my pocket. I have a couple of things I want to do before I walk into that particular viper's nest.