January 3rd, 2016
My fisted hand hovered over the worn wood of Chief Red Pulse’s door for one beat, then two—long enough to fill my lungs with much-needed air—and then connected sharply three times.
The chief’s call to enter wasn’t any less severe than the raps of my knuckles.
“Come in!”
I swallowed and shoved.
The door opened with surprising ease given the dread I felt.
It wasn’t that I didn’t like Chief Pulse—I did. I’d known the man my entire life and respected him greatly. He was a good man, with good values, and had more time on the force than anyone else.
Seeing as he was pushing seventy-five, that wasn’t all that surprising.
But being summoned to his office always felt a little like being called to the principal, even when I hadn’t done anything wrong. And today, the timing was horrendously suspicious.
My worst nightmare was scheduled to roll into town soon.
As he was never a man to dance around an issue, his rusty brown eyes didn’t waste any time meeting my own. His eyebrows were wild and his clothing slightly sloppy, an appearance I suspected was common for most old men, but his mind was sharp. You could see it in his stare, without question.
Beyond that, I could see his intention, written in the determined gleam and softening wrinkles around the edges—this meeting wasn’t going to go my way. I had no way of knowing what he was going to tell me, but I knew, with absolute certainty, I wasn’t going to like it.
“Take a seat, Levi,” he offered, gesturing to the worn, brown leather chairs in front of his desk.
I glanced their way, and a memory snapped into focus as though it’d happened yesterday. Several memories, actually.
His wife, Margo, had picked those chairs out a good twenty years ago, back when I’d been nothing more than a rebellious kid. My ass had been one with those chairs on more than my fair share of occasions as good-hearted, stern-talking Chief Pulse had read me the riot act.
You better turn your life around, son, he’d told me at the end of nearly every speech. Of course, the beginning and the middle had been filled with a lot more cursing and a little more yelling. But the end, that was where he made it count. And thanks to his unending faith and patience, I had.
Now I stood before him as a man. A coworker.
A cop.
“I’d really rather stand, sir,” I deferred. I felt a whole lot less vulnerable if I didn’t have furniture inhibiting a quick getaway.
The Chief acquiesced with a nod. “Suit yourself.”
I stepped farther into the room then, taking up residence right behind one of those ever-familiar chairs and settling my hands lightly onto the back. The cracked leather scratched at my palms.
“What can I do for you?” I asked outright. I didn’t want to wait through pleasantries or speeches, and I didn’t want to be in here any longer than I had to be. I felt cagey.
But it wasn’t his office, I realized, making me feel edgy. The picture was a whole lot bigger than that. I wanted to be out in the field, on the street—free to move.
I needed the outlet, the unpredictable. I needed to be somewhere where I didn’t see her everywhere I looked.
He nodded with respect. It took balls to lead a conversation where you wanted it to go rather than let it take you somewhere. Old Red understood that better than nearly anyone I knew, and there was a reason—he’d been the one to teach me that lesson himself.
“The film outfit that’s pulling into town…”
I jerked up my chin, my fingers clenching into the leather beneath them, scratchy cracks all but forgotten.
I knew all about the movie they were making in my town—Cold, Montana. I knew the actors they’d hired and the story they meant to tell, and I hated every fucking thing about it. The nightmare I’d suspected brought me in here was starting to feel a little too real.
He couldn’t be thinking—
“You’re in,” he murmured, and everything inside me seized. My heart, my lungs, all of the thoughts in my head—frozen.
“Chief,” I whispered, my voice sounding hoarse to even my own ears. This was fucking unbelievable. Ridiculous. Lunacy. He couldn’t fucking think for one fucking second I’d be okay with this.
He shook his head and held up a hand, and I did my best to lock it down. My jaw flexed under my frustration’s sudden and unyielding pressure.
“You’re gonna be the liaison between us and them.” My throat burned with disbelief and a million unspoken curses. “I know you’ve got a sore spot when it comes to this, but the town commission is excited about the profits from this project. They pushed it through with a unanimous vote, and you and I can’t do anything about it. It’s happening. It deserves some truth, and dammit, Levi, there ain’t nobody else.”
I shook my head and told him to go fuck himself a thousand times in my head, but he just nodded.
“You know the case, you know Grace, and her family doesn’t want anyone to do it but you.”
“What if I refuse?” I asked. It was a real option and one I was considering more and more by the minute. I could walk out of here, go about my business, continue my day-to-day, and that stupid movie and its stupid story could go fuck itself.
“Then you’ll be fired.”
Fine, my inner asshole screamed. Fire me, then.
But if there were two things I knew about myself, down to the root, it was this:
I was born to be a cop, and I’d give my life for Cold, Montana.
And someone else already had.
I had no fucking choice.
“When do I start?”
“Day after tomorrow.” Red forced a smile. “Silver lining, son. You’ll be compensated heavily.”
I laughed harshly, and he nodded.
He knew a third thing about me, and so did I.
I didn’t give a fuck about the money. I never fucking had.