Page 17 of Property of Whiskey

“I’m ordering you to stay out of these investigations.”

“Investigations. Plural.”

His mouth compresses.

“Is that because you think I’m incapable?”

“Because you don’t know when to stop. Mr. Montgomery already complained.”

“That his daughter wanted him checked on?”

“This is bigger than one deputy.”

“Then let me help.”

“No.”

“I’ve got the training. I can take care of myself.”

His palm comes down on the edge of the desk, not hard enough to make me jump but hard enough to rattle the pens in a plastic cup.

“You stay away from Heck, Pearly Gates, and that Whiskey unless you’re responding to an active call. Do you understand me? No more wrestling either.”

As I laugh at that last part, I look at his hand braced against the desk, then at his face. This ain’t the expression of a sheriff irritated with a deputy for stepping outside her assignment. I saw the same fear in the Heck’s Kitchen parking lot and again in Lester tonight.

Whatever is underneath this has been here longer than Kaylee Quill.

“Twila.”

“Okay, except the wrestling.”

He studies my face, trying to decide whether I mean it.

He should know better.

Daddy takes the report from my hand, carries it into his office, and locks it inside a drawer. He doesn’t say good night before leaving.

I wait until his truck pulls out of the lot, then return to the computer.

Kaylee’s report is gone from my recent searches.

My access log has been cleared.

I sit staring at the empty screen while possibilities start lining themselves up in my head. Somebody is hiding what’s happening to those girls. Maybe Daddy knows who. Maybe somebody has enough leverage to make a sheriff bury things he doesn’t want buried. The Kings are mixed up in it somehow. I already know they’re digging into Pearly Gates. What I don’t know is what they’ve found, why Daddy is shutting them out, or why he’s suddenly so damn afraid of me getting close to any of it.

I think about Whiskey watching me from the bar, his thumb against my mouth and all the teasing disappearing when he told me I wasn’t scared enough.

He knows something. The Kings always know something. I shut down the computer, pull my jacket over my uniform, and step into the dark parking lot. Daddy ordered me to stay out of Hell, or rather, what the older folks say, Heck, away from Pearly Gates, and away from Whiskey.

Three orders.

One investigation.

By the time I reach my patrol SUV, I’ve already decided which one I’m breaking first.

Chapter Three

Whiskey