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Now that stopped Logan in his tracks. Shock numbed him to the absurdity of it. “For what?”
The deputy sighed and unhooked the handcuffs from his belt. “Logan Martin, you’re under arrest for assault and battery in relation to an attack on Carl Brennan.”
Miranda settled in behind her desk at the brewery and opened her e-mail. One name stuck out: Patrick Bason. Shit. And there went the rosy hue to her late afternoon good mood. She chewed on her bottom lip as the cursor hovered over the Update Needed subject line. Where were the Internet blackouts when she needed one?
A sharp rap sounded, jerking her attention away from the screen. Sean stood in the open door with a rolled-up newspaper in his hands and a twisted grimace on his face. The dread weighing down her shoulders evaporated. Even a something-else-is-broken delay was better than opening that e-mail.
He peered around her cramped office, slapping the newspaper against his opposite palm. “You alone?”
“Yeah, but Natalie is out looking for you. She wanted to get your input on an operations flowchart.” She grabbed her cell phone from where it leaned against the pencil holder. “Let me text her and let her know you’re here.”
“Wait.” The intensity in his tone gave the single word enough weight to sink a ship.
Her shoulders curved forward, and her chest caved in like a condemned coal mine. “What’s wrong?”
Miranda’s gaze skittered over to her laptop screen. That e-mail from Patilla the Hun started looking better with every labored step Sean took toward her desk.
“Seen the paper?” He held out the offending document.
She shook her head, her mouth too dry to form any words. Sean plopped it down on her desk and pointed to the headline stating: County Council Calls Emergency Meeting. She scanned the story, the twitch in her left eye speeding up with every word she read. By the time she got to the end of the column, she needed a bottle of extra-strength aspirin, a stiff drink, and an industrial-sized can of whoop ass.
“The bastards.” She pushed the newspaper away. “They’re not just going to vote on the alcohol production moratorium, they want to start proceedings to seize the Sweet Salvation Brewery’s land. Tonight. We have to present our case during the public comment portion of the meeting, and we have exactly—” Miranda glanced down at her watch, “three hours to put a plan together.”
“Can they really seize the property?” Sean asked.
“They have a case because of eminent domain. They’re claiming the land is needed for an important public-private partnership that will affect the county’s tax base, thus making it a public project for the common good of Hamilton County. Never mind the fact that I’ve offered to give them the land to build a road for a small cut of the industrial park’s profits.”
“Which leads to this.” Sean pointed to another headline. Financial Troubles Plague Proposed Industrial Park.
The article started off with information about the Martin Industrial Park and the investors who were supposedly fleeing because of Logan’s mismanagement. About halfway through, it devolved into rumors about Larry Martin’s secret alcoholism and how the Martin family fortune was down to roughly two plug nickels. With each word she read, her chest tightened, and bile twisted its way up her esophagus. Everything was laid bare for the entire town to pick at like vultures until all that was left was the bones. She had to get to Logan before he saw the newspaper, if he hadn’t already. Shoving back her chair, she grabbed her purse out of her desk’s bottom drawer and threw her cell into the handbag.
“There’s more.” A dark look replaced Sean’s trademark neutral expression.
Miranda clutched her purse to her chest and waited for the next information bomb to detonate.
“He’s in cahoots with Carl.”
“What do you mean?”
“Saw the two of ‘em acting all buddy-buddy outside of the Spotted Pig last night. When they spotted me, they stopped talking and didn’t start again until I was driving out of the lot.”
Her mind reeled. Why would Logan be talking to the man who’d run her off the road? The same asshole who’d been against her since she arrived in Salvation and had tried to start a mutiny at the brewery? Doubt curdled her lunch. Logan had been trying to shut her down since day one. He’d turned her down for a loan, and he’d intimidated contractors not to work with her. She’d burst in on him with Tyrell Hawson after the mayor had promised to put her out of business. Was he just playing good cop to Tyrell’s bad cop? Had he put Carl up to running her off the road? And what about the bank? The yacht? Last night? Had that all been part of his plan to win the bet?
A lump formed in her throat as she considered the possibilities. She couldn’t get past the part of herself holding tight to the man who’d sat at her kitchen table and apologized for everything that had happened before. She believed in that man.
“I’m sure there’s a good explanation for all of this.” There had to be. The Logan she’d spent last night with would never betray her. She had to believe he could give her an explanation. She sucked in a fortifying breath of air and placed her palms flat on the desk, pushing herself into a standing position, ready to leave and go find out exactly what that explanation was.
Sean crossed his arms across his barrel chest. “Now they’re both in jail.”
“What?” She dropped back into her chair, and her purse slid out of her grasp, landing on the floor with a thunk. His words sucked the hope right out of her heart.
“One of the delivery guys just told me that Logan’s in a cell right next to Carl at the county jail.”
Sean could have kept talking, but Miranda wasn’t hearing his voice anymore. Her fingers flew across the keyboard until the Hamilton County Jail’s phone number showed up in her search. She misdialed twice before the call went through.
“Intake, this is Farley.”
“Is Logan Martin in custody?” Her question came out confident, but she squeezed her free hand closed to stop the shaking.
