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“I owe you an apology too.” The sheriff extended the bandage to Dean. “I made a snap decision, and it was the wrong one.”
“And our chat earlier today had nothing to do with that?” Dean went about winding the bandage around his arm, occasionally flicking his gaze back to the sheriff.
“Could be.” The brown of the sheriff’s eyes brightened—an odd reaction given Dean’s criticism. “Or could be I saw a giant man dragging a petrified teenager around by the shirt. Poor Thomas looked like he was about to pee himself.”
Dean choked down a laugh, eyeing Thomas through the cruiser’s window, his ashen face still pointed down to his lap. “I guess I can see how that might have looked.”
The sheriff strode closer to his car. “I take it you called this in?”
“Yeah, though the brothers scattered, which is why I’ve only got Thom for all my trouble.”
“Ehh, never mind about that. I’ll catch up to them soon enough and get your statement tomorrow, after you’ve had a chance to see to your wound. Now”—the sheriff pounded an open hand to the cruiser’s roof, before sliding in behind the steering wheel—“get in. I’ll drive you home.”
