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“I’m Elijah Turner, the sheriff,” he introduced himself.
Thiswas the sheriff.
He seemed too young.
And I’d been picturing a straight laced, Tommy Lee Jones type who was intent on bringing down the big, bad criminals.
I disliked him already despite his friendly smile and relaxed demeanor. He was trying to bring down the club. Trying and failing, but still. His main goal was to ruin the family that my mother had only just found.
Put Elden back behind bars.
My nails sank into the inside of my palms.
“Perfect, just the man we wanted to see,” Sariah purred, turning her full attention to the sheriff, obviously not full of burning hatred like I was.
“About the murders,” he deduced.
“Yes,” she replied.
“And you’re…” he looked between us, “journalists?”
Sariah nodded enthusiastically.
“Forgive me for saying so, ladies, but you look a little young.” A bit of a Southern drawl peeked out from his deep, masculine tone.
“The four young women brutally murdered were probably a little young for that too,” I shot back.
Sariah turned her head to me, giving me a subtle thumb’s up.
The sheriff gave me his full attention. His gaze was not hostile. Not quite, but it was measured.
“As I said, we’re monitoring the situation,” he repeated calmly.
I cocked my head. “And doesmonitoring the situationactually mean something, or is that some kind of political bullshit to cover up the fact that you don’t actually care about women being murdered because you’re too busy trying to bring down a club of people who have done literally nothing to you?”
His gaze was no longer even. “I don’t know where you’re getting your information, but the Sons of Templar are not a club, they’re a gang. A criminal organization that brings crime and unsavory characters to this town.” His voice was colder now but remained that same, even level.
“Unsavory characters?” I scoffed. “Where did you escape from? A ’60s sitcom? Which I guess makes sense since you seem to me like a small-minded asshole with his head up his ass and his mind on whatever awards you think you’ll get from arresting the Sons of Templar instead of, I don’t know, protecting and serving like you’re paid to do.” I stepped forward. “And just remember, you’re paid by the taxpayers of this town who just happen to include every member of the Sons of Templar.”
“You should leave now,” he said mildly.
“I’m exercising my right of free fucking speech,” I countered.
“You’re getting very close to disturbing the peace.”
“Oh, far be it for me to disturb your peaceful day when there’s a man out there murdering women!” I exclaimed.
He looked at Sariah now. “You should get your friend to calm down and out of this station before I’m forced to take action.”
Sariah put her hand on her hip. “I don’t have to get my friend to do anything since she is in her right mind, and as she said, exercising her right of free speech, otherwise known as calling out an asshole. I know I don’t know you that well, and it could be considered a stretch to label you as that before getting to know you, but I’m working off a pretty solid hunch.” She smiled not so sweetly.
He looked between the two of us, sighing. “I’m gonna have to ask you both to leave right now.”
Sariah tilted her head in question. “And on what grounds? Highlighting the ineptitude of the local sheriff is merely us doing our civic duty,” she pointed out. “And again, you have yet to make any worthwhile comment about the serial killer who’s prowling this area.”
“And you’ve yet to prove what news organization you’re from,” he returned, eyes focused on Sariah. Though he was pretty pissed, with his hands on his hips and his spine steel, his eyes kept dropping toward her lips—it was also clear that he found her attractive. He was a male with a pulse after all.
“I’m from an organization that’s very interested in the survival of any woman under forty in a hundred-mile radius,” she told him.
