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I slid the folder Wayne had given me into the duffle bag I’d stowed behind the bench seat, then climbed into the cab. The funeral parlor was only two blocks from Wayne’s office, and it took me longer to get over the eerie silence in the building than it did to collect Earl’s ashes. Once back in the truck, I set the box with Earl’s ashes on the seat beside me.
“One last ride in your beloved Betty, Pop.”
Sunday dinners were a big deal to my grandparents, and I’d attended as regularly as my career had allowed. Once Lucinda passed, I prioritized the meals, only missing them for emergencies. Betty had fallen into disrepair a long time ago, and I’d used my skills and my rainy-day fund to get her running again. I took Earl for drives every Sunday after dinner, and he surprised me one evening when he handed me the title for the truck.
“Betty deserves to be driven more than once a week, and I can’t see good enough to drive her anymore. I want you to have her.”
I’d vowed to take good care of her and had spent the next few years restoring the truck to her former glory. I’d never forget the look on Earl’s face when he saw her new paint job.
“She looks just like she did the day I bought her,” he’d exclaimed.
Earl had loved the Sunday drives more than any meal I brought over. I’d noticed a real decline in his spirit when his physical deterioration prevented him from taking his weekly trips in Betty.
“I’m going to miss you like crazy, Pop,” I said as if he could hear me. Hell, maybe he could.
My phone rang, jolting me from my thoughts. I checked the ID and saw it was my campaign manager. The guy’s name was Phillip Hampstead, but everyone called him Ham. He’d been calling, texting, and emailing every few days to remind me the filing deadline for my reelection was coming up. I should’ve told him my grandfather had passed away, and he would’ve left me alone, but instead, I’d just blown him off, stating I was busy. It wasn’t a lie. I’d had my hands full with intradepartmental pissing contests, introducing and debating unionizing the sheriff’s office, and testifying in court. It wasn’t often an elected sheriff took the witness stand to testify about a cock-fighting ring, but he did when he was the one who’d stumbled upon the criminal activity.
The defendant’s attorney had tried to make it seem like I had illegally trespassed on their client’s property, who happened to be my nearest neighbor. So I’d raised my right hand, sworn to tell the truth, and explained to the jury what had happened on the night a distressed rooster had wandered onto my property. He had a little band around his leg identifying him as Bruiser. Even though two acres of woods separated my house from my neighbor’s, I’d heard roosters crowing from their direction and suspected Bruiser had wandered over to my place. I’d scooped him up and trekked through the woods to return the fowl to his owner.
The prosecutor asked me why I hadn’t driven the rooster home, and I’d explained I’d had a few beers and didn’t belong behind the wheel. She inquired if I’d been intoxicated, and I assured her that wasn’t the case. I knew I’d consumed more than the law allowed me to operate a vehicle. I’d seen several nods of approval in the jury box and patiently let the prosecutor guide me through the rest of the questions. No, I hadn’t been wearing my gun or badge because I was off duty. The only things I’d had on my person were my wallet and cell phone, which I’d used to call 911 when it became clear Bruiser hadn’t just wandered off. He’d run for his life. My deputies saved more than two dozen roosters, and a rescue group took custody of all but one lucky boy. Bruiser was going to live out his days in the fancy coop I’d bought him. I threatened to roast him every morning when he woke me up before sunrise, but we both knew I didn’t mean it. He’d become the weirdest and dearest pet I’d ever owned, and I pampered him with a temperature-controlled environment that kept him comfortable while he ate his pricey organic food and the weird little worms I picked up at the pet store. Yeah, I’d become that guy.
When I wasn’t dealing with pissing contests and cock fighting, I found myself dwelling on the things Lio and Earl had told me. I didn’t want to be objective and agree with them, but I made myself do it. Yes, I had a habit of pushing people away. As much as I wanted to say the realization straightened me up, it had the opposite effect. Instead of wanting to hold Lio closer, the urge to push him away became stronger. But I wouldn’t. Cutting off my arm would be easier and less painful than severing the life I’d built with Lio. He’d promised that I only needed to acknowledge the problem before we moved forward and worked it out together. Lio’s word was something I could take to the bank. I’d also read between the lines in the interview he’d given toSavannah Morning Newsabout the baseball game. To everyone else, the article looked like a human-interest story, but to me, it felt like Lio was staking his claim.
Fucking Lio.
I missed him so damn much. If my week had been hectic, then his was a train wreck of epic proportions. Eads had gone to the press, probably against the advice of his counsel, and told anyone willing to listen just how corrupt SPD’s chief of police was. Lio was besieged by reporters—local, state, and national—all vying for the smallest sound bite. He’d wanted to come to my house but didn’t want to bring his nosy entourage with him. I’d reminded him they’d eventually get sick of waiting. Over the past five days, I’d had to get my Lio fix via text messages and nightly phone calls. I craved his touch and needed to breathe him in. I’d gotten so desperate for him by midweek that I’d nearly suggested phone sex, which wasn’t how I wanted our first shared orgasms to go. Lio had made me come too many times to count but never while in the same room.
He’d texted me the previous night and said the reporters had stopped skulking around outside his house. Then Lio informed me he was spending the weekend with me at the cabin. That was my bossy guy. He didn’t ask for permission, and damn if it didn’t make me horny.
It was a forty-five-minute drive from my house in Pembroke to the lakeside community at Trophy Lake in Liberty County. My grandparents had purchased the small cabin as a weekend retreat before I was born but later moved in full-time after retirement. I’d mostly used it for occasional fishing and poker parties with my army buddies after Earl transferred the deed to me. I’d been fine leaving the cabin as it was, but Pops was right. The small home could be a wonderful escape from the stress of our jobs, and I could see us retiring there someday. Lio was a wizard at remodeling and home improvement, so I’d get his input when I wasn’t trying to drill him into the mattress. Christ. My dick twitched in response to the image of Lio under me—naked and yielding. I was probably getting ahead of myself, but I couldn’t help it.
I turned left once I drove through the entrance to the lakeside community and slowly wound my way toward my cabin. I’d just turned onto my road when I saw Barbra Hawkins, who lived in the cabin closest to mine, powerwalking for exercise. She wore lavender from her headband to her sneakers, and I slowed down and pulled up alongside her.
“Abe!” she exclaimed. “Am I glad to see you.” Barbra made it a point to know every person who owned property in the community. I stopped and shifted Betty into park. “What’s going on?”
“We’ve had a rash of break-ins and some petty thefts lately.”
“How petty?” I asked.
“Mostly food and drinks,” Barbra replied. “No electronics or valuables. No vandalism and only minimum property damage to obtain the items. A few residents have reported signs of squatting in the woods, but so far, we haven’t been able to locate the person.”
“Do you think it could be bored teenagers playing pranks?” I asked.
She puffed out her cheeks and exhaled slowly. “Possibly, but I don’t think so. This feels different.”
I pursed my lips and considered the information. “Are there any signs of escalation or deviant behavior?”
“Not at all,” Barbra said.
“I’ll snoop around while I’m here this weekend, but I can give you suggestions on how to keep your home and property safe.”
Barbra reached through the window and patted my arm. “That would be wonderful. Do you have time for a cup of coffee?”
“Of course.”
I parked my truck at my cabin and walked over to hers.
“George headed into town to get groceries. We just returned from a trip to Florida to meet our newest granddaughter.” The obligatory photo sharing followed Barbra’s announcement. I told her little Nicole was adorable, but the truth was, I thought she looked like all other babies. Her face was red and splotchy, and she looked pissed off at being evicted from her mom’s womb. “I don’t have a single cookie or snack cake in this house to offer you,” Barbra said. “I ate them all while waiting for news about our precious girl.”
