again in a matter of days. Later than most Ohio schools, which went back before Labor Day. Once she was in class, she wasn't going to be able to do as much work for him. She'd have to concentrate on her studies. He'd insist on it.
As he did with all of his crew.
But maybe he could get her a couple of more jobs this week. Slide her some extra pay. He'd tell her it was tips.
That way, he could keep his eye on her. Just to make certain she was okay. To put his mind at ease so he could get on with the business of living.
For now, she was all he thought about. In the middle of the night. In the middle of the day. Sometimes the feel of her cheek against his palm intruded when he was having sex.
He kept replaying those few seconds of contact over and over. The softness of her skin. That touch had done things to him.
Remarkable, unbelievable things.
In all of his thirty-four years, he'd never felt like this.
But he wasn't going to be stupid about it. Emotional and physical attraction brought men down. Powerful men. Again and again.
He had his code. And wouldn't break it.
So he'd watch out for her. Pass her a little bounty when he could.
In the privacy of his own mind he'd entertain thoughts about the silky touch of her skin. Of her sweet innocent smile. Those eyes that saw so much. And sometimes peered up at him with a hunger, a longing, that was far beyond her years.
He'd keep his thoughts private. And he'd be very, very careful.
Sam didn't like being kept up nights by questions that wouldn't go away.
And so on Thursday she was at work before the lights were even turned on, looking for answers.
Answers about the upswing in drug use. Answers about Maggie. Hell, she'd be happy to find answers to questions she hadn't yet asked.
She had to know. Knowledge was control. Protection. For her family and her town. Maybe her father or Pappy was sending her messages. Maybe the Fates were. Maybe it was just her instincts. Whatever. But Pierce was right about one thing.
She couldn't let the drug thing go. She'd been talking with a man when he blew his brains out. A man who'd just killed his wife. A man who, by all accounts, had been an upstanding successful citizen, a good husband and father with a happy family.
Chuck Sewell was at the station already. Putting in extra hours just like she was. Like her, he lived alone. And, like her, he wasn't letting the Holmes case just go away.
"You know, if it had been an isolated event, maybe I could get beyond it," Sam told her colleague as they went over a list of all the local and state drug dealers they knew.
"A more than one hundred percent increase in drug-related cases this year is a little hard to ignore," Chuck said. "We're going to have to get dogs out to the schools more often even if it means we have to come in off shift. And give harsher first-time sentences when we catch someone. We have to get the word out or we're never going to be able to put up a fight."
"Have you talked to the sheriff about this?"
"I plan to this morning. I'm on my way to meet him for breakfast. You want to come?"
Samantha declined, but only because she had more work to do before her actual shift started.
"Tell him I totally agree with you and will work whatever extra hours he needs. On my dollar."
Who else, if not those sworn to protect, could find answers and put a stop to the escalating rate of crime?
"Got it," Chuck said. "We'll get these guys, Sam, I promise you."
Sam believed him.
And then there was the challenge of Maggie.
At least Sam had a place to look for answers. She knew the address that the teenager had visited the day before. All she had to do was look it up.
She typed in the number on Mechanic Street.
David Abrams. A good guy.
She'd heard he and his family had just moved to a bigger house.
Relieved, Sam grabbed her phone. Dialed. It was a sure bet that Maggie's visit to the home two days before had nothing to do with either an older man or drugs.
But maybe David could
As he did with all of his crew.
But maybe he could get her a couple of more jobs this week. Slide her some extra pay. He'd tell her it was tips.
That way, he could keep his eye on her. Just to make certain she was okay. To put his mind at ease so he could get on with the business of living.
For now, she was all he thought about. In the middle of the night. In the middle of the day. Sometimes the feel of her cheek against his palm intruded when he was having sex.
He kept replaying those few seconds of contact over and over. The softness of her skin. That touch had done things to him.
Remarkable, unbelievable things.
In all of his thirty-four years, he'd never felt like this.
But he wasn't going to be stupid about it. Emotional and physical attraction brought men down. Powerful men. Again and again.
He had his code. And wouldn't break it.
So he'd watch out for her. Pass her a little bounty when he could.
In the privacy of his own mind he'd entertain thoughts about the silky touch of her skin. Of her sweet innocent smile. Those eyes that saw so much. And sometimes peered up at him with a hunger, a longing, that was far beyond her years.
He'd keep his thoughts private. And he'd be very, very careful.
Sam didn't like being kept up nights by questions that wouldn't go away.
And so on Thursday she was at work before the lights were even turned on, looking for answers.
Answers about the upswing in drug use. Answers about Maggie. Hell, she'd be happy to find answers to questions she hadn't yet asked.
She had to know. Knowledge was control. Protection. For her family and her town. Maybe her father or Pappy was sending her messages. Maybe the Fates were. Maybe it was just her instincts. Whatever. But Pierce was right about one thing.
She couldn't let the drug thing go. She'd been talking with a man when he blew his brains out. A man who'd just killed his wife. A man who, by all accounts, had been an upstanding successful citizen, a good husband and father with a happy family.
Chuck Sewell was at the station already. Putting in extra hours just like she was. Like her, he lived alone. And, like her, he wasn't letting the Holmes case just go away.
"You know, if it had been an isolated event, maybe I could get beyond it," Sam told her colleague as they went over a list of all the local and state drug dealers they knew.
"A more than one hundred percent increase in drug-related cases this year is a little hard to ignore," Chuck said. "We're going to have to get dogs out to the schools more often even if it means we have to come in off shift. And give harsher first-time sentences when we catch someone. We have to get the word out or we're never going to be able to put up a fight."
"Have you talked to the sheriff about this?"
"I plan to this morning. I'm on my way to meet him for breakfast. You want to come?"
Samantha declined, but only because she had more work to do before her actual shift started.
"Tell him I totally agree with you and will work whatever extra hours he needs. On my dollar."
Who else, if not those sworn to protect, could find answers and put a stop to the escalating rate of crime?
"Got it," Chuck said. "We'll get these guys, Sam, I promise you."
Sam believed him.
And then there was the challenge of Maggie.
At least Sam had a place to look for answers. She knew the address that the teenager had visited the day before. All she had to do was look it up.
She typed in the number on Mechanic Street.
David Abrams. A good guy.
She'd heard he and his family had just moved to a bigger house.
Relieved, Sam grabbed her phone. Dialed. It was a sure bet that Maggie's visit to the home two days before had nothing to do with either an older man or drugs.
But maybe David could
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