Total pages in book: 150
Estimated words: 142818 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 714(@200wpm)___ 571(@250wpm)___ 476(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 142818 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 714(@200wpm)___ 571(@250wpm)___ 476(@300wpm)
It was likely Sariah who had the officer’s tongue wagging. She was wearing tailored, pinstriped pants and a matching vest without anything underneath. Her hair was piled on top of her head, she was wearing square framed glasses and bright red lipstick. In other words, she’d gone full Erin Brockovich.
“Can I help you?” the officer asked enthusiastically. He wasn’t much older than us, wore thick glasses and his nose had been broken one too many times. He worked it, though, in a nerdy Owen Wilson kind of way.
Sariah beamed, leaning on the counter in front of the plexiglass so her considerable cleavage was on display. “I sure hope so,” she drawled, fluttering her lashes.
“Oh my god,” I muttered from behind her, grinning.
Her head whipped around, and she mouthed, “Fuck off,” before returning her attention to the desk jockey.
“I’m here because I’m a journalist,” she continued.
I snorted at that.
She flipped me the bird behind her back.
“And I’m investigating the murders that have been happening in the area over the past few months.”
“Murders?” the officer repeated.
Sariah’s megawatt smile dimmed. “There have been four young women brutally murdered within fifty miles of this town in the past eight months.”
He scratched his head. “Well, that’s not our jurisdiction.”
“Not your jurisdiction?” she parroted. “So you don’t have to know about them, then, as an officer of the law?”
“We are aware of the situation and monitoring it,” a deep, smooth voice commented from my left.
Both Sariah and I had not noticed the police officer in our periphery who had obviously heard the gist of the conversation.
The man in question was in a uniform that was pressed immaculately and showed off his lean muscles. He was tall, maybe Elden’s age though his hair was styled slick, and he was clean shaven, showing off a tan, square jaw. He had brown eyes that were so dark they were almost black.
“And who might you be?” Sariah asked.
“I’m Elijah Turner, the sheriff,” he introduced himself.
This was 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 does monitoring the situation actually 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.