She couldn’t let his deputies go in blind. “Yes.”
“How many?”
“Not sure. But if I take into account all the cars and bikes, then I’m guessing maybe thirty? More?”
“Jesus Christ. And you’ve been there tonight? Did you know they were coming?”
“No, I was working late. They were there when I got home. I can’t go back there again.” She was on her own. Oh God, what was she going to do? Why hadn’t she worked harder to get a plan set up?
Because she didn’t want to leave this town. To leave Linc.
“Can we go? I don’t really want to stick around here.” She looked around nervously.
“Yeah, honey. But I think you’re right. In this case, back-up might well be necessary.”
She blocked out what he was saying into the radio unit. She knew she was trembling but she couldn’t seem to stop. When the car started up, she jumped.
“Easy, sweetheart,” he murmured. “Let’s get you back to the department. I have some really bad coffee there. If you’re really good, there might even be some creamer.”
“That sounds . . . so appealing,” she murmured.
“Doesn’t it? Tell you what, if you’re a good girl for me I’ll find Kiesha’s secret stash of hot chocolate and break it out. Of course, I’ll have to swear you to secrecy. Because if she discovers me raiding it, I’m dead.”
“Kiesha?”
“Our dispatcher.”
“Do you always work so late?” she asked as he drove. “I thought the sheriff would finish early.”
“I like to do patrol work. There’s just me and four deputies to cover a large area. It’s all hands on deck. Besides, wouldn’t be much of a boss if I asked other people to do what I wasn’t willing to.”
She gave him a surprised look. She’d never thought about it that way. Then again, she’d never had a decent boss, had she? She’d only ever worked for Rosalind and she preferred to get everyone else to work while she went shopping or lounged around at home.
She hadn’t expected for someone like Ed to feel that way. But then, so far, he hadn’t acted at all like she’d thought he might. He’d been nothing but kind, understanding and even protective. Maybe it was time to stop painting all cops with the same brush. Just because she’d had an experience with one bad cop didn’t make them all bad.
Way to stereotype, Marisol.
“Marisol? You okay?”
“I don’t like cops.”
“Right. Got that. You’ve had a bad experience in the past?”
“Yeah. I was ten. They came to our house with a warrant for my aunt’s arrest. Rosalind always told me these stories about the cops back in Venezuela. How corrupt and terrifying they were. She said an officer killed her uncle for no good reason. So I was already scared of them. And then, this one cop, he . . .”
“Did he hurt you?” Ed asked in a voice that was darker than she’d ever heard from him.
“He didn’t touch me.” She let out a shuddering breath. “He didn’t have to. Not when his words terrified me so much. He kept telling me how I was headed to jail unless I told him everything I knew. That nobody would be around to protect me. That I’d likely be beaten and abused. As he was yelling, his arms were moving around and spittle flew from his mouth. Even though I knew I wouldn’t go to jail, his words scared me enough into believing him. Plus, I have a pretty good imagination.”
“Yes, I remember how you thought you were going to end up in jail and shanked by a piece of soap.”
“Oh yeah, sorry for overreacting.”
“Seems like you had a good reason for reacting the way you did,” he murmured calmly. “What happened?”
“He seemed like this terrifying monster to me. I curled myself into a ball in the corner of our living room. Even if I had known anything, which I didn’t, there was no way I could have told him.”
“Where the fuck were the other cops?”