“We don’t know for certain,” she said. “Why would he be here?” Briar asked thoughtfully. “We don’t know each other except as co-workers. I think he once told me he’s from Florida or something, so he probably doesn’t even have family in this state.”
“Ultimately, you’re the only one who is going to be able to connect the dots. It comes down to you, Briar. And it needs to be figured it out soon, before anyone else gets hurt.”
“It has to tie back to the op. Everything went to hell so quickly.”
Royce wondered if she meant the Arizona op she’d told him about, or the past eighteen hours.
“Did you tell Klay about Tia?”
Briar nodded, sipping her coffee again. “I did. He’s sending an agent down to interview her.”
“Raine is going to be pissed.”
“Raine can be as pissed as she wants. Tia is a witness and a survivor. It’s highly likely she has information and we need to try and shut these human traffickers down. He said the agent he’s sending is very good with young witnesses and we can trust her.”
“He’s just sending one agent?”
Briar rolled her eyes. “He’s sending two. We’re supposed to meet them after the funeral home. I wasn’t sure where, so I told them to meet us at your office.”
Inwardly, Royce cringed. The entire Sheriff’s Office situation was an embarrassment but, he reminded himself, it wasn’t his fault. He needed to reach out to Marnie Jackson and see what she knew about the budget and hiring deputies. At least having those desks empty right now meant they had seating for their upcoming visitors.
More hungry and non-caffeinated people were lining up for seats at the front of the diner. It made Royce twitchy. Too many Rexvillians were eyeing Royce and Briar with barely restrained curiosity. Briar, Royce figured, because she was possibly vaguely familiar to them, and they were trying to figure out where they knew her from. And Royce because he’d been named sheriff three days ago and the shit had already started to hit the fan.
The two of them sitting together probably had a good half of Rexville thinking that Royce King had a girlfriend no one had known about. Not that he would object to having Briar as his partner. The more time they spent together, the more he knew they were highly compatible—he mentally rolled his eyes, he wasn’t interviewing for a job. But every time their hands accidentally brushed together or something, Royce’s entire body responded, wanting more. He wanted to twine his fingers with hers and hold her hand in front of everyone. Two days, he reminded himself. It had been barely two days since she came back to town.
And the last thing they needed was Sheila, or someone else, listening in to their conversation and hearing something they shouldn’t. If there was one thing Royce was certain of, it was that the aging population of Rexville had a good portion of armchair investigators.
Royce checked the time. It was just before nine and the funeral home would be open soon. “Let’s get back on the road. The funeral home should be open by the time we get there. We can take coffees with us.”
Tsking at their refusal to order breakfast, Sheila brought them paper cups so they could take their coffee with them and minutes later they were back on the road, the white coffee cups with the Rexville Café logo—a sparkling gold crown—stashed in the console between them.
Cotton fluff clouds skittered across the sky as they drove, and neither of them spoke. It was all very peaceful and very Pacific Northwest and was probably going to rain later. The fact that someone was out there with a gun, aimed at Briar, added a sense of urgency. Who was it and why?
And where the hell was Christian Jakes? Royce had a gut feeling this character was somehow tied to everything going on, and he’d learned to trust his gut over the years. He hoped Adam Klay was able to come through with some useful information about the man’s whereabouts. Until they had more than two facts to rub together, Briar needed to stay on high alert with her Glock handy.
“There it is,” he said, nodding toward the funeral home they both could clearly see. He inwardly cringed. Briar didn’t need him pointing out the obvious.
“Funny how it looks just the same since the last time I saw it. Although, I suppose there’s not much cause to remodel funeral homes.”
The small but stately Bridgeton Funeral Home was located atop a slight rise just on the outskirts of Bridgeton. It was positioned between the unnaturally green expanse of a cemetery and the gravel parking lot of the Seed and Feed. The last time Royce had been there was after Douglas King died. Then, the parking lot had been packed with cars and people waiting to pay their respects to the fallen sheriff. Royce had hated it, hated the supercilious way people talked about the drunken bully who had been his father. He’d only come home because Raine begged him to and because Jesse had disappeared. Which reminded Royce that he needed check in with Jordan and let him know he wasn’t coming into the shop today and not again until whatever was going on had settled. Maybe Raine would say something.
There was only one other car in the lot this morning. Most likely it belonged to Samuel Ayren, the funeral director. Royce parked next to the late-model BMW and wondered if Briar should’ve called and confirmed. Was there a protocol for this kind of visit?
Too late now, Royce thought as he slid from behind the wheel. Even outside the funeral home, normal sounds seemed hushed, bird calls less strident, passing cars muffled. Whatever rush-minute traffic Bridgeton suffered from had dissipated. He sipped at his coffee and enjoyed the late fall sunshine while waiting for Briar to grab the backpack she’d stowed behind her seat.
He was in deep trouble.
So much trouble. A kind of trouble he was looking forward to.
When this wholesituation settled down, maybe they could get to know each other better.
Get to know each other. Mentally, Royce rolled his eyes at himself yet again. Because, yes, he did want to go somewhere private and strip Briar out of her practical jeans and light blue oxford button-down shirt so he could worship her. He wanted to taste her skin, discover what her warmth felt like against him, inhale her scent.
But he also truly wanted to get to know her, find out more about that determined, stubborn, intelligent personality. Was Briar a morning person like Royce was? With her need for intravenous caffeine, he suspected not. Did she like to go hiking and camping? Dogs or cats? Both? What about kids? Royce wasn’t sure he wanted kids, so yeah, that would need to be a discussion.
And here he was thinking about family. Maybe Sheila Rosen had put something in their coffees, or Royce’s anyway.
With her bag slung over her shoulder, Briar came to stand next to Royce at the front of the 4Runner, jerking him from his thoughts of the future. He shoved his musings aside—for now.