A short while later, Derren whipped the SUV into a parking space outside the sheriff’s department. Zander immediately noticed the sheriff’s car. Through the large windows of the office, it was easy to see that the chairs in the reception area were vacant. Good. Zander didn’t want Gwen to have to hang around awhile, waiting for her chance to speak with Colt.
“Hopefully I won’t be long,” said Gwen.
Zander grabbed her braid, keeping her in place as he gave her a light kiss. “We’ll be here. Call or text if you need me.”
With a faint smile, she slid out of the SUV. Staying in his seat, watching her walk into a messed-up situation alone, went against every protective instinct he had. And it gutted him.
“She’ll be okay, Z,” said Bracken. “The sheriff might not like her, but he’s not a physical threat to her.”
Derren nodded. “Besides, she’s tough.”
“She’s also mine.” This was twice in one day that Zander couldn’t be at her side while she went through a shitty experience. He hated that.
“She’s been through worse alone,” Ally pointed out.
Zander clenched his fists. “Reminding me of that does not help.” His pulse spiked as Gwen disappeared into the sheriff’s department, out of his line of sight. He took a long breath. “This plan better fucking work.”
Gwen stepped into a clean, sterile reception area, nose wrinkling at the scents of coffee and bleach. The room was empty, apart from the janitor, and—as luck would have it—the sheriff. He appeared to be bullying the janitor, just as he did everyone else . . . which was likely why the poor guy looked close to ramming his cart into Colt’s gut.
She took a few steps toward them, snatching the sheriff’s attention. He straightened to his full height, brow creased. To her amusement, he also seemed to be struggling not to bare his teeth.
“Why are you here?” he asked.
“Such commendable people skills,” she said drily. There was no sense in acting pally with him. That would only make him suspicious.
“Just answer the damn question, Gwen.”
Before she could speak, the front door swung open, and a scantily dressed woman crossed to the sheriff on high heels, leaving the faint scent of marijuana in her wake. She also had some serious bruising on her face.
“Where is he?” she demanded, her voice a whip.
Colt sighed, bored. “Sandra, I’m going to have to ask you to stay calm.”
“Where’s Jim?”
“Where he normally is, Sandra—the drunk tank. And I suppose you’re going to tell me that the bruises on your face aren’t his artwork.”
She shifted uncomfortably. “I fell. You know I’m clumsy.”
“Clumsy. Right.”
“Let him go, Sheriff. Please.”
Gwen’s stomach plummeted. The scene was too close to home—or to the home she’d had during her childhood, anyway. How many times had her stepdad’s ass ended up in the drunk tank? How many times had Hanna pleaded with the police to let him go, always equipped with inventive excuses to explain the bruises? She’d even taken Gwen along for sympathy, encouraged Gwen to back up her lies. And Gwen had.
“He assaulted a police officer while in custody,” said Colt. “That means he isn’t leaving for a little while. You go on home, Sandra.”
“No. I want to speak to Jim!”
A muscle in Colt’s cheek ticked. “If you insist on sticking around, that’s fine. Maybe we could do a little drug test while you’re here.”
Sandra instantly drew back, paling. “Fine. I’ll go home.”
“Thought you might.”
Spinning on her heel, Sandra made a dramatic exit—much like Hanna used to do.
Colt cleared his throat. “Well, Gwen, what kind of complaint do you have now?”
Gwen balled up her hands. She wasn’t sure she could do this. Wasn’t sure she could again lie to protect an abusive son of a bitch . . . she’d done enough of that as a kid.
But this time it would be different, she reminded herself. This time, the son of a bitch wouldn’t go unpunished. He’d eventually get what he deserved. Still, a part of her felt shamed by what she was about to do. It didn’t make much sense, but that shame was there all the same.
She lifted her chin. “We should talk alone.”
Whatever he saw in her expression made his confrontational stance ease. “Come to my office.”
She followed him into what was essentially a box room, but he’d made the most of the small space. At his gesture, she took the seat opposite him. “I’m here to alter my statement,” she said through her teeth.
Colt stiffened, surprised. “Really?”
“I’m not doing it for Brandt or any of the Moores—let’s just be clear on that. I owe someone a favor, and they’ve called it in. I repay my debts.”
He leaned forward, bracing his elbows on the table, looking rather satisfied. “All right. Why don’t you tell me what you really saw that night?”
Gwen narrowed her eyes. He knew her version had been the truth—the issue was that the truth simply didn’t suit him. “Don’t push it. Before we get started, I have a condition. I’ll do this, but I don’t want the news to make its way around town. The shifters can’t know.”
He abruptly straightened. “They’re still here?”
“My family needs protection right now. I was attacked by a flock of avian shifters the other night. There’s no way I’ll believe that the Moores weren’t behind it—there’s no one else who’d mean me the kind of harm that the shifters caused.”
“They could have been enemies of the wolves you’ve got hanging around you.”
“If that was the case, they wouldn’t have attacked me.”
“Maybe the extremists got hold of the story and sent someone to hurt you.”
She rolled her eyes. “Believe what you want. The point is that I want to keep the shifters around for protection. I’ll give the Moores what they want and alter my statement, but they need to keep it to themselves.”
Colt twisted his mouth. “The shifters will find out at the hearing.”
“But by then, the Moores will be happy and willing to leave me alone.”