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There’s a lot I want to say and do to this guy, but he’s not worth risking my badge. I give them both a nod and turn to walk away, intent on tailing these fuckers and making sure Trevor doesn’t get anywhere near Tassia. His ego did just get the better of him, because now I know he has his sights set on her.

“If you really want to make her happy, Sheriff, get the pistachio cannoli,” Trevor calls out. “She’ll be extra soft for you.”

I turn back slowly, the grin slitting his smug face making me want to obliterate him. But Mitch discreetly clutches my elbow and beckons me backward.

“They’re startled. We did what we came here for,” he whispers.

“We need to take him down,” I tell Mitch. “He killed Tim.”

“I know.”

Sooner or later, we’ll get him. But until we do, Tassia needs our protection, our support, and our unwavering commitment.

I can no longer imagine a world without her.

22

TASSIA

The sheriff’s station feels like a second home sometimes, even though it is currently marred by Sherry’s presence. She’s been quiet as a mouse behind her desk, but I would give just about anything to never see her again. Dante hasn’t admitted it—not yet anyway—but I know they were in cahoots somehow. Whether she knew what he was doing around Tim’s house or not, she is complicit on top of being a heartless bitch.

“Tassia,” Patterson draws me back to the white board in the bullpen. “I need you here.”

“Sorry,” I reply and shift my focus. “Where were we?”

“I’m still waiting for my superior to respond regarding the deal we want to make with Dante,” she says quietly so Sherry can’t overhear, “but in the meantime, forensics are turning up more evidence against him. You were right. Dante was at Tim’s house around the time of his death. But his weren’t the only shoe prints recovered.”

Lucas comes out of his office. “Mitch and Tyler are grilling Dante some more,” he says, keeping his voice down. “Hopefully, he might let something else slip.”

“He’s already looking at pending murder charges,” Patterson replies.

“His lawyer will shoot it down as soon as we file,” he says.

I can’t help but scoff. “I like how we’re talking about Dante’s lawyer when nobody even knows we have him in custody.”

“Coloring outside the lines is a necessary move sometimes,” Patterson says. “I don’t think he’s going to talk, though. He’s scared. And prison isn’t what scares him.”

“It has to be Trevor. Something happened during the time he was in Sing Sing. I can’t explain it otherwise. The influence, the back door deals, his involvement with the Stallions and the mayor,” I say, shaking my head slowly. “Somewhere along the way, Trevor garnered enough power to pull these moves. And frankly, the origin story shouldn’t be of any interest, but it might answer some questions farther down the line.”

“We don’t even have a timeline for what he’s been doing since he got out,” Lucas says.

Patterson points at the board, where Trevor’s picture is pinned right next to Hamilton’s. “It could all boil down to his parole. Someone pulled some strings to get him out early. My CIs in Sing Sing haven’t gotten to the root of that problem just yet.”

Murmurs suddenly erupt from the other side of the bullpen. Trevor appears at the top of the stairs accompanied by a man in a dark suit, a lawyer, if I had to guess. Not an expensive one, but rather someone who’s trying to make himself look that way.

Trevor, on the other hand, looks infuriatingly confident in his custom-tailored suit. Not a hair out of place. His knowing, cocky smile makes my blood freeze.

“Gentlemen, ladies,” he says as he crosses the bullpen.

Sherry watches him like a hawk but says nothing, though I recognize the glimmer in her eyes. She’s seen him before. She knows him. I make note of it, fully intent on using it as ammunition later.

Tension fills the space as Lucas squares his shoulders and raises his chin.

“Mr. Callaghan,” he says. “What brings you here? Have you come to turn yourself in, perhaps?”

Trevor laughs while his lawyer dons a sly grin. “Not at all,” he says. “I’m innocent of any charges, which is why I’m here, actually. My attorney, Mr. Nesbitt, was kind enough to draw up a timeline of my whereabouts from the moment I came into town until right now. Mr. Nesbitt?”

“You’ll find dates, credit card receipts, and phone numbers for witnesses who will confidently corroborate Mr. Callaghan’s whereabouts,” the lawyer says, handing over a folder filled with documents and receipts.