Page 5 of In Her Fears (Jenna Graves #8)

As the heavy doors of City Hall swung open to release a welcome wave of air-conditioned coolness, Jake was aware of the tension in Jenna, even though she appeared perfectly calm.

His ability to sense her mood was growing stronger as they grew closer, both as work partners and potentially as much more.

The receptionist glanced up then went back to reading her computer screen.

Jake and Jenna followed the familiar marble-floored hallway to a heavy oak door with “Mayor Claire Simmons” on the brass nameplate. He knocked lightly and they entered without waiting for a reply.

The mayor sat behind her imposing oak desk, her tailored suit crisp as always.

“Sheriff Graves. Deputy Hawkins Please, have a seat.” As they settled into the chairs offered, she continued.

“I received a rather unpleasant call from Pinecrest a short while ago. Chief Morgan seems to think you’ve overstepped your bounds, Sheriff. Again.”

“I was responding to a direct request from Colonel Spelling of the Highway Patrol,” she replied evenly. “As a professional courtesy.”

“A professional courtesy,” Claire repeated, her tone making the phrase sound like an accusation. “And what exactly did this ‘courtesy’ entail? Undermining another department’s murder investigation?”

Jake noted the subtle ways her body language changed—shoulders squared imperceptibly, chin lifting slightly. He’d seen this transition before, Jenna shifting from sheriff to warrior without moving a muscle.

“Colonel Spelling had concerns about Chief Morgan’s handling of a witness, a teenager Morgan had prematurely classified as a suspect,” Jenna explained. “He requested my assessment of the situation. And he told me that the county prosecutor’s office also wanted my input. That’s all there was to it.”

“That’s all there was to it,” Claire echoed again, her skepticism evident. “And yet Chief Morgan feels you deliberately discredited his investigation. He’s considering filing a formal complaint.”

“That’s his prerogative,” Jenna replied, her voice level.

“But I was acting within the parameters of inter-departmental cooperation. The suspect in question was a seventeen-year-old boy who found the body while trespassing in the cemetery. There was no physical evidence linking him to the crime beyond his presence at the scene.”

Claire’s gaze shifted to Jake, as if seeking a different response. “And you, Deputy? What was your … assessment of the situation?”

“I concur with the Sheriff’s evaluation,” Jake said simply. “The evidence didn’t support holding the boy. Colonel Spelling told Chief Morgan that he also agreed with that appraisal. Now the boy is being released to his parents.”

Claire leaned back in her chair, staring at them silently for a moment. Then she asked, “And why exactly did Colonel Spelling request your specific assistance, Sheriff?”

Jake watched Jenna’s face for any sign of discomfort at that question, but she remained composed.

“We’ve worked with Colonel Spelling before,” Jenna replied. “He values my perspective.”

“Yes, your ‘perspective,’” Claire said, emphasizing the word oddly. “Which seems remarkably insightful, particularly in unusual cases.”

But before Jenna could respond, Claire’s demeanor changed. The rigid set of her shoulders softened almost imperceptibly, and she leaned forward, resting her elbows on the desk.

“I apologize, Sheriff,” she said, her voice taking on a quality Jake had seldom heard before—something almost vulnerable. “I didn’t call you here simply to berate you about jurisdiction.”

Jenna’s eyebrows rose slightly, clearly caught off guard by the shift. “Then why did you call us in, Mayor?”

Claire sighed. “Do you realize what’s been happening in our community recently? The scale of it?”

Of course they knew. They’d lived through a series of horrific cases during the last few weeks, seen the aftermath of each of them up close. But the mayor’s question seemed rhetorical, and both Jake and Jenna waited for her to continue.

“Beloved local citizens who turned out to be mass murderers,” Claire said. “Bodies found in the walls of a church. We’ve had drownings and deaths caused by sheer pain and terror. Victims strapped to radio towers and then the use of those ancient rituals ….”

Jake noticed something in the mayor’s eyes that he hadn’t expected to see—fear. Real, human fear, breaking through her polished political exterior.

“So many horrible cases in over such a short period of time,” Claire continued, her gaze intense as she looked back and forth between them. “This isn’t normal, Sheriff.”

“What are you suggesting, Mayor?” Jenna asked, her voice carefully neutral.

Claire’s hands spread in a gesture of uncertainty. “I don’t know. That’s what troubles me. I don’t know if these are simply isolated incidents or if there’s something... darker at work in our town.”

The word “darker” seemed to carry unspoken implications.

“And I find myself in a difficult position,” Claire added after a moment. “I’m deeply grateful for your work, Sheriff. You’ve solved every one of these cases. You saved lives. You found justice for my brother when—” Her voice caught briefly. “When Clyde was murdered. I haven’t forgotten that.”

Jake knew that solving that case had created a temporary alliance between Jenna and Claire, though it hadn’t lasted long.

“But I can’t help wondering...” Claire hesitated, seeming to choose her words carefully. “My family has lived here for a very long time and I know our town’s history. It seems that these horrors began shortly after you became sheriff …”

Jake felt his body tense. Beside him, Jenna went very still. He saw it then—the almost imperceptible flinch, so subtle that only someone watching closely would notice. The mayor’s words had struck a nerve, touching on what he suspected were Jenna’s own private doubts.

“Let’s not forget,” he interjected, “a lot of those murders happened way before Jenna even became sheriff. It was her hard work that finally brought the truth to light after everyone else came up short.”

Claire immediately backtracked. “I’m not accusing you of anything, Sheriff,” she said quickly. “That came out wrong. I just mean—perhaps whatever abilities you have that help you solve these cases might also be... I don’t know how to put it nicely … attracting them, somehow?”

“That’s quite a theory,” Jenna replied, her voice remarkably steady. “In fact, it sounds downright superstitious. That isn’t like you, Claire.”

Claire sighed, leaning back in her chair. “I know how crazy it sounds. Believe me, I do. And I’m sorry to even hint at such a thing. But I just can’t help …”

Claire’s voice faded for a moment, then she added, “I have to consider every possibility, no matter how far-fetched. And lately, I’ve been thinking thoughts that I never expected to think before.”

An uncomfortable silence settled over the room. Jake watched Jenna, wishing he could reach out, offer some tangible support. But he remained still, waiting for her lead.

“I understand your concerns, Mayor,” Jenna finally said, her voice professional once more.

“But I assure you, my only interest is in protecting this community. Whether that requires delving into the past or the present isn’t always up to me.

As for the Pinecrest case, I don’t anticipate any further involvement unless specifically requested by Colonel Spelling. ”

Claire studied her for a long moment, then nodded. “Very well. That’s all I wanted to discuss. I guess that phone call made me especially concerned. Thank you for coming in.”

The dismissal was clear. Jake rose with Jenna, noting the stiffness in her movements as they left the office.

Neither of them spoke as they passed the receptionist’s desk.

It wasn’t until they were back in the patrol car, the engine running but the vehicle still in park, that Jenna broke the silence.

“She’s not entirely wrong, you know,” she said quietly, staring through the windshield at nothing in particular.

Jake turned to her, studying her profile. “About what?”

“About the timing. The connection.” Jenna’s hands tightened on the steering wheel. “These cases did start escalating after I became sheriff.”

“Correlation isn’t causation,” Jake replied. “You’re not responsible for any darkness in this old town, Jenna.”

She turned to him then, her green eyes troubled. “What if I am, in some strange, unexpected way? What if whatever lets me connect with the dead is also... I don’t know, opening a door? Letting something in?”

“No.” Jake shook his head firmly. “That’s not how it works, and you know it. You’ve told me yourself—you don’t control when the dreams come or who visits you.”

“But nothing came to me for the Pinecrest case,” she pressed.

Jake reached across the center console, his hand hovering briefly before settling on her arm. “Or maybe it’s a simple explanation—the victim was from Pinecrest, not Trentville. Maybe your connection only works in your jurisdiction or at least is stronger here.

The touch seemed to anchor Jenna somehow. She looked down at his hand on her arm, then back up to his face.

“Without you,” Jake said quietly, “this town would be in a much worse state. Whatever darkness is here, you’re fighting it, not feeding it.”

The shrill ring of Jenna’s phone cut through the moment. She pulled it from her pocket, checking the screen before answering.

“Hello, Zeke,” she said, a note of surprise in her voice. “Is everything okay?”

Jake couldn’t hear the other side of the conversation, but he watched Jenna’s expression shift from surprise to concern. Zeke Canfield ran the liquor store in town. Jake had met him a few times, found him to be a decent sort.

“No, no, you did the right thing calling me. Thanks, Zeke. I’ll head over there now.”

She ended the call, turning to Jake with an apologetic expression. “I need to go check on my mom. You know how Zeke is my mom’s AA sponsor? Well, he says she stopped going to meetings. He’s worried about her.”

Jake nodded, understanding immediately. Jenna’s mother had struggled with alcohol for years. After the disappearance of Jenna’s twin sister, the more recent death of her husband had pushed her over a dangerous edge. But she’d been doing better recently.

“Want me to come with you?” he offered.

Jenna shook her head. “Thanks, but no. I’ll drop you at the station. This is something I need to handle alone.”

Five minutes later, Jake stood in the parking lot of the sheriff’s office, watching Jenna’s patrol car disappear around the corner toward her mother’s house.

As he turned to enter the station, he couldn’t shake the feeling that they were standing on the edge of something—that all the cases, all the darkness, all the unspoken feelings were building toward some inevitable collision.