Page 110 of The Sister's Curse

I stopped by the chief’s secretary’s desk. Judy handed me a chocolate from her secret stash of candy. She did that only when shit was about to go down. She also handed me a wet wipe from her desk. “Here.”

Though I was dry now, I realized I was rumpled and there was mud in my hair. I looked like I’d been out on a three-day bender.

She pointed to a streak of mud on my cheek, and I dutifully cleaned it off and tied my hair into what I thought was a neater ponytail.

She nodded at me.

I wolfed down the chocolate, thanked her, squared my shoulders, and knocked on Chief’s door.

“Come in.”

My heart sank. Chief was behind his desk. The sheriff was in one of the club chairs opposite Chief’s desk, and Cortland, Sumner’s attorney, was in the other. Calvert and Sykes from Vice were standing at attention with their hands behind their backs, which would’ve been fine for marines, but looked ridiculous for a couple guys in Tom Hardy T-shirts.

“Jasper’s dead,” I blurted quietly.

Chief closed his eyes. “I know. I just got off the phone with the FD.”

“He was a good man,” the sheriff rumbled. “A true public servant.”

I scanned the rest of the room, lifting a brow. What the fuck were they doing here?

Chief said quietly, “Jeff Sumner discovered his tail last night and confronted Vice. He’s pressing charges against the department for harassment. The estate of Quentin Sims is also alleging that you had his daughter taken from him and badgered him into suicide because of a personal vendetta.”

“Chief, I—”

Chief made a slicing motion with his hand. “This investigation is suspended, effective now. Vice is going to spend some time serving subpoenas. Koray, you’re suspended until further notice.”

My heart plummeted into my shoes. “Chief, a man was killed—”

“Enough.” Chief pointed to his desk. “Badge, radio, gun, and keys right here.”

Numbly, I put my badge, radio, gun, and keys to the El Camino on his desk.

Chief turned to Cortland. “We deeply regret any inconvenience to your client.”

Cortland stood, brushing imaginary lint off his jacket. “It will be up to civil court to determine how much your department deeply regrets its actions. I’ll be in touch.”

I looked at the sheriff. He glowered at me, then turned to Chief. “I trust you’ll handle this. I want her out of my sight forever.”

“Yes, Sheriff.”

The sheriff nodded, climbed to his feet, and lumbered to the door. On the way out he shut it quietly, which was somehow worse than a slam.

I drew breath to speak, but Chief lifted one finger. He was shaking with anger, and I instinctively recoiled. He’d never been this pissed at me before.

“Sykes, Calvert, go check with subpoenas,” he snapped.

“Yes, sir,” they said in unison.

“Dismissed.”

They scrambled out like chastened children, leaving me alone to face Chief’s wrath.

“I told you to go about this quietly,” he said. “And now a man is dead.”

“Chief, I’m so sorry.” It felt like it was all my fault.

“I want you to tell me why,” he insisted.