The Deputy's Witness

“Can I go over to him?” Alyssa asked, nodding over to Robbie. “Someone needs to put pressure on his wound to try to stop the bleeding.”

The man seemed, thankfully, less angry than his partners. Still, he was resistant. “I don’t think so. You stay right there.”

“But look at all that blood,” she tried again, her voice near breaking. “Please, all I’m going to do is put my hands on it. Nothing else. Please.”

The man cast a quick look at the group as a whole and then adjusted his gun’s aim to the young woman in front. She flinched back into Ted’s arms. The gunman looked at Alyssa.

“If you try anything, and I mean anything, I’ll shoot her in the face. Got it?”

Alyssa nodded, amending her idea that this man was any less violent than his friends. She got up slowly, giving Missy time to hide the cell phone, hopefully, and walked with her hands held high over to Robbie’s prone body.

She hadn’t been lying. There was a lot of blood. Since she had never been a part of the medical field in her life, she had no idea if putting pressure on a gunshot wound even worked. All she had to go by was TV shows and movies she’d seen. Still, she did as she said and dropped to the guard’s side. Alyssa put one hand and then the other on top of the wound and pressed down. Warm blood squeezed out between her fingers. Robbie was still breathing, although the breaths were shallow.

The sound of rain and thunder continued in chorus for several minutes. Alyssa kept her eyes off Missy, since the gunman seemed to be looking in her direction every few seconds, but she prayed the woman had made the call to the cops. After another few minutes, Alyssa came to the conclusion that she hadn’t.

But then Alyssa spied movement on the other side of the glass doors and several things happened all at once.

The gunman had started to turn toward the doors when she found herself speaking up again.

“He really needs a doctor soon,” she said, drawing his attention toward her.

He opened his mouth to talk just as his partners came back into the lobby.

“Cops,” the woman yelled.

The gunman at the door didn’t hesitate. He whirled around.

Then the gunfire and screaming started.

All Alyssa had time to do was throw herself over Robbie and hope she’d live long enough to tell her sister that, for once, she’d had her cell phone right when she needed it.

Chapter Two (#udafacf7d-430d-5ea5-b5da-91df5756006b)

Caleb Foster cursed something awful.

“How do you even function out here in this?”

Deputy Dante Mills let out a laugh.

“You get used to it,” he said. “Just one of those things.”

Caleb, a man who’d spent the majority of his career—and life—in Portland, Oregon, might have been okay with the blanket heat that the small town of Carpenter, Alabama, was throwing at him, but its humidity was another problem altogether.

It was one thing to be stuck in the heat. It was another to feel like you were drowning in it.

“I don’t want to get used to this,” he said sourly. He didn’t care if Dante heard him. Ever since his transfer to the Riker County Sheriff’s Department had been approved one month ago, he hadn’t been making it a secret he was unhappy. Not that he’d had much of an alternative option, though. “I want some air that doesn’t make me feel like I’m swimming standing up.”

Dante chuckled. “You city boys sure do complain a lot.”

Caleb was about to ask what his partner’s definition of “city boy” was when they came to a stop in the parking lot. He decided he’d ask that question later. Right now he was concerned about why the sheriff had called him in minutes after their shift started. He might not have wanted the Alabama weather, but he did want his job.

The Riker County Sheriff’s Department stood between the local television station and the county courthouse, all three in the very heart of the town. With two stories and faded brick and concrete, the department faced one of Carpenter’s main streets and was subsequently always busy. This was a familiar sight for Caleb, and while he wouldn’t admit it to any of the other deputies, the busyness made him a little less homesick.

He followed Dante through the front doors and into the lobby. A pretty blonde dispatcher named Cassie, who was rumored to be as tough as nails when needed, was in the center of the room talking to another woman. Both had cups of coffee in their hands.

“Hey, guys,” she greeted, cheer clear in her tone. “Happy Monday!”

“There’s no such thing as happy Mondays, Cassie,” Dante pointed out, though he smiled as he made the little quip. It seemed the whole of the department functioned like that. One person saying something, only for another to add on something equally clever or nice. Most of the time it was inside jokes or references beyond Caleb’s knowledge. He tried not to let it bother him. He was the new guy, after all. Plus, once he was done with his time in Riker County, he’d go back home. So what if he wasn’t in sync with his colleagues now? He hoped it wouldn’t matter in a few months or, God forbid, a year.

“I’m going to go see the sheriff,” Caleb said, nodding to the two women. “I’ll catch you after.”

“Good luck,” Dante called after him.

Caleb hoped he didn’t need it.

He walked out of the lobby and down the hallway where the offices were located. The sheriff’s was smack in the middle, nameplate auspiciously brighter than the others. Caleb slowed, stilling himself. He knew he was more on the pricklier side of a good personality. Quiet too. So far he hadn’t met anyone in the department with the same disposition. Again, he didn’t mind if the rest of them didn’t like him. However, he did want the sheriff to find him at least agreeable. He tried on a smile that felt forced before knocking on the doorframe of the open door.

“Come in.”

The muscles in Caleb’s smile tightened as soon as he saw the man hunched over his desk.

Billy Reed by no means should have been an intimidating man. From first glance he was too tall, too lean, and had dark hair that was too long. Maybe that was just Caleb’s opinion bleeding through, though, considering he was the opposite of the sheriff.

At five-eleven, Caleb was a man who believed in the gym as much as he believed that anyone with a clipboard on the sidewalk ready to talk about political candidates or a chance to win a cruise was supposed to be ignored. With his solid shoulders, trim body and a hard jaw, the only thing that looked remotely playful about him—according to his sister—was his golden hair, cut close but still with enough curl to annoy him. He sported a goatee but had been playing with the idea of shaving it since he’d come to town, as it was just another thing that made him hot in an already hot-as-hell town. Luckily, he still looked his age of thirty without it. He knew the sheriff was on the young side too—especially for his position—but Caleb couldn’t read the man to guess an accurate age. Billy Reed was a mystery, while Caleb was the kind of man who looked like “what you see is what you get.”

It was apparent that everyone in the department not only respected the sheriff, but liked him. And just as quickly when the man gave an order, it didn’t matter if anyone was his friend or not. Everyone listened without skipping a beat.

So when he told Caleb to take a seat, Caleb took the seat without arguing.

“I’m going to cut right to the chase,” Reed started. He threaded his hands on top of the desk. “I’m pulling you off patrol and putting you at the courthouse.”

Caleb opened his mouth, ready to complain—respect and authority for the sheriff be damned—but Reed stopped him. He held his hand up for silence. “When Chief Thomas called me and asked if I had a spot for you, I was skeptical. But I’ve known Thomas a long time and he’s a good judge of character, so I looked past what happened and gave you a chance. But while you’ve done a good job so far, being new has its own set of demands.” He thrust his thumb over his shoulder to point back at the wall behind him. “That includes pulling courtroom deputy when I need you to.”

Again, before Caleb could protest, the sheriff handed him a newspaper. A picture of a storefront with caution tape across it took up a spot above the fold.

“Almost a year ago to the day, three armed suspects used a storm as a cover to try to rob a bank a few miles from here,” he started. “There were nine hostages, including bank employees and a security guard who was shot when they entered. A woman inside was able to get a call out to us, but when we arrived the suspects opened fire. In total, three people were killed, including one of the gunmen.”

Caleb could tell by the way the sheriff’s expression turned to pain that the other two deaths had hurt. In a small town like Carpenter, he’d probably known the victims personally. Something Caleb was in no way used to. When he was a cop in Portland, he’d dealt with mostly strangers. Their indiscretions hadn’t affected him outside of his having to deal with them as his job.

The sheriff seemed to collect himself. He pointed to the newspaper again.

“The trial takes place next week and it’s going to draw a lot of attention,” he continued. “I’m adding you as backup, along with the current court deputy, Stanley King.”

“Wait, so I’m not even lead court deputy?” Caleb had to interject. It was bad enough he’d lost his reputation and his position in Portland. Never mind he had to be transferred to keep from being completely jobless. But now he was expected to go to the bottom of the totem pole to not even being on the totem pole?

Sheriff Reed didn’t bat an eyelid.

“I’ll be out of town during the beginning of the trial, as well as Chief Deputy Simmons and lead detective Matt Walker, or else I would be over there too. But as it stands, I’m looking to you,” Reed said. “This may not be your dream job, but it’s what you have and you can either complain about it or impress me. After what happened in Portland, any good marks on your résumé will help.”