Chapter 33

THIRTY-THREE

Sheriff Roy Tuck stepped through the front door of the station, the worn soles of his boots scuffing against the tiled floor as he made his way inside. The familiar scent of old coffee and lemon cleaner greeted him but did little to mask the mud and smoke clinging to his uniform. He ran a hand through his disheveled hair, shaking off the morning’s chaos, but the weight of the day clung to him like the grime on his clothes.

Behind the front desk, Pearl, his longtime receptionist, glanced up from her paperwork. Her silver hair was pulled back in a neat bun, and her reading glasses were perched low on her nose as she peered over the top of them, her quiet charm instantly putting Tuck at ease. Pearl had been at the station longer than anyone could remember.

“Good morning, Sheriff,” Pearl said, her soft Southern drawl wrapping around the words with a warmth that only Pearl could manage. “Rough start?”

Tuck gave a tired chuckle, rubbing the back of his neck as he approached the desk. "You could say that. Dealt with a fire up at the Hartwell place. Got tangled up in more mud than I’d care to admit. And the smell?" He sniffed his sleeve, shaking his head. " I’m guessing you can smell that smoke from there."

Pearl’s nose wrinkled delicately, her eyes crinkling at the corners. “Sure can, but I wasn’t going to say anything. You’ve certainly had worse. Grab yourself of cup of coffee. Just brewed a pot.” She glanced at the clock on the wall. “Forgot to mention, you’ve got someone waiting for you in the interview room.”

Tuck’s tired expression shifted to one of alertness. "Maggie Pierce?"

“No, Sheriff. Someone from the senator’s office. They’ve been here about fifteen minutes now, said they needed to speak with you about the shooting yesterday.” Pearl’s voice was calm, but Tuck caught the flicker of concern behind her eyes. “Seemed urgent.”

“Guess that coffee will have to wait.” Tuck’s jaw tightened at the mention of the senator’s office. Of course, the senator’s people were sniffing around already. Yesterday's shooting had been messy—too many moving parts, too many loose ends. And now, with everything else going on, the last thing he needed was some politician’s lackey adding to the pressure.

"Thanks, Pearl." Tuck pushed himself off the counter. “Let Maggie know I’ll be with her as soon as I’m done here. Might need you to keep an eye out for her, okay?”

“I’ll keep a close watch, Sheriff.” Pearl’s tone was soft but laced with a hint of worry.

Tuck straightened his back, squaring his shoulders as he moved down the hallway toward the interview room.

The room was brightly lit, the harsh overhead lighting casting sharp shadows across the plain walls. At the center of the table sat a man in a tailored suit, polished and pristine, out of place in the small-town station. His briefcase rested beside him, open but orderly, and he didn’t bother standing when Tuck entered.

“Sheriff Tuck,” the man said smoothly, his voice carrying the practiced politeness of someone used to navigating uncomfortable conversations. “I appreciate you taking the time. I’m here on behalf of Senator Masterson. We need to talk about yesterday’s incident. There’s been a development.”

Tuck nodded and asked, “Can I get you a cup of coffee?”

“No thanks. I’ve had my fill.”

“Alright then.” Tuck shut the door behind him, his eyes narrowing slightly as he took a seat across from the man, folding his arms across his chest. “Let’s talk.”

Maggie pulled into the small gravel parking lot outside the sheriff’s station, her hands gripping the steering wheel so tightly her knuckles whitened. Her heart pounded in her chest, and she scanned the area for any sign of the man who had been after her. For the first time in days, there was no immediate threat. But that didn’t ease the knot in her stomach.

She took a deep breath, trying to steady her shaking hands before pushing open the car door and stepping out into the brisk morning air. The early sun was still low, casting long shadows over the quiet town. Everything seemed too calm, too ordinary, compared to the chaos she’d been running from.

The small sheriff’s station stood ahead, a modest single-story building. It seemed almost too simple a place to offer any kind of protection from the mess she was tangled up in. Maggie hurried inside, her pulse quickening again as she glanced around.

The receptionist behind the front desk was an older woman with kind eyes. Her soft silver curls fell from her bun, framing her face. She looked up as Maggie entered.

Her smile set Maggie at ease just a little bit. “Good morning, dear. You must be Maggie. Sheriff Tuck told me to expect you.”

The words caught in Maggie’s throat. “Yeah, is he available?”

The receptionist gave an apologetic look. “He’s finishing up with someone in the interview room, but he won’t be long. Would you like to wait in the back, somewhere more private? I’ll make sure he knows you’re here.”

Maggie hesitated. The adrenaline dump from earlier made her jittery. “Thank you.”

The receptionist stood up slowly, the years of working in a small-town sheriff’s station evident in the way she moved with deliberate care. She motioned for Maggie to follow her past the secure door, leading her into the main office.

The station was small—only a few desks scattered throughout, each one neat and organized, unoccupied at this early hour. A police radio crackled softly in the background, its voice barely above a whisper in the otherwise quiet space.

The receptionist gestured to a chair by the wall. “Why don’t you sit here, hon? Can I get you some coffee while you wait?”

Maggie lowered herself into the chair, her nerves still frayed. “Coffee sounds good. Thank you.”

“How do you take it? Cream? Sugar?”

“Just black,” Maggie replied, her voice wavering.

Pearl disappeared toward a small kitchenette, leaving Maggie alone with her thoughts. She pulled the thumb drive from her jacket pocket, her fingers brushing over the small firefly keychain attached to it. Her father had given her the nickname "Firefly" when she was little, and this keychain was one of the few things left of him. It had been her constant companion since she’d fled. As she sat here now, it felt like a lifeline.

Maggie contemplated the risk. The proof was on this drive—everything Sawyer had risked his life to gather, everything her father had fought to protect. But was it enough? Would anyone believe her, or would they come for her before she even had a chance to tell her story?

The receptionist returned with a steaming cup of coffee, her soft voice breaking through Maggie’s thoughts. “Here you go, dear,” she said, offering the cup. “Careful now, it’s hot.”

Maggie took the coffee, the warmth of it seeping into her cold fingers. “Thank you.”

Pearl gave her a concerned look, her hands resting on the back of the chair opposite Maggie. “You alright, sweetheart? You look a bit shaken.”

Maggie managed a weak smile. “Just been a rough couple of days.”

The receptionist’s eyes softened with understanding. “Sheriff Tuck’s a good man. If anyone can help, it’s him.”

Maggie wasn’t sure if even Tuck could stop what was coming. The image of the man who had chased her—his scarred face, the cold calculation in his eyes—was burned into her mind. She had no doubt he’d find her again, and next time, she might not get away.

As she sipped the coffee, the faint murmur of voices drifted from the back office, where Tuck was still in his interview. Maggie glanced at the door, wondering if Tuck had any idea of the bomb she was about to drop on his doorstep. She clenched the thumb drive tighter, the small firefly keychain pressed into her palm.

It wasn’t just her life at stake anymore. It was her father’s legacy, Sawyer’s sacrifice, and everything Crystal Springs was hiding. And now, sitting in the quiet station, she realized she was both out of time, and out of places to run.