67. Marnie

Sienna and I stand at the end of the drive, right on the edge of a complete meltdown.

She’s crying. Moaning. She’s blaming herself.

I put an arm around her waist and walk her back to the house. “Sienna. Just stop right there. You did the right thing. If ever a man is threatening your safety, you call the fucking cops.”

Her hands flop to her sides, and she stares back down the drive. “But they came and got the wrong guy. How could they think Dusty was in the wrong?”

Probably because he was telling Skunk he was a dead man while he beat him senseless.

I’m pissed they took him away, but I’m proud of him.

Fuck yeah, Dusty stood up for us.

A lesser man might have asked a shithead like Skunk to go. Cajoled him. Or called the cops and hid behind them while another man did the grunt work. But my man isn’t afraid to get his hands dirty for his girls.

That’s what he called us. His girls. It’s a balm on my soul.

Those two words fill me with stony resolve. We are his girls. And he’s ours. Nobody is going to come and take him away from us like that. Not without a fight.

Sheriff O’Neil has met his match.

I drop Sienna off at her friend’s house. I don’t want to leave her alone, and I’m not sure how long this is going to take.

Once she’s safely stowed away, I turn my car towards Clark, calling Renata along the way. Renata usually deals with bigger cases. Something like this is cake to an attorney like her.

She assures me he won’t be in there for longer than an hour.

Pulling up to the county jail, I slam the car door and peer up at the squat, brick building. Straightening my shoulders, I march into the jail, a warrior going into battle.

Sheriff O’Neil is easy to spot. He’s talking to the deputy at a front desk. He spots me and doesn’t bother hiding his annoyance. His smile is plastic. “Miss….”

“Novak.”

“Miss Novak. How can I help you?”

I lean on the counter. “You can let my farm manager out of that cell you’ve got him in.”

O’Neil gives me a placating smile. “Sorry, darlin’. We got a process to follow around here. If we determine he can go, we’ll let him go. But not until we say so.”

“Doesn’t Nebraska have a stand your ground law?”

His smile falters. “It sure does, but as far as I know, that ain’t his property. It’s yours.”

My nostrils flare. “So, it would have been better to let that Skunk asshole have his way with two helpless women?”

O’Neil purses his lips. “No need to use language, Miss Novak.”

He shakes his head, giving a long suffering look to his deputy. “Listen, Marnie, you’re new to town, but Deputy Jason and me aren’t. So, we’ll just give you a free tip here. If something’s gone wrong and it involves the Larsons, you can about bet they weren’t innocent in the matter.”

I narrow my gaze, wondering how he knows my first name. “Sounds like a toxic bias to me.”

“It’s not a bias. It’s experience. If I had a dollar for every assault or dispute Runner Larson got himself into, I’d be a rich man.”

The deputy nods. “Even with his own wife and kids.”

My stomach twists at that. Dusty never mentioned that to me. Their rumor-mongering doesn’t have the intended effect. Instead of scaring me away, it makes my heart go out to Dusty and Sienna.

O’Neil isn’t finished. “And your employee, Dusty, we’ll just say this isn’t his first stay at Hotel L’Prison.”

I’ve heard enough. I don’t know much about the letter of the law, but I know it can’t be good practice to have a county Sheriff slandering a citizen.

Whipping my phone out, I click on Renata’s number and tap the speaker phone icon. Placing the phone between us, I cross my arms and wait.

“Hello?”

Renata’s voice is strong and smooth. It shores me up.

O’Neil lowers his brow. “This is Sheriff Patrick O’Neil. Who’s this?”

“Renata Hernandez. Criminal defense attorney.”

O’Neil stiffens. “How can I help you, Miss Hernandez?”

“You can help me by letting my client out before I press charges.”

“Against who?”

She laughs. “You.”