The Runaway Daughter. Anna DeStefano
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to mention the creepy fact that once, like a million years ago in high school, she’d actually had a crush on the man’s older brother.
They were friends. That was all. Just good friends.
Then Tony had pulled her into that kiss, and— “There you are, Chief.” The mayor’s booming voice from the other end of the hall yanked her away from her memories.
The board meeting.
Before stepping into the restroom, she’d been headed for the center’s trustees meeting. She’d already been running late for their discussion about how the town’s civic leaders could help deter the rising drug problem. A quick check of her watch confirmed that she’d now missed the entire meeting.
But instead of being angry, the mayor walked her way with a cheerful gait, his ever-present press gaggle in tow. He never missed an opportunity to corner her into face time with the local reporters. They were her mouthpiece to the community, he insisted. A powerful weapon in her bid for election, not to mention his determination to preserve his winning image now that he was publicly supporting her.
He shook her hand. His politician’s smile played for their audience.
“I wasn’t sure you were going to make it tonight.” He turned slightly so the cameras caught his good side.
And she almost hadn’t, even though it was one of her regular afternoons to volunteer. The mayor’s blatant promotion of her candidacy chafed many of the deputies the wrong way, including her. His recent interest in the department didn’t extend to talking the council into hiring more officers, or upgrading their facilities and equipment to help them better protect the county’s citizens. All flash and no substance, Henderson was as supportive as it took to help himself and his own upcoming bid for reelection.
But she’d agreed to attend the board meeting, and this time she’d even agreed to the press. She’d do whatever it took to better educate people about the drug problem brewing in their backyards: local leaders, parents and anyone else who’d listen. The town had to band together to find a solution.
“Mr. Mayor.” She smiled blandly into the glare of flashbulbs. “I’m willing to do anything for the kids, you know that.”
“I’ve just come from meeting with the center’s board of trustees, as you know,” he said, more for the reporters than her. He nodded as Oliver Wilmington joined them. The old man walked painfully slowly these days, leaning heavily on the cane he’d relied on since recovering from last year’s stroke. “And they’re very impressed with your department’s efforts in drug prevention, as well as your personal plans for the future, should you be elected sheriff. You know the chairman of the center’s board, don’t you?”
“Mr. Wilmington.” She shook hands with Maggie Rivers’s great-grandfather. Another flurry of flashbulbs temporarily blinded her. “The department is always happy to have the support of our local leaders.”
“Actually,” the elderly gentleman said, “I’m not entirely convinced either you or your department is up for this task. Not after that unfortunate boy’s death this morning.”
Angie nodded thoughtfully. Inside she cringed. Old Man Wilmington had never hidden his skepticism of her ability to make a good sheriff. Now everyone in town would be reading about it in tomorrow’s paper.
“I—” she started.
“The chief’s the man for the job.” Mayor Henderson’s hearty pat on the back, his forced enthusiasm in front of the two reporters hastily recording every word being said, grated almost as much as his insistence in repeating her title over and over again. As if anyone in town could forget that the only woman on the force was in charge of the nine men serving with her. “Putting this scum threatening Oakwood’s teens and citizens behind bars is the cornerstone of Officer Carter’s platform.”
“Is that how you see it, Chief?” Cal Grossman, the Oakwood Star’s combination roving reporter and editorial chief, chimed in. His weekly spotlights on the ups and downs of her unopposed sheriff’s race had become a local must-read. “That your run for the top spot hinges on stopping the increase in drug-related crime in the area?”
“Not to mention the gangs,” Oliver Wilmington added. “What are you going to do about the gangs running amok through this historic town? Shootings, overdoses, graffiti scarring some of our most beloved buildings. It’s appalling how little control the sheriff’s department seems to have over any of it.”
Angie looked from one man to another, feeling oddly like a reality-TV contestant who’d been set up to fail, meanwhile everyone was glued to his seat watching her squirm. Well, they’d have to look somewhere else for their entertainment today.
“Our department is totally committed, as I am, to handling all of these problems, gentlemen.” She gave Wilmington a firm smile. “But my bid for sheriff couldn’t be further from the point here. Our current sheriff and each of the deputies on this county’s payroll have the same goal—protecting our citizens. Most importantly, our children.”
“Like my son, Garret, here.” The mayor all but dragged the eighteen-year-old from the fringes of the impromptu press conference. “Our focus has to stay on keeping these kids safe and out of trouble. And that’s right up Chief Carter’s alley. Why, she volunteers no fewer than ten hours each week to mentor the teens who come to this center. Personal time she could be spending any ol’ way she wants. And she chooses to be here, working with kids who need the kind of guidance she—”
Angie tuned out the mayor’s prattle and studied Garret Henderson instead. The boy wasn’t exactly tops on her list of trouble-shy kids. She’d caught him hanging around Sam Walker and a few other miscreants a little too often lately. A couple of times, she’d found herself wondering if the kid wasn’t strung out on something. Garret stood stiffly beside his dad. Silent—she’d like to think because of his grief over Travis Reynolds’s death. Or maybe he tolerated being used as a prop in his father’s political exploits even less gracefully than Angie did.
“If you’ll excuse me.” She left behind the scene threatening to turn her stomach.
“But, Chief Carter,” Cal called after her. “Do you have any comment on your election hinging on how well you handle the drug problem, especially now that Sheriff Rivers is on extended leave?”
“No,” was all she’d let herself say.
Sick of the mayor’s tactics. Sick of talking about the sheriff’s race—in which she was the sole candidate, but if a majority of the citizens didn’t cast their vote, the city council would be given the duty of appointing an interim sheriff once Eric left in the fall. Sick to death that kids were dying, yet the election was all anyone, including herself, could think about most days, she headed out the front door of the youth center.
Exactly when had she started dreading the thought of campaigning for the job she’d hitched her future to? And how was it possible she longed to keep walking until she reached the Rivers place, so she could talk through her second thoughts about her career—not with her boss, but with his kid brother?
Not going to happen.
She’d decided to wait until morning to follow up with Maggie. She wouldn’t interrupt their family’s celebration for anything. Especially to talk with Tony.
But the man managed to see her. The real her buried beneath the competent cop. He didn’t try to fix things she didn’t want fixed, her family’s favorite pastime when she let the doubt and fear slip free.
Tony would find a way to understand. He’d sit and listen to the confusion rolling around inside her head. The swamping guilt over Travis’s death. Her wishy-washy angst about the election. Maybe he’d even find a way to make her laugh.
Actually, it didn’t seem to matter what Tony did. It would be good to see him again. More than good. It would make the otherwise hopeless night ahead bearable.
Wonderful.
Why