Instinct by Jason Hough (ebook reader web TXT) 📗

happened, or maybe… just maybe… he was only here because of the perfect road with racetrack-quality curves. Maybe this run-down backwater town was the last thing on his mind.

“Ugh,” I mutter, and close the message, thinking that if I’m not careful I’m going to become just like Kenny, seeing Sasquatches where there are only squirrels.

No, the most likely scenario is that this midlife crisis man—one of the Sons of Brand-archy as I’d correctly guessed—was on a weekend ride, and in trying to play the part of consummate badass he’d probably taken some tainted substance from actual bikers and his pharmaceutically twisted brain had said “go after that cop, she’s the reason you wrecked your precious bike because she only put up the cone after.”

All I know for sure is “wife and two children” almost certainly means this encounter is not going to go away quickly or quietly. There will be questions, claims of trigger-happy police, perhaps a formal investigation and paid leave, in my future. I wonder what Greg’s reaction will be, and how the hell he’s ever going to leave me on my own again.

“Hi, Chief, welcome back, sorry for the media shitstorm and the lawsuits,” I whisper to my desk.

My desk does not respond.

The afternoon passes uneventfully.

I remain in the station, filing some paperwork and tidying up the place a bit. Only one person stops in: Rob Key, the water scout for Coca-Cola. He asks permission to leave town so he can make an early flight back, and I grant it, if only because looking at him now I can’t see how he could have possibly been charming enough to get Sally Jones to leave her precious children unattended for two minutes, much less two hours. Clearly the fault is on Sally’s side of things in this case. She wasn’t right in the head. Nothing else makes sense.

Still, I make sure he knows I’ve got his contact info and will inform the local precinct where he lives of what transpired. He swallows at this but nods and even does an awkward little bow as he departs.

At five I walk home. It’s a warm evening, the weather still not quite sure which season it is. Passing the diner I glance in the windows, half expecting to see Mr. Key still here, contrary to our last exchange. But, alas, no. The place is half-full, just the usual crowd. I’m almost past the window when I think to wave at Clara, only to realize she’s not in the kitchen. Already gone home, I suppose.

Past the shops and empty buildings I wander along the quiet stretch of asphalt. No coyotes cross the road this time, but I do spot a few eagles up in the high branches, their heads shifting back and forth as they scope for snacks.

Only one car passes me. A black SUV with tinted windows. It slows as it comes alongside, paces me for a few seconds, then continues on. Can’t help but wonder at that. Someone who thought they knew me? A perv checking me out? I’m still in uniform so that seems unlikely.

Whatever. They leave and I’m glad for it. The silence tonight is kind of wonderful.

I’m half expecting to find news vans all parked in front of my house, after what Doc said about the headlines, but then they would have been at the police station, too. Their lack of presence is welcome all the same.

Still, once inside I can’t quite decide what to do. The sheriff didn’t expressly tell me to vacate the premises pending investigation. I’m not even sure there will be one. Yet the house still feels like a crime scene to me, and my gut is telling me not to stay long.

So I shower, change into civilian duds, and pack a bag with my uniform and some essentials. Half an hour later I’m retracing my steps back to the station. If Katherine could sleep in a cell, so can I.

I pick up a gas station pizza on the way, eat alone like a complete loser, and my head has just hit the pillow when my cell phone rings.

“Hey Kyle,” I answer, wondering if he’ll want to come by for a rematch of our earlier escapades. I have a sudden vision of me handcuffed to this metal bed, him waggling the key at me and telling me I’ve been a very naughty officer. All the daydream needs is some bow-chicka-wow-wow music and I just might make myself puke.

His voice is raised over a loud background. “Whatcha up to? You should come on over to O’Doh’s.” The pub. From the sounds behind him the place is packed.

“I was just about to hit the hay.”

“It’s eight p.m.”

“Don’t judge. I had a long-ass day.”

“Well, okay, sure, but just about everyone’s here, Mary, and they’re all talking about you. I thought maybe you might want to dispel some rumors. You know how this place gets. In an hour they’ll have it that you fought off a pack of werewolves last night.”

“Let ’em. I’ll be a goddamn legend.”

“Mary, c’mon.”

“So it’s just these rumors, not because you want to see me?”

“Well, yeah, that, too. Been thinking about you all day. Since we… well, I mean—”

“Look at you, getting all tongue-tied. How cute. Okay, fine. Give me ten.”

“Cool. Seeya.” He hangs up.

I stand and glance at the metal bunk. Mentally I rearrange the fantasy. It’s set at his place now, and he’s the one cuffed to the headboard.

Better. Maybe even tempting.

“The beast with two backs,” I mutter, getting dressed again, smiling a little.

O’Doherty’s is in rare form.

Which is to say, busting at the seams with people, and almost all of them locals.

Every booth is full. People are standing along the back wall. There’s even a drunken man trying to share the tiny stage with the massive sound system. He’s crooning with a spectacular lack of skill about how all you zombies should hide your faces.

It’s like all