Falling For The Deputy

Victorious, she dropped the notebook in her lap, crossed her arms and leaned back in her chair. “Then it’s settled. You’ll have to take my word for it. I’ve already kept my word once by having that taillight fixed.”

She wasn’t riding with him. He wouldn’t argue now, but he’d sure as tomorrow think of some excuse not to have this reporter dogging his every move. Hell, he’d only recently begun talking to his fellow deputies. Had Garrett really planned this? Could Mack get someone in the county health department to sanction the sheriff for practicing psychology without a license?

“Now…” She was scribbling something on her notepad. “One way we might approach the article is from the perspective of the evolution of a rural office. I noticed a huge vacation community—Ryder’s Ridge?—as I was entering town. And another new year-round subdivision closer to town. Surely progress, if you want to call it that, has changed the complexion of the county. Changed your job.”

Putting aside for a moment the problem of her riding with him, he stared hard at her. It had taken her only a few minutes to get to the root of the department’s problems. Sheriff Easley hadn’t been able or willing to move into the twenty-first century. Of course, the problem was more complicated than what she’d picked up on, but she’d come very close to the mark. Not too shabby for a green reporter.

“Deputy Whittaker? How’s my assessment?”

“Rapid growth is a major issue,” he grudgingly replied.

She wrote something down. “I have an idea about the who, the what, the where and the when. Now all I need is the why.” She licked the tip of her pencil. “Why did Sheriff McQuire call in the media? Is this an election year? Does he need to look good in the polls?”

Mack didn’t like questions that began innocuously but packed a hidden sting. “Sheriff McQuire wants you to write about the department. Not about him. Not about me. Not about any of the other deputies. Not as individuals, but as a team. Doing what we’re supposed to do. Our job is to protect and serve.”

He came around the desk, then leaned forward until his face was within inches of hers. “Now, let me ask you a few questions. Do you have something to prove? Is this assignment a stepping-stone to bigger and better assignments? Would your boss be happier with solid reporting or with some trumped-up exposé?”

Chloe reacted to his deliberate intimidation by inhaling sharply and sitting back in her seat until her spine pressed against the hard molded plastic. What had lit a fire under Deputy Whittaker? Did he interact with all reporters this way, or did he have a problem with female reporters specifically? She made a mental note to find out the number of women in the department and how they were treated.

“Let me rephrase the question,” she replied. She’d get to any prejudices he might have later. When she caught him in an unguarded moment. “Why would the sheriff want an outsider poking about the department? Why not issue a press release? In any event, why do you think your day-to-day operations would be of interest to the general public?”

“Why would the public be interested in how we run the department?” he asked, his expression growing darker. “Did you skip your junior-high classes on local government?”

“No. I happen to have loved—”

“Let me spell it out for you.” The muscles in his jaw twitched as he leaned back against the desk. “The history of this office—this public-safety office—goes back to England and the days of Robin Hood. The sheriff’s an elected official, the highest law-enforcement official in the county. Entrusted with keeping the peace.”

“The point being?” It was her turn to bridle. She’d never liked lectures. And she didn’t like overbearing men.

“The point…” He tapped her notepad with his index finger. “If the electorate has the sense they were born with, they better damn well want to know how we’re carrying out our duties.” As his voice rose, he accidentally knocked a stack of file folders off a tall cabinet onto the floor. He ignored the mess.

Heavens. If this was the deputy in charge, what was the sheriff like? Chloe refused to be daunted. If the truth be told, his civic ardor excited her. Electrified the room. What good was a career if you weren’t passionate about it?

She crossed her legs, sat up straight and met the deputy’s fierce expression. His eyes weren’t merely dark brown, they were hickory-nut-brown, she noticed. And hard. “Then we’d better back up. The sheriff said y’all had turned the office around. What was the problem?”

He remained immobile for several moments, staring at her. The information had to be public record. Narrowing his eyes, he appeared to come to a decision.

“Five years ago,” he began with great deliberation, “Zach Taylor sold four hundred acres of prime land to a real-estate developer who, in turn, built two complexes—year-round executive homes and expensive vacation homes. Those complexes attracted hundreds of families to Applegate. The population of Colum County soared.”

“Bringing new problems to your department.”

“It wasn’t our—Sheriff McQuire’s—department at the time.”

“But there were problems.”

“Yes. But I think Sheriff McQuire intended that you concentrate on the present, not the past.”

That wasn’t how the media worked, but she knew to choose her battles. “How have things changed?” She tuned into his body language as she waited.

He began to pace the cramped quarters, stepping over the spilled folders. “For one thing, we now run things strictly by the book.”

Chloe took down his words without comment. There would be time enough to determine if the new sheriff ran an honest department. Believe only what you see, what you can prove, her mother, a scientist, always said.

She raised her head. “And for another?”

“For another, we’ve brought the department into the computer age.”

Suppressing an urge to yawn, she bet her next paycheck her readers couldn’t care less about the sheriff’s computers. But the personnel might be a different issue. Take this particular deputy, for instance. Confrontational. Ardent. Protective. But what, exactly, was he protecting? She’d find out soon enough.

“What about the sheriff’s staff?” she asked.

“What about us?”

“What makes you different from the last batch?”

He flinched. “We’re handpicked—”

“Not elected like the sheriff?”

“No, but—”

“Mack!” Another deputy stuck her head through the office doorway. “You’re wanted at the high school. Stat.”

As Deputy Whittaker reached for his Stetson, Chloe stuffed her pencil, notebook and camera in her backpack, then activated her pocket tape recorder. When the two deputies left, Chloe trotted along right behind, observing every move, picking up every word.

“What’s the story?” Whittaker asked.

“Rival groups again,” the second deputy answered. Her name tag read Breckinridge. “Same old beef. This time someone pulled a knife.”

“Do we have anyone out there?”

“McMillan and Sooner answered the call. The kids are being held in the school cafeteria until you and the parents get there. Most of them are from The Program. That’s why Principal Cox called for you.”

Chloe didn’t understand everything they were saying. She hoped the recorder was picking it up, allowing her to get clarification later. This was the kind of eye-witness involvement she’d anticipated, the kind that would lead to a compelling story. Her pulse raced.

Deputy Breckinridge halted at the big double doors leading to the parking lot, but Chloe slipped outside behind Whittaker. He didn’t acknowledge her presence.

When he got to his cruiser, she automatically went to the passenger door.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” he barked across the roof.

“I’m working my story.”

“Today’s interview is finished.” Abruptly he got into the driver’s side and slammed the door. She opened the passenger door and climbed in, slamming her door for good measure.

“Get out.” By his tone of voice, he meant business.

So did she. “Drive.”