North Country(29)

“Yes, a checkin with his parole officer every other week.” Brad snorts. “Sounds like he’s got plenty of free time to me.”

“And if I had to guess, he’ll be spending most of it on his family’s ranch.”

Brad pauses. “Have you seen him yet?”

“Briefly.” Aside from his horse ride yesterday morning, I’ve not caught a glimpse of him since.

“Socially?”

“I wouldn’t call it that, no.” But I know what he’s getting at.

“And?” Brad presses.

“And I didn’t see any cause for concern.” Other than my own heart being fed through a meat grinder again.

It’s all I can do to keep my expression flat while I hold Brad’s gaze in a staring contest that lasts far too long.

Finally, he hauls himself out of the chair, leaving it askew. “I know you have history with the Landrys, but you best be taking this matter seriously. There are a lot of people around here who have no interest in Logan rejoining our community. ”

“A lot of Whitleys,” I correct.

“Yes, well, we are a prominent family around these parts, in case you’ve forgotten.”

“Oh, I haven’t.” Mostly in your head. “I heard you petitioned the CBA. So, you know that the Whitleys have no say where Logan Landry resides, whether it’s in Cold River or in the town of Whitley itself.”

His jaw clenches. Hearing that must spark his ire. His bloated sense of power can’t handle it. “Still, there must be actions we can take, things we can do to make it uncomfortable for him. I’ve been having conversations with the mayor, who also has concerns for obvious reasons—”

“Dillon has no say in where Logan lives. Neither do I nor any of my officers.”

Brad pauses to regard me. “I have deep connections on the council.”

“Yes, so do I.” Birthing the mayor’s firstborn has its perks. For all that Dillon is, he likes having me running things here. It gives him a misguided sense of control.

“You’ve been pushing for more funding.”

“Yes, for two more uniformed staff. That’s not a secret.”

“I’m a community representative on the detachment board. You know, the group that advises you on the needs of the community?”

“Yeah, Brad, I’m well aware of your appointed role in that group. We’ve had many conversations over the years.” Sometimes I think the only reason he ever joined the detachment board is to have his thumb on me. Brad caused a lot of noise for my father over the years too, but he hadn’t figured out how to manipulate the system properly yet. “Where are you going with this?” Because my annoyance is growing exponentially.

“We’ve been discussing an update on our local priorities.”

“Based on Logan Landry returning?”

“Based on the need for Cold River’s policing to focus on the rising number of dangerous offenders within our community.”

“One man who has already served twenty years of his sentence and wants to serve the rest of it in peace? Honestly, where are you going with this? I hope it’s not your aim to use the board for your own personal vendetta. I’d call that a conflict of interest and probably worth a deeper discussion with necessary parties.”

“And what’s your relationship with the Landrys, if not a conflict of interest?” His smile is smug. “Are we about to repeat old mistakes?”

I school my expression as I think about how close I was to making one last night. “Our priority remains as it always has been—to keep the residents of this jurisdiction safe.”

“Is that true, though? It’s no secret Clive gave Jason Landry passes when he should have been building a paper trail of his misdoings.”

“There was nothing to document,” I counter, mention of my father’s choices stiffening my shoulders.

Brad shakes his head. “You’re a smart person, Emery. You and I both know Clive was too soft, and look what it cost.”

“I have a meeting now, so you’ll have to leave,” I force through clenched teeth.

“Four lives. My son’s life—”

“Get the hell out of my office!” I point to the door. How dare Brad blame my late father for that night!

My father spent enough years blaming himself as it was.

With pursed lips that tell me this isn’t the end of our battle, Brad ducks out.

My appetite officially ruined, I log in so I can greet Doug Freeman’s bloated face.





Chapter 11





Logan




“I’ve driven past this place … I can’t tell you how many times over the years. Had no idea it was a parole office.” My mother leans forward in the driver’s seat to peer out at the old brown-brick house on the corner of a residential street, its backyard paved over for cars. A picnic table sits on a patch of grass by the sidewalk.

There’s no obvious signage to identify it for what it is, but I’m sure the residents around here have a good idea who’s strolling in and out that front door.

The clock on the truck dashboard shows three minutes to ten. “I should get in there.”

“Do you want me to come with you?” She looks at me expectantly.