Page 64 of Claimed By the Deputies

“Then what is he doing here?” she cuts him off, persistently looking at me.

It makes my blood boil and my body go into defense mode. When I get defensive, I get curious and suspicious. “I would like to know what the DEA is doing following him around,” I shootback. “If I were to use my logic, I would assume Trevor has some business dealings in town. Nevertheless, I am not involved.”

“Excuse me if I’m not buying that.”

“You can think whatever you want,” Tyler cuts in, keeping an eye on me, a twinkle of muted suspicion there.

I can almost hear the questions racing through his head, but I understand. Any man in his right mind would have questions, especially since I never gave them my side of the story regarding Trevor because it was more important for me to heal. Timothy said so, and he wasn’t wrong.

“Clearly, there’s some tension here,” Mitch cuts in. “But whatever you’re after, Agent Patterson, we will be more than happy to assist your agency in finding it.”

“I’m not letting Tassia Callaghan anywhere near my case,” Patterson snarls. “And the fact that you are allowing her to consult makes me less inclined to trust you.”

Tyler moves closer to Trevor’s photo and curses under his breath. “Shit. I just saw him.”

“Where?” Patterson asks, suddenly alarmed.

“Meeting with Jerry Spring and Jake Merritt at a stash house,” Mitch responds, then takes out his camera and proceeds to show Patterson and Lucas photos on the digital screen.

My stomach drops, the sensation stretching into a bout of nausea. Cold sweat blooms on my temples, and it’s all I can do to keep myself upright. I’ve been having these little episodes over the past few days, though I’ve yet to figure out what is causing them other than stress.

Trevor is here. It’s my worst nightmare, come true.

“Spring is Mayor Hamilton’s aide, Merritt is the Silver Stallions MC’s VP,” Lucas explains to Patterson. “Both are persons of interest in a drug trafficking case we’ve been building. Adjacent to it runs a double murder investigation which was stalled after the suspect was?—”

“Slaughtered right under your noses,” Patterson says. “Yes, we’re aware.”

“We believe it ties back to the trafficking case,” he continues. “Whatever your deal is, Agent Patterson, you don’t call the shots here. I offered our support as a courtesy, but if all you want to do is come in here and unjustly accuse my people of taking part in criminal activities when we know for a fact they’re innocent, I have no choice but to withdraw our support and tell you exactly how this is going to unfold.”

Patterson takes a step back.

I try hard to stay focused, but I can’t, my mind drifting to thoughts of whether or not I missed my period. I think I did. Oh, shit. Nausea. Dizziness. Mood swings. I check my phone. I’m two weeks late.

“Okay then, Sheriff, how is it going to unfold?” Patterson asks. She doesn’t sound happy, a tinge of regret in her voice. She knows she came at us too hard, too fast.

“Our investigation and our jurisdiction takes precedence,” he bluntly replies. “Do you have any hard evidence against Trevor Callaghan at this point?”

Patterson glances back at her colleagues, then shakes her head. “He’s consorting with known felons. That is a violation of his parole.”

“Then book him for it.”

“I can’t. He’s working toward something much bigger, something that has our full attention,” she says. “Pertaining to a Mexican cartel.”

“Sounds like you’re on a fishing expedition,” Lucas says. “Without evidence and with no intention to arrest him for violating his parole, you have no leg to stand on here. Which brings me back to my original point. The DEA is in Frost Valley without a shred of jurisdiction. So we’re taking point on this.”

“That’s not how it works,” she scoffs.

“I can always get a federal judge involved, just to make everything crystal clear. But I’d prefer less animosity between our departments,” he says.

“We’re building a case, but we only have circumstantial evidence at this point. Once we have something solid, we will gladly loop you in. It could tie back to your Mexican cartel if we establish Trevor Callaghan as some kind of missing link.”

He is the missing link. I don’t need evidence to know that the man is up to no good. What scares me is I don’t know how long he’s been in Frost Valley, right under my nose, watching and waiting.

Oh, God, I think I’m going to be sick.

“What about her?” Patterson asks, nodding at me. “She’s his wife.”

“Ex-wife,” I correct her again. “I went to prison because of him. He lied through his teeth, costing me a year behind bars. I want him put away as badly as any of you.”

---