Page 80 of When Love Found Us
Facts. Evidence. Patterns. That’s what matters. He pays attention to details—the ones most people ignore, the ones that mean the difference between walking away and never getting the chance. It’s what made him a good FBI agent. It’s what makes him a good sheriff.
But tonight?
Tonight, nothing lines up the way it should.
He presses his fingers to his temple, releasing a slow breath as the line rings.
Once.
Twice.
Then Finnegan Gil picks up, his voice laced with irritation. “Isn’t it a little late for a social call? Or is there a problem?”
Malerick shifts the phone to his other ear, pacing the length of his office. “You ever know me to call with good news?”
A pause. A click. Then another voice filters in—Derek Farrow, sounding half-asleep and wholly unamused. “We have a kid teething and a pregnant wife. Somebody better be dying, or you can figure it out yourself.”
Malerick stops by the window, looking out over Birchwood Springs. The town is calm. Too calm. The kind that doesn’t last.
He drags a hand over his jaw. “Atlas. Something tells me you two have a connection.”
A low curse. Then Finnegan exhales sharply.
Derek groans. “What’s the deal with Atlas? We have nodirectties to him.” The way he says direct lands somewhere between a dodge and an excuse. Not quite an answer.
Malerick’s patience wears thin. Working with these men sometimes feels like the biggest mistake of his career.
“What the fuck did your brother do, Sheriff?” Gil growls. “I thought we agreed you’d keep him and the other one—the business guy—away.”
Malerick shakes his head, eyes flicking to the open file on his desk. “He opened a tattoo parlor. I know it’s his, but I haven’t been able to dig up much. It’s a partnership between two companies, and I can’t figure out who owns it.”
Silence. Then, “Fuck. Fuck,” one of them mutters. “You Timberbridges are a pain in the ass.”
Malerick lets the moment settle before saying, “No, it’s not just another Timberbridge.” His grip tightens around the phone. “It’s what might be coming.” He breathes through his frustration before adding, “Winston Reginald Worthington IV filed a missing persons report for his wife.”
Another pause.
Then Derek, usually the level-headed one, speaks first. “Tell me you’re not calling just to gossip, Sheriff.”
Malerick keeps his voice even. “He didn’t just report her missing. He’s building a case. Claims she’s unstable. Paranoid. A danger to herself and others.”
Derek lets out a slow breath. “Fuck. That means he’s setting up an involuntary hold. And if he gets it approved, she won’t just be buried in his house if he chooses. She could end up locked away somewhere he controls, or worse.”
Malerick presses a hand to the back of his neck. “That’s what we believe.”
Gil exhales, voice edged with frustration. “So why do we care?”
Malerick leans against his desk, gripping the edge. “She’s going by the name Blythe.” He lets the name sink in before finishing, “Blythe Timberbridge. The town knows her as Atlas’s wife.” His voice drops. “And the mother of their unborn child.”
Another pause.
Then Derek finally speaks. “Fuck.”
Then, Finnegan’s voice lowers. “And what does Atlas have to say about this?”
Malerick recaps his conversation with Atlas. The ties with some undesirable organizations. Ties he just confirmed with the system. This man is bad news, and if they don’t control the situation, things can get out of control.
“It’s like you people can’t just . . . fuck. I bet it was fucking Sanford who planted Atlas in the town,” Gil mutters under his breath.
