Blue-Silver Surprise

Gaddy’s eyes went to the tote bag first.

Not her face. Not Clara’s bruised whisper through the cell bars. The bag.

He stood in the hallway with sweat darkening the collar of his tan shirt, one hand on his .45, jaw working like he was chewing nails. “Get that woman up,” he said. “Now.”

Tunstall hesitated. “Sheriff, she ain’t—”

“Now.”

Sloane kept her hands loose at her sides. Clara had gone still in the next cell. Somewhere down the block, a pipe banged once in the wall.

Gaddy stepped closer, looked at her plain blouse, her slacks, the rental shoes with dust on the toes. “You been running your mouth to inmates?” he said.

“No.”

His stare dropped to the tote again. He pointed with two fingers. “Open it.”

Sloane didn’t move.

He smiled without any warmth. “You don’t want me doing it.”

Tunstall shifted his weight, eyes down. “Sheriff, maybe just—”

“Shut up.”

Sloane said, “You have no lawful basis to search my property.”

Gaddy barked a laugh. “Lawful.” He leaned in. “Lady, this county runs on what I say.”

He took the tote from Tunstall’s hand before the deputy could think better of it. The zipper rasped loud in the hall. Wallet. Sunglasses. Keys. Then the hard edge of the credential case.

Gaddy stopped.

His thumb pressed the flap open. The card slid out, blue and silver and badged. He stared at the seal, then at her.

The color went out of his face.

Tunstall made a small sound in his throat. “Sheriff?”

Gaddy’s mouth opened once, then closed. “No,” he said, flat now. “No, that’s not—”

Sloane looked at him. “It is.”

He snatched the card up like it burned him. His breathing turned rough. Sweat shone at his temple. “You’re Merrick.”

Tunstall’s hands started shaking. “Federal judge?”

Gaddy whirled on him. “You say one word and I’ll bury you in work detail till your daddy forgets your name.”

Then he turned back to Sloane, voice low and mean. “You should’ve said so.”

“You did not give me the chance.”

His jaw locked. For one second he seemed to weigh the hall, the cells, the deputy, the tote in his fist. Then he shoved the badge into his pocket and jabbed a finger at her chest.

“Move.”

He waved the gun toward the intake door. “Phone stays off. Nobody leaves. Nobody talks.”

Tunstall swallowed hard and reached for the jail phone on the wall.

The line was dead.

He looked at Gaddy. “Sheriff, it’s out.”

Gaddy’s eyes cut toward him. “Then go cut it more.”

And Sloane, still calm, heard the first lock turn on the room below.