Oh God, Tierney laughed. “I hear you loud and clear, Fowler”—Marlyle County sheriff Dalton’s office specialist brain supplied—“you’re saying if I don’t back down you’ll run to that pretty little county commissioner you’re doing and tell her not to give Metropolitan the area service agreement, aren’t you? That’s all kinds of unethical, dude, and everyone in the room knows it. How about I make it easy on you? Tell your girlfriend that we don’t need her lame-assed county contract.”
Dalton didn’t think any more, he opened the door and stepped into the frozen silence. Everyone in the room was gaping, or blanching, or trying to hide horrified amusement, but they were all focusing on the two men in the center, both out of their seats, hands planted on the table, staring each other down. The sheriff was mottled with rage and breathing heavily, but Tierney? The idiot was smiling.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” the sheriff snarled.
Tierney laughed shortly, right in the man’s face. “What, Fowler, you didn’t think anyone knew you had a thing going with her? The only person in the state who doesn’t know is your wife.”
Someone gasped. Someone else choked off laughter. Out of the corner of his eye, Dalton caught the person closest to him surreptitiously lifting their smartphone—that evil hospital administrator.
He stepped forward, bumping into the back of Aspell’s chair hard enough to jar him and his infernal upload-directly-to-the-internet device, announcing loudly, “Mr. Terrebonne, you have an urgent phone call.”
No one commented on the fact that Tierney carried a cell phone, or that Dalton could have used the intercom. No one commented on anything. The only sound in the room was the sheriff’s enraged mouth breathing.
Neither of the opponents moved. If they got any closer, their noses would touch. Tierney’s vicious smirk grew, and before Dalton could interrupt again, he said softly, right in the sheriff’s face, “Thinking about hitting me, Fowler? ’Cause you’re a bully aren’t you, just like your son—”
“Tierney,” Dalton snapped. He put everything into his tone. All his concern and that part of him that liked the hidden man, and the piece of his heart that ached for Tierney’s pain, even if it was his own fault, and even the shock over realizing right then that this was the sheriff whose son had taken part in the bashing.
Later. Deal with this now.
After a few tense seconds, Tierney exhaled heavily through his nose, shoved his chair back, and stalked out. Dalton smiled professionally to the room in general, catching Ian’s stunned eye for a second, then left, shutting the door behind him.
Tierney stood next to Dalton’s desk, hands on hips, head hanging down, lungs working overtime. Like he was trying to regain control.
“Right this way,” Dalton said. He led Tierney to the vacant office in the back that they used as a storage room. When he opened the door, Tierney marched past him, into the middle of the stacks of boxes, halting next to a forlorn, empty desk. There was no phone on it, but Tierney didn’t seem to notice. He stood rigid, back to Dalton.
“Which line is it?”
“There’s no call,” Dalton said.
Tierney spun around, snarling, and stormed Dalton, grabbing the door from his grasp and then slamming it in Dalton’s face.
He should have expected that. He’d committed the ultimate sin again, hadn’t he? Helped Tierney. Dalton closed his eyes and leaned his forehead against the wood. Gathering strength to walk back to his desk and sit down, hide the shaking of his fingers, and prepare himself: for the people about to leave that meeting, especially Fowler, and for more of Tierney’s irrational anger, followed by Tierney’s regret.
How much more of this are you going to take from him?
Not much, I swear. That was the last time I’ll offer him a hand.
Dalton was a good little office worker, so he returned to his station, woke up his computer, and opened a document. Something random he could fake being engrossed in if anyone came by.
“Thank you.”
He jerked his head up to see Tierney in front of him. His hair stood up on end in places, and his face was gray and slack. He’d been messing with his suit, pulling on the tie and generally disheveling himself. All the physical manifestations of massive internal conflict.
It made that thing in Dalton’s chest ache like crazy, beating against his breastbone, wanting to get out and touch Tierney. Soothe him. Fuck, that was annoying. Did Tierney feel anything like that for him? Probably not.
“I owe you so much,” Tierney rasped. “I don’t know why . . .” He shook his head helplessly.
Dalton couldn’t speak. He hadn’t prepared himself for this sweet, grateful guy who couldn’t understand why anyone would go out on a limb for him.
Tierney’s voice dropped so low Dalton didn’t know which one of them he was talking to. “I’m such an asshole.”
Before Dalton could respond, the conference room door opened, and Tierney flinched. Andrea and Chief Brown walked out, chatting with each other until they noticed who stood there. They both shut up and gawked, while Tierney changed right before Dalton’s eyes. Shoved his hands into his pockets and slouched, showing his normal sullen expression.
Dalton braced himself for Tierney’s inevitable slam or deliberately careless insult. His grand “fuck you all” exit. But when Tierney finally opened his mouth, he only said, “I’ll see you around.” Then he turned and walked quickly out of the office, head down and shouldering the door open.
Dalton spent the rest of the day with a leaden lump of “Will he recover from this?” sitting in his stomach. He couldn’t eat, and he couldn’t concentrate on much, but it didn’t really matter, because no one expected anything from him, work-wise. At lunchtime, Ian—whose shock over the meeting had manifested as a foul mood—walked out of his office and said, “I’m going home and I’m not coming back until tomorrow.”
“Ian,” he blurted. The other thing that had been eating at him since the meeting forced him to ask, “Sheriff Fowler, his son is the one who . . .?”
“Yeah.” Ian nodded, a muscle in his jaw tensing up and nostrils flaring. He gripped the handle of his briefcase tighter.
“How can you even be in the same room with him?” Dalton couldn’t force his voice much above a whisper. A tight ball of fear in his chest choked him.