Page 59 of Something’s Brewing

He blushed and lifted a hand to the spot she’d kissed, a slow grin spreading across his face. He sat there a second longer before putting the truck into gear, already thinking about a hot shower and maybe seeing her again later.

Sawyer adjusted his uniform collar as he stood outside the mayor’s office. He’d rehearsed this on the drive over—play it casual, frustrated, maybe even a little defeated. He needed to look like the rookie cop who couldn’t get a fair shake from Sheriff Reid, not the man who had sat outside Frankie’s ransacked apartment all night, waiting for someone to come back.

Frankie’s eyes grew wide when she spotted him sprinting up the steps, but she recovered quickly and pasted a smile on her face that didn’t quite reach her eyes. Not like the smile she’d graced him with earlier this morning. Pulling the door open, he asked, “Is he in his office?”

She nodded. “Go on back.”

Mayor Benson looked up from behind his mahogany desk, a practiced smile already in place. “Sawyer. Didn’t expect to see you this morning. Shouldn’t you be out writing parking tickets or whatever Nick has you doing?”

“Morning, Uncle,” Sawyer said, forcing a half-smile as he stepped inside. “I need a word.”

Benson leaned back in his chair, folding his hands over his stomach. “Go on, then. You look like a man with a gripe.”

Sawyer let out a sharp breath, pacing briefly before stopping in front of the desk. “It’s Sheriff Reid. He treats me like I’m some kid fresh out of high school. Won’t give me real assignments, keeps me chained to paperwork or traffic duty. Like I don’t know what I’m doing.”

Benson chuckled, eyes glinting. “That’s because Nick Reid doesn’t know what he’s doing. Never has. Man got lucky in the sheriff’s race, and now he struts around like he runs this town.” He leaned forward, voice lowering. He pointed at himself. “I run this town. You don’t let him break you down, Sawyer. You’re family. Because of my backing, you don’t need to prove anything to that man.”

Sawyer swallowed hard, fighting to keep his face neutral. “Yeah, but sometimes it feels like no matter what I do, he’ll never trust me.”

“That’s because he knows where your loyalty lies,” Benson said smoothly. “And that scares him. He knows if push comes to shove, you’ll be on my side.”

The words sent a prickle down Sawyer’s spine. On my side. He forced himself to nod. “I guess. Still, some nights I wonder if the sheriff’s the only one making things harder for me.”

Benson’s smile didn’t falter, but his eyes narrowed, sharp as glass. “Meaning?”

Sawyer hesitated, testing the waters. “Frankie’s place got hit last night. Trashed. Looked . . . personal.”

Benson’s gaze flicked away, just for a second, then back again. “Unfortunate. Probably kids. Or some angry ex-boyfriend of hers. You know how she is—always had a knack for trouble.”

His uncle had complained about Frankie before, inferring that because she was raised by her grandmother after her parents took off, she came from “the wrong side of the tracks.”

Sawyer, who’d grown up on that same side of the tracks, held in his disdain for his uncle. The dismissive tone made his teeth clench. “Yeah. Maybe.” He shifted his stance, feigning uncertainty. “But it sure didn’t look random.”

Benson steepled his fingers, studying him. “You’re a good cop, Sawyer. But sometimes good cops see shadows where there aren’t any. Keep your head down, do your job, and leave the rest to me. Understand?”

Sawyer nodded, but inside, his gut twisted. His uncle’s smooth deflection was too polished, too quick. And the way he’d brushed off Frankie—like she was disposable—set Sawyer’s blood boiling.

“Yes, sir,” he said quietly.

“Good,” Benson replied, already reaching for another file. “Now get out there and make me proud.”

Sawyer left the office, trying hard not to clench his fists at his sides. His uncle had responded like he knew he would.

He headed down the hallway toward the door that separated the mayor’s office from the sheriff’s office. He punched in the code and headed straight for Nick’s door. It was half open when Sawyer knocked once on the frame.

“Come in,” Nick said without looking up.

Sawyer stepped inside and shut the door behind him. “You hear about last night?”

Nick glanced up, expression steady. “Frankie’s place? Yeah. I heard.”

Sawyer nodded, jaw tight. “I stayed out there.”

“I know.” Nick leaned back in his chair. “Nothing taken.”

“Right.” Sawyer crossed his arms. “Because they were looking to steal something in particular.”

Nick watched him. “Go on.”