“I ain’t gonna let Vaughn get away with it.” Wyatt shook his head in denial. “No fucking way, and let me tell ya something else. Her brother ain’t far behind. He’s my next stop.”
“At least be smart ’bout it this time, rather than going off half-cocked and kicking their heads in. Then they’ll really win.”
“I was actually gonna shoot ’em.” Wyatt corrected him. “I’m starting to think it’s mighty unfair my sister got to put bullets in some folks before I did.”
“Romeo said they were shotgun shells.”
“No shit?” Wyatt couldn’t keep the admiration out of his voice as he turned to Clay. “Jules took those mafia guys out with a shotgun? I never got to read her statement, and we ain’t never really talked ’bout it.”
“That’s what he said.” Clay shrugged. “He said it still gives him nightmares. It was grisly.”
“Damn, don’t piss my sister off.” Wyatt laughed in spite of everything. “I should’ve brought a shotgun.”
“Are you serious, Wyatt?” Clay asked in concern.
Wyatt turned to him again. “Yeah, why wouldn’t I be?”
“Y’all are not okay.” Clay shook his head in disbelief. “Y’all have never been okay.”
“That ain’t a lie.” Wyatt sighed as he looked back to the parking lot. A few cars had pulled out of the parking lot, but Vaughn’s was still there despite last call being at three. “Maybe I can get him on something else. I saw him trying to buy scrubbing pads in the hardware store.”
“So?”
“They use ’em to smoke crack.”
“Never underestimate the creativity of addicts.” Clay snorted bitterly. “Some of the shit my mama used to do. Jesus.”
Wyatt fell back against the seat and took a long breath, searching for sanity. “How’d you know to come find me? What’d Tab say?”
“She called Melody when she discovered you were gone. I think she’s been having anxiety attacks behind your back. Terry must’ve suggested Mel, and they’ve been talking.”
“If seeing Vaughn gives Tabitha anxiety attacks, I can’t let him keep walking round Garnet.” Wyatt shook his head in denial. “It ain’t even ’bout revenge. How do I know he’s not gonna try and hurt her again? I let her down once; I can’t do it again.”
“You just told me Vaughn is smoking crack.” Clay let out a laugh. “Ain’t he on probation? Catch him for something else.”
“It ain’t that easy, Clay,” Wyatt barked at him. “I can’t just walk into his house and catch him. I need a fucking warrant. If I screw it up, they’ll let him off.”
“Look, buddy, you’re sheriff,” Clay said with another laugh. “If you can’t catch one drugged-out asshole who’s been breaking laws since he was old enough to walk, then maybe you need to find a new job.”
Wyatt stiffened at the insult, because he knew he was a good sheriff, but Vaughn was a surprisingly cunning criminal. Vaughn had been dodging him since Wyatt was first elected after his father’s death and had taken on the job mad at life. He was about to tell him off when he saw Vaughn come out of the bar.
Both he and Clay leaned forward, squinting past the fine sheen of snow on the windshield. Wyatt wanted him to be stumbling, but his stride was confident and steady as he walked up to his car and pulled his keys out of his pocket.
Wyatt had arrested more drunk drivers than any officer in the history of Garnet County. He knew a potential DUI when he saw one—Vaughn wasn’t it.
He waited until Vaughn turned onto the road and then flipped the keys in his ignition and pulled out after him.
“Wyatt—”
“Shut up, Clay.” Wyatt turned his lights on, and Clay grunted in disbelief beside him.
Wyatt was hoping he’d make a run for it. He wanted Vaughn to give him a reason to chase. He was banking on it, because pulling someone over without probable cause was a serious violation of their civil rights. A cop could go to jail for it, but as he told Clay, Vaughn was nothing if not cunning.
He turned down a small dead-end road, and Wyatt pulled up behind him when he stopped. Clay gave him a harsh, knowing look.
“You told me to find another way,” Wyatt said before his best friend could argue. “A DUI when he’s on probation will land him in a whole world of shit.”
“He didn’t look drunk to me.”
“But you don’t know that he isn’t,” Wyatt countered. “He did just walk out of a bar.”
“You can’t just pull someone over for walking out of a bar,” Clay argued with the authority of a man who spent most of his life living in a house full of cops and lawyers. “That’s all kinds of illegal.”
“It’s better than killing him, ain’t it?”
Clay hesitated before he held out his hand. “Gimme your gun.”
“You want me to do a traffic stop without my gun?” Wyatt laughed in disbelief. “No fucking way.”
“It’s the only way I’m letting you get out of the car. Otherwise Vaughn is gonna see me and you have it out in this vehicle.”
Wyatt narrowed his eyes at him. “Boy, what makes you think I can’t take you? I’m feeling pretty damn vindictive tonight.”
“Maybe you can…maybe you can’t.” Clay’s shrugged. “I’m feeling vindictive too. You aren’t the only one who cares for Tabitha. So try and get out with that gun, and let’s see who wins.”
“Fine.” Wyatt huffed and leaned over to his glove compartment. He pushed it, forcing it to fall open, showing Clay his 9 mm semiautomatic. “There you go.”
Clay eyed it, obviously recognizing Wyatt’s police-issue weapon. “Since when do you keep it in the glove compartment? I thought you locked it up after work.”
“I ain’t in uniform.” Wyatt gestured to himself. “Where else am I gonna put it? I can’t just toss a police-issue weapon on the seat.”
“Fine.” Clay gestured to Vaughn’s car in front of them. “Go scare him.”
“You ain’t gonna stop me?” Wyatt asked in surprise.
“From scaring him?” Clay let out a barking laugh. “Fuck, no. Scare the shit out of him. You act like I don’t hate him as much as you do.”
“That works.” Wyatt grabbed a pair of handcuffs he kept in the glove compartment as backup. Then he reached down to the floorboard and picked up his jacket before opening his door. “If I smell it on him, I’m gonna arrest him. You’ll be riding with us back to the station.”
Clay folded his arms over his chest and glared at Vaughn’s car. “Sounds good to me, but just know if you do something stupid, I will stop you. I got six championship belts that say the concussion you’ll get this time is gonna be a lot worse than it was when we were fourteen.”
“Whatever,” Wyatt said dismissively as he got out of the car. It wasn’t like he hadn’t had several dozen concussions courtesy of Clay Powers since then.
He pulled on his jacket, walking slowly to the car as he took a deep breath and fought to keep his composure. When he got to the car, Vaughn rolled down the window. His eyes were narrowed in suspicion. The anxiousness throbbing off of him was palpable.
“License and registration.”
“You don’t know who I am?” Vaughn asked in false bravado, though Wyatt could hear the nerves in his voice. “Why do you need my license?”
“License and registration,” Wyatt repeated as he arched an eyebrow at him.
“Fine.” Vaughn reached over to the glove compartment and made unhurried work of finding his registration. Then he grabbed his wallet from the seat next to him and pulled out his license. He handed them over to Wyatt. “Can you tell me why I’m being stopped?”
Wyatt took them and made the actual attempt to look at the information before he said, “Have you been drinking tonight, Mr. Davis?”