Darius raised an eyebrow. Karen found that hard to believe from what she’d seen of Mason Gault.
“Sounds good,” Darius said to Drake. “We’ll make popcorn and watch the show from the monitor.”
“Smartass,” Drake said before he hung up.
Darius turned to Karen. “Why don’t you go keep the others occupied, so they don’t notice anything going on at the gate.”
“Good idea. I think we need some brownies to go with the cookies that Trenda just baked.”
***
So, Sheriff Delmar Arnold had come for a visit, had he? Drake was feeling in the mood to be neighborly. Unfortunately, it must have shown because Mason frowned at him.
“What?” Drake asked.
“Can I trust you to do the talking?” Mason asked.
“I think after watching you both at the motel, I need to be the one who does the talking,” Aiden said.
Drake continued to watch the road. He really wanted to drive faster, but it was slicker than snot underneath the snow.
“O’Malley, this is my turf, these are my people. I’ll do the talking. You can be the muscle.”
Mason chuckled.
“What is so damn funny?” Drake asked irritably.
“I’m just used to you being the muscle,” Mason said. “I like having two guys on the team who can be the muscle.”
“Remember, I’m also the medic, so when he gets his head bashed in by his old friend the sheriff, I’ll be ready to put him back together,” Aiden reminded them.
“Go to hell,” Drake said as he took the last turnoff to get to the chalet. Mason was making a call as he saw red and blue lights off in the distance. For just a moment, he felt eighteen again. He squared his shoulders. Fuck that shit. This little shit was going down. He turned off his headlights and slowly pulled in behind the cars. There was no reaction. Seriously, Delmar needed to do some training.
When Drake, Aiden, and Mason opened their car doors, the deputy in the last car turned his head. He didn’t get out of his car. But Drake saw him pick up his radio. He assumed he was calling the sheriff. Sure enough, he could make out the front door of the first car opening. Drake walked toward it. Mason and Aiden walked behind him, each one of them stopping to stand beside the driver of the other two deputy’s cars. Now that everyone was covered, Drake was free to talk to his old nemesis.
“Well, boy, seems you got yourself some friends.”
“Why are you here?” Drake asked the sheriff.
“Have some questions about the shooting you did at Karen Eastman’s house.”
“You could have called. I would have come down to the sheriff’s office,” Drake lied.
“I also have some reports of you disturbing the peace. Seems that you were involved in the beating of Lois Goodman. I’m going to have to take you in, Boy.”
Drake’s laugh turned to vapor in the air between them. “Try again. I have plenty of witnesses who will say she was beat when I found her. Harmon will also testify that he was the one who hurt her. Trust me, he’ll tell the truth. Your days of running things are over with, Old Man.”
Drake watched the sheriff’s face twist with rage. “You’re mistaken. I don’t care how many Navy goons you have. I’m the law.” He reached for his gun. Drake grabbed his wrist before he could get to it. With his other hand, he took his gun and flung it out into the snow. Sheriff Arnold went for his baton, and Drake let him. They were of similar height and build, and Drake had been waiting twelve years for this.
“I’ve got you now!” Arnold said as he raised the baton over his head.
Really? He was going to swing it like that?
Drake grabbed his forearm and held it, as he did a light rabbit punch to the man’s throat. He wanted the fight to last a bit. He let go, and the sheriff stepped backward. He used two hands and swung like a batter, Drake stepped out of the way, and the sheriff spun around in a semi-circle. Drake kicked him in the back so he fell on the ground. Then Drake picked him up by the scruff of his neck.
“Again, Old Man, try again.”
Arnold’s face was filled with rage. He picked up the baton, this time he did something smart, he aimed it like a sword and tried to shove it into Drake’s abdomen. Drake sidestepped and hit the sheriff in the jaw. The old man went sprawling. Drake waited. The sheriff tried to get up on his hands and knees.
“Up, Old Man. Get up!”
Delmar dropped back down. Blood colored the snow. Then he tried to get up again, and Drake grinned, wanting another shot. The Sheriff turned his head and glared up at him. “You’re as bad as your father,” he spit out. Drake’s booted foot reared back.