The Bad Boy of Butterfly Harbor(35)

“You think you can steal from me?” Rex Winters shouted at his son. “You think I don’t know what you’ve been doing? Going through my things? My private space and taking what doesn’t belong to you! You tell me right now what you’ve done with them you good-for-nothing—” Rex grabbed Kyle by the front of his shirt and slammed him against the community center’s door.

“Take your hands off the boy.” Luke tried not to think about the fact Kyle’s head had bounced like a soccer ball, or that the kid’s eyes had gone glassy for a flash of a moment. His own head had spun for that same moment—a moment where he imagined his own face on Kyle’s trembling body. “Now, Mr. Winters.”

Rex Winters glared at Luke over his shoulder, pinprick bloodshot eyes all but spinning. “Who’re you?” Winters raked his eyes up and down Luke’s uniform, gaze flickering over the gun at Luke’s hip. “New deputy, is it? Bunch of useless—”

“New sheriff. Remove your hands, Mr. Winters. Or I’ll remove them for you.” Control settled and his training kicked in, but in truth, Luke wanted nothing more than for Rex Winters to try something. Anything that would give Luke reason to...

“Dad—” Kyle said, skittering eyes shifting to Luke.

“This ain’t got nothin’ to do with you, Sheriff,” Winters slurred and leaned into his son. The smell of booze wafted off him in thick, throat-clenching waves. Kyle turned his head, squeezed his eyes shut. “My boy. My rights.”

“It’s your son’s rights that interest me at the moment.” Luke could give Kyle that instant blast of relief, that brief incredible feeling as if someone—anyone—cared whether you lived or died. “You’ve been operating a motor vehicle while intoxicated.”

Kyle’s eyes went wide, as if he couldn’t believe someone had called his father on his actions.

“Can’t prove nothin’,” Winters muttered. “The boy drove that truck here.”

“That boy’s been here for over an hour,” Luke countered. “I know because my deputy’s been watching this building for the better part of the afternoon. I’ll say it one more time. Let go of the boy, and move away. Now.”

Luke reached behind him and unlatched the snap holding his Taser. Then he held his hand up in the air as a signal to Fletch. The car door slammed across the street.

Winters released Kyle. The teen slid down the wall as his father made a stumbling move toward Luke.

Luke took a solitary step back as Winters hit the ground in front of him, tripping over his own stupid self, landing face-first hard enough to break his nose. Blood sprayed and dotted the ground, but Luke didn’t give the man time to let out more than a groan of pain before he stepped over him, wrenched one of Winters’s wrists behind him and slapped the cuffs on him. “Rex Winters, you’re under arrest—”

“Look out, Sheriff!”

Luke leaned back as he saw the raised arm and beer bottle in hand come arcing down. But it was too late. He closed his eyes as the glass smashed into the side of his head, spraying him with beer and blood.

Pain exploded against his temple. Luke braced a hand on Winters’s back to stop from face-planting onto him. The sound of fast-moving footsteps told him Kyle was making a run for it. Blinking blood out of his eye, Luke struggled to stay on his feet, but the gray-hoodied figure darted out of sight, the jagged bottle dropping from Kyle’s hand as he ran off.

Fletch cursed and grabbed Luke’s arm, hauled him over to the brick wall and shoved him down. He finished cuffing Winters before returning to Luke’s side. Luke waved him off, swallowing the dizziness and nausea against squeezed eyes. He should have known, should have anticipated Kyle’s reaction. Should have remembered...

“I’ll call Ozzy,” Fletch said. “Have him put out an alert on Kyle—”

“No.” Luke shook his head and caught himself before he toppled backward. Holly’s milk shake threatened to come back up and say hello. He took a deep, deep breath, then another as the pain settled and pounded. “No. Let’s get this guy to holding. We’ll deal with Kyle later.”

“But—”

“I’m the boss,” Luke reminded him as he swiped his hand across his forehead. “Lock him up. Tow his car to impound. Start the paperwork. Then we’ll worry about Kyle.”





CHAPTER THIRTEEN

“JEEZ, SHERIFF, HOW big was the bottle?” Ozzy asked Luke as he and Fletch dragged a stumbling, semiconscious Rex Winters into the station.

“Big enough.” The headache slamming against Luke’s skull was going to be with him for a while, but it wasn’t anything he hadn’t dealt with before. Explosions and flying glass were nothing new—hadn’t been in the service, certainly not while he’d been on the bomb squad. Growing up with his father had been a great training ground.