Last Stand Sheriff

by Tyler Anne Snell

  Yet, Declan couldn’t believe his eyes.

  A few yards away there was a man with red hair standing in the middle of the street. When he saw Declan, he smiled.

  “Stop right—” Declan started to yell.

  The man turned on his heel and ran like a bat out of hell.

  “Call 911,” he said to the man on the sidewalk.

  Then he lowered his gun and dug his heels into the concrete.

  Boots and dress shoes slapping the ground echoed across Main Street as the man of the hour hauled over the span of two blocks. Unlike Caleb, Declan was more muscle than speed. Unlike the man he was chasing, however, Declan was the sheriff and damned determined.

  His legs burned as he pushed every muscle to eat up the distance between them. Shouts behind him filled the street as shop owners and patrons came outside to see what all the fuss was about. Declan sidestepped two bystanders with shouts to get back inside. That effort, plus yelling out for the man in question to stop, cost him a bit of endurance. But when the man hung a right around the hardware store at the intersection of Main and Juniper streets, Declan could have laughed.

  Whoever the man was, he wasn’t a local. Or, at least, hadn’t been downtown in a while.

  Tilting forward into the run, Declan curved around the corner of the building and immediately had to swerve around an orange caution cone. And then another. The intersection, sidewalk and part of the hardware store were in a construction zone thanks to a nasty spring storm that had used the trees across the street as battering rams. This week they’d started repaving the sidewalk. The road was still sectioned off.

  The man didn’t know that.

  He cursed something awful, already halfway through a stretch of wet cement. Two cones with tape between them were knocked over. A string of workers were littered around the street and watched as Declan let out his booming voice once more.

  “Sheriff’s department, stop now!”

  One man, a long-haired younger worker, sprang into action and tried to grab the culprit. Instead, he became a human shield. One that was erected so fast all Declan could do was stop and huff. The man he had been chasing grabbed the younger one and put a gun Declan hadn’t yet seen against his temple, stopping them both in the wet cement.

  “You stop or he dies,” he panted out. He pressed the gun against the man’s head again. It made him wince.

  Declan didn’t move his aim, but he did freeze.

  “Whoa there, buddy,” he tried, dropping some of the command in his voice and picking up some, as Caleb’s wife said, goodwill honey. Some people responded the way Declan wanted to the commanding voice. He had a gut feeling the man with the gun across from him wasn’t one of those people. “Take it easy.”

  He glanced between Declan and the men in neon vests along the road.

  “No one do anything stupid,” Declan called to them. When the man’s gaze was back to him, he addressed him directly. “Drop the gun, let him go, and let’s just talk. There’s no need for this to go any further.”

  The man in question did something Declan wasn’t expecting. And certainly didn’t like.

  He laughed.

  “And what would we talk about, Sheriff?” he called. “The weather? Christmas plans? How you may be a good shot, but there’s no way this would end in a good light if you don’t put down your gun?”

  He laughed again and then settled into a smirk.

  “I’ll make you a deal, though,” he continued before Declan could say a word. “Throw your gun into the wet cement and I’ll throw you this.” He shook the young man he was holding enough to put emphasis on his control of his well-being.

  A worker near Declan cussed loudly. He was older and, even with just a glance, undeniably favored the man caught between Declan and his target. It was probably his son.

  Which made Declan even more uneasy at the balance of power between him and the smirking man.

  “Who are you?” Declan stalled. “What do you want?”

  “I’m someone who wants you to throw your gun into the cement.”

  The man didn’t lose his smirk but Declan could see his patience was going as he pressed the gun harder against his hostage’s head. The man winced.

  Declan relented.

  There were too many variables, and he didn’t have the upper hand with any of them.

  “Fine,” he said, lowering his gun. “Just let’s stay calm.”

  Declan’s service weapon could be replaced, yet he couldn’t deny he didn’t like seeing it hit the light gray muck and sink in an inch or so.

  He also didn’t like how it felt to be that vulnerable.

  There wasn’t anything stopping the man from using them all as target practice.

  They were at a severe disadvantage.

  That is, until the younger man he held against him decided to even the playing field. He brought his elbow back so fast that Declan almost missed it.

  What he didn’t miss was the other man groaning out in pain as that elbow bit into his stomach. It was enough to make him lose his stance. Which also made him lose his target.

  “Son of a—” The man cried out, trying to regain his composure. His captive wasn’t having it. The younger man ducked and spun as much as the wet cement would allow and grabbed for the wrist of the hand holding the gun.

  Declan wasn’t about to wait around to see the outcome. He jumped into the cement and slogged over. He wasn’t alone. Every man wearing a construction vest converged, even though the gun was still in hand.

  Pride swelled in Declan’s chest despite the fact that he’d much prefer there be no civilians in danger. Yet, the man who had grown up in Overlook couldn’t help but be proud.

  It was a feeling he carried with him as he closed the space between them with speed. Declan heard the gun hit the muck beneath them just before his shoulder connected with the attacker’s chest. They sank into the cement, and Declan knew he’d won.

  The man didn’t fight back as Declan got to his knees and kept his hand pressed down on the man’s chest.

  “Don’t you dare move unless I tell you,” Declan ordered. The construction workers flanked him. He looked back at the discarded gun and scooped it up.

  The man’s head was just above the cement while his body had sunk in a bit. He smiled.

  Declan didn’t like when a losing man smiled.

  It usually meant he didn’t care enough to notice he’d lost or he hadn’t actually lost at all.

  A twisting thought pushed those worries aside. Declan got to his feet and the man merely pushed up on his elbows as best he could. He met Declan’s gaze. In the chase and struggle, part of his shirt had drooped down around the collar.

  That was when Declan saw the tattoo.

  A scorpion.

  The brand of the Fixers, the men and women in suits who had a reputation for being the organization other criminals called when a job was too hard to do. Or too messy to carry out.

  Declan swore.

  The man kept on smiling.

  That twisting thought turned into a question. Declan heard the low thrum of ascending rage in his own voice as he asked it.

  “Why didn’t you just get back into your car after you hit that woman? Why run away if you could have driven away?”

  The man was absolutely enjoying himself when he answered. It made Declan’s blood run cold.

  “Because, Sheriff, I knew the only way to get you to leave that café was if I ran.”

  * * *

  THE WOMAN CLUTCHING at her face said her name was Rose Ledbetter. She, like Remi, the pedestrian named Sam who was holding her, and the patrons of Claire’s Café, had no idea why the man had jumped out of the car to attack her and then run off. One second she had been on her way down the sidewalk and the next she’d been pistol-whipped by a stranger.

  “Pistol-whipped?”
Remi asked, fear flowing out of her words before her body could feel it. “He had a gun?”

  Rose nodded, whimpering along with the movement. She sat at the table Remi and Declan had been sharing while the rest of the patrons crowded around. Claire was behind the counter, on the phone with the sheriff’s department.

  “I only saw it after he’d already hit me with it,” Rose said. “I—I thought he would shoot me, but he ran instead.”

  “And Declan chased him.”

  Chased the man with the gun, she wanted to add but didn’t.

  Declan was the sheriff. Dealing with bad guys who had guns wasn’t new to him. However, the fear uncoiling in Remi’s chest was.

  Declan wasn’t just a boy she’d had a crush on as a girl or kissed once as a teenager. He wasn’t just a man she’d shared a bed with after getting reacquainted. He also wasn’t just a man who made her question if she wanted to be more than the friends they used to be.

  No.

  Now, and forever, he’d be the father of her kid.

  No matter if they became enemies, lovers or any variation in between.

  Declan Nash had cemented his place in her life the moment she’d seen the first positive pregnancy test.

  And now?

  Now he’d chased a man with a gun.

  Normal or not, that made Remi afraid.

  A feeling that must have translated into an expression she didn’t have time to hide.

  Sam, standing between them, looked her in the eye and was fierce with his words.

  “The sheriff will be all right.”

  Remi gave him a small smile.

  That smile died right after.

  The door to the café opened with a bang. Remi already knew it wouldn’t be Declan standing in the doorway, if only for the almost-violent movement, but she hoped all the same.

  When she saw a man in a suit wearing a grin, a gun at his side, Remi couldn’t help but suck in a breath. She wasn’t alone. Everyone around her tensed.

  No one spoke until the man walked farther inside. A woman in a matching pantsuit came in behind him and stopped just inside the doorway. She held her gun, aiming it at Claire.

  “End the call, show me the screen, and then put it down on the counter,” she ordered. Her accent was weirdly devoid of anything Remi could place. Not that it mattered. Claire was staring at a gun. She did as she was told and soon was standing with the rest of them.

  The man stopped a few feet from their makeshift line next to the table. There were seven of them in total. Remi stood between Sam and Claire, Rose stayed sitting behind them.

  “Don’t worry, everyone,” the man started. “We’re not going to kill anyone as long as no one here does anything stupid.”

  Remi’s adrenaline spiked. He didn’t say anything about not hurting them.

  “Now, let us get down to business and then we’ll leave.” He scanned their faces quickly, moving his head to the side to see Rose behind them. She whimpered at the eye contact.

  Then he was staring at Remi.

  He looked her up and down.

  “Looks like you might be perfect for the job,” he said conversationally.

  Remi’s heart was hammering in her chest.

  The job? she wanted to ask. Instead, all she could do was remember to breathe as he moved directly in front of her and started to pull his gun from its holster.

  “Wait a second,” Sam jumped in. The man in the suit held the gun but didn’t aim it. He addressed Sam but raised his voice for the crowd.

  “Anyone moves and you’ll make me a liar,” he interrupted. “I’ll end up killing you all. We good?”

  Sam was tense but didn’t say a word. No one did. Not even Rose’s whimpers could be heard. That went double for moving.

  Remi didn’t want to break the only rule they’d been given, but the moment he took a step away from them and moved the gun so it was aimed at her, she had no choice.

  “I’m pregnant.”

  The words left her mouth on a trembling plea.

  Surprisingly, it seemed to have an impact. The man in the suit glanced back at his partner then to Remi.

  “You’re not the first person to try and lie about that.”

  “I have pictures on my phone,” she hurried. “Of the tests. It’s on the table.”

  There was a moment where Remi was sure trying to save herself had done the opposite. That she’d been pregnant for such a short amount of time and had already made a wrong choice as a parent. That Declan was about to suffer from another senseless act.

  Yet the man sighed.

  “Well, that’s more trouble than it’s worth,” he said. He started to lower the gun. Remi felt a part of her unclench. Then the man in the suit turned to Sam. “Which I suppose means bad luck for you.”

  When he raised his gun and shot, Remi didn’t even have time to scream.

  * * *

  THE SOUND OF the gunshot carried down Main Street, around the corner and right into Declan’s bones. He was running before the construction workers could utter a word after him. Declan didn’t care that he was leaving the man in the suit with civilians.

  He had the man’s gun.

  What he didn’t have was eyes on Remi.

  Declan cursed into the wind he was creating as he ran full tilt back to the café. The gun in his hand was partially covered in cement, but he could wield it like a club if he had to. Or he’d use his bare hands.

  Anything to protect the patrons he’d left behind.

  Anything to protect Remi.

  The ferocity of that desire should have surprised him, but he didn’t have the time to dwell. Sirens started to go off in the distance, and right outside the café a car screeched to a stop. A woman ran out of the café, a man behind her.

  “Stop,” Declan yelled, still too far away. Pedestrians and bystanders were dotting the openings of stores and buildings along the thoroughfare, or else Declan would have tried out his new gun.

  As it was, he watched as the woman ducked into the passenger side of the car and a man in a suit jumped into the back. Neither one paid attention to him; neither did the driver. Declan couldn’t make out who it was as they sped off and hung a left up toward the street that ran in front of the community parking lot.

  Declan looked at their license plate.

  Then his focus shifted to the café.

  For the first time in his career, he hesitated. With his hand on the handle of the door, he imagined the worst.

  In that moment Remi was both safe and not safe. All at the same time. Just as their unborn child was unharmed and not. Going inside would confirm one truth. Staying outside gave him the option of keeping hope even if there was none inside.

  So, for the briefest of moments, Declan hesitated.

  Just as quickly he remembered that a person couldn’t live in a moment. They could treasure it. They could fear it, hate it, wish to never remember it, but staying in a moment wasn’t realistic.

  It wasn’t fair.

  It wasn’t possible.

  Declan pushed open the door and saw the blood first.

  Then he saw her.

  Chapter Nine

  The last time Remi had been in the hospital she was sixteen and, oddly enough, Declan Nash had been within earshot. At the time he’d been with his brothers, Caleb and Desmond, while she had been with their friend Molly.

  They’d been placed in a room outside of the ER unit because, as Remi’s father said, Declan was a wild, dangerous boy. That same wild, dangerous boy had saved the day from the stupid yet fun game of Keep Away with a bag of chocolate-covered peanuts during their hike along the mountain. A hike they had gone on after skipping school.

  Remi remembered it fondly, at least the part before they’d taken the game too seriously. Caleb had thrown the package of candy to Molly, and Molly an
d Remi had taken it too close to a sloped edge that had more tilt than either of them realized. Remi had lost her footing first, but Molly had let out a scream before either girl started their slide down the leaf-covered incline.

  In hindsight Remi realized that scream was probably why Caleb had run the way he did after them, spurred on by memories of what had happened to him, Desmond and Madi when they were younger. At the time Remi had barely hit the even ground with a groan before Caleb had lost his footing, too, and was tumbling down to meet them.

  Remi remembered being terrified that she’d hurt herself enough to go to the hospital. That her father would add another notch to the post of reasons he disliked the Nash children. Yet, she’d been fine. A little bruised but no visibly broken bones or radiating pain. Though when Declan had made his way to her, he’d made her question herself. The concern in his eyes, the searching touch as his hands had seemingly been trying to find and fix whatever was hurt, and the warmth in his voice as he’d kept calm, had caused sixteen-year-old Remi to hope there was something that would keep Declan’s careful attention on her.

  That want had disappeared, however, when Molly and Caleb hadn’t stopped their cries and grunts of pain after they were back on even ground. The walk to their vehicles had been spent trying to lay out all of their options, though they’d ultimately chosen to go with the only one that made sense.

  Molly had broken her arm, Caleb had twisted his ankle, and Remi had caught lava-hot heat from her father for skipping school with her friend and a bunch of boys, Declan the Wild King among them.

  Now Remi was in another room, Sam’s, just off the ER in Overlook, this time older. Maybe not wiser, but with enough years between then and now to feel the full terror of a situation that could have been much worse.

  When the door opened behind her, Remi didn’t have time to hide the swirl of emotions starting to make her feel sick.

  It was another moment of déjà vu. Declan came in, sheriff’s badge on his belt and cowboy hat firmly on his head, and stopped at her side. He looked at the hospital bed and spoke to her with a lowered voice.