I walk into my precinct, bright and early on Saturday, smiling even though I'm scared shitless. "Good mornin', Miss Abilene," I greet our receptionist.

If I want something from her, it requires some sugar and some buttering up. And I've got just the thing. I've already had two myself.

Abilene eyes me over her bifocals as I approach the reception counter with more intent than usual. "Hi, sweetie," she says hesitantly. "How ya holding up?"

"All right," I gloss it all over. It is, and isn't all right, and I'm sure she's heard something—that's why she's asking—but my goal is to keep it under wraps, or the whole town will know by lunchtime. "I got ya something..." I reveal the bag behind my back and place it on the counter. "It's still warm."

"Is that what I think it is?" She scoots to the edge of her seat and clears a place for it on the desk.

"Yes, ma'am." It's a pecan cinnamon swirl muffin from Dottie's . . . her favorite.

"Well, I'm just tickled pink!" She snatches the bag with a smile and places the muffin on the flattened bag before her. Then she puts her serious face back on. "Now what is it you want, Officer Bishop?"

"Can't I just be happy to see you?" I try smiling back. 

She blinks at me twice, and then the muffin conquers all. She peels off a sugary edge and pops it in her mouth. It's the happiest I've seen her all week.

"A look at next week's schedule, if you would be so kind." Might as well not beat around the bush.

After she swallows, she tsks and shakes her head. "You know it's not out until tomorrow. It's not even finished yet."

"Great. That means I'm not too late. If at all possible, could you push me out toward the end of the week? Pretty please with a cherry on top? I'll work next Friday through Sunday if necessary..."

I lean back for a peek through the glass beside my supervisor's door. He wanted to see me first thing and I know he's in there. He's on the phone, though. His voice tends to carry, and it went quiet for a second, but it appears he's just enduring a stint where he's forced to listen.

"Well, I can try, Grady," she sings to me in her heavy drawl. "But I can't do much about this Monday. Waylan has that medical procedure and Rodriguez leaves for vacation tomorrow."

I cringe. Monday's the day I really needed. To do this Dallas thing right, Taryn and I may need more than just tomorrow. Just to be safe, I wanted at least a few days off, and it's far too late to request the time officially.

"I suppose you could always ask Knox to cover for you." She looks amused and lifts an eyebrow.

I massage the bridge of my nose, feeling a headache coming on. "That's what I was afraid of."

"You two on the outs?" She tosses a muffin crumb in her mouth like it's popcorn. "Is this about that Abernathy girl? The young one."

"Maybe." I bend over backwards for another look through the window. Is he done yet?

"Does maybe mean you're wooing that girl now?" She says "that" like I've been wooing others when I haven't had the time, opportunity, or inclination. I can't claim never, but it's been a while.

"Not exactly." I make eye contact with Knox in the next room as he takes his seat, and we acknowledge each other with a nod. The gesture is civil, but I wouldn't call it friendly. Still, it's progress. And to be honest, he has more of a reason to be upset than ever. He just doesn't know it yet.

Presuming that Taryn was tired of sleeping on the floor and bathing in a pond, I asked her to stay at my place. I'm closer to the interstate and it would be more practical and efficient for our Dallas endeavor.

During the discussion, she told me she'd been seeing things. With the diamond ring being more of a curse than a blessing, I insisted she—and the ring—leave with me immediately.

Surprisingly enough, she didn't fight me on this count. After taking care of her car, we got a quick bite last night and crashed early. We certainly needed it, and I finally could, with some of my fears put to rest. And when I left this morning, she was sleeping soundly in my bed. I took the couch, but still, no one who might catch sight of her coming or going would ever believe this account, even if it's the god-honest truth.   

"Not exactly is not a no," Abilene feels the need to remind me. "What about her sister? Heard from her lately?" And there's the dollop of southern judgment. It's been there the whole time, but now she's not making any effort to sugarcoat it. 

I'm saved by a door flying open. "Bishop. My office. I'm ready for you."

I've never been more relieved to hear my boss's grunt.

"Yes, sir," I reply. "Gotta go," I say to Abilene, tapping the counter twice. Then I bolt like I'm being chased.

I question why I'm hurrying, though. Going where I'm going, it's like jumping out of the frying pan and into the fire.

<<<>>>

Sergeant Orson Price wants real answers, and he doesn't think any of this is cute or amusing. "And would you explain to me why you were driving like a maniac on Moore Avenue?"

"I'm sorry, sir." I move to the edge of my seat and try to keep my posture arrow straight. I want to seem eager, alert, confident. "I thought I was being followed."

"But you weren't?" Orson clicks his pen a few times. 

"Not that I'm aware. I'm not convinced it was nothing, but nothing came of it at that moment."

He has an open pad of paper in front of him and actually jots something down. "You said you were sitting with Knox, who was in uniform."

"That's right."

"Could this be the reason he took an interest in you? Maybe he doesn't respect law enforcement or is law enforcement or military or whatever."

"That's highly plausible," I lay it on thick for brown-nosing purposes. It's a skill hard-won and I should thank an Abernathy for leading by example for so many years. "But Knox and I both have a connection to Taryn. We were seen interacting with her at Saddlebrook's, and I'm almost certain I saw this guy coming out of the men's room earlier that same night. There's this weird scar by his eye that helped jog my memory. And within an hour, Taryn had her windshield knocked in. She's in town because she believes her sister is missing, and because of my connection to her family, she wanted my advice. And I must say, the evidence is compelling. Quinn, her sister, is not predictable, but this is somewhat out of character, even for her. Plus, there's a motive for foul play. These events may not all be related, but my intuition tells me there are dots to connect here."

For about half of my spiel, he'd been rummaging through the mess of papers on his desk. It may have been related, and perhaps he's hoping to provide some documentation, but he's just as likely busy and attempting to multi-task. "This is the same intuition that got you into that parking lot before Miss Abernathy was hurt?"

At least he's paying attention.

"That's right, sir," I reply.

He sets something aside, glances into my unwavering gaze, and then stops fiddling with a sigh. "I knew her father. We used to play poker together. I won an Appaloosa in a bet once." He chuckles, rotates sideways, and bobs backward in his flexible office chair. "Not a great gambler, but he made every effort to honor his debts . . . while he was alive. Anyway, if he can die falling off a horse, that means any of us can. . ."

I force a nod and drop my eyes to the closest edge of the desk. I should say something, but in this instance, I keep my mouth shut, afraid I might look . . . guilty. Mr. Abernathy was doing a job that would have been mine, and he was allegedly looking for me. He was the expert, but I would have approached the scene at a different pace, a different angle, riding a different horse. Our opinions on horses varied sometimes. I liked a challenge and establishing trust with "lost causes." Mr. Abernathy had a business to run and didn't have my patience. He'd usually prove me wrong, or try to, but this was a case where he came up short and paid the ultimate price.   

The moment of silence lingers a bit long for my tolerance level, and just when I'm about to fidget in my seat, Orson clears his throat. "Can never be too careful, I suppose. Are you good with horses, Bishop?"

The subject change brings air back into my lungs. "Mr. Abernathy taught me everything I know, and toward the end, at least in regard to riding and ranching, he didn't have a lot to complain about."

"I see." He says that, peering at me, and I can see the gears turning.

He doesn't quite know what to do with me yet. If he didn't like me, I'd know. If he thought this was all bullshit, he wouldn't hold back, and wouldn't have bothered with the pen and paper. He's also going through a nasty divorce, so the knight-in-shining-armor thing won't win me any points. My background never does, either. I have a half-brother in prison in another county, and the Department of Family and Protective Services practically has a parking spot in my half-sister's sorry excuse for a driveway. Surprise, surprise...

Fortunately, he's tough but fair. The stigma I bear by association is just a blemish that doesn't typically warrant more than a passing glance and occasional jab. I know Orson has a few horses and a respect for Mr. Abernathy. Now that he mentions it, I remember him at the funeral. He's also a proud Texan. Like me, he's lived in this town his whole life. Then there's the Taryn effect, which is strong. Even though she ditched us for the Carolinas for college, this would be forgivable in his eyes. She is one of us. The Abernathys were like town royalty for at least a few generations. And any outsiders, like those Louisiana scumbags, would be wise to run for cover, if they haven't already.       

"I know it's a lot to digest," I coax and plead. I'll beg if I have to... "And I know I'm asking a lot."

"Remind me..." He starts wading through the clutter on his desk again. "Are you one of mine applying for the detective position in Narcotics?"

"Yes, that's me, sir. I know I have a lot to learn, but this is exactly the type of assignment I should be doing to prepare."

"All right, Bishop..." He comes to a full stop and gives me his undivided attention. "Here's how it's gonna go. You're back on Thursday. I get a full report on Friday, and you get the morning shift for the rest of the month. And if you can manage all that and avoid doing anything else stupid, you'll have my recommendation." 

I hate mornings. They're dull and tedious. There's rarely any action of note, and the shift starts at the crack of dawn. I know he's not trying to punish me or anything, but he is trying to appease others, who will have to pick up the slack while I'm gone. Knox is the first person that will come to everyone's mind. He's the youngest with the least seniority. On Monday, he'll probably be asked to work a double while I'm road-trippin' with the girl he's into and getting a leg up on a promotion while I'm at it. It's officially "work" now as well. I won't even lose any vacation days. All in all...

"That's very generous, sir. Thank you. I won't let you down."

He gives me a conclusive nod. "When this is all said and done," he says to me as I rise from my chair. "I have this four-year-old Thoroughbred that's not taking well to the saddle. My soon-to-be-ex-wife thought he was a waste of money, and I'd like you to prove her wrong." 

I chuckle. This is about a horse. It may be all I'm good for in his eyes, but I don't mind. Taryn wasn't wrong yesterday; I am better with horses than most people. It's something I'm proud of, and a win's a win.

"Name the day, sir. I'll be there."