Didn’t these bastards know it was Christmas? Annoyed as hell, he braked and pulled over to the side of the road. Depending on who it was, he could probably talk his way out of whatever had made them pull him over.
Stupid cops.
He glanced in his side mirror to get a look at who the cop was as he walked up to Clay’s door. The headlights from the official vehicle glowed around him like a spotlight.
Henderson? What the hell? Clay powered the window down. “I wasn’t speeding, Sheriff.”
Henderson stared at him like he was ready to rip his head off and piss down his throat. “Get out of the truck, Clay.”
“What?” This was ridiculous! “I wasn’t speeding. I wasn’t doing nothing.”
“Get out,” Henderson repeated.
Clay opened the door and slid out of the seat. He crossed his arms over his chest. “What now, Sheriff?”
“Get in the SUV.” Henderson jerked his head toward his vehicle.
Clay held up his hands and waved them back and forth. “You ain’t taking me nowhere until you tell me what the hell is going on.” No way this guy had figured anything out. Even if he had ... it had nothing to do with Clay.
“We’re going to talk,” Henderson explained. “And then you can get back in your piece-of-shit truck and drive away.”
Clay swore under his breath. “Whatever you say, Sheriff.” He walked back to the SUV but hesitated before climbing in. “Front seat or back?”
“Front.”
Clay swung into the seat and closed the door.
Sheriff Henderson did the same. He didn’t turn on the interior light. In fact, he’d turned the inside lights off completely. No glow from the dash at all. No prob. That big fat moon provided some light, which was good. Clay had no desire to sit here in the dark with some cop. Especially not dickhead Wyatt Henderson.
“I want you to think very carefully before you answer my questions, Clay.”
More questions. Just great. “Do you need to read me my rights?”
“That’s not necessary.”
“I need a lawyer?”
Henderson turned his face toward him. “Have you done anything that might require the services of an attorney?”
Clay shook his head. “Don’t think so.” Not that he’d gotten caught doing anyway.
Henderson rested his arm along the back of the seat. “Here’s the problem, Clay. There are some things going on that concern me.”
“What things?” Clay stared at the back of his truck. He’d already be in town with his friends if this shithead hadn’t stopped him.
When Henderson didn’t answer, Clay opened his mouth to ask again but his head suddenly rammed into the dash. “What the hell?” Pain exploded in his forehead. “Jesus Christ!” He clutched at his face and turned to Henderson. “Are you out of your damned mind?”
The business end of Henderson’s weapon was staring Clay right in the eye. Fear charged into his throat, ensuring nothing witty came out of his mouth.
“Now you listen to me, you piece of shit,” Henderson growled. “You go near her or her things again and I will see that you end up face down in the bayou.”
“What the hell are you talking about?” Clay rubbed his forehead. “This is damned police brutality!”
Henderson shook his head. “No. You’re wrong.” He jammed the muzzle into Clay’s temple, pinning his head between the gun and window of his door. “Thisis police brutality.”
“You can’t do this shit!” Clay hated like hell that he’d squealed the words. But hell, he was about ready to piss his pants. This bastard had gone crazy.
The muzzle bored more deeply into Clay’s skull. “Who broke into her room at the Shady Oaks?”