Edge of Collapse Series (Book 4): Edge of Anarchy Read online

  35

  Julian

  Day Twenty-Eight

  Julian watched the scene unfold with a dark fascination, like a car crash he couldn’t turn away from.

  Watching Reynoso and Perez get a dressing-down wasn’t the worst thing in the world. Reynoso had been a jerk lately, not the loyal sidekick that he used to be. Well, screw him. Let them twist a little.

  “Who killed him!” Rosamond demanded again.

  “She has a man and a dog with her,” Perez said. “The man is an ex-soldier. He apparently came across her in the woods after she escaped. He rescued her and agreed to escort her to Fall Creek. They’ve been trying to get here since the EMP. Pike came after her—”

  “Allegedly!” Rosamond snarled.

  Perez’s face lost some of its color. Reynoso looked appalled. They’d both backed against the door.

  “Allegedly,” Reynoso admitted grudgingly. “According to the witness statement, her alleged assailant stalked her and attacked both her and the soldier in the house they’d taken shelter in. There was an altercation. The soldier shot and then stabbed the assailant in self-defense. Afterward, the dog took a few bites out of him as well.”

  “According to them,” Rosamond said.

  “Yes. According to their statements.”

  She looked furious enough to rip someone’s head off. Julian knew his mother’s rages. He would not put it past her to try it.

  She glowered at the officers. “And my son is not here to provide a statement of what really happened. Seeing as he’s dead.”

  The two cops said nothing.

  “What is the soldier’s name?”

  “Ma’am—” Reynoso started.

  “What. Is. The. Soldier’s. Name.”

  “Tell her,” Julian ordered.

  Reynoso licked his lips uneasily. “Liam Coleman.”

  No one reacted. The name meant nothing to Rosamond, Sutter, or Desoto.

  “And where is he now?”

  “He’s staying at Chief Sheridan’s house,” Julian said.

  Rosamond’s mouth twisted. “Why was this criminal not apprehended?”

  “Chief Sheridan declined to press charges.” Julian said the words with relish, waiting to see what she would do, how she would react. Her precious police chief had let her son’s killer go free.

  “Did he?” Rosamond said, shaking.

  Julian gave a flippant shrug. “You know he’ll pick his wife over…other loyalties.”

  Perez shifted nervously. “As we said, we determined it was self-defense—”

  “GET OUT!” Rosamond screamed at them.

  The officers flinched. Julian resisted the urge to shrink away from her, too. His mother was formidable on a good day. When she was angry, she was terrifying.

  Rosamond’s features were pinched, the tendons of her neck straining. “This woman’s…accusations remain in this room. If I hear a word of this breathed by either of you two, you’re off the force. You’ll be out of a job and packing your things, because you won’t be welcome anywhere in Fall Creek ever again. Neither will your families. Have I made myself understood?”

  Perez swallowed. “Understood.”

  Reynoso looked more openly disgruntled, but he didn’t say a word. They both valued their careers—and having a roof over their heads.

  Julian knew they’d fall into line. Just like everyone else under his mother’s thumb.She could crush them like ants whenever she felt like it—and they knew it.

  Hannah Sheridan was still free to say whatever she wanted to whoever she wanted, but that was a problem for another day, one Noah might or might not solve. He was certain his mother would not overlook it.

  “Go!” Rosamond spat at them. “Get out of my sight!”

  Reynoso and Perez scurried out of the office.

  Rosamond waited for the door to shut behind them. Her whole body vibrated with outrage. With quivering hands, she smoothed invisible wrinkles from her beige pantsuit and straightened her shoulders. “This Liam Coleman is an outsider. A criminal and a murderer. Such a man of violence does not belong within the borders of this community.”

  “I agree,” Desoto said.

  “We are at your command,” Sutter said evenly. His face betrayed no emotion. “Simply tell us what you wish to have done.”

  “Do you want me to arrest him despite the chief’s objections?” Julian asked. “Chief Sheridan let him go. No charges. Nothing.”

  His mother turned her gaze on him. Her eyes had gone shiny and hard. Red pigment from her lipstick leaked into the creases around her mouth.

  Julian cringed at the rancor in her gaze—the pure contempt. As if she wished he were the one dead, not her precious Gavin.

  “What do you want me to do?” Julian asked. “Beat him up? Toss him out of town?”

  When she spoke, her voice was full of razor blades. “Are you that stupid? Do you really think that is a sufficient consequence for the murder of your brother?”

  Gavin hadn’t been murdered. He’d deserved every gunshot and stab wound and then some. Julian was certain of it. Whoever this soldier was, he’d done the world a favor.

  In doing so, he’d also found himself on the wrong side of Rosamond Sinclair. That was his fatal mistake.

  Julian knew better than to speak his thoughts aloud. His mother wouldn’t change her mind. He had little inclination to try.

  This was happening, with or without him.

  This was his chance to get back on her good side. To prove his worth to her. To prove that he was better than his brother.

  She didn’t need Gavin anymore. And she certainly didn’t need the likes of Noah Sheridan. Neither did Julian.

  It was more than that, though. His mother gazed at him, her glassy eyes a blaze of grief and rage, beseeching him. Begging him.

  A longing filled him, that twisted desire for her approval that had haunted him from childhood, that old desperation for a crumb of her stingy love to be flicked his way.

  He hated her for it. He hated himself even more. But he couldn’t stop it, even now.

  “No,” he said. “I don’t. I’ll make it right.”

  Her lip curled in derision. “Can you handle it like a man, this time?”

  He forced himself not to flinch, forced the humiliation not to show on his face. He groveled, because that was what she wanted. “Please! Let me take charge of this. I’ll get it right this time, I promise.”

  She hesitated, her eyes flashing with contempt, even hate. He waited, not breathing.

  A shadow crossed her face. Something deflated in her. Almost imperceptible, but he saw it. She gave him a subtle nod and shifted her gaze to Sutter. “Whatever my son asks of you, do it.”

  Julian tried not to let the relief show on his face. He clenched his jaw. He would claw his way back on top, back to her side. He’d get things back the way they were supposed to be. Starting with Liam Coleman.

  Julian had a few names of his own to add to the list.

  Sutter rose from his seat. He was a tank of a man—thick-necked, burly, and imposing. A cunning intelligence shone from his dark eyes.

  He nodded at Julian before meeting Rosamond’s gaze. “That won’t be a problem. I’ll give you Desoto and Benner to do as you both see fit.”

  “Where is my son’s body?” Rosamond asked Julian, her voice low and dangerous. “What did those idiots do with him?”

  “I really don’t think you want to see—”

  She leaned forward and planted her fists on the desk, her eyes bulging. “Where!”

  “They put him in the last body bag and stored him in the freezer at the school for now,” Julian said.

  “I’m going to bury my son,” Rosamond said stiffly. She gave Julian a hard stare. “I don’t want to see your face again until it’s done.”

  She strode around the desk, marched past Julian, and opened the door without a backward glance.

  36

  Noah

  Day Thirty

  “Chief Sher
idan, we may have a problem.” Reynoso’s voice sputtered over the radio.

  “Come in, Reynoso,” Noah said. “What is it?”

  “Trouble at Crossway Church.”

  Noah’s heartrate quickened. His gloved hands tightened on the steering wheel. He sat in the black 1970s Ford F150 with “Fall Creek Police Department” spray-painted across the sides. The engine was on, heat chugging from the vents.

  He’d parked the truck in the road at the roadblock just past the bridge leaving town. The guards had given him an update. Sutter reported to Rosamond daily, but Noah wanted to keep his finger on the pulse of his town himself. It was part of his job.

  In the last twenty-four hours, the militia had turned back four groups seeking food and shelter. They all had tales of woe—empty pantries, freezing homes, break-ins and violence in the streets. One group got hostile and had to be turned away by force.

  Another dead body to add the list—and Noah’s already burdened conscience.

  Things were getting worse out there. No help was coming. No help but what they did for themselves.

  Anxiety twisted his guts to water. The only thing that steadied his nerves was the knowledge that fifty-three armed men patrolled Fall Creek. Fifty-three soldiers ensuring the town was safe. Ensuring his son was safe.

  That was what mattered. He would tell himself that until he believed it.

  “It’s Bishop,” Noah said, not a question.

  “It’s Bishop,” Reynoso said reluctantly.

  He’d been waiting for the other shoe to drop since the day Bishop brought Hannah back, only to discover the Crossway food pantry had been emptied out in his absence. Noah had meant to talk to him, but he’d been more than a little distracted by the miraculous return of his wife.

  “Should I contact Julian? He took the afternoon to go ice fishing—”

  “No!” The word exploded from his throat.

  Silence on the radio.

  “That’s not a good idea,” he said more calmly, though he felt anything but calm.

  Guilt pricked him. He ignored it. He and Julian were still barely speaking, especially after their confrontation a few days ago. He should’ve just let Julian take Liam into custody like he’d wanted to.

  He sighed. What was done was done. He already had too much on his plate; he couldn’t handle Julian’s volatile moods, too.

  “What do you want me to do, boss?” Reynoso asked.

  “I’ll handle Bishop. I can handle him. I’ll be right there.”

  Noah clipped the radio back on his belt. He shifted the truck into gear, made a U-turn, and headed back into town. He squinted against the glare of sunlight reflecting off snow. The roads were freshly plowed. The day was bright and sunny, the temps somewhere in the low thirties.

  Maybe the warmth would stick, and some of this damn snow would melt. It was wishful thinking. January wasn’t even over yet. In southwest Michigan, they had two months of winter remaining—if they were lucky.

  The truck rumbled across the bridge over the widest section of Fall Creek. The river wound around the town in a serpentine C-shape before feeding into the St. Joe River five miles north. South of town, the dam separated Fall Creek from Lake Chapin.

  He headed onto Main Street. His shoulders tensed at the sight of his familiar town. Friendly’s Grocery was closed now. Vinson Family Pharmacy, too. The pharmacist, Robert Vinson, was working with the militia to deliver medication to the residents who needed it.

  Two of the militia’s snowmobiles cruised past on patrol. Other than that, the streets and sidewalks were empty. Someone had finally taken down the Christmas wreaths from the light poles.

  He passed shuttered shop after shuttered shop—Pizza Palace, Patsy’s Café, Gundy’s Auto Repair, Clothesline laundromat.

  He drove through the single dark stoplight without stopping. To the west was the high school and combined elementary/middle school that now served as the emergency shelter and community food bank; Tresses hair salon, the Brite Smiles dentist’s office, and the post office; to the right, the historic Greek revival courthouse featuring large white columns inspired by ancient temples. Township meetings now took place at the superintendent’s home.

  After a few more blocks, he reached Crossway Church and parked along the curb. There was still plenty of room for snowmobiles, 4x4s, and the occasional vehicle to pass.

  Fuller’s Hardware, the bank, and Fireside Tavern stood across the street. Their dark windows stared at him like dead eyes.

  Fall Creek was a ghost town.

  He was getting used to it. That was the part he hated the most.

  Movement out of the corner of his eye snagged his attention. About twenty-five yards ahead of the parked truck, a lone figure strode down the right side of the street.

  The figure’s head was up; he slowly scanned his surroundings from left to right and back again. Noah recognized his broad shoulders, chestnut hair, and confident, purposeful stride.

  Liam Coleman.

  Bitter acid rose in the back of his throat. In the three days since Hannah’s return, Noah’s instinctive dislike toward Liam had only grown.

  He knew it was petty and spiteful. He knew it and couldn’t help it. Maybe he was a lesser man than he’d always believed himself to be.

  Jealousy ate away at him every time he saw Liam and Hannah together. Since Liam was still staying in their downstairs guest room, that was a lot. How she looked at him with trust and respect. How she moved and spoke and laughed with such ease around him.

  Noah had been trying. He was trying with all his heart and soul to reach her. Things were getting a little better, but they were still awkward.

  He loved her. She was his wife, and he wanted her to remain that way, forever and ever. He wanted to raise Milo with her, grow old beside her.

  He knew where he stood. He wasn’t so sure about Hannah.

  She’d been through things he couldn’t even imagine, didn’t want to imagine. He had to give her time. He knew that.

  Noah watched, jaw clenched, as Liam Coleman’s figure grew smaller and smaller. Was he walking the whole town? It didn’t surprise him. Coleman seemed like the restless type.

  Maybe he’d walk right out of Fall Creek and never come back. In his opinion, the gruff soldier couldn’t leave soon enough.

  Noah forced his attention back to the church. He didn’t have time for another pity party. He had work to do.

  Several snowmobiles huddled in the church’s parking lot, along with a couple of old vehicles. Noah got out of the truck and pocketed the keys. He stood for a moment, blinking against the sun.

  How Bishop could still enter that church, he had no clue. The memories of the carnage still haunted his nightmares. All those bodies. All those men, women, and children, senselessly slaughtered.

  The massacre was a blight on Fall Creek. A stain that might never be lifted.

  He steeled himself and strode toward the church. The stained-glass windows were broken. Colored glass glinted in the snowbanks beneath the windows. The church steeple towered above him.

  Reynoso greeted him at the side door. Officer Oren Truitt stood with him. “Follow me.”

  They hurried to the largest room with the pass-through window where Daphne had handed out bags of donated food a month ago. It had once been stuffed floor-to-ceiling with supplies; now it was empty of everything but people.

  Officer Hayes stood outside the door, his service weapon holstered, but his palm resting on the grip, just in case.

  Noah gave him a tense nod. Hayes returned it.

  Truitt and Reynoso followed Noah into the room. At least twenty people were crowded inside. Their faces were haggard, their expressions tense. Everyone looked thinner and scruffier.

  Noah scanned the crowd, recognizing the gas station owner, Mike Duncan, and his physics major son, Jamal. Next to them stood Dave Farris, Tina Gundy, the mechanic’s daughter, and Annette King, the principal of Fall Creek High School.

  Standing near Bishop was Mrs. B
lair, Thomas Blair’s widow, and her daughter, Whitney. Their eyes were red, their faces gaunt with grief.

  As one, everyone turned to Noah.

  “Chief Sheridan! You need to do something!”

  “Tell us you’re going to do something to stop these animals!”

  “We’re starving! I have nothing to feed my children!”

  “You’re not going to let this stand, are you?”

  “We’re happy you got your wife back and all, but things aren’t so great for the rest of us!”

  “Calm down, folks,” Noah said loudly. “What is going on here?”

  Their grumbling faded. Their heads swiveled to Bishop.

  Bishop stood at the back of the room, surrounded by empty, ransacked shelves. His hands were balled into fists at his sides. “They shut down my church, Noah. They stole from me. From us. From this community.”

  Noah didn’t have to ask who. He already knew.

  37

  Noah

  Day Thirty

  “The militia took food that didn’t belong to them,” Bishop repeated. “They stole it.”

  Noah raised his hands, palms out. His gut twisted, dreading this moment. “It is true that the town appropriated certain goods to expediently serve the community’s needs—”

  “We didn’t vote on this,” Dave said. “The town council didn’t approve this.”

  “The town can’t vote on every decision,” Noah said with a patience he didn’t feel. “The superintendent needs the ability to make decisions in the field that will keep the community safe and healthy.”

  Bishop looked at him like he’d suddenly grown three heads. “Don’t tell me you okayed this. Don’t tell me you’re on board.”

  Noah hesitated. If he admitted that Julian and Sutter had done this without bothering to ask his opinion or consent, it would undermine his authority.

  Bishop’s eyes narrowed. Noah didn’t have to say a word; Bishop knew him too well.

  The others didn’t, though. It was vital that they saw him as their leader, as the leader he was trying so hard to be. The leader that Fall Creek needed.