Page 10 of Preacher

“You’re very romantic in the morning.”

“Holly, not now.”

I laughed under my breath and went to get my shoes before he could answer.

Curtis Freight looked less alarming in daylight, which didn’t make the intrusion feel any less real. Sheriff White’s cruiser was already parked outside when we arrived, and he stood near the warehouse with a notebook in one hand, alone. Just Warren White in the New Mexico heat, trying to cover the entire scene himself. That’s what the law looked like in this town now.

“Holly,” he said when I got near him.

“Sheriff.”

His attention moved past me to Preacher approaching, and White let out a tired breath. “Figured you’d be around. Whatever you’ve already got your people doing,” White said, tucking his notebook beneath one arm, “don’t make my job harder than it already is.”

“Do it fast enough and maybe I won’t have to.”

White’s jaw tightened. “You know damn well I don’t have the manpower to sit on this property.”

“Yeah,” Preacher said. “I do.”

There was no satisfaction in Preacher’s voice. Both men knew White was outmanned by the problem, and neither liked what that meant.

“That doesn’t give your club a badge,” White said.

“Never wanted one.”

“No, you just like deciding the law doesn’t apply to you.”

Preacher’s expression cooled another degree. “You want to argue about me, or deal with the men who broke in here?”

I stepped between them before they could settle into what was clearly a well-practiced sparring routine. “Could we perhaps focus on the strangers going through my father’s business records before one of you gets your dick out and starts measuring?”

White stared at me for a second while a low sound suspiciously close to a laugh came from behind me. “Your father used to say pretty much the same thing, only less politely.”

That defused things enough for White to walk me through what he’d found, which was not a whole lot. Whoever had come inside wanted information, not valuables.

“They were looking for information,” I said.

“It sure looks that way.”

White photographed the open cabinets and took my descriptions. He was competent, but watching him work alone made Salvation feel more vulnerable than the boarded storefronts had.

When he finished, White closed his notebook. “I’ll run what I can. If either of you sees those men again, you call me.”

His attention stayed on Preacher for the second half of the sentence. Preacher folded his arms, and White sighed. “Yeah. Waste of breath.”

“Probably.”

“You start dropping bodies over a warehouse break-in, I’m still coming through your gate.”

“You find probable cause, knock yourself out.”

The look White gave him could have stripped paint. He wasn’t giving Preacher permission to do anything; he simply knew permission had never been part of the arrangement.

White turned to me instead. “You call me, Holly.”

“I will.”

He started toward his cruiser before Preacher called his name. “Warren.”