Brody took a breath and turned the knob. He took three steps and eased into a chair facing the chief’s desk. As usual, Chief Dave Horner was perfectly presented without a wrinkle on his starched navy-blue uniform or a spot of stubble on his chin to mar his clean-cut image.

The chief’s focus sharpened as he studied Brody’s face. “I heard Chet was involved in an altercation at The Pub last night. Tell me what happened.”

Of course he’d heard. Horner was more politician than cop. Police chief was an appointed position, and his job security depended on the continued reelection of the mayor who had hired him. Information was the key to Horner’s political game.

“Chet was drinking . . .” Brody relayed the basics but kept the details to a minimum.

The chief scratched his cleanly shaved jaw. “I should have expected him to snap. The news about his daughter must be too much for him to handle.”

“We have no evidence that those remains are Teresa. Chances are they are not. I’m still investigating.”

“Of course. You’re right.” Irritation creased his mouth as Horner corrected himself. He smoothed it over. “But not knowing her fate must be a huge strain on him. “We’ll need a statement from the woman who was with you last night.” Curiosity lit Horner’s eyes.

Brody had planned to ask Hannah for a formal, signed statement last night. The kiss had distracted him.

“Brody?”

Just as the memory of their lip-lock was distracting him now.

“Of course, sir,” he said. “I’ll have it by the end of the day.”

Brody sent a silent thank-you to Hannah. The paperwork required by last night’s incident would have increased tenfold if Brody’s gun had been fired.

“I appreciate what it took for you to come in here this morning.” Horner leaned back and spread his palms on the surface of his desk. “I’ll take care of it from here. Thank you.”

Dismissed.

But Brody didn’t move.

The chief sighed. “I’ll be gentle.”

Feeling low, Brody exited the office. A receptionist, an admin, and two patrol officers had come in while he’d been talking to Horner. All eyes were on Brody as he crossed the thin carpet. Stella leaned on the desk, her hands gripping the laminate edge. “Brody, wait.”

He stopped, preparing to be ostracized. Cops stuck by cops. They didn’t volunteer information that led to disciplinary action.

“We all know what happened last night.”

Small towns.

“What you just did must have killed you inside, and as much as we love Chet, you did what had to be done. No one blames you,” she said.

Brody lifted his head and scanned the room. No one avoided eye contact. This was a tight-knit group, and he felt like a traitor for reporting Chet’s drinking.