He walked out of his office into the squad room to find a middle-aged man in a golf shirt and Dockers. “I’m Chief MacNair. How can I help you?”

“You can take care of this.” The man waved a ticket in the air before shoving it into Gabe’s hands.

Gabe took a look. “A state trooper wrote you a speeding ticket.”

“And I wasn’t speeding.” The man crossed his arms over his chest. “You morons have bad radar. For pity’s sake, he could have just opened his eyes and seen that I—”

Gabe noted the location on the ticket. Twenty miles away. “I’m sorry, sir, but the Rescue Police Department doesn’t have any authority beyond the city boundary. You need to—”

“I don’t care what authority you have; I just care that this ticket be killed. Do you know what this will do to my insurance?”

Patience, MacNair. Part of police work was public relations. “You’re going to have to discuss the problem with the Alaska State Troopers. I can’t assist you with a ticket they wrote.”

“Jesus, it’s pass the buck time, is it?” The man’s chest puffed up. “Listen, mister, I pay taxes, and that means you work for me.”

Riiiight. Gabe tried, he really did. Made the proper sympathetic noises, tried to tell the good citizen what to do, that he was in the wrong place. Didn’t even ask if those so-called paid taxes were in Alaska.

The rant continued and escalated to making threats to the blue shirt who’d written the ticket. At the fifteen-minute point, Gabe was done.

“Sir, the trooper was simply following the law. If you don’t like the law, you and your fellow voters can change it.” Gabe realized his voice had lowered to a growl. “Once the law says that asshole speeders who endanger the public can go unticketed, your law enforcement agencies will be pleased to comply.”

Gabe walked around him and stopped next to the station door. “Until then, I’m afraid I have work to do. Have a nice day.”

When the man’s face darkened, Gabe opened the door.

The good citizen walked through.

Shaking his head, Gabe closed the door.

What an asshole.

No, he shouldn’t be thinking like that, even if it was the appropriate term.

Closing up shop, Gabe headed out.

At home, hearing noise from outside, he walked onto the back deck. Bull was working in the garden, humming to himself. Caz stood at the grill.

Gabe’s brothers were home. As peace wrapped around him and his muscles unknotted one by one, he leaned against the deck railing.