fire truck guys jumped down and began unrolling a hose, while the officer in the cop car charged toward them. As she neared, he recognized Sheriff Gannet.
“Hey, Odell,” she called out. “The fire crew’s setting up to draft from your pond. What’s going on here?”
“Bastards pulled down my wind generator,” the man said. “Sparks started a grass fire. Caught this guy with the rope in his damn hands.”
The firefighters were close behind the sheriff. At the top of the ridge, they let loose a thin spray of water. The stream arced, glittering in the last light, and smoke rose thicker below them. Brian was so caught in watching, it took a moment to realize what he’d heard. “Me?” He turned to the sheriff. “I saw the smoke. I was calling nine-one-one but I tripped over the rope.”
Sheriff Gannet turned to him, her eyes unreadable in the gloom. “You’re Brian Carlson. You were there when Yasmin Wydell’s tractor was damaged.”
“Yes. I mean, no.” He blinked, his eyes smarting from the haze.
A firefighter turned to them. “All respect, but get your asses off this hill till we get the blaze contained.”
“Sure,” the sheriff said. “Odell, quit pointing that gun. You, Carlson, walk ahead of me down to my car.”
“He might run,” the man complained.
“I bet I could catch him,” Sheriff Gannet said dryly. “Move it, guys.”
Brian turned and walked quickly back down toward the road with his hands in the air. He tried to look like he was confident, and not scared, and not guilty of… whatever happened. He didn’t look back to see if the Odell guy still wanted to shoot him, just focused on trying to see through the smoke and not trip over the weeds. His eyes watered. He squeezed them shut for a second and hacked a dry cough, then another. Hidden brambles snagged at his legs, but the air cleared a lot as they reached the road.
“Hands on the roof of the car, Carlson,” the sheriff commanded. “Feet apart.”
He did as he was told, standing on the gravel shoulder, palms on the roof, trying to mimic the stance he’d seen in a dozen movies. Even so, he jumped at her hand on his back.
“Hold still.” She sounded businesslike, not angry, but he shivered. She kicked at his ankles. “Feet wider.”
It was an awkward position. Probably on purpose, no kidding. Still, he found it harder to balance than it should have been. His head was light and floaty. Somehow, this moment fused into a hundred nightmares of getting caught. Anonymous voices in his head said, “You killed Turov.” “You helped murder him.” “You threw him out to drown.” “Killer.” “…going to jail for life.”
A touch on his inner thigh made him buck and pull away, and then a rough hand between his shoulders pushed him toward the car. He collapsed onto it, the edge of the roof catching him on the nose. It hurt. He whined and blinked hard. His eyes suddenly filled with tears from the smoke-sting and he turned to wipe his face on his arm. Hands were on him, all over him, patting. His wallet was pulled from his pocket. He closed his eyes and let it happen. Eventually the touch went away. He didn’t move.
“Carlson? You can turn around now.”
He didn’t move.
“Look at me.”
They always say that before they push you down or sucker punch you or laugh at you with your wet face and fat self. Bullies like to see your fear. He didn’t move.
The sheriff snapped, “Carlson, stand up and turn around. Now!”
He obeyed automatically, straightening up and pivoting on one foot. With his eyes shut, he felt dizzy and put a hand back on the car to steady himself. The bulk was solid, like a metal horse, waiting patiently for duty. He smoothed his palm over the surface, imagining the rump of some robot steed, smooth and shiny—
“Look at me.”
He drew in a long sigh, took one more moment in the dark, then opened his eyes. The flashing lights from the cop car revealed Sheriff Gannet’s craggy features in pulsing red and blue and white. She was hatless, her short hair a bit mussed, her head tilted to one side.
Her voice was softer when she said, “What were you doing up there?”
Odell beside her snarled, “D’you see the damned genny? You know what that cost?”
“Hush.” She didn’t take her eyes off Brian. “Let him talk.”
Brian cleared his throat. “I saw the smoke. I smelled it. There shouldn’t be smoke. I went