After a quick stop to pick up a pizza at Daria's request, Ethan drove to her house. It was a small single-family home surrounded by greenery that gave it a quiet, secluded feel.
As he stepped out of the car, Ethan heard faint music drifting from inside.
—Don't you live alone? —he asked, closing the car door as he glanced at the light spilling through the windows.
—I usually do, but my cousin's visiting from Philadelphia. She should be here by now —Daria said with a little laugh, giving him a playful shove toward the door.
Ethan knocked, still a little confused. A moment later, the door opened to reveal a black-haired woman in office attire and black stilettos. The top three buttons of her white blouse were undone, revealing her delicate collarbones and a hint of black lace beneath.
When she saw Ethan, her eyes lit up.
Ethan smiled and lifted the pizza box. He was about to speak when Daria's cousin pressed a finger to her lips, signaling for silence.
—You must be the pizza delivery boy, right?
Ethan's mouth opened slightly in surprise.
—Thank you so much. You see, I'm an unemployed housewife, and I don't have any money. Do you accept other forms of payment? —she asked, tucking her hair behind her ear and biting her lip with an exaggeratedly pleading look.
He understood immediately—this was the "surprise" Daria had mentioned. Clearing his throat, he played along.
—Well… I think I could make an exception. Maybe we can discuss the details inside?
—Perfect. Come on in —Daria's cousin said with a laugh, stepping back and pulling him across the threshold.
Just as flirtatious as Daria, Lina lightly caressed Ethan's arm as she led him farther into the house. Her touches were gentle but deliberate. He already knew this would be a night to remember.
The three of them soon settled onto the bed. A quiet tension hung in the air, heightened by every small movement and whisper. Daria reached for the buttons of Ethan's shirt while Lina kissed his chest, her hands tugging at his belt.
Daria slid into the center of the bed, drawing his gaze. Lina joined her with easy grace. Ethan sat beside them, his breathing falling into rhythm with theirs as anticipation built.
Their conversation faded into murmurs. Their gestures grew bolder, their touches overlapping in a silent exchange. Daria's hand brushed Lina's, their fingers intertwining in unspoken understanding.
Daria leaned closer, a soft smile on her lips as she hovered inches from Ethan's mouth. Beside her, Lina slipped her hand into his, her touch light but deliberate.
The mattress creaked beneath their weight as they pressed together in a slow, heated rhythm. Every caress was purposeful, every shared glance a quiet promise.
The heat in the room rose with each passing moment. Their breathing grew ragged, their movements more urgent, until the connection between them became undeniable—a shared sense of desire and understanding.
As the night wore on, their closeness deepened. Their bodies moved together, each gesture flowing into the next. What had begun as curiosity became an intimate exploration of pleasure.
Eventually, the night settled into silence, leaving them resting in the quiet, exhausted ease of satisfaction.
Early the next morning, Ethan woke to movement against him. It took a moment for his eyes to focus.
—You awake? —Lina murmured, leaning closer to wrap her arms around him. Daria was still asleep beside her, smiling at some distant dream.
—Yeah. Didn't expect you to be into morning workouts —Ethan said, reaching for a cigarette on the nightstand. Lina picked up the lighter and held the flame for him.
—I'm exhausted… Are you even human? —she teased.
—Thinking about another round? —Ethan asked, exhaling smoke as he shifted closer.
—I'll consider it —she said with a coy look.
Later, Ethan returned to the station with a yawn, then stopped by Miles's for coffee. Daria had skipped work, which didn't surprise him; she'd barely been able to keep her eyes open that morning. The restaurant was bustling.
After breakfast, he received a call from Alma about a harassment complaint. Ethan headed to the address—a two-story house with a blue roof.
The wooden house stood among towering trees, with a large stretch of neatly trimmed grass behind it. The setting was almost idyllic.
Ethan narrowed his eyes at the silver Rolls-Royce parked across the street, gathered his gear, and stepped out. In the backyard, he spotted Proctor and a man in a light blue plaid shirt standing beside an old well.
—Gentlemen, we received a call for help. Everything all right here? —Ethan asked.
The man looked up at Ethan in his uniform, then turned toward the house and shouted irritably.
—Deborah, I told you not to call the damn police!
He walked over and offered Ethan his hand.
—Hello, Officer. I'm Arthur—Arthur Ramsay.
—I know you. You're the local pastor, aren't you? —Ethan shook his hand and glanced at Proctor. —Everything under control?
—Just discussing some business. I represent the Kinaho tribe in negotiations to buy this land —Proctor explained.
Ramsay ignored him and lowered the bucket into the well. After drawing it back up, he filled a ladle halfway and held it out.
—I'd like to offer you a drink from my well.
—It's sweet —Proctor said after tasting it, passing the ladle to Ethan.
—You're right. Better than tap water, just like my great-grandfather used to say —Ethan said with a nod.
Ramsay lowered the bucket again, his expression unchanged.
—When my son was born, the congregation gathered here to baptize him. He'll baptize his own child here, too. So my final answer is no. I won't sell.
—I respect your conviction, Mr. Ramsay —Proctor said, stepping closer. —But sometimes conviction turns into stubbornness, and that never ends well. Here's what I'll do: I'll pay you twice the market value and help you find a property of the same size nearby. You can dig a new well. The water will taste the same.
Ramsay scoffed.
—I'm afraid that if I let you "help," I'll only be displacing more families.
Proctor's smile faded. He leaned in, lowering his voice.
—Listen carefully. You can take twice the money, or you can go bankrupt. Either way, this land *will* be mine.
—Try whatever you like —Ramsay said evenly. —I'll pray that God stops you.
—If God cared, He wouldn't have let me show up —Proctor murmured.
Ethan stepped between them.
—That's enough. Mr. Proctor, no more threats.
—Don't worry. I'm done for now. Think it over. You have two days —Proctor replied, straightening his suit before walking away.
Ramsay sighed, let the ladle drop, and trudged back toward the house.
That night, as Ethan crossed the parking lot with his coffee, he spotted Hood sitting alone on a bench across from the station. He changed direction and walked over.
—Sheriff.
Hood didn't look up. He kept tearing pieces from a slice of bread and tossing them onto the ground. Ethan sat beside him, bumping his hip against the bench as he settled in. A flock of pigeons swooped down, flapping their wings and pecking at the crumbs.
—What about your friend? Did he finally leave town? —Ethan asked.
Hood remained silent for a moment. When he finally spoke, his voice was low and tired.
—He's where he belongs now.
—You know, I once had a friend like that —Ethan said. —No matter what you do for them, people like that are never grateful. The moment they see an opening, they take advantage. Better to cut them off before they drag you down with them.
—I guess you're right. What would you do? —Hood asked quietly.
—I wouldn't lose any more sleep over it. Some people aren't worth it —Ethan replied, getting to his feet.
After finishing his patrol the following morning, he pulled the cruiser over by the lake. He found a large rock and sat down, unwrapping a piece of fried chicken. He ate slowly, gazing across the water as the wind rustled through the reeds.
When he finished, he drove back to the station.
A woman in a denim skirt stood by the wall, holding a dish in both hands. As Ethan closed the car door, she stepped forward.
—Mrs. Moody. What can I do for you?
He glanced at the pie she was carrying and took a step back.
—It's apple pie. Afraid I poisoned it? Relax—I'm here to apologize for how I behaved at the festival —Kate said with a little laugh. She carefully set the pie on the hood of his Crown Victoria. —Do you have a moment? I'd like to talk.
Ethan studied her. He hadn't seen her in a while, and she seemed calmer somehow. He nodded, and they crossed the street together and sat on a bench.
—What did you want to talk about? I'm still on duty.
She didn't answer right away. When she finally broke the silence, she spoke with a question of her own.
—Can you be honest with me? Just a yes or no.
—Depends. What are you going to ask?
—Did you kill Marcus and Dex?
Kate didn't flinch. She looked him straight in the eye.
—They've been gone a while. Usually, they turn up eventually, but this time… it's been too long. Did you kill them?
Ethan hadn't expected her to be so blunt. He smiled faintly, took out a cigarette, and lit it.
—Any other questions, Mrs. Moody?
—I think I already know. But don't worry—I'm not here to cause trouble.
Kate Moody took the cigarette pack from his hand, drew one out, and lit it. Smoke curled around her face.
—They wanted to kill you to get even for Cole, but… they were monsters. After Cole died, they started hurting me. If they're gone… all I can say is thank you. At least I don't have to sleep with a knife under my pillow anymore.
She coughed softly and looked away.
—I'm sorry for what you went through.
Ethan stood to leave, then paused with his hand resting on the back of the bench.
—From now on… try to rest easy. Things will get better.
He walked away without another word. Kate remained on the bench, releasing a shaky breath as tears slipped down her cheeks. Then she retrieved the pie and carried it over to the station.
Inside, Siobhan looked up curiously.
—Did Mrs. Moody need something from you?
—Nothing. She was just apologizing for the festival —Ethan said.
—Oh. —Siobhan turned back to her desk.
Through the window, Ethan watched Kate wave and head down the sidewalk. He smiled briefly, sat down, and dropped the apple pie straight into the trash before starting up his computer.
Not long afterward, Siobhan peered over the cubicle wall, her eyes wide.
—Officer Kelly, you busy?
—Tch. As if you have anything important to say —Ethan muttered, closing the Solitaire window.
—Actually, I have some shocking gossip. Do you want to hear it or not?
He sighed, opened his drawer, pulled out a packet of nuts, and tossed it over without looking up.
—Did you know Pastor Ramsay is getting divorced?
—Arthur Ramsay?
—Yeah, him. —Siobhan nodded eagerly. —He and his wife were always joined at the hip. Church activities, volunteer work—they did everything together. And now, poof—a divorce out of nowhere.
Ethan thought of the man he'd seen standing beside the well, with that perfectly green lawn behind him.
—What else? —Ethan asked, tossing a nut into his mouth.
—I heard he sold his house and all the land around it. You know how the Kinaho tribe kept trying to buy it for a new casino? He always refused. I don't know why he suddenly changed his mind.
Ethan raised his eyebrows. *Proctor's threats worked.*
Once they finished gossiping, they headed back out on patrol.
When the light turned red, Ethan stopped and glanced idly at the cars beside him. To his surprise, he spotted Jenny Kendall drumming her fingers impatiently against the steering wheel.
—Hey, Jenny. Long time no see —Ethan called, rolling down his window.
She turned, startled, then smiled and quickly lowered her own window.
—Ethan! You're back? My husband said you'd taken some time off.
—Yeah, I got back a few days ago.
—That's wonderful. After what happened last time, Dan and I wanted to have you over for dinner to thank you, but it never worked out. —Her smile widened. —How about tonight? Let me cook you something good. Dan will be glad to see you.
She sounded so excited that he couldn't bring himself to refuse.
—All right. Tonight, then.
When the light changed, they waved goodbye.
As Ethan turned onto Second Street, Alma's voice crackled urgently over the radio.
—There's been a robbery at Walgreens. One civilian has been shot. Emmett is pursuing the suspects.
Siobhan and Brock responded almost simultaneously.
—Roger.
*Walgreens… that's only one street over,* Ethan thought. He reached for the radio to respond.
Just then, a red Camry shot backward out of an alley. Before Ethan could react, it slammed into his cruiser, crushing the front end. The airbag deployed with a deafening bang.
Ethan's vision blurred, and a high-pitched ringing filled his ears.
Through the haze, he saw two masked men jump out of the Camry and fire as they ran.
Still dizzy, he fumbled with his seat belt. Suddenly, the passenger-side window shattered, and a familiar voice called out.
—Ethan! What the hell are you doing here? You okay? Should I call an ambulance?
—I'm fine —he groaned, trying to clear his head. —Go! Don't let them get away.
He looked up to see Emmett, wide-eyed and gun drawn, already sprinting after the fleeing gunmen.