The sheriff sighed, shaking his head like he couldn’t believe what he was reading. “Call for backup from Merryville before you set out.”
“I think the six of us can handle one scrawny biker,” Jackson scoffed, but kept his tone respectful. “Plus Dale and Evans are already en route.”
Dale and Evans were two other deputies, not currently at the station. At least, not as far as I could see. I took a moment to glance around at those present.
My heart stopped. Skipped. Stuttered.
I took a reflexive step backward. A twisting, uncomfortable heat crawled up my chest and bottomed out my stomach. I spotted a bearded man separate from the crowd, tinkering with a machine. It was a beard I’d recognize anywhere.
Cletus Winston, the third Winston brother.
As usual, he didn’t see me.
When folks in town dismissed me, it didn’t bother me much. Very few were actually petty, and most of the petty ones were girls my age that I’d grown up with, or their mothers. They’d affix fake smiles in front of my face and rolled their eyes at my back. I was used to this.
Cletus was different. He didn’t see me at all. It was as though I didn’t register on his radar, not even a blip, and this had been true my entire life. I was invisible to him.
But that was fine by me.
Cletus Winston was the sneakiest, most manipulative, most powerful, and—as far as I was concerned—the most dangerous man in East Tennessee. Problem was, virtually no else seemed to realize it. Everyone in town thought he was odd, but mostly harmless.
Meanwhile, he blackmailed them into doing what he wanted, all the while tricking people into thinking it was their idea.
I knew this because I was a people watcher.
Don’t get me wrong, watching Cletus was no chore. Was he handsome? Yes, he most certainly was. Like all the Winston boys, he was a looker.
Maybe, to most people, he wasn’t nearly as favored as his other brothers with their tidy beards, lean builds, and classic good looks. At first glance you might overlook him because, with Cletus, it was necessary to probe beyond the surface to see the potential underneath.
He was shorter and stockier than his siblings, his frame thicker and more muscular. His beard was bushy and long, long enough to braid, like one of those Vikings. The man evidently didn’t subscribe to beard maintenance other than brushing it, oiling it, and letting it grow.
His streaked chestnut hair was long, curly in some spots, wavy in others. It stuck out in all directions, several strands bleached blond by the sun. The locks covered his ears but didn’t quite meet the back of his neck due to its constant state of skewedness. I thought, on anyone else, it would look adorable.
Before I’d realized how cold-blooded he was, I’d itched to tame his wild mane and trim his beard—just a little. Just enough to reveal the handsome man under all that chaos. I’d often wondered how much of his disorderly exterior was purposeful, meant to give him an innocuous, unkempt appearance. Obviously his misdirection worked because folks were fooled by it.
However, his eyes should have given him away. His eyes should have made it obvious to anyone really looking that he wasn’t odd. He was maniacally clever. They were green or hazel—I wasn’t sure which since he never met my gaze and hardly ever stood still for any period of time when I was close by—and were rimmed by ridiculously thick lashes. His lashes were so very pretty.
I think his pretty lashes confused people and made them overlook how his eyes were lit with an unnatural intelligence. He didn’t miss much. And he was able to mask his expression and thoughts, misdirect others, because of how he used his eyes.
Regardless, maniacal intelligence and scruffy misdirection notwithstanding, Cletus Winston was remarkably attractive.
Yep. Definitely a looker.
But I didn’t care much about that. I wasn’t interested in lookers. The King brothers were lookers, too. Just because a person was a looker doesn’t mean they’re not a psychopath.
At present, Cletus’s features were arranged in affable indifference, but his eyes told a different story. They were sharp and attentive. It was clear to me he was splitting his attention between the gathering of officers and the machine in front of him, eavesdropping though appearing oblivious.
While he watched them, I watched him. As my grandmother always used to say, “Best to keep an eye on the viper in a barn full of mice.”
Especially if you’re a mouse.
“Well, I guess y’all better get going,” the sheriff said with reluctance, worry in his voice.
The officers started to move, the air ripe with anticipation as they traded excited glances. Deputy Chris Williams turned, stepping right in front of me then reeling back a bit. He gave me a big smile.
“Oh. Hello, Jenn. Didn’t see you there."
I nodded at his greeting, my attention moving to Cletus. The third Winston wasn’t looking at Chris and me, thank goodness.