𝗣𝗥𝗢𝗟𝗢𝗚𝗨𝗘
𝘐𝘴 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘴𝘵𝘪𝘭𝘭 𝘸𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘐 𝘸𝘢𝘯𝘵?
Jessie Mistri sat alone at the dinette, taking in the world through the kitchen window, watching a desert tree with thorny branches swaying to the light breeze.
If only the nearness of her partner felt like the wind's soft caress. Instead, her relationship hurt like those finger-length thorns, painful to touch or worse, to hold.
"I'll do what I want!" Dean had yelled, moments earlier, on his way out the front door before slamming it shut.
"I just want to start a family someday," Jessie had whispered after him. But he didn't hear it. He never heard anything she said, even if he were only a breath away.
𝘐 𝘥𝘰𝘯'𝘵 𝘬𝘯𝘰𝘸 𝘸𝘩𝘢𝘵'𝘴 𝘩𝘢𝘱𝘱𝘦𝘯𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘵𝘰 𝘶𝘴—𝘵𝘰 𝘮𝘦.
𝘐 𝘩𝘢𝘷𝘦 𝘵𝘰 𝘥𝘰 𝘴𝘰𝘮𝘦𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨.
Dean never came home that day.
Or ever again.
𝗖𝗛𝗔𝗣𝗧𝗘𝗥 𝟭: 𝗢𝗻𝗲 𝗬𝗲𝗮𝗿 𝗟𝗮𝘁𝗲𝗿
Reece Cannon drove her sheriff's SUV down an old-town road, scanning for anything that looked unusual or out of the ordinary. Anything at all. Although the new Keeping-the-Peace-Since-1865 role she played for Pima County thrilled her imagination, nothing close to thrilling had actually happened.
She dreamed of solving uncrackable cases, ensnaring killers who fell into her traps, and rescuing the downtrodden. Lifting any and all to new heights, living their best life with inspired hope, she'd breathe free air into the lungs of her Tucsonans drowning in victimhood and despair.
"A fool's dream," she whispered as she drove alone.
Off the sides of the old road, the fingers of saguaro cacti reached for the heavens, casting shadows over the parched earth.
Before becoming a deputy, she worked the desk at a law firm, seeing struggle on victims' faces, hard knocks—what some call real life—and she wanted to be the difference between pain and hope, for others. Becoming a deputy was supposed to be her path to that goal.
Instead, she gave traffic tickets and labored over tedious paperwork about minor drug offenses and DUIs. Sure, it all needed to be done, but the glamorous and remarkably fulfilling fantasies were fading away.
The road Reece cruised down was weathered, with cracks snaking through the faded asphalt. Hardy creosote bushes and prickly pear cacti provided a splash of green here and there, with an occasional jackrabbit darting about, ears twitching with alertness, ever vigilant for the presence of predators.
Suddenly, a car whizzed by her, at least twenty over the forty-five MPH speed limit. Right next to her too, like the driver was oblivious to her official SUV. Either that or the individual simply didn't care.
"Cheers to another traffic ticket. Yay," Reece mumbled, flipping on her lights and speeding up, maneuvering behind the car.
After fifteen seconds of tailing the car that didn't slow, Reece prepared to switch her siren on. Before she could, the white Toyota Corolla quickly pulled off to the right, abruptly stopping.
Reece's ears perked up as she cranked her radio, hoping to hear an APB stating that something important had happened, perhaps that a local bank had been robbed. 𝘈 𝘣𝘶𝘳𝘨𝘭𝘢𝘳𝘪𝘻𝘦𝘥 𝘩𝘰𝘮𝘦? 𝘓𝘦𝘮𝘰𝘯𝘢𝘥𝘦 𝘴𝘵𝘢𝘯𝘥?
No such luck. After a long, disappointing moment, she stepped out and cautiously approached the Corolla.
The window came down, and Reece found herself looking at a flustered young woman with puffy eyes and a wet face.
"I'm sorry, officer." 𝘚𝘯𝘪𝘧𝘧. "I didn't know I was speeding." The woman tried to blink away her tears, but they kept falling.
"Of course you didn't." Despite the show, Reece wasn't buying it.
"I didn't know what the speed limit was. It's my fiancé. I don't know what's going on." The woman looked up at Reece. "Wait, you're police, right?"
"I'm a sheriff's deputy."
"Oh. I must've driven farther than I thought." 𝘚𝘯𝘪𝘧𝘧.
"I understand you're distraught, ma'am, but the speed limit is for everyone's protection. May I have your license and registration, please?"
"Mine?—oh…of course." The woman opened her purse and haphazardly fished around inside, unfocused, her long dark hair flying everywhere. She gushed, "Can I file a complaint?"
"Against me?"
"Oh, no, not against you. No, not at all. I think my fiancé's a…" Her breathing remained erratic as more tears fell down her face. "He's a… I'm…"
"Has someone hurt you, ma'am?"
"No, it's not that"—𝘨𝘢𝘴𝘱, 𝘴𝘯𝘪𝘧𝘧—"but I think he's a…a spy."
"A spy…" Reece took the driver's license from the woman and looked at her name. "…Ms. Mistri?"
The woman responded. "Ms. Mistri—for thirteen more days. Call me Jessie. You probably think I'm crazy. I would. I do..."
