On a Knife's Edge by Lynda Bailey

department.
    Usually the number of cars in the parking lot could be
counted on three fingers—six if they were busy. But over a dozen vehicles
populated the asphalt space…very odd. She cut the engine, unclicked her
seatbelt then grabbed the plastic bags from the backseat. She hustled up the
walkway as the biting, northerly wind kicked up. It might be May, but the
weather felt more winter-like than spring.
    The interior temperature made the exterior temperature feel
balmy. Everyone wore jackets while a few folks sported hats. And a number of
extra people loitered in the squad room.
    She stopped at the dispatcher’s desk. “Joan, what’s going
on? Why isn’t the heat on and what are all these people doing here?”
    Joan, who wore fingerless mittens with a matching knitted cap
and scarf, shrugged. “Dell said the furnace is on the fritz and I don’t have
any idea why everybody’s here, but they’ve been going in and out of the
Sheriff’s office and the interview room all morning.”
    Shasta adjusted her hold on the bags. “Where’s Dell?”
    A burst of laughter turned her head. Her brother, along with
several guys she remembered running track with Dell in high school, walked out
of the viewing room. If she needed further proof something was amiss, this was
it.
    Shasta dumped the bags on Joan’s desk. “Please take this
stuff to the break room. I’ll put everything away in a minute.” She beelined
across the room to where Dell stood, surrounded by his smiling friends. As she
approached, his wide grin faded from his face.
    He murmured something and everyone scattered like
cockroaches in a flashlight beam. “Hey, sis,” he said in a sugary tone.
    She crossed her arms. “What’s going on?”
    His eyes widened in feigned surprise. “Nothing.”
    “Baloney.” She pointed to the door he exited. “What’s going
on in there?”
    Dell’s amicable demeanor vanished. “Like I said, nothing.”
He reached for her arm, as though to lead her away, but she dodged his grip and
rushed past him. “What the fu—Shasta… wait .”
    Just inside the room, Shasta stopped so abruptly, Dell
rammed into her. Stunned astonishment tore through her as she stared at the
person standing on the other side of the one-way mirror.
    Lynch Callan.
    A naked Lynch Callan.
    But before her brain could fully process that reality, it
registered a bluish tint to his lips and the fact he visibly shivered. And all
the odd happenings of the day fell into place…
    Her “essential” trip to Reno. The furnace being on the
“fritz.” Her brother’s friends populating in the squad room…
    She whirled around. Dell stood there, his posse crowded
behind him, and he almost looked sheepish. Almost.
    “What the fuck have you done?” she demanded.
    Dell’s eyeballs practically jumped out of their sockets. In
high school, Shasta could swear a sailor under the table, but it had been years
since she uttered anything more profane than damn.
    Her brother recovered enough to point to the glass. “Nothing
that bastard doesn’t deserve.”
    She leaned forward, unable to believe the words coming from
his mouth. “Deserve? Did you just say he deserves this treatment?”
    One of Dell’s buddies piped up, “You know he does, Shasta.”
    She cut her gaze to him. “Am I talking to you, Allen? No?
Then be quiet. In fact, get out.” She waved her arms. “All of you. Get the hell
outta here.”
    After a moment of shocked silence, the mob quickly backed
out of the viewing room. Shasta slammed the door shut then turned.
    A thunderous cloud had settled on her brother’s face. “Just
who do you think you are?”
    “I’m your sister,” Shasta shot back, “and apparently the
only one in this room with a working brain.” She tunneled her fingers through
her hair and spun away, a growl snagging in her throat. “Jesus, Dell. Is this
why you’ve been on patrol? So you could pick Lynch up and treat him like your
personal freak show? How could you?”
    “Are