The Comfort Creek police station was a quaint little affair, and it reminded Bryce of Mayberry and The Andy Griffith Show. The whole town had that feeling about it—like all problems should be able to be solved in twenty-two minutes, and end with some time at a fishing hole. If only real life were so picturesque.
Bryce parked and hopped out into the warm summer sunlight. He stepped over the bulging cracks in the asphalt where the tree roots were barging through, and trotted up the front steps to the station. The receptionist gave him a curt nod as he came inside—obviously she was used to the run of visiting officers and hadn’t much time for pleasantries. It was just as well. He was feeling less than pleasant anyway.
He headed toward the chief’s office, and when he stopped at the door, Chief Morgan waved him in.
“Good. You’re here.” He sat behind a desk, typing away at something, and only glanced up for a moment.
“Hi, Chief,” Bryce said.
The chief motioned for him to close the door and turned back to his computer. Bryce sat down in the chair opposite and waited. The rattle of keys filled the room, and Bryce glanced around. There were a few pictures of the chief with a yellow Labrador retriever, but that was it for personal effects. There were a couple diplomas on the wall, an award or two, a picture of the chief in full uniform next to a portly-looking fellow—a mayor, maybe? He looked official. The smile didn’t seem to make it to either man’s eyes.
“Okay.” Chief Morgan hit the last button on his keyboard and turned toward Bryce. “So today we start the more in-depth part of your training.”
Bryce tried to look appropriately interested. “I’m ready, sir.”
“Great.” The chief leaned back in his chair. “So tell me about this fight.”
“It was stupid, sir. Nothing to tell.”
“Do you tend to hit other officers for no reason at all?” he inquired, arching one brow.
“Not normally, sir.”
“So there was more to this, then.” The chief looked at him evenly. “Because I’ve looked at your record, and you’re generally a good officer. You work hard. You take extra shifts. You hand in your paperwork on time, and besides being late a few times, your history is good.”
It was in direct contrast to his father’s track record, and while Bryce had been proud of his clean slate, there had been a small part of him—the boy inside—who worried that it would only push him further away from his dad. What would it take to get an “atta boy” from his old man?
“Thanks for that, sir.”
“So what’s the deal, then?”
Bryce sighed. “It was a low blow, sir. Officer Higgins had been pestering me about a personal matter for weeks, and one day after a long shift when I was tired, I snapped.”
“Hmm.” Chief Morgan nodded slowly. “Do you know that I know your father?”
Bryce felt the blood drain from his face, and he attempted to keep his composure, but he wasn’t sure how successful he was. He cleared his throat and looked away.
“I’m not my old man, sir.” Bryce glanced back at the chief irritably. “With all due respect.”
“Your father is the reason I’m the cop I am today,” the chief went on. “I worked for a few months in Fort Collins before I was able to get a position here at home. He was my first partner, and he showed me the ropes. We kept up with each other over the years. He wasn’t a conventional cop, but I don’t think he was dirty. If he’d been guilty of taking bribes, he’d have been charged.”
Bryce tried to hide his surprise. It was a small county, apparently, and this was the last place he’d think to look for someone who actually sided with his dad.
“Looks like you saw more of him than I did, sir,” Bryce replied.
Silence stretched between them, but Bryce could read sympathy on the chief’s face.
“I said he was a good partner, not a good father,” the chief said quietly. “There’s a difference.”
This was getting way more personal than he was comfortable with. “I’d rather not talk about it, if it’s all the same to you.”
“He called me,” Chief Morgan said.
Bryce suppressed a wince. So after all this time his father decided to take an interest in him? Great timing.
“What did he want?” Bryce asked warily. Somehow that made it worse, having his father know about his failure. Or was this a silver lining—something in common at long last? He didn’t want it this way. He’d never dreamed of bonding with his dad at rock bottom.
“He asked me to go easy on you.”
Bryce barked out a laugh. “This isn’t exactly Guantanamo Bay!”
“That’s pretty close to what I said.” The chief laughed softly. “The thing is, good officers climb and climb, and sometimes the pressure gets to be too much. They burn out. They make a bad choice, and then they topple from their pedestal.”
“Yeah, I get it,” Bryce said drily. “I’m just like my old man. I’m a good officer who made a dumb choice. Maybe I should forgive my father for his twenty-odd years of shortcomings.”
Chief Morgan ignored the dripping sarcasm and shrugged. “Forgive him or not, I don’t really care. And I didn’t say you were like him.”
“Then what are you getting at?” Bryce demanded. “Because this is pretty personal here.”
“I know that Officer Higgins had been needling you about your father,” Chief Morgan said.
“Oh.” So that little nugget had been passed along, too, had it? He might have opened with that and saved them this delightful back-and-forth.
“And I think that when you make your peace with your father’s failure, you’ll be a better officer.”
Bryce clenched his teeth and looked away. So now Chief Morgan was going to play shrink with him? Since when did his personal issues with his old man have anything to do with his ability to do his job? It was one mistake to hit Higgins, and everyone was treating him like some sort of ticking time bomb, ready to go at any moment. He was professional. He was thorough. He did his job, and when he clocked out at the end of the day, if he held a few resentments against the father who abandoned him, it was no one else’s business.
“You disagree?” Chief Morgan asked.
“I do.” Bryce shook his head. “I imagine you’ve got a few personal issues of your own, Chief. Every man has them, but it doesn’t make it the business of the precinct.”
“It is if it affects your ability to be a good cop,” came the reply. “You carry a badge and a gun. You’d better have your personal demons well in hand.”
The chief opened his desk drawer and pulled out a small notebook. He tossed it across the desk toward Bryce.
“What’s this?” Bryce asked.
“A notebook.” The chief nodded toward it. “I want you to write down every time you pretend to be something you’re not.”
“Excuse me?” Who didn’t pretend to be something they weren’t from time to time? Every man