Closing his eyes, Liam sighed heavily. He would have preferred the worst of the storm to be during the daytime, not in the black of night. Rinsing his dishes, he placed them into the dishwasher, wiped the counters, and tossed the dishtowel into the hamper in the laundry room before hanging a clean towel over the stove handle.
Flipping off the lights, he double-checked the doors and climbed the stairs. His nighttime routine was uninterrupted—a shower, clothes for the next day laid out, shoes shined, then climbing into bed to read.
But tonight, sleep was hard to find. The wind had picked up outside, and while the windows were covered and secure, he could still hear the whistling around the back corner of his house. He’d called his mom, checked in with his siblings, and made sure everyone was prepared. They were all adults, all taking care of their families and each other, but he couldn’t stop the feeling of needing to be responsible.
He rolled over, thinking of what his youngest brother, Corby, had said. “Jesus, Liam, you’ve got a whole county to take care of. We’re good, and we’ve got Mom. Stop worrying about us.” It might be true, but easier said than done.
He’d called his oldest sister, Ellen, to check on her family and ask if she felt safe in her home. “Brother dear, while my kids love their Uncle Liam, they want to spend the storm in a house they can play in, not one that looks like a model home!” He knew she was right also. Sighing, he punched his pillow. There’s nothing wrong with liking a neat space to call my own. He loved his family and never regretted stepping up to the plate to help raise his boisterous siblings, but the chaotic house made him promise that when he could finally have a place of his own, it would be calm perfection.
Rolling to his back, he sighed heavily, the sound of his breath leaving his lungs mixed with the wind against his empty house.
The station was a hive of activity the next morning. Hurricane Ivy had finally quit pissing around over the open water and had turned decidedly toward the Eastern Shore. As the day progressed, the winds increased, and the Chesapeake Bay Bridge-Tunnel administrators made their calls accordingly. They closed to trucks and campers by noon, and it was predicted that soon only cars would be able to pass.
He met with his Captain and Lieutenants, ensuring all departments were covered and staffed. “For those deputies at home, make sure they have their emergency contact in place and radios on. We’ll be better able to get to any area of need quicker if they travel from their homes instead of just this station. And if not needed, then they’ll be able to pass the storm with their families.”
Ross, his Captain, nodded. “They appreciate that, Liam.” His sentiments were met with nods from his other top staff. At only thirty-four years old, Liam knew he was young to be the Sheriff, but it was a position he’d wanted and knew he could do a good job. For the first couple of years, he worked hard to prove himself, glad that now he seemed to be accepted as more than competent. He stuck to the rules, didn’t put up with the previous Sheriff’s good-old-boy mentality that fostered favoritism as well as racism, and made sure the staff was well-trained and taken care of.
Tom, the Lieutenant of Corrections, spoke next. “The jail’s generators have been checked out, and everything is in working order. My staff is in place, including food and health, so we’re good to ride out the storm.”
By the end of their meeting, the winds had picked up and the rain had started. Skipping lunch, he made a trip over to the jail to check on the sixty-two inmates currently held. The previous day, the few that had medical conditions had been transported to the Regional Jail in North Heron. He chatted with the deputies that would be staying for the duration, thanking them for volunteering to ride the storm out on duty, and promised the county would reimburse them for their overtime.
Stepping out onto the sidewalk, he ducked as the wind threatened to whip his hat off his head. The sky was already dark, the evening sun long hidden behind the swirling clouds and slashing rain.
He jogged back into the Sheriff’s office, his long coat barely able to keep most of him dry. Once inside, he made his last rounds, stopping to stare at the TV in the corner. The bridge-tunnel had closed to all traffic other than cars with no luggage on top and had warnings posted that they would be closing completely by dark. The hotels and B&Bs were filled. The county had set up emergency shelters at the local schools, and Liam made sure they were staffed with a few of his deputies for the night.
The latest predictions still had Ivy hitting the Shore as a Category 5 hurricane and then stalling once it hit land. The sustained winds and rain might last two days. He dropped his chin to his chest, his fists landing on his hips. Well, hell.
4
Now, driving home in the dark storm, the torrential rain kept his windshield wipers busy at full speed, and yet, their effectiveness was minimal as he leaned forward to try to see the highway. He called in to the dispatcher to give all-clear updates on the part of the highway he was traversing, glad to hear that his other deputies were reporting the same. Thank God, people had heeded the warnings and were off the road.
“Any updates?”
“They’re saying the storm turned fast, but you know that. Still claiming Cat 5.”
He stifled the curse.
Close to the turnoff for his home, he hoped to be in his driveway in about ten minutes. Another gust of wind slammed into the side of his vehicle, and he gripped the steering wheel tighter.
A strange flash of light through the windshield caught his eye, and he squinted, leaning forward to try to discern what he was looking at. Slowing even more, the sight of a trailer on the side of the road became barely visible through the rain, a small SUV attached to the front. Parked on the side of the road, the emergency flashers were on, and he noted the Ohio license tags. Christ Almighty, who the hell is driving tonight, pulling that load in the middle of a Cat 5 hurricane? And going south? The fucking bridge is closed!
He backed up slightly and pulled to the side. “Possible 10-46, Mile Marker Seven.”
Calling the tags into dispatch, he discovered the vehicle and trailer were indeed rentals. Swallowing the growl that erupted, he ignored his hat, knowing the wind would send it sailing. Instead of throwing open the door in irritation, he opened it with caution, afraid of the raging wind catching it. Climbing out of his SUV, he squinted as the rain pelted his face. He turned his back toward its force and shut the door carefully. With his high-beam flashlight raised, he braced himself against the wind and stalked past the trailer toward the SUV.
Shining his light inside, he called out, “Acawmacke Sheriff’s Department. Is there an emergency?” He bent slightly to peer inside, the illumination of the light shining onto the driver twisted in the seat, a pair of wide, sky-blue eyes staring back at him. His gaze dropped to the rest of her. Fucking hell! His hand shot out to the door, throwing it open.
The woman had shifted to the passenger side and was now facing the driver’s door, her large, pregnant belly prominently displayed. Shit!
He bent forward and leaned into her space, his hands moving toward her ankles to assist her to a more comfortable position. “Ma’am, I’m with the Sheriff's Department. Are you in labor?”
Her brows lowered as she slapped at his hands. “Stop that! What are you doing?”