♥ Jethro ♥
We touched down in Oakfield just after two p.m. The air smelled like damp soil and pine needles, and the skies hung low and heavy, as if the weather knew something we didn’t. Jackson and I descended the jet steps with grim silence. Neither of us said a word. We didn’t need to. This wasn’t a business trip. A black SUV with government plates was already waiting on the tarmac. The driver, a tall woman with short silver hair and a no-nonsense glare, introduced herself as Lieutenant Hale.
“I’m with Chief Bradley,” she said as we slid into the vehicle. “She is waiting for you at the station. Let’s go,” the drive into Oakfield was short. Scenic and somewhat all too peaceful. It looked like the kind of place where nothing bad was supposed to happen. But bad had already arrived. Inside
