Page 56 of Logan’s Way

Angus considered getting out of his truck, walking over to Derek, having a conversation that stayed just inside legal boundaries while making it clear that continuing this path would have consequences. A type of unofficial warning sheriffs had issued for generations—weighty because the alternative was understood.

But Carol Henderson’s call had made that impossible. Any contact now would be evidence of harassment, supporting Derek’s attorney’s claims, and undermining the department’s ability to pursue charges once Derek finally crossed a prosecutable line.

The system demanded inaction. And inaction meant Derek kept winning.

Scout would be wondering where his person had gone, whether breakfast was coming, when routine would resume. The canine’s world was simple—presence and absence, trust and patience, waiting without question, because that was what Scout did—showed up, stayed close, asked nothing.

Angus envied that simplicity. Envied the ability to trust without wrestling, to wait without questioning whether patience was wisdom or cowardice.

His phone buzzed. Email from Human Resources, subject line: Administrative Notice. A slow frown settled between his brows. Last time it had been a text — informal, deniable. An email from HR was something else entirely. He read it slowly.

Sheriff Angus Reid,

Per County Supervisor Henderson’s directive, your access to departmental facilities and systems has been temporarily restricted pending review of your employment status during extended leave. This restriction includes physical access to the sheriff’s office, digital access to case files, and coordination with active-duty personnel regarding ongoing investigations.

This is standard administrative procedure during personnel reviews and should not be interpreted as disciplinary action. Please contact HR to schedule a meeting regarding your return-to-duty timeline.

Standard procedure. Administrative housekeeping. Perfectly reasonable restrictions—arriving the same day Lena Torres called for help and Derek Walsh’s attorney filed harassment complaints.

The environmental pressure had fully returned, no longer subtle but explicit. Angus was being locked out—not dramatically, not punitively, but completely. Cut off from the tools he’d need to help Lena through official channels, prevented from coordinating with Miguel, denied access to the very systems intended to protect people like her.

The message was clear: step back completely, or lose the ability to help anyone.

Derek’s truck hadn’t moved. He sat there smoking, watching, waiting. Demonstrating he could outlast any protective measures, that restraining orders were paper, and patrol presence was temporary, and Lena’s attempts to stay safe were futile because he had patience, she had terror, and the law protected him more than it protected her.

Angus looked at his phone—the email notification still visible, the restriction in effect. He looked at Derek’s truck, positioned exactly at legal distance. And he looked at the diner where Lena would eventually have to return to work, because not working meant not eating, and the system that had failed to protect her wouldn’t pay her bills while she stayed hidden— any more than it would keep Derek from his own job forever.

And Angus understood, with a knowing that weighed more like grief rather than burned like anger, that he could no longer protect people from inside the system. The system had closed around him, not violently but thoroughly, using procedures, policies, and legal protections to ensure that helping Lena Torres required either full submission to authority that moved too slowly or complete separation from an authority that offered tools but demanded obedience, even when obedience meant watching harm unfold.

Refusing to act was no longer morally defensible. Acting meant crossing lines he’d spent twenty years respecting. Becoming someone who decided individual judgment trumped collective authority. Moving toward the gap where Logan operated, pretending he could occupy it without becoming what his brother had become.

The choice was no longer whether to help Lena. The choice was whether helping her was worth losing everything else—badge, authority, the belief that justice required boundaries.

Angus started his truck and pulled away from the curb, leaving Derek Walsh to his vigil, leaving Lena to a system that documented her terror but failed to stop it, leaving the gap unfilled because filling it required crossing thresholds he wasn’t ready to cross.

Not yet.

But the corridor was narrowing—every door locking behind him as he moved forward, every option closing except those that demanded he become someone he’d spent his entire career believing he shouldn’t be.

Whatever came next would not allow him to remain who he had been.

Chapter Twenty-One

The administrative building smelled of carpet cleaner and recycled air, the kind of institutional space designed to strip personality from serious conversations. Angus sat across from Carol Henderson’s desk while she reviewed a file that had apparently grown thicker in the hours since they’d last spoken—documents proving he had been observed, tracked, recorded in his attempts to help someone the system had decided it could only assist later.

“You were observed in the same public location as Derek Walsh this morning,” Carol said without looking up. “Documented by his attorney’s investigator. You were also seen near Lena Torres’s apartment building twice in the past three days. These observations, combined with your acknowledged contact with Ms. Torres despite explicit instructions to disengage, create a pattern of behavior that exposes the department to significant liability.”

“I haven’t threatened Walsh. Haven’t made contact. Haven’t done anything except observe public spaces.”

“Which is exactly what Walsh’s attorney is calling targeted harassment. And because you’re on administrative leave without official authorization to be involved in active cases, your presence creates the appearance of intimidation tactics.” Carol finally looked up, her expression professionally neutral but not unkind. “Angus, I understand what you’re trying to do. But you’re making this worse for everyone, including Ms. Torres. Every time you insert yourself, Walsh’s attorney gains ammunition for claims that law enforcement is biased, that his client is unfairly targeted, that the restraining order is being weaponized beyond its legal scope.”

“The restraining order isn’t protecting her.”

“It’s doing exactly what restraining orders do—establish legal boundaries and create documentation for prosecution when those boundaries are violated. What it can’t do is prevent someone from existing in public spaces or feeling a certain way about an ex-partner. Those aren’t criminal acts.”

“They’re precursors to criminal acts. Walsh is building toward something. The pattern is clear.”

“Patterns aren’t chargeable offenses. Actions are. And until Walsh takes an action that violates the order or constitutes a legally defined threat, our hands are constrained.” Carol closed the file with deliberate finality. “I need you to make a decision. Either return to active duty immediately—under my direct supervision, with restrictions on which cases you can handle—or remain on leave and sever all contact with active investigations. Including the Torres case. There is no middle ground.”