Pivot Point (True Time Book 1) by Tess Manchester

Author:Tess Manchester [Manchester, Tess]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Sset Mind Productions
Published: 2016-10-21T22:00:00+00:00

Seventeen

Bridgeton hunts around the edges of the wall searching for an outlet to plug his laptop into. Behind a cabinet he finds an outlet with an overloaded surge protector. Bridgeton sighs and rolls his eyes. He traces the cables to find one he can unplug, careful to leave the coffee pot plugged in. He goes with the wall clock instead. Its constant ticking is annoying anyway.

Rivas and Foster sit at the table in the center of the room. Coffee ring stains cover its surface. They sift through the maps that Sheriff Dewly laid out for them. The conference room they were in previously was taken over by a makeshift unit dedicated to helping with the flood. The rank smell of old food from the refrigerator and trashcan is almost too much to bear.

Sheriff Dewly shuffles in. He flattens his tie and rests his hand on his wide belly.

“Did you find uniforms to help with the transport tomorrow?” Bridgeton asks.

Sheriff Dewly raises one finger of his chunky hand. “I got one for you. And two more from other precincts. That’s all we got. Everyone else is assigned to the flood.”

“Thanks, Sheriff.”

Sheriff Dewly nods. “We got two cars for you and one van.” The van will transport the prisoner. The other two cars are the escorts. It’s slim but they’re in the middle of a nowhere that’s struggling to respond to a dam failure. “Everyone will be here in the morning for their briefing.”

“Great,” Bridgeton says.

“Now, I’m sure y’all are getting hungry after a day like this. There’s leftover lasagna from yesterday’s potluck. You’re more than welcome to finish that off.”

Bridgeton, Rivas, and Foster freeze. The sheriff shifts from one foot to the other waiting for a response. To refuse could be taken as rude. To accept could mean hours on or over the toilet. Bridgeton imagines opening the refrigerator and nearly being knocked out by the smell. He sees himself cutting a piece of lasagna with a water-spotted knife and plopping it onto a thin paper plate.

“Rain check on lasagna,” he says.

“Alrighty. But you should head over to the Oak Tree for dinner and drinks. I’ll let them know you’re coming. See y’all tomorrow.” The sheriff turns and walks out of the room, leaving no room for debate. No doubt it will be a long night for him.

7:24 P.M.

Parsons walks into the break room. Her eyes scan the room as her face crumples with disgust. The spaghetti sauce-spattered microwave, greasy refrigerator handle, and dirty dishes in the sink sting her nostrils.

“We know,” Bridgeton says.

“Let’s get outta here,” she says. The others nod in unanimous agreement. “Tell me what we have.”

Bridgeton gives her the rundown—just two cars, one van, and three uniforms. Parsons looks disappointed, but not mad.

“It’s enough,” she decides. “The uniforms will drive. I’ll take the front. Bridgeton, you take the rear. Rivas, Foster, you’re with Canton in the van. We’ll leave at four.”

“Can we talk about the route to the airport now?” Bridgeton asks.

“Yes, what about it?” Parsons replies.

“Well, to start,” he says, smoothing out the map on the table, “we have no options.

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