Colin stood up. The small pool of blood caught his attention. He should take care of the glass in Brad's hand. He had the right tools in his bag...
Suddenly, red and blue lights flashed outside, and the wail of a police siren shattered the air. Stone nearly jumped.
A patrol car rolled up silently, as if the officers didn't want to scare off the troublemakers. Colin cast a nervous glance at the biker, whose friends were now helping him to his feet.
If he pressed charges against Lipski, Brad would be arrested. Attempted murder was a serious charge.
Had Brad really meant to kill him?
Maybe… for a second…
Stone shivered.
But it had been in the heat of the moment. In self-defense. That's exactly what Colin would testify. And the bartender too.
He glanced her way. She was pressing a towel to Brad's arm. Amateur. She was saying something to him in a soft, low voice.
Were those two…?
"I'll handle this," Colin said, striding toward where he had left his bag and then quickly returning to Brad. "We need to remove the glass shards."
The woman hesitated for a moment, but just then, the door swung wide open.
Two uniformed men stepped into the bar. The older one, tall and self-assured, stood in the doorway with his hands resting on his hips. His gaze swept over the room, searching for the culprit in the chaos.
"We received a report of a crime," he announced in a deep, commanding voice. "Can someone explain what the hell is going on here?"
"Good evening, Sheriff."
The bartender moved smoothly toward the officer, her lips curling into a wide smile. Her voice was strangely light for the situation.
"I called you. We had a little misunderstanding, but as you can see, everything is under control. The situation ended before it even really started..."
The sheriff didn't answer right away. First, he scanned all the faces in the room.
He ignored everyone—the man in a flannel shirt sitting on a chair with a bandage on his forehead, the staggering biker.
Then, he walked straight toward Brad.
"How is it, Lipski, that whenever there's trouble, you're always at the center of it?" he asked.
"Bad luck?" Brad gave a crooked smile, feigning innocence.
"Bad luck, yeah. And you do know you should stay away from bad luck?" the sheriff's voice was as hard as stone.
"Can't help it, Sheriff. I was born under an unlucky star."
"And because of that star, you're first in line for detention," he replied with cold firmness.
Colin knew he should keep quiet. He shouldn't meddle in local matters without understanding the subtle dynamics that ruled White Shore. And yet, his legs moved forward on their own. His lips began to speak before he could stop them.
"Excuse me, Officer, my name is Colin Stone, and I'm the new doctor in White Shore," his voice cut through the tense silence. All eyes, including the sheriff's, turned to him. That was exactly what he wanted. "Mr. Lipski brought me here for medical assistance. We both arrived after the incident had already happened."
The bartender's eyes gleamed with delight. She was just about to voice her support, but the sheriff was quicker.
"And that wound on his forearm?" he pressed, his gaze sharp and piercing.
"Inflicted in my defense. A complete accident with no malicious intent. Isn't that right?" Colin cast a quick glance around the room.
The biker, barely standing, curled his lips in a grimace. He moved them as if tasting a curse. He must have realized that if he accused Brad, the doctor could just as easily accuse him. Sure, Lipski might have gotten carried away, but the biker had struck first—against an unarmed doctor, no less. That didn't look good for him.
A few murmurs of agreement rumbled through the room.
"I'm the one who called him, Officer," the bartender chimed in, her voice brimming with energy, ready to take control of the situation.
The sheriff narrowed his eyes, first at the bartender, then back at Brad, as if searching for a flaw in the story—as if every answer only convinced him further that something didn't quite add up. The silence in the room thickened, offering him no new clues. Given the way things had unfolded, he had to back down, but he made one last attempt.
"Interesting," he said provocatively, waiting for someone to crack and speak up. "Quite the story, Colin Stone, doctor of White Shore. You're new in town, so here's some advice—don't get mixed up…" he shot a pointed look at Lipski, a smirk curling his lips "…with unlucky men."
A spark of defiance flared in Colin's chest. What was this guy's problem with Brad, that even a witness statement couldn't clear him of suspicion?
"Thank you, Officer, I'll keep that in mind. But as the only doctor here, I don't have the luxury of choosing who I treat. It could be a thug, a criminal, or even… a policeman."
He couldn't control his tone. Even he heard the grind of his teeth. Damn. Now he had the officer's full, undivided attention.