“Fiction?” Kyra scoffed.

“Did I stutter?”

“What exactly was fiction?”

“Everything after your byline.”

Kyra’s pale face darkened, and she looked at Spener with an expression of pure indignation on her face. She stood up a little straighter.

“That’s a very serious allegation,” she said.

“Just calling it like I see it.”

“Then perhaps you’d like to set the record straight, Sheriff.”

“And why would I give you any more oxygen than you’ve already sucked out of this world?”

“I would think that you’d want to get your side of the story out there.”

“To you?” Spenser asked. “Why would I be worried about what a two-bit tabloid rag like the Dispatch has to say about me?”

Kyra flashed her a grim smile. “Because an informal poll I did regarding the election for the office you’re holding shows that Rafe Johansen has a pretty sizeable lead on you, Sheriff. I mean, we’re talking double digits.”

Spenser stifled the growl that bubbled up in her throat. She knew what the woman was doing. Spenser reminded herself that polls were the easiest things to rig, and they ultimately meant nothing. And a poll conducted by an outlet like the Dispatch meant even less. That was just fact.

“I think knowing the sheriff of our town is complicit in sending an innocent man to prison is making some people think twice about how fit you are to hold that office,” Kyra said.

“You do realize your source for this—story—is a hitman for a drug cartel, right?” Spenser spat. “What do you think it will do to your credibility if people find that out?”

Spenser cringed inwardly. The last thing she should be doing was engaging in a back and forth with Kyra. She shouldn’t be feeding the trolls like that. Her body taut and her jaw clenched, Spenser stared at Kyra through slitted eyes. She opened her mouth, ready to unleash fire and brimstone all over her when Ryker put his hand on her leg and gave it a firm squeeze. He cut a glance at her, silently warning her not to speak. Instead, he turned to the wannabe journalist.

“Sheriff Song is off the clock and we’re trying to enjoy an evening out together,” he said, his voice deep and gruff. “I think it’s best that you move along, Ms. Foster.”

She turned to him. “And you’re okay being with a woman who’s so willing to send an innocent man up the river?”

“Like I said, it’s time you move along.”

“I’ll take that as a yes, you’re perfectly fine putting an innocent man in prison for the rest of his life,” Kyra said.

“I understand you’ve got a job to do, and that job entails trying to provoke reactions from people so you can go write your little poison pieces, but we’ve got nothing for you,” Ryker said evenly. “We’re not interested in helping you sell papers, Ms. Foster. Now, please, have a little respect and move along.”

Spenser was impressed by Ryker’s even but firm tone. Kyra stared at him for a long moment then turned her dark eyes to Spenser again and looked like she was loading up for another barrage of questions and insinuations when Ryker got to his feet and physically put himself between them.

“Move along, Ms. Foster. Now,” he said.

“What are you going to do? Hit me?”

“No,” he replied and gestured to a couple of Spenser’s deputies who stood at the edge of the green space. “But I will have one of those deputies over there arrest you for harassment.”

Kyra turned toward the deputies then turned back to Ryker with a smirk on her face. “That charge will never stick.”

“Maybe not. But it’ll get you out of our face,” he said.

She stared at Ryker for a beat then nodded and walked away, leaving them alone. For Spenser, though, she was still seething, the night ruined. Ryker sat down beside her and gave her hand a gentle squeeze as he looked at her with a sympathetic expression on his face.

“You okay?” he asked.

“Thanks for keeping me from digging my hole any deeper.”

“You’re welcome.”

“I know I shouldn’t feed the trolls like that… she just infuriates me,” Spenser said. “I have no idea how she’s gotten under my skin that deep. She’s like a friggin’ tick.”

“I think ticks are less annoying than that woman.”

Despite her darkened mood, Spenser laughed. He leaned over and gave her a light peck on the cheek then pulled her close.

“But seriously, you need to ignore her,” he said gently. “I know that when she’s in your face like that, all you want to do is punch back.”

Spenser nodded. “Yeah. Exactly. So how do you keep from punching back?”

“By reminding myself that what they really want has nothing to do with me. They’re using us to get something they want. It’s selfish,” he said. “And it’s better to deny them what they want than to give in and give it to them. Not getting what they want frustrates them and seeing that on their face is far more gratifying than those two-second rush you get when you smack them down. My counselor down at the VA made me see that.”

Ryker’s growth over the relatively short span of time she’d known him was nothing short of remarkable. In terms of personal evolution, he was far outpacing her, and for as much as she’d grown, Spenser had a long way to go to catch up with him.

“What if she’s right about Johansen outpolling me?” Spenser asked.

He scoffed. “You have got to know better than to buy into that.”

“I do,” she replied. “Doesn’t mean I’m still not worried about it. Last I checked, he really was gaining traction.”

“Then we’ll handle it,” he said.

“If she can really convince people I’m sending an innocent man away, she very well may be able to convince them I’m not fit for this job.”

“That’s a bridge we’ll burn when we come to it,” he replied. “We will handle whatever she throws at you. I have your back, Spenser.”

She leaned into him, absorbing that familiar warmth and security he inspired when he wrapped his arms around her. Ryker held her tight, and she took comfort in having his body pressed to hers. There was so much uncertainty and though she did her best to combat it, her mind kept drifting back into the tempest of thoughts and feelings roiling around inside of her.

“Thank you,” she said.

“You’re welcome,” he replied softly. “Want to go home?”

“Yes.”

Hand in hand, they walked out of the park and headed for his car. In the distance, she spotted Kyra watching them go, her black-painted lips curled back in a sneer. The woman was trying to make a living and a reputation by trashing her, and Spenser was gripped by a hit of white-hot anger. She would be damned if she let Kyra do it. She was going to expose her as the muckraking, yellow journalistic fraud that she was. She was going to destroy her and her tabloid rag.

What Spenser needed was to remind the people of Sweetwater Falls just how good she was at her job. What she needed was a win. And she was determined to get it.