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When had he started thinking of her by her first name?
He wasn’t sure, but he would pack that away with the other things he refused to think about right then. “Here she is. I didn’t cuff her because she’s pretty shaken up. She won’t be any trouble, will you, Ms. Sparks?”
“I wouldn’t dream of it, Sheriff.”
So her snarky attitude was back. He should’ve been glad. It meant she was getting over the shock of the accident.
Instead, he was surprisingly disappointed.
Chapter Seven
Once the tow truck arrived, Grady followed Beth’s vehicle back to Butterfield, home to the sheriff’s department and county courthouse. Antelope Rock had never been large enough to warrant its own court, so Butterfield handled any local cases originating there.
An enclosed public corridor and an underground tunnel used by deputies transporting prisoners connected the municipal building to the county courthouse. Farther back on the property, behind both buildings, sat the county jail, surrounded by barbed-wire fencing. Grady oversaw law enforcement throughout the county and thanked God every day for a competent staff who kept everything running smoothly.
Beth pulled into the department’s sally port, and Grady parked behind her. The one-lane, two-vehicle garage had overhead doors at either end that dispatchers could open and close, or someone could push a button next to the pedestrian door leading into the cell area. It let them bring prisoners into the building without giving them a chance to escape.
As Grady climbed out of his SUV, Beth opened the rear door of her vehicle and directed Amanda out.
Grady gestured for her to follow him. “This way.”
Once inside, Beth motioned for Amanda to enter the holding cell. She’d already patted the woman down before putting her in the patrol vehicle and found no contraband. Grady hadn’t expected her to. Amanda Sparks might be hoity-toity, but she didn’t strike him as a drug user or someone who carried concealed weapons.
After Amanda stepped inside, Beth removed the handcuffs. There was no reason to keep her restrained once she was secured in the cell, especially since she hadn’t given them any trouble.
When the door was shut with a clang, Amanda winced. “Is this really necessary?”
“Yes, ma’am, it is.” Beth went through the standard booking process—logging Amanda’s personal belongings and asking the questions required for the arrest form. Meanwhile, Grady booted up a nearby computer and typed up the incident details to present to the judge. He could’ve released her on an appearance ticket. Still, after her attitude the other day and then watching her tear down a country road at twenty miles over the speed limit on her way to court for the two previous traffic violations, he’d decided against it. Her not being a local resident only reinforced his decision.
She was already late for her court appearance, and so was he. He’d planned to testify about the original tickets, but now there was another charge to address. Judge Johns would be surprised to see him, since Grady rarely wrote tickets or made arrests—usually leaving those to his deputies. But because he’d personally witnessed the traffic offenses both times, he had to appear in court.
In the cell, Amanda didn’t sit on the wooden bench attached to the wall. Instead, she crossed her arms and glared at them. “Can I call my lawyer?”
Grady raised an eyebrow. “Is he or she local?”
An undignified snort escaped her. “No, she’s in L.A.”
Of course she is.
“You can call her if you want, but when we're done here, we're taking you upstairs to see the judge. You can consult with the public defender who’s already in court if you want to speak to them beforehand.”
Her lips flattened. “How long before I see the judge?”
“A few minutes.”
“And if I wait for my lawyer?”
He shrugged. “However long it takes her to get here from Los Angeles.”
She stared at him for several seconds before throwing up her hands. “Fine. Let’s go.”
“Almost done here, then we’ll head upstairs.”
“Prints and photos now or after?” Beth asked, placing Amanda’s personal items in a nearby locker.
Before Grady could respond, a wide-eyed Amanda spoke up. “Prints and photos? What are you talking about?”
“We take fingerprints and photos of everyone who gets arrested. Standard procedure.”
