After a quick stop to buy a pizza, as Daria requested, Ethan drove to her house. It was a small single-family home surrounded by green plants that made the place feel calm and secluded.
As he stepped out of the car, Ethan heard faint music drifting from inside.
—Don't you live alone?—he asked, closing the car door as he eyed the lights glowing through the windows.
—I usually do. But my cousin's visiting. She came down from Philadelphia. She should be here by now,—Daria said with a little laugh, giving him a playful shove toward the door.
Ethan knocked, still a bit confused. A moment later, the door opened. Standing there was a black-haired woman in black stilettos and a work outfit. Three buttons of her white blouse were undone, showing off her delicate collarbones and the edge of black lace beneath.
When she saw Ethan, her eyes lit up.
Ethan smiled, lifting the pizza box, and was about to say something when Daria's cousin put a finger to her lips, signaling for silence.
—You must be the pizza delivery boy, right?
Ethan's mouth opened slightly in surprise.
—Thank you so much. You see, I'm a housewife out of work, and I don't have any money. Do you accept other payment methods?—she said, brushing her hair behind her ear and biting her lip with a look of exaggerated pity.
He understood instantly—this was the "surprise" Daria had mentioned. Clearing his throat, he played along.
—Well… I think I could make an exception. Maybe we can discuss the details inside?
—Perfect. Come in quickly,—Daria's cousin said, laughing as she stepped back and pulled him over the threshold.
Lina, equally flirty, began caressing Ethan's arm lightly as she led him deeper into the house. Her touches were delicate but intentional. He already knew this night would be unforgettable.
The three of them soon settled onto the bed. The air was thick with a soft tension, vibrating with every small movement and whisper. Daria reached for the buttons of Ethan's shirt while Lina kissed his chest, her hands tugging at his belt.
Daria slid into the center of the bed, her presence magnetic. Lina joined her, moving with graceful ease. Ethan sat beside them, breathing in time with theirs, feeling a charged sense of anticipation.
Their conversation slipped into murmurs. Their gestures grew bolder, touches overlapping in a silent choreography. Daria's hand brushed against Lina's, their fingers twining together in an unspoken understanding.
Daria leaned closer, her lips curved in a soft smile inches from Ethan's mouth. Lina, just beside her, slid her hand into Ethan's, her touch light but deliberate.
The mattress creaked under their weight as their bodies pressed together in a slow, heated dance. Every caress felt deliberate, every shared look a quiet promise.
The heat in the room built with each passing moment. Breaths turned ragged, movements more urgent, until the connection between them became something undeniable—an interlacing of desire and complicity.
The night wore on, and with it, the intensity of their closeness. Their bodies moved in a rhythm of passion, gestures blending into one continuous current. What began as curiosity unfolded into a deep exploration of pleasure.
Eventually, the night dissolved into a hush, leaving them resting in the soft, exhausted calm of satisfaction.
Early the next morning, Ethan woke to movement against him. It took a moment for his eyes to focus.
—You awake?—Lina murmured, leaning in to wrap her arms around him. Daria was still asleep beside her, smiling in some distant dream.
—Yeah. Didn't expect you to be into morning workouts,—Ethan said, reaching for a cigarette on the nightstand. Lina picked up the lighter and held the flame for him.
—I'm tired… Are you even human?—she teased.
—Thinking about another round?—Ethan asked, exhaling smoke as he shifted closer.
—I'll consider it,—she said, with a coy look.
Later, Ethan returned to the station yawning, then stopped by Miles's for coffee. Daria had skipped work, which didn't surprise him; she'd barely been able to open her eyes that morning. The restaurant was bustling.
After breakfast, he got a call from Alma. Someone had reported a harassment complaint. Ethan headed to the address—a two-story villa with a blue roof.
The wooden house was surrounded by towering trees and a big patch of neatly trimmed grass behind it. The scene was almost idyllic.
Seeing a silver Rolls-Royce parked across the street, Ethan narrowed his eyes, gathered his gear, and stepped out. In the backyard, he spotted Proctor and a man in a light blue plaid shirt standing beside an old well.
—Gentlemen, we got a distress call. Everything all right here?—Ethan asked.
The man looked up at Ethan in uniform, then turned to shout irritably toward the house.
—Deborah, I told you not to call the damn police!
He walked over and offered Ethan his hand.
—Hello, officer. I'm Arthur—Arthur Ramsay.
—I know you. You're the village pastor, aren't you?—Ethan shook his hand and glanced at Proctor. —Everything under control?
—Just discussing some business. I represent the Kinaho tribe in negotiations to buy this land,—Proctor explained.
Ramsay ignored him, dropping the bucket into the well. He drew up a half ladle of water and held it out.
—I'd like to offer you a drink from my well.
—It's sweet,—Proctor said after tasting it, passing the ladle to Ethan.
—You're right. Better than tap water. Like my great-grandfather used to say,—Ethan nodded.
Ramsay lowered the bucket again, his expression steady.
—When my son was born, the congregation gathered here to baptize him. He'll baptize his child here too. So my final answer is no. I won't sell.
—I respect your conviction, Mr. Ramsay,—Proctor said, stepping closer. —But sometimes conviction becomes stubbornness. That never ends well. Here's what I'll do: I'll pay you double market price and help you find land of the same size nearby. You can dig a new well. The water will taste the same.
Ramsay scoffed.
—I'm afraid if I let you "help," I'll just be displacing more families.
Proctor's smile faded. He leaned in, voice dropping.
—Listen carefully. You can take twice the cash, or you can go bankrupt. But either way, this land will be mine.
—Try whatever you like,—Ramsay said evenly. —I'll pray God stops you.
—If God cared, He wouldn't have let me show up,—Proctor murmured.
Ethan stepped forward, separating them.
—That's enough. Mr. Proctor, no more threats.
—Don't worry. I'm done for now. Think it over. You have two days,—Proctor replied, adjusting his suit before walking away.
Ramsay sighed, dropped the ladle, and trudged back to the house.
Por supuesto, aquí tienes la continuación reescrita en inglés, manteniendo la narrativa coherente, con un estilo claro y fluido. Retomo justo desde que Ramsay se retira:
That night, as Ethan was crossing the parking lot with his coffee, he spotted Hood sitting alone on a bench across the street from the station. He turned and walked over.
—Sheriff.
Hood didn't look up. He kept tearing bread into pieces and tossing them to the ground. Ethan sat beside him, bumping his hip against the bench as he settled. A flock of pigeons swooped down, flapping and pecking at the crumbs.
—And your friend? Did he finally leave town?—Ethan asked.
Hood was silent for a moment. When he finally spoke, his voice was low and tired.
—He's where he belongs now.
—You know, I once had a friend like that,—Ethan said. —No matter what you do to help, people like that never feel grateful. The moment they see an opening, they'll exploit it. Better to cut them off before they drag you down.
—I guess you're right. What would you do?—Hood asked quietly.
—Don't lose any more sleep over it. Some people aren't worth it,—Ethan replied, rising.
After finishing his morning patrol, he stopped the cruiser along the lake. He found a big rock and sat down, unwrapping a piece of fried chicken. He ate slowly, looking over the water as the wind rustled the reeds.
When he was done, he drove back to the station.
A woman in a denim skirt was standing by the wall, clutching a dish in her hands. Ethan closed the car door, and she stepped forward.
—Mrs. Moody. What can I do for you?
He glanced at the cake she carried and took a step back.
—It's apple pie. Are you afraid I poisoned it? Relax—I'm here to apologize. For how I behaved at the festival,—Kate said with a little laugh. She set the pie carefully on the hood of his Crown Victoria. —Do you have a moment? I'd like to talk.
Ethan studied her. He hadn't seen her in a while, and she seemed calmer somehow. He nodded. Together, they crossed the street and sat on a bench.
—What did you want to talk about? I'm still on duty.
But she didn't answer right away. He had to break the silence himself.
—Can you be honest with me? Just a yes or no.
—Depends. What are you going to ask me?
—Did you kill Marcus and Dex?
Kate didn't flinch. She looked him straight in the eye.
—They've been gone a while. Usually they'd turn up eventually, but this time… it's been too long. Did you kill them?
Ethan hadn't expected her to be so blunt. He smiled faintly, pulling out a cigarette and lighting it.
—Any other questions, Mrs. Moody?
—I think I already know. But don't worry—I'm not here to cause trouble.
Kate Moody plucked the cigarette pack from his hand, took one herself, and lit it. The smoke curled around her face.
—They wanted to kill you to get even for Cole, but…they were monsters. After Cole died, they started hurting me. If they're gone… all I can say is thank you. At least I don't have to sleep with a knife under my pillow anymore.
She coughed softly and looked away.
—I'm sorry for what you went through.
Ethan stood to leave, then paused, his hand on the back of the bench.
—From now on…try to rest easy. Things will get better.
He walked away without another word. Kate sat there, exhaling a shaky breath, tears slipping down her cheeks. She picked up the pie and carried it across to the station.
Inside, Siobhan looked up curiously.
—Did Mrs. Moody need something from you?
—Nothing. She was just apologizing for the festival,—Ethan said.
—Oh.—Siobhan returned to her desk.
Ethan watched out the window as Kate waved and headed down the sidewalk. He gave a brief smile, sat down, and dropped the apple pie straight into the trash before booting up his computer.
Not long after, Siobhan peeked over the cubicle wall, blinking his wide eyes.
—Officer Kelly, you busy?
—Tch. As if you have something important to say,—Ethan muttered, clicking the Solitaire window closed.
—Actually, I have some shocking gossip. Do you want to hear it or not?
He sighed, opened the drawer, pulled out a pack of nuts, and tossed it over without looking up.
—Did you know Pastor Ramsay is getting divorced?
—Arthur Ramsay?
—Yeah, him.—Siobhan nodded eagerly. —He and his wife were always attached at the hip. Church activities, volunteering—everything together. And now, poof—divorce out of nowhere.
Ethan thought of the man he'd seen standing by the well, the grass behind him so perfectly green.
—Then what?—Ethan asked, tossing a nut into his mouth.
—I heard he sold his house and all the land around it. You know, the Kinaho tribe kept trying to buy it to build a new casino. He'd never agree. I don't know why he suddenly changed his mind.
Ethan lifted his eyebrows. Proctor's threats worked.
After the gossip, they headed back out on patrol.
When the light turned red, Ethan stopped and glanced idly at the cars beside him. To his surprise, he spotted Jenny Kendall drumming her fingers impatiently on the wheel.
—Hey Jenny—long time no see,—Ethan called, rolling down his window.
She turned her head, startled, then smiled and quickly lowered her own window.
—Ethan! You're back? My husband said you'd taken some time off.
—Yeah, I just got back a few days ago.
—That's wonderful. After what happened last time, Dan and I wanted to have you over for dinner to thank you, but it never worked out.—Her smile widened. —How about tonight? Let me cook you something good. Dan will be glad to see you.
She sounded so genuinely excited he couldn't bring himself to say no.
—All right. Tonight then.
When the light changed, they waved goodbye.
As Ethan turned onto Second Street, Alma's voice crackled urgently over the radio:
—There's been a robbery at Walgreens. One civilian shot. Emmett is pursuing the suspects.
Siobhan and Brock immediately replied in chorus:
—Roger.
Walgreens…that's just one street over, Ethan thought. He grabbed the radio to respond—
—when a red Camry shot out of an alley, reversing fast. Before Ethan could react, the car rammed straight into him, smashing the front end of the cruiser. The airbag exploded with a deafening pop.
Ethan's sight swam, and a high-pitched ringing filled his ears.
In the haze, he saw two masked men jump out of the Camry, firing as they ran.
He fumbled at his seatbelt, dizzy. Suddenly, the passenger window shattered with a crash, and a familiar voice called out:
—Ethan! What the hell are you doing here? You okay? Should I call an ambulance?
—I'm fine,—he groaned, shaking off the daze. —Go! Don't let them get away.
He looked up to see Emmett—eyes wide, gun drawn—already sprinting after the fleeing gunmen.