All that time he'd had. All those fucking hours replacing locks and installing security chains and scoping the perimeter for blind spots, and Stutely hadn't given a damned minute's thought to how they'd play it if the Sheriff just walked on into the church like a member of the congregation.
And of course that was what he'd done. Skulking in the shadows was for crooks like them, who battled through on their wits. But the Sheriff was the Law and he could just as easily come at them in full daylight wearing his so-called respectability like a cloak. Stutely knew that. He should have anticipated it. All that fucking time and he'd pissed it down the drain, and now Tuck and Marian—
Motherfuck. Had to stow all that now. Had to get it together. The cab was slowing, the church in sight, and if the Sheriff was coming at them with respectable then it was a goad. He wanted them rash and impetuous. Wanted them to slip and show their true, thuggish colours right there in front of Tuck's parishioners. Stutely couldn't rise to that bait, especially not with his record. Sheriff would jump at the chance to haul one of them off to prison again.
Stutely shoved some bills at the driver, feet hitting the pavement before the car had rolled to a full stop, made it to the church at a jog. He stopped only when he reached the door to the Cedar Room, pausing to rub a hand over his face and trying to summon up some semblance of composure.
He slipped inside, casual as he could muster, offering tense smiles and nods to parishioners, eyes restlessly scanning the room for familiar faces.