Sometimes I wonder where my son comes up with stuff. He asked me not long ago if I was aware that the guy running the country here, and we’ll leave his name out, is trying to pass a law so that the government can basically take and use the money in your bank account. I guess this is called a bail-in law. My response was to stare at him, wondering if he’d lost his mind and was messing with me. “Yeah, there’s no way,” I replied. “And why would they do that?”
He pointed out to me that this is already in Greece, and other countries are following. So I stared at him, wondering why he drops these little bombs on me at times—likely because he figures he’s smarter than me. After thinking about it a little too long, I told him I would look into it. I know very little about the massive legislation than can happen with the flick of a pen behind the scenes. You know why? Because I’m writing books, marketing them, and doing the tons and tons of work that goes into selling them so I can make money to feed my kids and keep a roof over our heads! It basically comes down to trust, not wondering what harebrained thing is going on behind the scenes. I assumed it was “fake news,” a term I hear from too many places and have found myself unfortunately assuming as a go-to as of late.
But on looking into what my son had said, I discovered a lot more than I wanted to know. There it was, sure enough:
With a bank bail-in, the bank uses the money of its unsecured creditors, including depositors and bondholders, to restructure their capital so it can stay afloat. … A bank can undergo a bail-in quickly through a resolution proceeding, which provides immediate relief to the bank.
In other words, bail-ins will not add to the government’s deficit. It will simply allow banks and financial institutions at risk of failing to take some of your deposits to bail themselves out. … If they become insolvent and a disaster strikes, it would trigger orderly liquidation authority – essentially a bail-in.
And here is another fact: Governments have a history of needing more than their citizens’ tax money to pay their bills, and if the situation is bad enough, they don’t shy away from targeting your personal assets.
Does that leave you with a warm and fuzzy feeling, as it did me? It certainly had me saying a few choice words as my son walked away, having brought me out of my happy place with the thought that my money, which I’ve worked my ass off for, could just be taken. It left me with a really uncomfortable feeling. Anyone who knows history, and I’ll be the first to admit that there’s too much I don’t know yet should, knows that history teaches us that unprecedented causes lead to unprecedented consequences.
Speaking of history, who should be your go-to, your parents, your grandparents? I had a conversation with my elderly mother yesterday about the 1930s, the depression, and asked her, “Hey, what really happened during that time?” One thing many have forgotten is that in the 1930s, the US president confiscated everyone’s gold savings under penalty of imprisonment and heavy fines. He paid everyone $20.67 per ounce of gold he confiscated. Then, after all the gold was collected, he immediately increased the price to $35, dropping the purchasing power of all Americans’ cash holdings by nearly 40% literally overnight. Then gold was illegal to own or possess until the early 1970s.
During this chat with my mother, she replied, “Oh, yeah, I guess that did happen.” But then, my grandparents had a farm and six children, and they grew their own food and raised pigs, chickens, so they were okay. If you didn’t have your own farm and weren’t self-sufficient, it was a hard time.
With all the crazy shit going on everywhere, on top of the little bomb of information my son dropped, I found myself going back to a blog post I wrote a few years back. Remember the blog “Where focus goes, energy goes”? People fear what they don’t understand and hate what they can’t conquer, and let me tell you, it is so easy to go to the doom and gloom when the world is focusing on that. Take one thing at a time, and focus on that one thing when you feel yourself getting overwhelmed.
When I wrote that post, I had an incredible amount coming at me, and right now, with the craziness going on and what seems to be a mob mentality and panic taking over, I think it’s more important than ever to look after yourself and your family first. Remember that if you allow yourself to listen to hysteria, panic, and the big picture of all the problems out there, you can spend your day so wound up, terrified and filled with the poison of anxiety, worry, and fear. What comes out of fear is anger, and it is human nature to be angry at someone—you know, to play the blame game.
Dial it in and keep your focus forward. Work on what you can fix and do, and remember to look after yourself first before you help someone else. When you keep your focus forward, that’s where your energy goes. Either you can become a product of the negative mob mentality environment or you can take that negative and make it a positive. As for my son, I’m sure next week he’ll toss out something else, but if there’s one thing I do know, it’s that history has taught us a lot, and we need to learn from the mistakes of the past so we don’t repeat them.
Audible has given me FREE audiobook codes to pass on to you for select titles in this series! In turn, please be sure to take a few moments after listening to leave an honest online review. Click the yellow button below to claim a code.
*Due to limited availability, codes must be redeemed within 48 hours or will be reassigned to another requester.
If you are not currently an Audible member, you can still sign up and claim a free code without signing up for a membership or subscription. If you have any issues, Audible’s Customer Care team is just one phone call away & are happy to help–you can reach them directly at (888) 283-5051.
Join My Street Team
Are you a super fan of the Friessens, O’Connells, McCabes and more? I’m looking for eager readers to join my brand new Facebook street team to provide feedback and share your enthusiasm for my stories via reviews, social media and good ‘ole word-of-mouth. Interested? Click the button below to join the team.
Additionally, when my group reaches 2,000 members, I’ll be giving away a new waterproof Kindle Paperwhite to one lucky team member!
As always, thank you for your consideration and support–I’m truly grateful!
Audible has given me FREE audiobook codes to pass on to you for select titles in this series! In turn, please be sure to take a few moments after listening to leave an honest online review. Click the yellow button below to claim a code.
*Due to limited availability, codes must be redeemed within 48 hours or will be reassigned to another requester.
If you are not currently an Audible member, you can still sign up and claim a free code without signing up for a membership or subscription. If you have any issues, Audible’s Customer Care team is just one phone call away & are happy to help–you can reach them directly at (888) 283-5051.
Join My Street Team
Are you a super fan of the Friessens, O’Connells, McCabes and more? I’m looking for eager readers to join my brand new Facebook street team to provide feedback and share your enthusiasm for my stories via reviews, social media and good ‘ole word-of-mouth. Interested? Click the button below to join the team.
Additionally, when my group reaches 2,000 members, I’ll be giving away a new waterproof Kindle Paperwhite to one lucky team member!
As always, thank you for your consideration and support–I’m truly grateful!
Happy weekend, all! It’s Preview Friday, and I’ve got your sneak peek at the next Billy Jo McCabe mystery, THE STRANGER AT THE DOOR! This upcoming title will be released at the end of the month, but you can pre-order your copy AND read the first five chapters here today. Enjoy & have a wonderful weekend!
“You given any thought to redoing this office and really making it yours? You know, putting your own stamp on it?” Billy Jo was sitting in a padded old chair, her bare feet in flip-flops up on his desk, and he thought she wore pink nail polish on her toes. Something about the bellbottom blue jeans and light peach blouse she wore, which even hinted that she was a girl, had him wondering what was different about her as of late.
He looked around the glassed-in office, with its old desk covered in papers and files, the cabinet behind him, and the computer, and he gestured from where he lounged in the black swivel chair, which had once been the chief’s. “It’s just an office, Billy Jo, and it is mine. I don’t need anything fancy.”
She shot him a look from across the desk, where she seemed to fit so well, lounging. They had settled into a routine that was both welcome and expected, with her stopping in after work every day. “Well, at least paint it,” she said. “What are all those plaques up there on the wall? Is that a baseball back there? And those old photos, Mark, you’ve got to take those down.” She gestured to them, unsmiling. This was the snarky side of Billy Jo that came out when she had something to say.
He had to fight the urge to smile. She was so familiar. He didn’t turn around to see the black and white photos on the wall of the young chief, then a new cop, standing with the old chief he’d later replaced and the council. He’d personally never met any of them. He stood up and reached for one, seeing a smile on the face of the old chief, one he never remembered seeing, and looked over to Billy Jo, taking in her blue eyes. He was doing his damnedest to figure out where to tread with her and how this thing he couldn’t put a name to worked between them.
“Fine. I’ll box this up, but I’m not painting. You want to do it, be my guest. Since you’re just sitting there, take a look at these.” He reached for a pile of applications and resumes for the new deputy position and dumped them on the desk in front of her with a thunk. In the bullpen outside, Carmen, who wore blue jeans and a faded black T-shirt, was really pulling double duty since they were down to just the two of them. He missed having Gail to answer the phones and do all she had done to keep the station running.
“So what are these?” Billy Jo reached for the pile of papers as she dropped her feet to the ground.
He realized, as he looked at her brown hair, that it appeared the layers had been freshly cut. Something about her seemed so different, so not the girl hiding behind frumpy clothes. He walked around the desk, watching the way she thumbed through the papers, the way her brow knit when she was focused, reading and absorbing something, the way she never hesitated to jump in. She was so damn smart that her opinion on everything mattered to him more than he could have explained to anyone.
“Resumes, applications for the deputy job, someone to answer the phones and do everything Gail did. The top of the pile there was sent over by the council, and see all the ones with a red star marked on top? The council has pretty much ordered me to hire one of them. The ones on the bottom are the ones I found and came across.”
She flicked those blue eyes up to him, reading between the lines and knowing what he was thinking without him having to say another word. This was the comfortable relationship they were morphing into.
He kept walking out the open door and over to the corner by Gail’s old desk, where a few boxes were stacked for recycling. He took in Lucky, who was curled up, asleep, before he reached for a box and walked back across the bullpen. Carmen was hanging up the phone, and
her chair squeaked as she stretched and started closing up files. She lifted her gaze to him, her wary dark eyes tracking him, and he found himself stopping beside her desk.
“You get today’s report finished?” he said.
She opened her laptop without a word and gestured to the screen as if she expected him to check her work. He didn’t look at her screen, not pulling his gaze from her, still holding the box and waiting, so she pulled in a breath and said, “Was about to email it to you. Theft at the pharmacy of a bunch of back-to-school supplies, some drinking in the park, public indecency, and a lot of nuisance crap that would seem to indicate an alarming rise, except it seems most troublemakers were used to the times Chief Shephard had me run the same route, so that tells me everyone had their watches set to when I would be making the rounds like clockwork, and it was only the idiots who were getting caught. Now I can’t drive anywhere without seeing something, and there isn’t enough of me going around to do anything. Then there are all the noise complaints, parties, loud music, neighbors fighting, and the bylaw crap still tossed this way, from illegal camping to people living in their cars, and where am I supposed to tell them to go?”
He could see her frustration. “Do what you can. It’s a judgement call. Send me the report, and I’ll see what I can take off your plate until I get a deputy hired in here.”
She sat up and swiveled her chair around. “Well, won’t be soon enough for me, Mark—sorry, Chief.”
There was something odd about being called Chief. He wondered if he’d ever get used to it.
“Clock out and go have some dinner,” he said. “I’m going to be here awhile yet.”
Carmen yanked her desk drawer open and pulled out her keys, and Mark walked back to his office, where Billy Jo was reading through the stack of applications. Damn, she was too perfect. He had to remind himself how easily he could sabotage the good things in his life.
“You look nice, in case I forgot to mention it,” he said as he rested the box on his desk. “You did something new with your hair.”
She suddenly stilled. Right, she didn’t take compliments at all. From the way she flicked those sharp blue eyes to him, he could tell she was uncomfortable, and he waited for her to toss something snarky his way.
“Here. You picked the ones on the bottom?” she said. Okay, so she was going to ignore the compliment. That was one way not to handle it. She pulled out two papers and held them out to him, and he reached for them, seeing two names, Mike Schneider and Georgette Hunter.
“That was quick,” he said. “Why these two and not the starred ones favored by the council?”
She neatened the pile of papers and then leaned back in the chair, balancing them on her lap. “Well, for one, it would take a fool not to see that of the council picks, most are either their friends or relatives or, as with these first two, have more experience than you, so the council is likely looking for your replacement, someone who is going to do exactly what they say, report to them, and take all their directions directly. I happen to know that after every weekly meeting you have with the councillors, a few of them criticize you, complaining and commenting that you’re going to ruin the policing on the island.”
He stared at her as he pulled the black and whites off the wall and tucked them into the box. “Excuse me?” he said. What was she hearing that he wasn’t? She didn’t even smile, and he could see she was dead serious. “Are you shitting me? Who in all hell is talking out of turn? What goes on in the council is confidential, yet now you’re telling me…”
“You’re stepping on toes, Mark.”
He straightened and could feel the alpha fighting inside him. His first instinct as he took in the seriousness staring back at him was to walk out the door and knock on the door of the head of council, Mary Jane Trundell, or maybe Hal Green or Herb Walker, so he could go toe to toe with them and find out what the fuck they thought they were doing, sharing anything about what went on in the council.
“I can tell by your face that you’re ready to go a round with one or all of them,” she said, “but that would be a mistake. I’m not sure how many are furious, but I know Herb Walker has been the most vocal, and I heard Hal Green was talking about how you don’t play ball with the Rotary Club. Several have said Mary Jane isn’t happy with you and the fact that you’re going all cowboy with your policing.” She lifted the stack and settled them on his desk as she leaned forward.
His jaw slackened as he rested both hands on the edge of the box and squeezed, then lifted his hand and dragged it over his jaw roughly. “Are you sure? They said I was a cowboy, seriously? Is that because I outright refused to allow the council to dictate to me which crimes to ignore and which to put my focus on? Did you know we currently have more than three dozen people sleeping in their cars on the island because they can’t put a roof over their head? The council has ordered me to make sure they know they can’t park anywhere overnight, which means basically kicking them off the island.
“Then we had three driving without a license. One was a young mother who couldn’t have afforded bail or the license renewal fee, and I knew that, so I let her off with a warning and told her to park and pay the fee, but the council ordered me to charge her and lock her up. If I do, she won’t get out until she goes before a judge, and then she’ll be hit with another fine she won’t be able to afford, so she’ll still be locked up, and her kids will be tossed in the social services system.
“Of the other two I stopped, one shithead had lost his license for driving two times over the legal limit, and he refused a breathalyzer, yet his lawyer had him out before the ink was dry, citing that he was on pain meds and wasn’t drinking. That was a load of crap, considering the alcohol on his breath could have knocked me over. He just so happens to be a cousin of Herb Walker.
“The other was a snotnosed teenager who took his mom’s BMW for a joy ride. The family is from Seattle, and the dad is some tech giant with a summer home here worth millions. You know that kid laughed when Carmen pulled him over? He’d almost run down an elderly woman on one of those mobility scooters. When Carmen yanked him out of the car, he screamed at her to keep her dirty half-breed hands off him and said his dad would make sure she was fired and would pay for it.”
Billy Jo said nothing. Mark had refused to back down when it came to how the council felt they could tell him to police this island: kid gloves with some and paramilitary tactics with others.
“Yeah, I heard about that too,” she said with a hint of a smile. “Wasn’t it Mary Jane whose phone was ringing with a call from the dad, who apparently contributed largely to her campaign? He threatened that he had enough clout to redirect infrastructure funding from the island to another region and halt the upgrade of the water treatment plant, meaning the tax bills of every full-time island resident would be hiked to cover the cost. That would get Mary Jane voted out, so I heard she folded like a deck of cards under the pressure. And you did what?”
“I charged the privileged little shit,” he said, “although it didn’t do any good. The DA has already thrown it out, calling me and chewing out my ass. But I made it clear to good old dad, who showed up here, breathing down my neck, that he’s to keep his kid off the island, and if ever again we have a problem with him, a video of his racist diatribe will be all over the news.”
She lifted her brows, leaned back, and crossed her feet on his desk, and he wasn’t sure if she was amused. “You have a video?”
He reached for the baseball and the plaques and shoved them in the box. “No, but he doesn’t know that. Anyway, I ordered a body camera for Carmen, and she’ll wear it. The council will freak, mind you, when they get the bill, but I’m not having her credibility shredded because of some privileged kid who gets a free ride and thinks he can do anything he wants without consequence. Because her word won’t count against his if shit hits the fan.” He knew he was shoving everything in the box a little harder than necessary. “As far as Hal Green, I reminded him of all the tickets he had the chief write off for him over the years and let him know I have a copy of every one of them, including his emails to the chief telling him to take care of it.”
Her expression was unreadable. “I thought you didn’t keep any of the chief’s insurance, the dirt he had on the council,” she said. “You said you didn’t want to operate that way.”
Mark shrugged, thinking of the files in the bottom drawer, the proof of how Herb Walker had dipped into the funding for the island homeless, the tickets for Hal Green, and the photos of the head of the council herself, Mary Jane, with Philip Maddox, the reason the chief was no longer the chief. “If those running things actually played by the rules, I guess you and I wouldn’t be having this conversation,” he replied. “Didn’t say I would use them, but I’d be stupid to throw them out.”
She nodded. “Heard you eventually paid the license renewal fee for Harley Peters, too,” she said. “Word gets around that you can’t help being a good guy, Mark.”
He only grunted. Aggressive prosecution against a woman who just couldn’t afford her license didn’t sit right with him. “She’s got kids, no support, and her job barely pays her a living wage.”
Billy Jo lifted her hands. “Hey, you don’t need to justify it to me. I get it, Mark, and I’m behind you. I’m just saying that the council doesn’t like being backed into a corner, and they especially don’t like having a chief they can’t control, so you’ll need to watch your back. Now, those two, you should call them.” She gestured to the two resumes she’d pulled out, Georgette Walker and Mike Schneider. One was from Salem, the other from Olympia. “And I’m starving, so how much more do you have to do?”
He took in the box, the girl, and the resumes on his desk. “Tons, but it’ll keep.” He reached for the pile of resumes and tossed them on top of the box. “For dinner, how about steak?”
She shrugged and stood up. “You’re cooking?” She reached for her bag, and he took in the curves she was no longer hiding.
“Yeah. I’ll throw steaks on the grill, and you can go through the rest of these resumes…” He lifted the box and started out of his office, following her.
“And the box?” She gestured back to him as he flicked off the light with his elbow and whistled to Lucky, who was now up and striding to the door.
“I’ll drop it off at the chief’s,” he said. “As you pointed out, these are his things.”
She pulled open the door.
“Lock it, will you?” he said. “The keys are in my pocket.”
She hesitated only a second before reaching into his pocket, a touch he hadn’t expected, and she pulled the keys out. He strode to his Jeep and opened the back to stuff the box in, then grabbed the papers and pulled open the front door.
Billy Jo tossed him the keys, which he caught one-handed, before starting to her new Nissan Rogue. She would just follow him to his place, he knew, and he considered for a second this relationship they’d fallen into. Her place or his place didn’t matter. It was always dinner, talking, and then he or she would leave. Maybe tonight he could figure out a way to change her mind and get her to stay.
Chapter 2
Mark turned the steaks on the grill and sprinkled on more seasoning. Billy Jo was carrying on a conversation with Lucky, and he couldn’t help smiling at how his dog listened more to her than him at times.
“Here, put this on and heat it up,” Billy Jo said, handing him a small skillet with broccoli and butter to sauté. He wondered where that had come from, but then, his fridge seemed to be stocked more and more with real food he knew she was responsible for. “Those potatoes done?”
He used the tongs to turn two baked potatoes wrapped in tin foil. Cooking was something he didn’t normally do, and all he could think was that his domestication had come out of nowhere. “Should be. So, you give any thought to what we talked about?”
She stood right beside him, and he looked down at her, taking in how cute she was. She never flirted with him, ever, and he didn’t think she’d even know how if she tried. She just stared at him and gestured to the broccoli sizzling in the butter. “Don’t let that burn.”
He flipped the broccoli and moved it around the frypan on the grill. She was still standing there. “You know, Billy Jo, it’s not lost on me that when you’re uncomfortable about something, you just don’t want to talk. You’re about the worst when it comes to talking things through. Instead, you ignore me and say nothing. But this, with us, only works if you talk.”
She pulled her arms over her chest. “You get that tattoo scheduled to be removed yet? Because I told you I don’t want to be looking at your ex-girlfriend every time you take off that shirt.” There she went, changing the subject again.
“You know, Lucky and Harley will get along great,” he said. “You’ve seen them when he’s at your place, no fights… I’m thinking this is more about your comfort level. Harley would do great over here with Lucky. Look at all the outdoors he’d have to wander…”
She was still looking up at him, breathing in and out, her chest rising. “He’s a three-legged cat. He doesn’t wander outside. He stays inside or sits on my deck. He couldn’t protect himself if he wandered. You want a beer?”
She was already walking back into his small one-bedroom cabin. He gestured after her with his tongs, fighting the urge to wrap his hands around her neck. She was the only woman he found himself completely off kilter with, unable to reason with.
“Opinionated, stubborn, difficult…” he said under his breath, maybe because she still hadn’t answered him. He wondered if this was where guys learned to toe the line.
“Mark!” she called out to him, holding up a beer from the open fridge.
He gestured with a sweep of his tongs. “Nope. Carmen isn’t on call tonight, and I’m not about to give the council any reason to bounce me.”
She shoved the beer back into his dated old fridge with a clatter. “Then how about water, or do you want this lonely can of orange soda?” she called out.
“Nothing, I’m good.” He shook his head, flipped the steaks again, and turned off the grill as Billy Jo walked his way with an empty plate and a glass of wine. She handed the plate to him in comfortable silence. She seemed to just know what he needed, and it left him wondering why they were still dancing around each other. He was trying to figure out how to navigate this maze, treading carefully, recalling his history of screwing up every good thing he’d had.
“So can we talk about how you avoid answering by changing the subject? I’m serious, Billy Jo…” He let out a rough laugh, trying to dial back his frustration. “You know how I feel about you. Is it about this place, sex, or what? I feel like I’m having to force the conversation when I would rather not talk, but if I don’t, seriously, I’m starting to think dancing around is all we’ll ever do. Are you scared of me, of this between us? Is that why I feel as if you’re one step forward and two back all the time? And don’t think I haven’t noticed your subtle change from baggy comfortable clothes to looking more like a girl.”
He took the plate from her a little harder than he meant to, and she narrowed her eyes, her mouth tight, her posture stiff. He put the steaks and baked potatoes on the plate and reached for the hot skillet using the mitt Billy Jo had held out without a word. He shook his head as he walked around her with dinner, seeing how she held the wineglass, still saying nothing.
He stopped beside her and leaned down, so close. “And here you go again, suddenly mute.”
She flicked her gaze up to him and let out a frustrated breath, and he made himself keep moving because he could feel the edge of her anger. He would gladly have reached out and shaken her if he thought it would do any good.
“Frustrating…. Like, what the hell am I doing?” he said under his breath as he put the plate down with a clatter and set the skillet on the stove. He rested his hands on the counter and gave his head a shake before reaching for two plates on the open shelf, which he realized had never looked this neat and organized.
He heard the door close and sensed her walking his way, so he held out a plate to her as she appeared quietly beside him and put her glass of wine down.
“Just FYI, I’m not scared of you, Mark,” she said. “It’s me I’m scared of. You want to have this conversation, then fine, let’s have it. We’re friends…”
“We’re more than friends and you know it,” he snapped, cutting her off, forking one of the steaks onto a plate. She rolled her shoulders as he reached for a baked potato and unwrapped the tinfoil.
“So we’re dating,” she said.
“Not dating, either. Dating is getting to know someone, testing the waters to see if a committed relationship is possible. I told you I’m not dating. You got under my skin. This, here, is dancing around, and that’s all you, baby.” He knew he sounded like an asshole, but he was tired of this, and he wondered when he’d found himself seeing her as the one.
“I’m not afraid of sleeping with you, Mark, or sex, so let’s get that straight. But you have issues, one of which is the tattoo of your former girlfriend that you should have removed by now. So let’s talk about dancing around, shall we?”
“I called and booked an appointment for a week Thursday, but it has to be done on the mainland, and that’s if I have a new deputy trained and here to help Carmen so I can leave the island. So no, I haven’t blown it off, but with the shitstorm that went on here with the chief and me taking over, you know I can’t just hop on a ferry and leave right now.”
He had her backed against the counter, so close to her that he settled his hands on either side of her so she couldn’t move. She looked to one side and then the other until she was forced to look at him. He knew he was in her space, touching her, pushing her. He could feel the pull of her breath, see the way she reacted to him.
“You really booked it?” she said.
He angled his head without stepping back, and she flicked her gaze to his lips. He didn’t wait for her to say yes before he leaned in and pressed a kiss to her lips, easy, soft, and let it linger. Her hand on his arm traced the skin up to the edge of his faded T-shirt, and he settled his hand on her hip, over the curve of her waist, and up her back, then slipped his arm around her and pulled her right against him as he deepened the kiss.
She pressed against his chest but didn’t push him away. It was instinctive and natural as he lifted her, resting her on the edge of the counter, pressing a kiss to her neck, the soft skin at the V of her open blouse, and he heard her hiss. Just then, the dog barked, and Mark jumped. There was a knock at the door.
He pulled back, still holding her as she slid down, mourning the interruption, the loss. He stepped away, his hand on her for another second, and he angled his head, unsure what was staring back at him.
“Dammit, always something.” He hadn’t meant to say it out loud. “Lucky, come here!” he called out as the dog barked again. He made himself take one step and another, glancing once to his open bedroom door and his holstered gun sitting on the dresser.
He walked to the door and pulled it open to see a woman with light hair, slender, wearing a loose blouse. “Hi, are you lost?” he said, taking her in. He figured she had to be about five foot five, maybe—young, pretty.
“So sorry. You’re the chief, right?” she said.
He didn’t step back, feeling uncomfortable. The young woman looked up at him, and he couldn’t help being a little pissed. Billy Jo stepped up behind him, and he set a hand on her arm. “Sorry, can I help you?” he said before pulling in a rattled breath.
He’d been so into Billy Jo, that kiss, and having her one step from under him, that he hadn’t heard a stranger arrive. He stepped away from Billy Jo, his hand lingering a second on her to keep her behind him, maybe from the fear of everything that had happened around him.
“Are you the chief?” she said, her voice soft. She appeared in her early twenties, if that.
“I am. And you are?” he replied. Lucky was growling behind him, and he turned back to the dog, seeing Billy Jo with her arms crossed, looking intently at the woman. Lucky growled and barked again. “Lucky, come over here,” he said. “Billy Jo, can you…?”
He didn’t have to say any more, as Lucky warily came over to him, and he grabbed the collar Billy Jo had bought for him and pulled him back. Billy Jo reached for him, making him sit, as Mark took in the open door to his bedroom and the gun still sitting on the dresser. He didn’t know why he was feeling so on edge.
He stepped closer, standing in the open door right in front of the woman, and he could hear Billy Jo talking to his dog behind him. Her expression was off, maybe from the way the dog had reacted to her.
“You didn’t tell me who you are. Is this a police matter?” he said. “Your coming out here is unusual. We’re kind of in a crunch right now with staffing down. I haven’t been on the island that long, so I haven’t had a chance to get to know everyone.” He gestured to her, looking over her head to see a sleek silver Jaguar Coupe, likely why he hadn’t heard her pull in.
She squeezed the silver chain strap of her purse over her shoulder, her mouth tight. “I apologize for intruding, and yes, I hesitated in coming to you. In fact, I’ve sat outside the station—well, just on the road, with plans to walk in and talk to you, but I’m afraid I chickened out. I didn’t want anyone to see me, because then there would be talk, and then he’d know.”
Her eyes were deep blue, and Mark found himself lifting his hand to invite her inside. “Okay, come in. Why don’t you have a seat?” He gestured to the old leather sectional and glanced back to Billy Jo, shooting her a puzzled look. She didn’t let go of Lucky, who, he realized, wasn’t letting the woman out of his sight. He couldn’t remember ever seeing his dog act that way: wary, watchful. Hmm.
She took a step inside and over to the sofa, running her slender hands over her deep blue jeans. She wore makeup, thick mascara, and her lips were full. Her identity was still a mystery.
“So why don’t we start with your name?” he said, his hands going to his hips.
The woman seemed to track him with just her eyes. “And it won’t get back to my husband?”
He made himself shake his head. “This is just us here. I can’t help you unless you tell me what it is. Are you in trouble, scared? What is it?”
Odd, he thought as she nodded, glancing past him to Billy Jo before looking back at him.
“My name is Sunday, and I’m not sure where to start. Did you know child marriages are legal in this country? I’m not old enough to vote, buy a house, join the military, or drink alcohol, but I’ve been married for three years.”
He didn’t have to look to know that Billy Jo was now standing beside him, and Lucky’s nails scratched on the old hardwood as he lay down behind him.
“You’re married. How old are you?”
“I’m sixteen, old enough to drive now. I have two children, my first when I was fourteen, the second when I was fifteen. When I had my babies, the hospital knew, and the school I went to knew, and the courts knew where I was married before a judge.”
Billy Jo hissed beside him, or maybe it was the sound in his own head. He knew he was staring like a fool, trying to wrap his head around what she was saying. Maybe that was why the woman opened her purse, pulled out her wallet and driver’s license, and held it out to him.
He found himself staring at her before reaching for the license, seeing a photo of a woman free of makeup, appearing much like a young girl. He took in the year, the birthdate, and the name Sunday Byrd, then flicked his gaze right back to her. The makeup she wore made her look older. Yeah, there it was, the same image. He could see it now, how young she was. He held the license out to Billy Jo and let her take it, maybe because he didn’t know where to begin.
“I can see by your face that either you don’t believe me or you’re having trouble wrapping your head around this,” Sunday said.
Billy Jo tensed beside him, and he dragged his hand over his face. He couldn’t figure out what to say, because he knew that her being married, as sick as it was, was legal in too many places.
“Is that why you’re here?” he said.
She shook her head. “No, I’m here because the man I was forced to marry killed my family.”
Chapter 3
“Could you excuse us a second?” Billy Jo said, still holding the license. She dragged her gaze over to Mark, who appeared tense and quiet. She was beginning to read him so well, his many moods, right down to the way he had to fight the urge to wrap his hands around her neck when she went toe to toe with him and stepped on his male ego—though, to his credit, he had a restraint she hadn’t expected. Then there was the way he became quiet when he was completely rattled and thrown, like now. She reached for his bare arm, feeling the warmth, the strength, and pulled.
“What are you doing?” he said, but he went along with her, letting her lead him and the dog, whom she grabbed by the collar and shooed into the bedroom, where he jumped onto the unmade bed.
She glanced back once from the bedroom to Sunday, who was sitting on the sofa, staring at her, saying nothing. “We’ll be right back,” Billy Jo said before closing the door.
Mark paced, unsettled, and dragged his hand over his face, likely still getting his head around what the very young woman had said. He wasn’t happy she had pulled him out of the room, but the way he always humored her was another point in his favor.
“Well, I don’t want to talk in front of her, so I’m pulling you aside so we can discuss this,” she said. “Do you see this? She’s just a kid. If this is true, it’s like… Oh my good God, Mark. Two kids? She was just a child, having a baby, two babies.” She had to remind herself to keep her voice down, as she could feel the magnitude of what she was imagining as she stared at the license, the photo. The girl had shown up at Mark’s door and shut down any chance of anything happening between them. Maybe that was why she was so rattled.
“Illegal, is that what you’re going to say?” He inclined his head, those blue eyes flickering with passion and anger as if he were trying to piece together a puzzle.
“Yeah. I guess I’m looking for something that explains how illegal this is, but it isn’t. Yet he killed her family? This is so bizarre. I just…”
He pulled those amazing strong arms over his chest. He wore a faded T-shirt and blue jeans that fit him too well, and his short red hair was unruly. She knew he was dangerous for her, but at the same time, his personality, the way he talked and listened, and even these complications that landed on his doorstep kept reeling her in again and again.
She knew deep down that Mark had never walked away from the kinds of problem a sane person would. Self-preservation didn’t seem to be something he operated from, and maybe that was why she had to be around him. Good guys apparently did show up, though not as the picture-perfect image she had expected. He was like a drug for her.
“Look, right now there’s a strange woman—”
“A girl, a teenager.” She flicked the license she was still holding up to make her point.
“Fine, a teenager who looks like a woman and who showed up at my door with a story I haven’t even heard the details of yet. I need to figure out whether a crime happened—and, if so, and this is a big if, can I even do something for her? Whether I’m disgusted or not is irrelevant, because unfortunately, this kind of shit happens in our country.”
His hands were on his hips, and his gaze flickered with an anger she hadn’t seen that often. “Yeah, I’m aware that all the advocacy groups fighting against child brides in shithole countries should start looking right under their noses at home. It’s legal, as sick as it is.”
He raised his brows, likely because she couldn’t get her tongue to move, couldn’t come up with one argument. Apparently, he knew this part of the law well, as did she.
“Do you need another minute in here?” he said. “Because I’d like to find out what the hell she wants and if there’s something I can do. Unfortunately, on the child bride thing, there’s zero, but on the murder thing, maybe.”
He reached for the license and stood beside her, looking down at her, so close as he slid his hand to her hip and around. She could feel how pissed off he was, his passion, and damn, it only made her want him more.
“I can always tell, you know, when something treads on one of your no-go buttons,” he said. His gaze lingered, and she wanted to run and hide, but his hand was still there, his arm across her. She had to fight the urge not to hold on to him.
“Fine,” was all she could get out.
He pulled his hand away, and she was immediately furious, because even now, with a strange woman in his living room, she couldn’t fight that pull toward him, and what bothered her more than anything was how well he could read her. Too well. She heard him pull open the door behind her, and when she turned, he was watching her.
“You coming?” he said, then dragged his gaze over to Lucky, who was still on the bed, tail wagging in expectation. “And you stay.” He jabbed his finger at the dog.
Billy Jo followed him out to where Sunday was sitting. She was slender, dressed well.
He handed her license back to her. “Sorry about that…”
“You know, your walls are thin. Just FYI, I can hear everything you’re saying, so if you’re trying to save me any embarrassment or save face in trying to get rid of me, don’t bother. It only makes this situation even more awkward. You think I don’t know the statistics, the reality of how child marriage has been culturally accepted in the US? So many say the opposite, that it’s child abuse, but it’s not if a judge signs that piece of paper and weds you to a man who’s old enough to be your father.
“You think I haven’t looked for ways to get away from my husband? I even thought once, stupidly, that if the authorities only knew then I’d be pulled out, and he’d be in jail, and I’d be free of him. But that reality came crashing down when I called a lawyer one day when he was out only to hear that from 2000 to 2015, over two hundred thousand young girls in the US alone were wed legally to a man over eighteen. In too many states, I can’t even enter a shelter, or divorce him, or leave him at all, because I’m a minor.
“I was screwed at thirteen, so you think I didn’t look for any loophole to get away? That’s why I sat outside your office for so long, knowing I couldn’t walk in because I’d be seen, and you’re damn right that I’m paranoid it will get back to him. I have a driver’s license now, the only freedom I’ve had since I was forced to marry him, but I can’t even run with my babies because there’s nowhere to hide.”
Billy Jo dragged her gaze over to Mark, who had pulled his cell phone from his pocket and was typing something in. He said nothing as she stepped over to him, and he held the screen out so she could see the title of the article he’d pulled up.
“As of July 2021, last month, six states have banned underage marriage with no exceptions. But not here,” he said to Sunday.
She glanced at the first line of the article and angled her head. The way she looked at Mark, even Billy Jo could see she wasn’t impressed, and all she could think was that for a sixteen-year-old, Sunday was unusually well composed.
“Sunday, I’m not sure what I can do,” Mark said. “Does he hurt you? You said he killed your family. When, how? You’re looking for help from me—to do what? To get away from him? To leave him? You said there are kids involved. Maybe you can do a wellness check, Billy Jo?” He looked over to her. She knew he was thinking over the options out loud.
Sunday cut in. “He’s never laid a hand on the babies,” she said.
Billy Jo flicked her gaze to Mark. “Let’s play devil’s advocate here. Say I did a wellness check. Then there’ll be a report, and let’s be real here. Sunday is only sixteen. The babies would be stuck in foster care. And that’s not even addressing the issue of how I can suddenly get involved.”
Mark stilled, saying nothing, his mouth open. He glanced up.
“You know, I can’t be here much longer,” Sunday said. “He’ll wonder where I am since I said I was going to the store.” She looked at her watch, and it wasn’t lost on Billy Jo how calm she was, how this seemed like a game of cat and mouse.
“You said he killed your family,” Mark said. “Start there and tell me what happened.”
Her eyes were dark blue, her slender legs crossed, her hands linked over her knees. The diamond on her finger flickered. It was impressive. Nothing about her hinted at poverty. “Do you think I’m lying?”
Billy Jo narrowed her gaze. This young girl was playing a dangerous game. “Don’t play coy! You showed up here, remember, at the door, looking for help, but all you’ve done since you walked in here was toss us a crumb. Is this a game for you? How about doing us all a favor and answering the question the chief asked you? Or are you lying about this, telling a story to jerk his chain and stir up trouble?”
Billy Jo felt Mark drag his gaze over to her, but there was something off about this girl. She couldn’t help thinking this was a game, a lie, something to mess with Mark.
“I’m not lying about anything,” Sunday said. “My husband, Ash Byrd, is a man people take their problems to. They tell him their problems, and he fixes them, and he’s paid for it. My mom was a problem. When he showed up the first time and told her how it was going to be, he said they could resolve things the easy way or the hard way, but either way, it was going to happen.
“When my dad came home, she told him. I’d never seen her so scared. I don’t know what she did, but she wouldn’t stop even though I knew she was terrified. Next her tires were slashed, and her brakes were cut, and then the phone would ring and she’d scream at whoever was on the other end to leave her alone. She called the police once, but nothing happened.
“I asked my mom what that man wanted, what she’d done, and all she kept saying was that she was getting what she was owed. She worked in Hollywood for a producer. I heard her say once that the sharks in Chicago have nothing on Hollywood. She’d been fighting with actors, producers, managers.
“One day, I went to school. It was a Thursday in June. When I came home, Ash was sitting in my parents’ living room alone. My parents were both gone. He told me that because my mom wouldn’t do as she was told, and because she had gone to my dad and talked when she knew better, he’d had to take care of my dad as well. Then he said he had no choice but to make sure I couldn’t be a problem. That was three years ago.
“Next, I was standing in a judge’s chamber with him in a sunny California courthouse, thinking it was all a bad dream. But he said this was going to happen. So here I am, sixteen now, legally married to a man who fixes problems for the Hollywood elite. Now can you help me?”
Billy Jo couldn’t pull her gaze from Sunday. When she finally did, looking over to Mark, she thought this really did sound like a young girl messing around with the new police chief.
Mark shook his head, making a sound of frustration under his breath as he dragged his gaze from her back to Sunday. “I’m confused. You said he killed your parents, yet you came home and he was in your house, your parents’ house. Did you see him kill them? Where were their bodies? Was there a crime scene?”
Sunday lifted her purse over her shoulder and stood up, and Billy Jo couldn’t believe she was seeing what seemed like arrogance. “No, there were no bodies, no crime scene. He’s smarter than that, and it wasn’t the first time he’d taken care of a problem. I’m married to the man, so I know that when he takes care of something, it goes away for good. No evidence will be found unless he wants it to. He has people working for him, from former cops to industry experts who understand the game.”
Mark dragged his hand over his face, and she reached over and touched his arm. He looked right at her.
She just shook her head and said, “You should look into her parents, at least, see if any missing persons were reported.”
And then he could call her out on her bullshit story, she thought, though she kept that part to herself. She didn’t quite understand what it was about Sunday that rubbed her the wrong way.
Mark only groaned, then pulled his hand over his head, something he did when he didn’t have an idea where to start. He didn’t answer Billy Jo, just shook his head as he looked down at Sunday. “You probably already know what I’m going to say.”
“Yeah, that you can’t help me. No body, no crime, and there’s no way it could be true. I can already tell she doesn’t believe me,” she snapped, gesturing to Billy Jo, which only angered her more. This girl was playing with fire, and it seemed she wasn’t beyond taking a shot at her. “So thanks for nothing,” she continued in a rather snarky tone, then started walking to the door.
“Wait.” Mark lifted his hand.
Sunday’s back was to him, her hand on the door, but she turned back and lifted her chin, all attitude. Billy Jo felt she was deliberately thumbing her nose at her. She knew she couldn’t have explained this to anyone, this feeling that there was something so completely off about this girl.
“That wasn’t what I was going to say,” he said. “I’ll look into it, see what I can find out, and if there is something, I’ll see what I can do. But, one, if he killed your parents in California, it’s out of my jurisdiction, and, two, as far as your marriage is concerned, until the laws are changed, there isn’t a damn thing I can do about that. You live here, and he lives here too. I’ll be in touch.”
She pulled open the door. “No, please don’t be in touch. I drove out here because he can’t know I was talking to you,” she said. Then she walked out the door.
Billy Jo took in Lucky, who was staring out at them from the bed, his tail wagging. Mark walked to the open door and pulled his cell phone from his pocket, and Billy Jo strode over to him and slid her hand to his back, leaning close to him as they watched the strange young woman walk to her fancy car, the kind Billy Jo would never have tossed money toward. Mark lifted his phone, took a photo of it, and then looked down at her.
“You believe any of that story?” he said. From the way he was looking at her, she could see the edge of disbelief, and all she could do was shake her head. She’d thought for a moment that he’d believed it hook, line, and sinker.
“I don’t know,” she said. “A pretty young girl shows up at your door with a crazy story? If it’s true, and I’m not saying it is, but if so, I think you’d better ask yourself just how much you want to stick your nose into this. Because if he is who she says, you don’t have enough resources to investigate this, let alone go after someone like him. Problems you can’t even imagine could very well land on your doorstep, and people could come after you. Or, worse, you could be made to disappear.”
Chapter 4
Something about the visit from Sunday Byrd had completely cooled off anything happening between him and Billy Jo. Over a cold dinner, he hadn’t gotten her to admit the parallels between her and Sunday, the many similarities. He’d never seen Billy Jo display the kind of open hostility she had to the young lady who’d knocked on his door. In the end, he’d slept alone with his dog at the foot of the bed.
Maybe that was one of the reasons he was feeling unsettled, off, and frustrated as he pulled up in front of the station in the early morning before anything else had opened and parked his Jeep beside Carmen’s cruiser, seeing she was already there and the light was on inside. He didn’t know where to begin in unraveling the tale of the girl who’d shown up at his door.
“Come on,” he said to the dog, who jumped down and out the door. Mark’s hair was still damp, and he held his go-mug of coffee and took a swallow as he stepped up on the sidewalk. He opened the door to find Carmen at her desk, on the phone, gesturing with a pen to his office, where a man he’d never seen before was sitting, having turned the chair to watch him. He had neat short dark hair and was casually dressed, not pulling his gaze from Mark.
“Bed, go,” he said to Lucky, and the dog went right to his dog bed. Mark walked over to Carmen’s desk as she hung up the phone. “Who is that?” he said.
She lifted her brows. “Don’t know. He walked in and said you were expecting him. Said you’d know. I sent you a text a second ago before the phone rang.”
Mark pulled his phone from his pocket and stared at a text sent five minutes earlier: Some guy just showed up and is sitting in your office, waiting. Said you’re expecting him.
Carmen let her gaze linger on him, pissed off, as he glanced over to the man sitting there.
“You two finished gossiping out there?” the man said. “Come on in here, Mark. We need to have a talk.”
Carmen’s expression darkened. He didn’t have a clue who the man was, but the way he spoke was unsettling. He heard the squeak of the chair and knew Carmen was on her feet behind him.
“You want me to get him out of here?” she said.
He shook his head. “No, I’ll deal with this. Look, I sent you a text, a plate number. I want you to dig up anything you can on it, the registered owner, everything.”
She was still standing there, her dark hair pulled back, looking at the man who was staring at them. He had to be forty, maybe, his hands linked over his belt, a thick gold ring with some insignia on his finger. He wasn’t smiling.
Mark didn’t look away as he said to Carmen, “I want to schedule a meeting later this morning with a couple of the possibilities to fill the deputy position and answer the phones here.”
Then he started walking to his office, digging into each step. “You seem to know me, yet I’m at a loss. Have we met?” he said, standing just inside his office, staring down at the man, who stared right back at him, unflinching, cold. Mark couldn’t remember ever looking into eyes so unfeeling before.
“Ash Byrd,” the man said. “I can tell by your face that you already know why I’m here. Figured putting a face to the name would help. Join me. Come on in your office and sit down.”
He had to fight the urge to look back at Carmen. He wanted to tell this guy to get the hell out of his office, but he remembered Billy Jo and her warning to him. He’d thought she was paranoid, but the memory now had him feeling like a fool. He was about to refuse and stand there, but something about this situation wasn’t sitting right. With what he’d heard the night before about this man, he wondered what the hell had shown up in his community and on his island.
He glanced back once to Carmen, who was on her laptop, before walking around his desk, feeling each step. He heard his door close, and Ash turned to face Mark, who rested his coffee on his desk and sat and leaned back in his chair. He could feel his sidearm as he took in the man, wearing a long-sleeved burgundy Henley and dress pants he knew weren’t from a bargain store. His face was clean shaven, with a scar on his chin.
“So what can I do for you—Ash Byrd, is it? You’ve walked right in here and made yourself at home. Do you forget I’m the chief of police?”
The man didn’t smile as he pulled in a breath. “I know exactly who you are. You met my wife, Sunday, last night.”
Mark was leaning back in his chair. He rocked a bit and didn’t pull his gaze. How the hell did he know?
“Can see you don’t want to answer,” Ash said. “Not much goes on without my knowing.”
Mark knew he made a face. “Now, why would you show up here and ask me that? What makes you think I’ve spoken with your wife?”
The man didn’t flinch. Strength seemed to ooze from him. “You’re new to the position here on the island, newly appointed, but good at what you do with the limited resources you have. The council here, though, doesn’t really have your back, and they’re looking for any reason to replace you with someone they want. After all, having you step in was only temporary, and much of this office really is in flux. You ever ask yourself how Tolly Shephard managed to keep his job as long as he did, running things the way he did? You ever ask who made sure he was left alone? I think you know what I’m talking about, given that bottom drawer of yours, which you haven’t cleaned out.”
Mark stilled, a knot in his stomach. He had to remind himself to breathe, picturing the file the chief had kept on Mary Jane and the other councillors, the dishonesty, the hands in the cookie jar, the kind of dirt that would serve as his insurance to keep the politicians in line and off his back.
“Sounds to me as if you’re alluding to something,” he said. “You help the chief out?”
He’d talk with Carmen, because how the hell did Ash have any idea what was in the bottom drawer unless he’d gone through it?
“No idea what you’re talking about. Let’s talk about the other situation, the tale you were told. You’re a smart man, so let me help you out so you can stay smart and keep your job. Sunday is known for her tales. She’s bored, and she finds you rather attractive, Chief, young and single as you are…”
Ash had big hands, he realized, as he gestured toward him, not pulling his gaze. Mark knew when someone was aware of what was going on around him without even looking. This guy was good, and as he recalled what Sunday had said, he felt his hand had already been tipped.
“Not sure what this is, but I’m not some wet-behind-the-ears rookie. Are you coming in here and threatening me? Because it sounds like you’re trying to warn me off. Threatening an officer, I could arrest you for that.”
“Who said anything about threatening you? We’re just having a friendly conversation, is all.”
Mark pulled in a breath, very aware of what he wasn’t saying, being careful, giving nothing concrete. A smart man was sitting across from him. So that was how he was playing it. “Your wife, Sunday, an unusual name.”
Ash’s lips pulled to the sides in an odd smile. “Sure, young, smart, and troublesome…” He angled his head, teasing.
“How young is she, again?” Mark said. He knew he shouldn’t, but this man already knew that he knew. How, he wasn’t sure.
“You know, the greatest thing about this country is that the laws haven’t caught up with me. There’s nothing illegal about marrying a minor where we are right now.”
“Thirteen is a kid, not a minor. It’s child abuse.”
Ash was shaking his head. “I know you’re not an idiot there, Chief Mark Friessen. That snippy little social worker you spend time with knows what I’m talking about. Maybe you should have her fill you in on the legalese of a marriage document. She’s my wife, and therefore there’s no crime. Now, I’m coming here as a gentleman, all friendly, man to man. Because to hear that my wife is being entertained by another man, being shown interest by another man who just so happens to be the acting chief of police, well, I have to say I don’t like that.”
Mark just stared at him, realizing he was serious. He could feel the slippery slope he was treading, with this added dimension that was far from the truth. His job was everything, and the politics were never anything he had considered, but they had become more and more of what his job was. “Mr. Byrd, you come into my office, tossing out tales…”
“No, you’re not listening to me, so I’m going to help you out so you understand. There’s the easy way and there’s the hard way, Chief Friessen. Doesn’t matter which to me, but easier is better for everyone and for the community. It’s never good for a police chief to be showing interest in a young girl. She’s my wife, but to you, she’s a minor. The community is still reeling from the sudden departure of Chief Shephard, a long-time resident who could be forgiven for far more than a new young chief no one knows much about other than his lack of respect for authority. Imagine being fired by a small county for taking bribes, corruption, and just being a bad cop in general. That’s a bad way to go out.”
The horror of what he’d said had Mark just staring at Ash as he stood up. He was of average height and weight, and he didn’t know why he’d pictured someone with a lot of muscle. Ash pulled open the door and let his gaze linger on Mark again.
“You’re creating a tale about me, and that’s dangerous for you,” Ash said, unflinching, confident in a way that was unsettling. “You think the truth is even relevant? You have a lot to learn. It was nice meeting you, Chief. Remember what I said.”
Then he strode out to the door. Mark didn’t get up. He could see Carmen already walking his way.
“What the hell was that about?” she said, gesturing.
Mark couldn’t remember ever having been this unsettled. There was Billy Jo’s warning again. He leaned forward, taking in the way Carmen was staring at him, wide eyed, freaked out. He pulled his hand over his face.
“Not sure, but I figure that was a warning,” he said, then pushed back his chair and stood up to walk around his desk, past Carmen and over to the window. When he looked out, he couldn’t see where Ash Byrd had gone. There were cars driving past, a few people here and there. Something about the warning made him feel a blindside coming.
“You ever hear of an Ash Byrd?” he said, turning back to Carmen.
She shrugged. “Is that who that was?”
He turned back to the window, aware she hadn’t really answered. “He knows the chief,” he said. When he turned back to Carmen, he wasn’t sure he liked what he could see staring back at him. “He may have done some work for him.”
She fisted her hands and nodded as she pulled them over her chest. “I presume we’re not talking about the kind of work that would in any way be official.”
Mark glanced back out the window. “No, nothing legal, legitimate, or above board here.” He dragged his gaze away, around the empty and quiet station, to his dog, who was looking at him from the dog bed in the corner.
“I’ve never seen him before, but that doesn’t mean anything,” Carmen said. “The chief, you know, already had a way of doing things. But he also did business at the golf course, out where no one can hear you, where it’s just two or three people and a golf game. A whisper here, a deal there… The chief played a lot of golf.”
He took in Gail’s empty desk, missing her more than he would admit. “Get me the details of that plate. It should come back as Ash Byrd’s. Then I want you to find out everything about him, and I mean everything: who he knows, what he does, where he’s from.” Mark pulled his keys from his pocket and started to the door. “Come on, Lucky,” he called to the dog.
“And where are you going?” Carmen said.
“To find out exactly what kind of problem is knocking at my door. You call me with anything,” Mark said, then pulled open the door and let the dog out first, saying nothing else.
He walked down to his Jeep, unable to explain the odd feeling that someone was watching him. As he pulled open the door and let the dog in, he looked over his shoulder, but the problem was that he couldn’t see anything or anyone out of place.
Chapter 5
Googling Sunday Byrd and her situation only to come up with nothing should have given Billy Jo some peace of mind. But something about the girl, her face, and her story bothered her in ways she couldn’t have put into words. Worse, she was unsettled and furious because she’d seen the way Mark had looked at Sunday, and she knew he didn’t see her the same way Billy Jo did.
She was perched on a stool at her small island with a coffee, her French press half full in front of her, Harley munching his kibble in a bowl on the floor, when she heard a vehicle. She was still in a T-shirt and pajama shorts, her hair a mess, but she heard footsteps on her stairs, so she closed up her laptop and slipped off the stool to walk barefoot over to the door just as he knocked.
She flicked the deadbolt and pulled the door open, staring up to see vivid blue eyes, red hair, and brooding lips. She remembered too well what those felt like pressed to hers, and she let her gaze linger. He took in her bare legs, her pajamas, and she could see he had something on his mind.
“I need to talk to you,” he said.
She stepped back, and he walked right in, wearing blue jeans, a jean jacket, and cowboy boots, with the greatest ass she’d ever seen. There was something about Mark. Being around him was the easiest and the hardest thing at the same time. She closed the door and swept back her shoulder-length hair, feeling the tangles. Mark was already in her kitchen, making himself at home, pulling out a mug from the cupboard as she strode back over to the island and slid back onto the stool. He lifted the French press and poured himself a coffee, and she waited, seeing the moodiness and how off he was.
“I hope this isn’t where you’re going to start in on me again,” he said, still holding the French press. He filled her mug to the top, emptying what was left. His lips were tight, and he clearly didn’t want to talk.
“What was it you said, that I’m like Sunday Byrd?” she said. He put the empty French press into the sink without responding. “You know, Mark, you have a blind spot when it comes to attractive women, and Sunday, though sixteen, is that and then some. You have any idea what it’s like to sit there and watch you just accept everything she said? You ever heard of a woman who knows how to spin it, to dial up the drama, to mess with you? Pretty sure that tattoo on your arm should be enough of a reminder of how nice, gorgeous girls can flash you a smile and tell you a story while lying through their teeth.”
“Do you want me to say I’m sorry?” He rested both hands on the island, staring right at her. “I will if that will help, but just the same, Billy Jo, I’m not going to start lying to you now. You want me to tell you what you want to hear, or do you want me to tell you the truth? I thought this thing here, with us, starts with no bullshit.” He gestured at her.
She could feel this going sideways again. “Don’t be an asshole, Mark, or toss out cruel comparisons between me and Sunday, because there are no similarities between us, what I went through, and her showing up at your door.”
“Yeah, but one minute you want me to check into it, and the next you’re calling her a liar.”
She fisted her hands, resting them on the island, wondering when he’d become so good at tossing attitude right back at her. “I never called her a liar, so you’re putting words in my mouth, but you think a young girl like that isn’t stretching the truth? Look at her. The only reason we knew she was young was because of the ID she offered rather easily. Then there was the game of sitting outside the station, not wanting to come in because she’s afraid of it getting back to her husband. I have to wonder, is it even true? The cloak and dagger and drama are very indicative of a story from someone so young, and you fell for it. I could see how adept she was at reeling you in. You’re telling me you don’t find her attractive in the least?”
She’d never seen him look at her quite the way he was, with anger and fury flickering in those blue eyes.
“She’s a fucking kid,” he said. “Seriously, don’t turn me into a creep eyeing up a young girl. She knocked on the door looking for help, is all. I’m the chief of police here. You’re damn right I’m going to give any woman looking for help the benefit of the doubt. I’m surprised as all hell with you, Billy Jo. You’re so quick to toss out her story and paint her as a liar. I would’ve thought out of anyone, you’d have been in her corner, advocating, fighting. You know, you may not want to admit it, but she hit a nerve in you. I saw it last night. Whether it’s her story, her situation, or the girl herself, I could see it in the way you walked out on me. Even right now, you’re ready to go another round.”
She wondered if that was the reason he appeared so pissed. “You swallowed everything she said as if it were gospel. With her showing up at your door with that story, maybe some of it’s true, but maybe the whole thing is absolute bullshit. I could see the way you looked at her. She’s attractive, young. You were ready to bend over backwards for her, letting her lead you around…”
“Don’t you fucking dare, not from you too.” He slammed his mug down, cutting her off, and the coffee sloshed over the side. The cat jumped, and Billy Jo stared back at the flicker of fire in his eyes. She realized what he’d said.
“What do you mean, not from me too?”
His mouth was tight as he reached for the roll of paper towel, ripped off a sheet, and wiped up the spilled coffee. “You know, Billy Jo, suggesting I could seriously be eyeing up that girl is pretty low, even for you. She’s a kid. You think I don’t know you’re more scared of yourself and this bullshit relationship, this dancing around that you’re doing with me? You’d rather paint me as a dirty dog because then you could say, ‘Look, I was right, see?’”
She flicked her gaze to her coffee, feeling the slap and the embarrassment, then lifted her hands. “I’m sorry. I know you wouldn’t cross the line. But are you honestly telling me you didn’t find her attractive in the least bit?”
He angled his head and narrowed his gaze, then let out a rude sound under his breath. “You don’t get it. That suggestion is the kind of thing that could ruin my life, my career. It’s not even funny, Billy Jo, and I can’t believe you of anyone would accuse me. Why would you even think so little of me? In all the time we’ve spent together, are you telling me you really believe I would go around with another woman behind your back? You really believe I could do that?” He could really be loud when he was pissed off—no, furious.
For a moment, she felt herself stumbling, trying to explain how she had to fight every day the doubts that plagued her. “No… I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it like that.”
“Really, then how did you mean it?”
She pulled in one breath and then another. “Look at me and look at you.”
He narrowed his gaze and made another rude sound as if he didn’t get it. “And what exactly are you trying to get at? Is this about me being a cop and you a social worker or what? Because you’ve lost me.”
She just stared and could feel her jaw slacken, wondering how he didn’t see that she wasn’t a supermodel, the typical woman he was drawn to, attractive, gorgeous, with curves. “I don’t want to fight with you, Mark. What did you mean when you said not from me too? You didn’t answer me.”
He really did appear off. “I walked into the station this morning to find a man I’d never seen before sitting in my office, waiting to give me a message. He walked right past Carmen, telling her I was expecting him.” He pulled his hand over the back of his neck, and his jean jacket pulled back to reveal his firearm, his badge.
She knew she was pushing him away, and she didn’t want to. She wondered why she couldn’t just be happy. “Who was waiting for you, Mark?”
He looked right at her across the distance she’d created. “It seems Ash Byrd knew Sunday paid me a visit last night. He was there, sitting in my office, making himself at home, waiting to warn me off. Yeah, she’s married to him, so she’s not lying about that, Billy Jo. I think he knows the chief and did some work for him, too.”
She wondered what kind of odd look was on her face. “What kind of work?”
He lifted his mug and downed his coffee, then walked over to the sink and rinsed it out before setting it there. She wanted to yell at him to say something, as she could feel her heart pounding. She’d never seen him this rattled.
“Remember the files the chief had to keep the council in line, the dirt on each of them in the bottom of my desk? Seems Ash may have been the one to collect it for him.”
She didn’t lean forward but realized he was serious. “For real?”
He shrugged. “It’s why I’m here. I plan to go see the chief and ask him outright who this guy is, but whoever he is, I know he’s the kind of guy I wouldn’t want to meet in a dark alley alone. You know he even went so far as to discredit Sunday? You know, saying she’s a flirt, a storyteller, and it wouldn’t look good if people suddenly learned the chief of police on this island is messing around with someone’s sixteen-year-old wife.”
She knew her jaw slackened, and she stared in horror, now recognizing the look on his face. He was cornered, upset, scared. “He seriously said that to you, accusing you of messing around with her? So he’s planning on tossing out a story about you to get you to back off. You told him what she said?”
Mark was looking away, leaning against the sink. When he dragged his gaze back to her, it wasn’t filled with the same caring she’d become used to. Why did she insist on pushing him away?
“No, I told her last night I wouldn’t tell her husband, and my word means something, Billy Jo. I haven’t had a chance to look into her story. I gave the plate number to Carmen and asked her to dig up anything she could on Ash Byrd. But he knew enough. Whether she went home and told him…” He gestured vaguely. “Nevertheless, he’s right about one thing. If a story got out about me showing interest in a young girl, I’d be run off the island, and it wouldn’t matter what I have on the council. My job would be gone. That’s the kind of thing I couldn’t run from. It would follow me. As you’ve already pointed out, Billy Jo, with my history with women, it really wouldn’t be too much of a leap, now, would it?”
She could hear the nastiness in his voice, and maybe she deserved that slap. She wanted to say people wouldn’t believe it, but she knew that wasn’t true. “I’m sorry, Mark. What are you going to do?”
He sighed. “I don’t know. Go see the chief, have a word with him about Ash Byrd, find out who he is, what he does for people, exactly, and everything about Sunday.”
Then he started walking out of the kitchen right past her. No hug, no kiss, no nothing.
“Mark,” she called out to him.
He stopped halfway to the door and glanced back to her.
“I don’t really believe you’d do that,” she said. “It’s just my own insecurity.”
He nodded. “I know, but there is a point, Billy Jo, where you can go too far, push too hard, lashing out to slap me down and push me away. I wouldn’t do that to you, not ever,” he said.
Then he kept walking out the door, and she shut her eyes, feeling his words and knowing how right he was. As Mark went down the stairs, Lucky barked from where he’d evidently been left in the Jeep.
Billy Jo realized she needed to get her head right, or this thing with Mark would never go anywhere. Because he was right: She was pushing him out of her life because he knew too many of her dark and dirty secrets, and he could read her way too well, and that was the one thing that absolutely terrified her.
Join My Street Team
Are you a super fan of the Friessens, O’Connells, McCabes and more? I’m looking for eager readers to join my brand new Facebook street team to provide feedback and share your enthusiasm for my stories via reviews, social media and good ‘ole word-of-mouth. Interested? Click the button below to join the team.
Additionally, when my group reaches 2,000 members, I’ll be giving away a new waterproof Kindle Paperwhite to one lucky team member!
As always, thank you for your consideration and support–I’m truly grateful!
For My Audible Book Listeners
Audible has given me FREE audiobook codes to pass on to you for select titles! Click the yellow button below to claim yours; first come, first served. *Due to limited availability, codes must be redeemed within 48 hours or will be reassigned to another requester. Reviews are really, really appreciated.
If you are not currently an Audible member, you can still sign up and claim a free code without signing up for a membership or subscription. If you have any issues, Audible’s Customer Care team is just one phone call away & are happy to help–you can reach them directly at (888) 283-5051.
“This is a wonderful heartwarming series built around strong family ties that involve some conflict, heartache, and plenty of drama…you’re not going to want to miss a single tale.” Catlou, Kindle Customer
The Parker Sisters: The Complete Collection includes the first five books in this heartwarming big family romance series
Audible has given me FREE audiobook codes to pass on to you for select titles in this series! In turn, please be sure to take a few moments after listening to leave an honest online review. Click the yellow button below to claim a code.
*Due to limited availability, codes must be redeemed within 48 hours or will be reassigned to another requester.
If you are not currently an Audible member, you can still sign up and claim a free code without signing up for a membership or subscription. If you have any issues, Audible’s Customer Care team is just one phone call away & are happy to help–you can reach them directly at (888) 283-5051.
Join My Street Team
Are you a super fan of the Friessens, O’Connells, McCabes and more? I’m looking for eager readers to join my brand new Facebook street team to provide feedback and share your enthusiasm for my stories via reviews, social media and good ‘ole word-of-mouth. Interested? Click the button below to join the team.
Additionally, when my group reaches 2,000 members, I’ll be giving away a new waterproof Kindle Paperwhite to one lucky team member!
As always, thank you for your consideration and support–I’m truly grateful!
This week has been crazy, with insane heat, smoke finally arriving from all the fires burning around us, two online meetings I forgot about, and a ferry I had to race to catch so I could attend a Saturday safety course I booked months ago.
One of the things everyone knows about me is that I’m a really early morning person, but that does not equate to me going anywhere in the morning. For me, mornings are about getting up, drinking water and coffee, taking “me time,” and writing, and the only things I want to hear are the birds and the quiet, nothing else. So what do you think happened when I received an email notifying me that the Saturday course I booked months ago was not in fact online and would instead be starting at eight a.m. sharp, and I would have to take a ferry to get there? The ferry I was planning to take would arrive at eight, which meant my son would have to pick me up on the other side and race across the island, leaving me fifteen minutes late. I can live with that, and in fact I thought it was doable. How much would I really miss? I even emailed the instructors so they weren’t left wondering whether I was a no-show.
But leave it to my son, who was booked in the same course, to point out that it would be better if we weren’t late, so how about taking the earlier ferry? I looked at him like, Seriously? The earlier ferry would leave at six thirty in the morning, which meant I would have to be up at like four thirty. That would give me very little me time, as I would have to race to catch a ferry that would arrive an hour before the course started. Of course, I thought about it, figuring that was what a reasonable person would do. I texted him back—because his current mode of communication is to text instead of call—and said, “Okay, look, if I wake up, I’ll be on the earlier ferry.” Then came the scramble of wondering whether I would just wake up early after all, since I usually am up at five a.m. anyway. But because I don’t have an alarm, I suspected while lying there, staring at the ceiling, that this would be the one time I slept in.
The thing about ferries is that if you miss one, you have to wait for the next one, which means that five minutes of lateness turns into an hour. So at midnight I was still awake, and then one o’clock hit, and by that time I realized I was going to be in big trouble, so tired that it would make the all-day course miserable. Because I knew my daughter was still awake, I got up and said, “Please set an alarm on your phone and get me up in the morning. I swear I’ll make it up to you. Whatever you want, it’s yours.” Could I have done it on my old cell phone, which doesn’t even upgrade anymore, and its few apps don’t work because the memory isn’t big enough? I would’ve had to give it to one of my kids and ask them to figure it out. What about an actual alarm clock? I’m still not going to buy one.
Nevertheless, knowing my daughter would wake me up was apparently all the peace of mind I needed, because I fell asleep. At four fifty-five a.m., I woke up, climbed out of bed, had somewhat of a morning, and said a quick thank-you to my daughter, who, having heard me get up, had shut off her alarm and packed me some cut-up fruit for breakfast on the ferry. That was really beyond thoughtful! I packed up, tossed a backpack into my SUV, and raced to the ferry for the six thirty sailing only to pull into the parking lot to find the ship hadn’t even left the other dock. I gave myself a quick “Good thinking!” because when the ferry starts late on its first run of the morning, it often spends the entire day behind, one sailing after another.
In the end, instead of being super early or fifteen minutes late, it turned out I was right on time.
Audible has given me FREE audiobook codes to pass on to you for select titles in this series! In turn, please be sure to take a few moments after listening to leave an honest online review. Click the yellow button below to claim a code.
*Due to limited availability, codes must be redeemed within 48 hours or will be reassigned to another requester.
If you are not currently an Audible member, you can still sign up and claim a free code without signing up for a membership or subscription. If you have any issues, Audible’s Customer Care team is just one phone call away & are happy to help–you can reach them directly at (888) 283-5051.
Join My Street Team
Are you a super fan of the Friessens, O’Connells, McCabes and more? I’m looking for eager readers to join my brand new Facebook street team to provide feedback and share your enthusiasm for my stories via reviews, social media and good ‘ole word-of-mouth. Interested? Click the button below to join the team.
Additionally, when my group reaches 2,000 members, I’ll be giving away a new waterproof Kindle Paperwhite to one lucky team member!
As always, thank you for your consideration and support–I’m truly grateful!
For those who live for the great outdoors, and I happen to be one of them, summer is about outdoor fun, camping, and being on the water, whether boating or visiting with family and friends. But this year it seems we’re continuing the trend of having no idea what’s around the corner. The heat has been unprecedented, and even I succumbed to heat exhaustion this past week. I had it a few times in my teenage years and twenties, so I remember well how it can take you down. The temperatures have been unrelenting. I’d likely be the first person to tell you how much I love the rain, but the dry, hot heat? No, thank you. Here we are in August, and the heat continues. Add in the forest fires and it seems there’s no break. In many places in the province, the smoke is so bad it’s hard to see.
So what happens when you live in a community where fires are burning around you? You’re put on evacuation alert and told to be ready to go at a moment’s notice. With fires burning out of control in too many places, people are being told to pack up and leave, but where are they supposed to go? Many of the hotels and places to stay are booked up with visitors holidaying. I read one article that said people are being told to either camp or stay with family, because commercial accommodations have limited occupancy. This leads to people not leaving when told to, which puts those at the heart of the fire in danger.
It would seem logical that if fire is coming your way, you pack up and get out, but not if you don’t have a place to go. Housing, and I’ve written so many blog posts about this, is the elephant in the room, an issue that has spiralled so far that no one wants to fix it, not really. One of the things that has really been spotlighted, particularly during the pandemic, is the number of people living in their cars, with no roofs over their heads. I don’t even want to think of how horrible that would be, but worse is what I heard a local cop say just last week, that you can park your car anywhere, just not with you in it.
I am a big advocate of basic human decency, but it seems that in too many places a huge divide has arisen between the haves and the have-nots. If you had no place to go, what would you do? Think about it. You have a vehicle, and you’re fortunate to have that, but you no longer have a roof over your head, so you must drive around, looking for a place to park for the night so you can get some sleep. But what happens if you park in the wrong place? When the police drive by a parking lot and see you there, they pull in and tell you to move on. Maybe you ask, “Well, where can I go and park? Could you help me?” But their response is, “No idea. You just can’t park here, so move on.”
You’re exhausted, and you need more gas, but you drive away, shaking, worried. Maybe your kids are in the car with you, so you drive somewhere more rural, down a quiet street, maybe a little pull-out where you’re not bothering anyone, hoping you’re out of the way enough. But then a property owner pulls out and sees the strange car parked there. Is that property owner empathetic and going to leave you be? Or does he see you and immediately feel angry, thinking he doesn’t want that kind of riffraff hanging around there, citing crime and break-ins and theft as an excuse. He makes one call to the police, who handle the bylaw infractions in many places, and they respond to property owners first as a priority.
Yet again there’s a knock on your window, waking you up from the few hours of sleep you were maybe lucky to get, and you jolt awake, stiff and sore from trying to sleep in your cramped car seat. You roll down your window and see the cop standing there, with a badge and a holstered gun. You hear his radio, and maybe his flashing lights are flickering. You look up, weary, exhausted, panicked, and his speech to you is “A complaint was phoned in. It looks like you’re living in your car, so I’m giving you a warning to move on. You can’t park and sleep here.” Again, you receive no help, just a warning, and you feel the angry eyes of residents who want you out and off their street.
Now, some may say that would never happen to them. Maybe they own their own homes or have family they could go and stay with. But that is not the reality for a lot of people. Even in my area, during the pandemic and now, there has been an increase in people having to live in their cars. Because my daughter works as a server at a restaurant and doesn’t have her driver’s license yet, just her basic learner’s, she relies on me to pick her up from the last ferry coming in at night, at ten p.m. As I drive to the ferry, I pass vehicles parked on the side of the road, in a pull-out surrounded by trees, in the dirt parking lots of hiking and biking trails, and even down at the ferry terminal, parked at the end, out of the way enough that they are not bothering anyone and hoping they’ll be left alone.
Think about it: If this were you, and this could happen to any one of us, what would you want someone to do? Instead of the police warning these people and telling them to move on, you know, out of sight, out of mind, how about offering the human decency of a helping hand? People need a place to go instead of hearing over and over that there’s no room at the inn, and you can’t park here, so move on.
If you are not currently an Audible member, you can still sign up and claim a free code without signing up for a membership or subscription. If you have any issues, Audible’s Customer Care team is just one phone call away & are happy to help–you can reach them directly at (888) 283-5051.
New Release
“Heartbreaking & Unique Story! If you are looking for original romantic suspense story lines, you need to check out books by Lorhainne Eckhart. Her stories are unique and deal with issues that you may not always find in a romance.” ★★★★★ Paytonpuppy, Amazon Reviewer
Are you a super fan of the Friessens, O’Connells, McCabes and more? I’m looking for eager readers to join my brand new Facebook street team to provide feedback and share your enthusiasm for my stories via reviews, social media and good ‘ole word-of-mouth. Interested? Click the button below to join the team.
Additionally, when my group reaches 2,000 members, I’ll be giving away a new waterproof Kindle Paperwhite to one lucky team member!
As always, thank you for your consideration and support–I’m truly grateful!
Can you think of anything more hurtful than someone using you as a scapegoat, accusing you of something you didn’t do, or lying about you and being believed over you because of who he or she is? Saturday was the release day for Broken Promises, which is about Reine Colbert, little Eva’s mom, who was granted parole and released from prison. Yet her release soon had her experiencing an abuse of power that happens too often to vulnerable people who don’t have the means to protect themselves, and it goes unchecked, flying under the radar, as the mainstream media don’t report on it.
A simple definition of abuse of power is the misuse of one’s position of power to take unfair and unjust advantage of people. What happens to a person who finds herself at a disadvantage, subject to abuse, especially when she doesn’t have the financial means to hire a lawyer to protect herself? Reine’s voice was taken from her, and she’d been stripped of any and all rights, being forced to follow a set of rules that would keep her from her daughter. Everything Reine did was because of Eva, whom she loves more than her next breath, and that left her with a burning anger that had only grown deeper, whether justified or not, toward Marcus O’Connell. Reine held him responsible for the shitty hand she’d been dealt.
As well, Reine had to report to her parole officer, a man who was anything but honorable and decent yet could show up whenever he wanted to wield power over her. Basically, he was the gatekeeper to her freedom, dangling the fact that she was one step from being locked back up again over her head. When he hit her, she knew she’d never be believed because of who she was. How often is the abuse of women by someone in a power position swept under the carpet or refused an investigation? Worse, victims are told that because of who they are, different rules apply, so reporting the abuse makes their lives only more difficult.
Credibility is everything, and so is the illusion of credibility given to a certain class of people, whether deserved or not.
Staying silent and keeping her head down was unfortunately Reine’s only recourse. She swallowed the hurt, the anger, the pain. Yet not longer after, she was accused of stealing from an old woman. According to her boss and the old woman’s daughter, who both pointed a finger at her, she had the opportunity to commit the theft, and the jewelry had been there before she was left alone with the old woman and was gone after. All it took for her parole to be revoked was the word of her boss and the old woman’s daughter, because they were seen as credible, a business owner and a property owner against someone who had nothing.
Unfortunately, someone of means can accuse someone of stealing based on as little as his or her word, especially if the person being accused doesn’t have the financial means to hire a lawyer for protection against that kind of assault, even when the evidence is purely circumstantial. Whether to charge is left up to the discretion of the police and the DA. Reine had too many strikes against her, having been released from prison on parole and already violated one condition when she showed up on Marcus’s doorstep. Her credibility was already in the toilet. Never mind the miserable fact that she had been left alone in the home with the old woman on the orders of her boss and the nurse she worked under for hours without pay, doing a job she wasn’t hired to do.
Could she have spoken up? In her mind, she couldn’t have, because that would have meant losing her job, and her employment was a condition of her parole. When the family called her boss and reported the stolen jewels, their word was all it took for Reine to be arrested, to have her freedom taken away again, and, worse, for people to believe she’d done it. She didn’t have a clue how to get them to see the truth. It was her word against two members of the public who were automatically deemed to have credibility and were believed over her.
Was it an open and shut case? It was circumstantial. When arresting Reine, Sherriff Marcus hoped she would just confess to the crime to make it easier for him. Marcus and Harold believed beyond a shadow of a doubt that she was guilty all because of who had pointed the finger at her. When under investigation for stealing, you should not speak to anyone, especially the police, at your home, at work, or anywhere else unless you have a lawyer there with you. The police have been trained to trip you up and get you to make the kind of inconsistent and incriminating statements that can and will be held against you. Even if you say something to someone else, not the police, that person could issue a statement to the police. In Reine’s case, one thing she did well was to shut her mouth, but that still didn’t save her.
Being wrongly accused of theft is a horrible situation, especially when the evidence is circumstantial and one person’s word means more than someone else’s. Has there been a time in your life when someone deliberately accused you of doing something you didn’t, and that person was believed over you?
Coming to Audio Tomorrow
Narrated by Jennifer Pickens
Most cops have a past. A past, they can speak of. A past, they can share. But not Diane….
BOUNTY will be available at Audible and Apple Books on August 3rd!
******
FOR MY AUDIBLE BOOK LISTENERS – Audible has given me FREE audiobook codes to pass on to you for select titles in the Walk the Right Road series! Click the yellow button below to claim yours. Due to limited availability, codes must be redeemed within 48 hours or will be reassigned to another requester. Reviews are really, really appreciated.
If you are not currently an Audible member, you can still sign up and claim a free code without signing up for a membership or subscription. If you have any issues, Audible’s Customer Care team is just one phone call away & are happy to help–you can reach them directly at (888) 283-5051.
New Release
“Heartbreaking & Unique Story! If you are looking for original romantic suspense story lines, you need to check out books by Lorhainne Eckhart. Her stories are unique and deal with issues that you may not always find in a romance.” ★★★★★ Paytonpuppy, Amazon Reviewer
The O'Connells
The O’Connells of Livingston, Montana, are not your typical family. Follow them on their journey to the dark and dangerous side of love in a series of romantic thrillers you won’t want to miss.
Are you a super fan of the Friessens, O’Connells, McCabes and more? I’m looking for eager readers to join my brand new Facebook street team to provide feedback and share your enthusiasm for my stories via reviews, social media and good ‘ole word-of-mouth. Interested? Click the button below to join the team.
Additionally, when my group reaches 2,000 members, I’ll be giving away a new waterproof Kindle Paperwhite to one lucky team member!
As always, thank you for your consideration and support–I’m truly grateful!
Can you believe that the wage gap, and wage inequality because of gender or skin color, still exists? Yes, after many decades of hearing about this, men apparently still make more than women. Politicians of the past have said they are tackling this inequality, but change still has not been made. The big problem is how. How do you really force a business or institution to actually be honest and decent and pay people what they’re worth rather than basing pay on gender or skin color? Now, I wrote a blog post about this a while ago when my daughter brought to my attention the wage inequality among women alone, where an Asian woman makes more than a white woman, who makes more than a black woman, who makes more than a Mexican woman.
In Above the Law, the chief’s wife, Gail, gives Detective Friessen a wakeup call, sitting him down to tell him he makes more money than his co-worker Deputy Carmen, who is both female and not white. Mark is shocked because the inequality wasn’t even on his radar. The problem is that if it doesn’t affect you and you don’t see it, how can you even know it’s a problem? I’ve said to my kids, and I’m sure I sound like a broken record, that it really is up to their generation to fix all the screwups and the inequality, all the problems my generation and the ones before us have created but seem unable to fix.
One of the glaring issues right now, especially with the vast number of low-paying jobs available, is that pay inequality is even more pronounced than ever. Look at your area, where you live. How many jobs are available? Right now, here, there are so many jobs. I glance at the pages and pages of help-wanted ads and see that employers are in desperate need of workers. Okay, great, but while employers need workers, those workers need to be able to live somewhere, to have a roof over their head instead of a tent. So until someone is actually willing to bite the bullet and fix the housing crisis, those pages and pages of positions are not going to be filled.
Of that vast list of jobs, many are in the hospitality and service sector, which was hit hardest during the pandemic. These workers were the first to lose their jobs. But right now, apparently they’re not too interested in returning to the same low-paying jobs in an industry that tossed them aside so easily. I can’t blame them in the least, because one thing about this pandemic is that it has really shone a spotlight on pay inequality, racial injustice, and a shitload of other problems that have never been fixed.
Back to the jobs being offered. What many of these employers are doing is offering a higher rate of pay to new employees than to their current employees, who stayed on and worked through the pandemic. When I first saw this, I wondered whether employers actually believe their employees are so stupid that they won’t look at that same help-wanted section and realize that the starting wage for someone new is more than what they’re making.
I don’t know about you, but I’ve told my kids that they owe no loyalty to underhanded employers who would pay them less and keep paying them less than someone new. As an employer, if you bring in someone new and pay him or her more money than your existing loyal employees who have been with you through the hard times, you’ll have only yourself to blame when those employees walk out the door.
Is this sort of pay inequality illegal? No, it’s not. But it does make the employer a shithead, and word will get out until the business becomes a revolving door of instability, having to constantly train new workers who are looking for something better somewhere else because they know their employer has no loyalty to them. So what do you get? A business that will continue to struggle.
One thing about businesses in the service industry is that when employees are treated well and are happy, not being screwed over, that reflects in the job they do, in their customer service. Great customer service is reflective of a workplace that knows how to look after its employees.
Are you a super fan of the Friessens, O’Connells, McCabes and more? I’m looking for eager readers to join my brand new Facebook street team to provide feedback and share your enthusiasm for my stories via reviews, social media and good ‘ole word-of-mouth. Interested? Click the button below to join the team.
Additionally, when my group reaches 2,000 members, I’ll be giving away a new waterproof Kindle Paperwhite to one lucky team member!
As always, thank you for your consideration and support–I’m truly grateful!
Free Audio Codes
Get a FREE US or UK Audible code for select McCabe Brothers titles. A limited number of codes are available; first come, first served. Honest reviews are always appreciated. Happy listening! *Due to limited availability, code must be redeemed within 48 hours or will be reassigned to another reader.
***Before claiming your audiobook code please make sure you are signed into your Audible account. You do not need to have a paid membership to have an Audible account or claim FREE audiobook codes.
She was thirty-one years old, and she had a daughter, a tattoo she would never be able to remove, eighteen dollars and forty cents in her pocket, and a prison record that would keep her from ever having anything else. Reine Colbert wondered when she hadn’t felt this hollow ache that had become a part of her, of who she was, an anger that had only grown deeper, so much that it burned her with every breath she took.
She stared at the brick homes, sidewalks, and grass lawns of picture-perfect suburbia, with flowers planted in front of porches that welcomed visitors, family, and friends with glasses of lemonade, laughter, and small talk.
But that life wasn’t for someone like her. That life had been ripped from her. Reine had once had a husband, a daughter. She’d once felt joy. Now she felt only anger.
It hurt more than anything to feel she was supposed to be thankful that she got to breathe the same air as people who had homes, lives, and freedom. Wasn’t that exactly what her parole officer had said after he finished grinding her into the ground as she sat in his dingy office, realizing he didn’t see her as human? He’d stared at her file instead of her, making it clear she’d never matter. She’d better learn her place, keep her nose clean, take what was offered. And he didn’t want to hear any complaints or whining about anything, because rights were something she didn’t have.
No drugs, no liquor, no weapons.
And the last, which had nearly choked her, was no respect. That was something she wasn’t entitled to anymore. She’d been officially categorized as a person with no rights and no dignity, and she was terrified, as she stood on the concrete sidewalk, seeing weeds sprouting up between the cracks here and there, staring at a house, that what she was doing now could have her right back behind bars.
It would take just one call from someone who mattered, even though that would be cruel. Then again, cruelty had become familiar to her, and it was a quality she saw in everyone now.
Someone was watching her. This was that feeling prison had taught her, the one that had kept her alive and breathing. She waited a second before turning to see a woman with long dark hair across the street, staring.
Reine pulled at her old hoodie, lifting the hood over her shoulder-length dark hair even though it was mildly warm out. She made herself look away, around and up the street to see what could be coming at her. It was a quiet morning, and cars were parked in front of most of the houses. The sheriff’s cruiser was in the driveway as the early sun topped the horizon.
She reminded herself she couldn’t keep standing there, as someone would call the cops, and she’d be questioned, told she didn’t belong. Reine made herself take one step and then another, hoping whoever was watching her would let her be instead of hitting her with the knowledge that she didn’t belong there.
She kept moving in sneakers that were so worn she could feel each pebble she stepped on, but the pain was welcome as she walked up the sidewalk toward the two-story craftsman. Her legs were shaking, and her stomach was hollow, and Reine was very aware of the voices she could hear from inside.
The three front steps were painted gray. As she stepped up, she glanced down at the holes in her sneakers, and her heartbeat thudded long and loud in her ears. The hair on the back of her neck stood up. She wondered whether she’d ever shake that feeling of being watched, having to look over her shoulder, never feeling a moment’s peace because of that deep ache in her soul, a reminder of everything she’d lost.
She took another step up, and the creak of the wood ricocheted through her. Her inhale was long and loud in her ears, her heart pounding, her hands sweating. One more step, and she knew she shouldn’t be here, fearing the hand that would reach for her and pull her back, another living nightmare. Reine prayed for the day when that fear would truly leave her.
She fisted her shaking hand, feeling the sweat under her arms, down her back. Her blue jeans hung on her hips. The inside door was closed, and she stared at the screen mesh and lifted her hand to ring the doorbell, but instead she knocked on the white painted frame.
The sound was weak. Standing there, she wasn’t sure if anyone had heard her. She lifted her hand again when she heard voices and footsteps, and then the door opened. She’d never forget his face, his blue eyes, that all-cop look, even though she’d forgotten how tall he was, standing there in his sheriff’s uniform.
For a moment, the silence hung thick in the air as she stared at the man who was responsible for everything she didn’t have.
“Marcus, who’s at the door?” someone called out. It was her voice, Charlotte.
Reine fisted her hands where they hung at her sides and stared through the screen that separated her from a man she felt only bitterness for. She took in the confusion that knit his brows, his hand on the door. He didn’t answer his wife.
“Reine?”
Was he happy or angry? She couldn’t tell from his deep voice. The screen was still closed, but then he pushed it open with a loud squeak. She heard the sounds of children and a voice she’d go to her grave knowing, because it was a part of her.
Eva.
“I don’t understand. What…? How?” Marcus gestured toward her, and she could hear the confusion as his gaze bore down on her. “What are you doing here?”
She pulled her hood down. “Hello, Marcus,” she said, her heart still hammering as she took in the gun holstered on his duty belt. Once, she’d never have believed she could come to hate that uniform, but now she did because of what it had taken from her.
He was still standing in the doorway, looking down at her. She knew she wouldn’t be invited in. What, exactly, had she expected?
“Marcus, you didn’t answer. Who’s here…?” There she was, Charlotte, dressed for work in a brown deputy’s shirt, her long dark hair pulled up. Her eyes widened as she stood beside Marcus, staring down at her. Charlotte’s head just topped his shoulders, but they were both taller than her.
She was still trembling inside, facing the gatekeepers to her Eva. More guards, even though she was no longer behind the walls of a prison.
“Reine, what are you doing here?” Charlotte said. “I didn’t know you were out. What’s going on?”
Not even a welcome or a smile. That was something she expected, and there it was, the change in Charlotte’s face, in her eyes. Gone was the caring, and the woman who’d taken her daughter was staring at her now in a way that told her she didn’t want her here.
“I’m here to see my daughter,” Reine said.
She didn’t miss the exchange between husband and wife as if her fate was still up for debate, as if someone else decided what she could and couldn’t do.
“You’re out of prison?” Marcus said. “I don’t understand. When did this happen?”
When had she become so aware of the tone of people’s voices? Marcus’s had an edge she hadn’t expected.
“Yes, I’m out. I hope that’s not a problem for you.” She wondered if sarcasm dripped from her words. Maybe that was why she still hadn’t been invited in.
Marcus stepped out of the house, forcing her to take a step back, something she was too familiar with. Then he took another and another, and she had to fight the urge to look back to see the steps she could fall down. He was right in front of her, his hands on his duty belt beside cuffs she hoped never to feel around her wrists again. But she refused to cower even though she was terrified of what he could do to her.
The screen door hadn’t closed, and she knew Charlotte was still standing there, holding it open.
“Marcus, the children…”
Was that worry or fear in Charlotte’s voice? Reine couldn’t look at her because the sheriff was staring down at her with a hard expression, the only way people looked at her now.
“Go inside and take Eva and Cameron upstairs,” he said without pulling his eyes from her.
Reine wasn’t about to lower her gaze, either, even though looking a guard in the eye in prison would have been seen as challenging, threatening, with repercussions that ranged from having her privileges taken away to being beaten or tossed in isolation. Cruel was cruel, and that had been all she’d known for too long.
Reine made herself take a breath and instinctively fisted her hands at her sides again.
“Marcus, everything okay here? Jenny said there may be something wrong,” came a voice from behind her.
She had to look away, down to the man looking up at her from the sidewalk in a park warden’s uniform. He was tall, too, and from the way he looked at her, she could feel this going sideways.
“No, everything is fine, Ryan,” Marcus said. “This is Reine. She’s out of prison.” He sounded so matter of fact, but the way he talked about her, as if addressing the weather or the news, ached.
From how the other man was looking at her now, she expected to be told to leave or maybe walked down the street by the two of them, out of the neighborhood, with a warning never to come back.
“You have my daughter, Marcus,” she said. “I want to see Eva right now.”
He lifted his gaze back to her sharply with an expression she didn’t like, shaking his head. “I don’t think that’s a good idea, Reine. She’s happy now, and she wouldn’t understand. You just showing up here like this isn’t good for her. It’s confusing, and—”
“She’s my daughter!” She thumped her chest with her fisted hand, cutting him off, and it felt so damn good to do it, because it was something she’d never have been allowed to do in prison.
His gaze snapped to the sudden movement, and she reminded herself she was in front of a cop, standing right on his doorstep. She needed to be careful not to be construed as threatening or aggressive, even though the words she wanted to say were screaming through her head. The anger that radiated through her was clouding her reasoning.
“No, Reine,” Marcus said. “She’s our daughter now. Charlotte and I adopted her. Did you forget it was your idea? Now you’re showing up here without calling, demanding to see her. What is this?”
That was something else she’d become far too used to, being denied everything she loved. The lump in her throat threatened to choke her, and tears burned her eyes from the anger that was only swelling deeper, bigger, burning a hole right through her.
“This is about my daughter, Marcus. Mine. I gave birth to her, and she was taken from me…”
He lifted a hand, and for a moment she thought he would touch her, so she jerked her shoulder sharply away. He must have known, as he pulled his hand back. “I can see you’re angry and hurt, but I really don’t think right now is a good time,” he said. “We’ll talk, and maybe we can look at something down the road when you’re a little more settled.” His hand went to his duty belt again, and she felt the dismissal, knowing the other man was still standing there, watching her, maybe waiting for her to move too fast or do something he didn’t like.
Reine didn’t nod. This was too familiar, being told to leave. Then they’d circle the wagons and make sure Eva was moved further out of reach. She was shaking her head as she said, “No, I’m not leaving. I came to see my daughter, and you can’t keep her from me.”
“Reine, you’re making this very difficult. I said no. What is it you really want here? What is this really about? If you were truly thinking of Eva’s best interest, you wouldn’t be here now, showing up without calling.”
She tried to look past him, but he was right there, blocking the door. She lifted her chin and refused to look away from the hard blue eyes of the cop looking down on her. “What I really want is to have the life that was stolen from me. That’s what I really want, Marcus. But I can’t have that, and I have to live with the shitty hand I was dealt. I’ve already asked you, and you’ve denied me seeing my daughter. So hear me, Marcus O’Connell. I’m standing here on your doorstep, and you have my daughter inside, and I’m telling you I want her back. Not to visit, not to make an appointment so you can decide whether I can or can’t see her. I want her back. She’s mine.” She was trembling and knew she should be terrified by the way he was staring down at her.
“No, absolutely not,” he snapped.
She picked up the sharp edge in his voice and heard the creak of the step behind her, knowing her time was up. A hand would grab her and push her away.
She didn’t think. She could feel the panic and the agony of her daughter being ripped away from her again. It was her sweet face, her image, and her name that had kept her sane, so she did the only thing she could think of. She opened her mouth and yelled, “Eva!”
Chapter 2
“What do you want to do?”
Marcus leaned on the island, pressing his hands against the edge of the laminate as he listened to his daughter, Eva, talking to a woman he couldn’t believe had shown up at his door. He looked at Charlotte, whose brown eyes seemed to darken with a worry he’d never seen before. As she ran her hand over his arm, he only shrugged and shook his head, then pushed away from the island. “I don’t know. I can’t believe I didn’t get a call that she was getting out, even just as a courtesy. Our office should have been notified. I’ll find out who her parole officer is and have a word with him.”
Charlotte touched his arm again. “What about work? We have to go. We were supposed to be there already, but we can’t leave her here. Eva has school, too. She’s already late. I can’t believe Reine called out for her like she did. You should have seen Eva’s face when she heard Reine. The way she yelled, I couldn’t stop her from running down the stairs.”
He shut his eyes, feeling the ache, wondering whether he’d ever shake the moment when he heard the desperation in Reine’s cry for Eva. It had cut him deep inside, and so had the footsteps of the little girl he loved so much on the stairs, her face as she pushed open that screen door, and her voice as she cried out, “Mommy!”
The entire situation had spiraled out of his control.
He only nodded and slid his hand over his wife’s arm, feeling how tense she was.
“You want me to walk in there and ask her to leave?” she said.
He shook his head. “I can’t do that to Eva. Let her have a minute with Reine to talk, but I think you should go to work. Jenny good to keep Cameron?”
His wife made a face and sighed. He was grateful that Ryan had at least taken Cameron back to his house and out of the emotion of Reine having just shown up. He still hadn’t told Charlotte what she’d said.
“Yeah, of course,” Charlotte replied. “She called your mom, too. At least Iris won’t be sitting there, waiting for Cameron to show up. I have to get Eva to school.”
He heard the squeak of the front door and footsteps, and he lifted his gaze to his brother Ryan as he walked in. Marcus gestured with his thumb to the living room, where mother and daughter were sitting. The expression on his face said everything.
“So what’s the plan here, Marcus?” Ryan said. “She staying for the day? She really planning on taking Eva back?”
Charlotte hissed beside him. “She wants Eva back?”
“Shh,” he said, taking a step and sliding both his hands over Charlotte’s shoulders, the only way he could think to keep her from running into the living room and pulling Eva, the little girl who was their daughter, away from Reine. “Keep your voice down.”
Charlotte’s face paled. He hadn’t expected it to come out so sharply.
“She said she wants her daughter back,” he said, “but I haven’t had a chance to talk to her. We’re running completely on emotion here…”
When he let his hands fall away, Charlotte moved to step back, so he touched her arm again and said, “No, don’t you go in there and make this worse. I can see your anger, but going in there now will only further complicate this situation we find ourselves in. Remember, we adopted Eva officially. She can’t just walk in and take her.”
Marcus slipped his hand around Charlotte’s arm and gave her a little tug, feeling the war raging inside her. She only wanted to protect Eva.
Ryan was quiet, watching them. Just as Marcus realized he couldn’t hear Eva and Reine talking anymore, he heard the creak of the floorboards and turned to see them stepping quietly into the kitchen.
“Hey, there,” Marcus said, resting his hand on the edge of the island beside him and doing his best to keep his voice light. “You’re supposed to be at school. We have to get going soon.”
Eva was holding Reine’s hand, and he took in the way she looked up to her mother, seeing how hesitant and thrown his little girl had to be. “I don’t want to go to school today. Can’t I stay here with Mommy?” she said, her voice no longer that of the confident little girl who had settled in with them.
He knew Charlotte couldn’t pull her gaze from how tightly Reine gripped Eva’s hand. Her clothes were worn and old. He couldn’t remember whether those were the ones she’d been arrested in. He had so many damn questions, and he could see panic staring back at him from the face of a little girl who’d had her life turned upside down.
“Eva, you love school,” Charlotte said, slipping away from him to squat down in front of Eva and reach out for her. “This was just a short visit with Reine this morning. You’ll see her again. We’ll have her over. Come on, you go and get your shoes on. This isn’t goodbye. Come on.” She slid her hand over Eva’s arm, rubbing it.
Eva looked up to Reine, who was still holding her other hand, as if waiting for her mother to say it was okay. He couldn’t have this, so he took a step toward them, seeing the determination on Reine’s face. From her silence and the way she stared back at him with a hard, unforgiving look, it was clear she had no intention of letting go of Eva’s hand. He wondered whether she expected to walk out of the house with his daughter. He needed to remind her it didn’t work like that.
“Charlotte’s right, Eva,” he said. “We’ll have Reine over, but you need to go get your shoes on, and Charlotte will take you to school. Remember, Grandma is picking you up today, and it’s family night at her house tonight. Right now, Reine and I need to talk. Isn’t that right, Reine?”
When he lifted his gaze to her, Reine was staring at him with a hate he’d never expected. It made absolutely no sense, and he was so damn furious at this situation.
“Can Mommy stay, Marcus?” Eva said. “I don’t want to go to school today…”
He shook his head. “Hey, don’t worry. You’ll see her again.”
“Can she come to Grandma’s tonight, to family night? You have to come, Mommy, please. Uncle Owen always barbecues, and Uncle Luke and Chloe have a dog they always bring…” Eva was looking from Charlotte, to him, to her mother, and he could see the hope he couldn’t take from her.
“Eva, if Reine doesn’t have plans already, of course she can come,” he said, “but Reine and I need to talk, and you need to go to school. Go get your shoes on and say goodbye to Reine.” He took one step closer and then another, dragging his gaze to Reine. She had to know she was pushing him, and maybe that was why she made a face, squeezed Eva’s hand, and leaned down to her.
“Marcus is right,” she said, “but I’ll see you tonight. I promise I will be there. No one will keep me from being there.” Reine lifted her hard gaze to him as she spoke, and he could already feel the fight building in her.
She ran her hand over Eva’s head before kissing her forehead, and as she let her hand go, Marcus let out the breath he hadn’t known he was holding. He realized then how tight his chest was, and the relief he blew out was louder than expected.
Charlotte was right behind Eva. He knew she’d have her out the door and in her car quickly by the way she was urging her to get her shoes on. Reine turned, facing the door, her arms across her stomach, and he already saw her anger toward him. This conversation would be anything but friendly.
“Marcus, Eva’s lunch,” Charlotte called out.
He pulled open the fridge and reached for the paper bag in which Charlotte had packed Eva’s favorite, a cheese and lettuce sandwich, along with a fruit cup, a bag of carrots (the only vegetable she’d eat), and a cookie from the chocolate chip batch Charlotte had baked for the kids. He rolled up the edge of the paper bag.
“Okay, I see you got the last chocolate chip cookie again,” he said, forcing the teasing back into his voice as he walked around Reine and Ryan, who leaned against the island without saying a word. He kept going, one step and then another, seeing the panic and uncertainty flickering in Eva’s innocent blue eyes. They weren’t the O’Connell blue but a different shade, Reine’s shade, yet without the same disillusionment and rage at the weight of the world.
He made himself blow out a breath as he stood over Eva, who was sitting on the steps, and Charlotte, who was helping her lace up her shoes. That was something he hadn’t seen her do for Eva in a long time. Marcus held out the paper lunch bag. “So when you’re eating that cookie today, think of me watching you and knowing you got the last one.”
She took the paper bag, and there was the hint of a smile. “We’ll make some more. Maybe Mommy could help,” she said with a hopeful look to Charlotte, who stood abruptly.
“Okay, we have to go, Eva,” she said, an edge to her voice. “Say goodbye to Reine.”
Eva left the lunch bag on the steps and ran back to the kitchen. Marcus leaned on the wooden railing of the staircase, watching as she hugged Reine, who was on her knees, holding her daughter so tight. He couldn’t make out what she whispered to her before she kissed her again.
Marcus dragged his hand over his face, hearing the scrape of whiskers even though he’d shaved, and then shook his head as he saw the panic in his wife’s face. She had her purse and the lunch bag as she waited. Finally, Reine let Eva go, and Eva ran over to Charlotte with a big bright smile.
After Charlotte had her out the door, the silence lingered, and he could’ve sworn he heard the tick of a clock from someplace in the house. He listened to Charlotte’s Subaru starting up before dragging his gaze back to a woman who had suddenly turned their morning upside down. His brother was still standing behind her, and Reine stared at him too with the kind of anger he’d seen too many times on the faces of people he’d arrested. Being a cop, he had grown far too used to seeing that.
He pushed away from the dark wood of the rail, noting how tense she was. “I know Eva invited you to my mother’s tonight, but I don’t want you there. We have some things to settle first, some ground rules to lay out. For one, you coming in here and threatening to take that little girl from us… It isn’t going to happen. Did you forget we adopted her? You signed over your parental rights. It’s too late, Reine. There is no going back.” He was shaking his head, stepping toward her.
She tracked each of his movements, and he wondered whether it was fear he was seeing now instead of the rage he’d first thought. “Well, that’s where you’re wrong, Marcus O’Connell. She’s my daughter, and I was left with little choice. I will have it reversed, and I’m taking my daughter. You can fight me and try to keep me away, but if you do that, Eva will hate you.”
She wasn’t cowering. He knew when someone was bluffing, and this was a woman who wasn’t going to quietly walk away.
“Do you think I’m just going to let you walk in here and rip her world apart, and ours?” he said. “No, she’s our daughter now. We love her—”
“No, she’s my daughter.” Reine cut him off and slapped her hand sharply to her chest. “And you are not keeping me from her. Do not come any closer to me, Marcus.”
He stopped, watching the heave of her chest.
Ryan was watching her, too. “You know what? This isn’t getting us anywhere,” he finally said, stepping in, staring down at Reine. Then he dragged his gaze over to Marcus. “You need to get going, Marcus. Go on. Reine, you, Charlotte, and Marcus really need to sit down and talk, but now isn’t a good time. It’d be better if your heads were cooler.”
The last thing Marcus wanted was to walk out of his house without setting some ground rules with Reine, but Ryan took another step and got right in front of him, saying in a low voice, “Go. You’re only butting heads. There’s no reasoning right now. Go to work. I’ve got this.”
He didn’t want to agree.
Maybe that was why his brother angled his head and glanced back to Reine, asking, “You had breakfast yet?”
She didn’t say anything, just shook her head.
Marcus realized maybe his brother was right. “You call me later,” was all he said to Ryan before taking a step away.
“Yeah, later,” Ryan replied.
Marcus kept right on going to the door, where he set his hand on the screen and stood for a second, watching Reine watching him. Ryan was waiting, and he didn’t have a clue how to reason with this woman.
Chapter 3
Charlotte was perched on the edge of his desk, where he sat with the phone to his ear, the door closed. He’d said nothing to Therese and Colby about his personal business, and then there was Harold, who he knew was handling a call at a property north of town about vandalized farm equipment and a fire that had destroyed half a barn. Arson for sure, but not something he could get his head into today.
He listened to the ring again, furious after having left two messages for the warden of the women’s prison, who had never bothered to call him back.
“Jane Bartlett,” she finally answered, and the ball of rage building in his stomach seemed to grow bigger.
“Warden Bartlett, this is Sheriff Marcus O’Connell. You’re a hard woman to get a hold of. Pretty sure I left two messages for you already.”
“Sheriff, I’m busy running a prison. What can I do for you?” she said sharply. He still remembered how she’d laid the law down on him when Reine was locked up, calling that prison home for nearly three years. Her words, exactly, had been Stay the hell out of how I run my prison.
“I’m calling about Reine Colbert. I would have expected a courtesy call from you to say she was being released.”
There was no pause on the other end, no Oops, sorry. “Why would I notify you? Her lawyer managed to get her before the parole board, and she was granted early release. Is there a problem I should know about? Because unless she’s done something and is having her parole revoked and being returned to my prison, I’m not clear on why we should be talking. The last thing I have any time for is to notify people when a prisoner is being released. As far as I’m concerned, she’s done her time. All she has to do is keep her nose clean. If she gets herself in trouble, she’ll land right back here and will have to serve out the remainder of her sentence. Again, did she do something? Otherwise, I don’t want to hear about it.”
Sometimes he appreciated when a woman got to the point, but right now, the way she talked to him was only pissing him off. Worse, he expected her to cut him off and hang up. Charlotte didn’t pull her gaze from him until he heard a knock on his door, when she slid off the desk and walked over to pull it open.
He looked away, turning his chair toward the large framed map of Montana on the dark wood wall, and shut his eyes for a second, then dragged his hand down over his face, knowing everything would go sideways with this warden when he opened his mouth.
“Look, she showed up at my door this morning,” he said. “I would have appreciated a heads-up so I could prepare and have an idea—”
The warden sighed. “So you’ve arrested her.”
He hadn’t expected that. He realized the warden likely didn’t remember about her daughter, and he found himself shaking his head. “No, of course I didn’t. My wife and I adopted Reine’s daughter, Eva…”
“Of course, yes.” She cut him off. “Well, I’m sure her parole officer will have already advised her not to contact you and her daughter. So she couldn’t help herself. Seems too often they’re out and then right back in here. Okay, here it is. Manny Meskill is her parole officer. You want the number?”
There was something odd about the warden. He never knew what side of the fence she was on.
“No, I know Manny,” he said, recalling a man in his fifties, five inches shorter than Marcus, with messy dark hair, a penchant for fast food, and a belly that hung over his belt. “I’ll call him.”
“Is there anything else, Sheriff?” There it was, the unfriendliness back in her tone as if she didn’t want to hear from him again.
“No, I’ll have a word with Manny. Thank you, Warden.”
He heard the click and knew she’d hung up, so he set the phone back in the cradle with a clatter and slid his office chair around. It squeaked as he leaned forward, resting his forearms on his desk, seeing Harold in the doorway. Evidently, Charlotte was bringing him up to speed. The door was wide open as she walked back over to him.
“Well, what did she say?”
Marcus reached for the phone again to call Manny, a man he’d talked to half a dozen times, but then decided against it. He let out a heavy sigh, feeling Charlotte staring down at him, waiting for him to answer as he tried to wrap his head around this situation.
“Manny Meskill is her parole officer. Her lawyer got her early parole. Karen should have called me and told me…”
“Maybe your sister didn’t know,” Charlotte said.
Harold stared at them, just taking it all in, standing right in front of his desk beside her. “Karen did say sometime about Reine’s father, Duncan, bringing in his own lawyer. Wasn’t he handling things for her now? You know we were cut out of the loop.”
Marcus needed to call his sister. “I’ll call Karen, see what she can find out. In the meantime, I’ll have a word with the parole officer.”
He didn’t have a clue how to deal with Reine’s anger, and he hadn’t really taken the time to consider what would happen when she got out, what it would mean for her to eventually walk through the doors of the prison. It shouldn’t have happened so early, but evidently, here they were.
“She threaten you?” Harold said, resting his hands on his duty belt, all cop, staring down at him.
Charlotte’s gaze lingered on him. Wouldn’t it be so easy to say she had?
He made himself shake his head. He could see the panic in Charlotte’s gaze. She expected him to figure out how to keep Reine away. “No, she didn’t threaten me or us. I wouldn’t say that about her. She wants Eva back, though, which has me wondering what else is coming our way. She’s angry, and the way she showed up, I’m not sure what she’ll do. A woman on the edge, operating on pure emotion… It’s not an ideal situation, and it’s not exactly what I want around my daughter.”
Harold dragged his gaze from Charlotte to him, taking it all in.
“So was it arson?” Marcus changed the subject because he needed to think of something else for a moment so he could be reasonable instead of reverting to the hard-ass he likely had been that morning.
Harold shook his head. “Looks like it. Tracking down a couple leads, but seems it could be the same person who wrecked the farm equipment and cut fencing at those two other properties, the Olsons’ place and Lloyd Binnion’s down the road.”
Marcus reached for the keys on his desk and his cell phone, shoving them in his pocket as he stood up, knowing Charlotte still expected him to do something. “You got this, then?” He gestured to Harold, who just lifted his hands.
“Yeah, I got it. What are you planning on doing? Charlotte said you left your house and Ryan was there with Reine. What happened?”
Another call he needed to make. This was his problem, but Ryan had obviously picked up on how sideways it was going.
He took in the open door, unable to shake that off feeling he had, and gestured helplessly, dragging his gaze back over to Charlotte, his wife, the mother of his children, Eva and Cameron. “Maybe Ryan got through to her. I expected him to call. Eva wants Reine to come to family night at Mom’s.”
Harold opened his mouth the way he did when he didn’t know what to say.
Marcus dragged his gaze back over to Charlotte, who crossed her arms over her chest, her lips pressed tightly in a fine line. “I told her no after you left, told her she can’t come,” he said. “So that’s where it was left. Right now, I’m going to pay Manny Meskill a visit and find out why he couldn’t pick up the damn phone and give me a call. He should’ve let me know Reine was out so I could do damage control and figure out a few things instead of being blindsided completely this morning when she showed up at our door. Then I’m going to find out where she’s staying, everything he said to her, and where the fuck she got this idea that she can just walk out of prison and take Eva back. Eva is ours now. I’ll have that chat with Manny, see that things are squared away and he sits down with Reine so she gets her head on straight…”
“Marcus, you mind some advice?” Harold cut in, which was something he didn’t normally do. But then, Marcus couldn’t remember the last time he’d gone so far off the rails. He wanted to say no, as he could see Charlotte expected him to just handle this. He let out a heavy sigh as he held the keys.
“Sure, why not?” He could feel the sarcasm dripping from his tone, but Harold didn’t seem to notice.
“Maybe you need to sit down with Reine and just listen to her,” he said, then lifted his hands as if he’d overstepped, likely because Marcus could feel the Hell, no! on the tip of his tongue. “Look, just hear me out here. What is it you’re planning on doing? You’re going to see Manny and, what, have her parole yanked and get her tossed back in jail? You want to make her life more difficult than it already is?”
Marcus pulled his hand over his face. He wasn’t that kind of cop, he was better than that, but this was his daughter, Eva. “I don’t know. No… I’m not out to toss her back in jail, but the entire situation of her being there wasn’t right. Nevertheless, this is where we are, and the fact is she’s messing with my family. She’s going to hurt Eva, and I can’t have that.”
Charlotte still hadn’t said anything. She was looking at the door, and he knew she wanted to race out of there, pick up Eva from school, pick up Cameron from Jenny’s, and lock the doors at home and not let them out.
“Hey, I get it,” Harold said. “I can see how wound tight you both are. But don’t forget she’s Eva’s mother, so tread carefully. Eva is old enough to understand that her mother showed up this morning, so if she doesn’t see her again, she’s going to ask why. Are you going to lie to her or say it’s complicated? Because I have to tell you, that kid is smart, and if she figures it out or finds out you did something…”
How the hell did Harold do that? His words of reason were an icy splash of water
“Shit! Fuck…” Marcus said. “God almighty, she’d never forgive us.” He dragged his hand over his face again and turned back to the map on the wall, wondering why he was so damn focused on it. Then he made himself look back to Harold, who made a face and angled his head, pulling his arms across his chest.
“Again, Marcus, talk to her, sit down with her, find some common ground. Because I can see already what this is going to do. From where I’m standing, it could tear you apart, and that happy little girl. Anger is anger. Reine evidently wants to be part of her life. Can you really deny her that, or Eva?”
He pressed his hand over his eyes. Harold’s words of wisdom told him something he already knew deep down. He tucked his phone in his pocket.
“I’m still having a talk with Manny,” was all he said, then started around his desk, feeling the reality of the situation. When he reached the doorway, he turned back, carrying the weight of every moment of what had happened to Reine: her survival, her wrong choices, her ending up on the wrong end of the law. “I’m just talking, that’s it. I’m not heading there to cause Reine trouble.”
But he still planned on talking one on one with Reine, too. And this time, he hoped the woman he spoke to was the same reasonable one who’d asked him to adopt Eva.
Chapter 4
“Mrs. Hirst, is there anything else I can get for you before I go? Now, Reine is going to finish up here, and then your daughter will be back, so if you need anything, just call for Reine and she can get it for you.”
Reine couldn’t hear how the old woman answered Ivy Smoat, the homecare nurse for whom Reine did all the grunt work. As she wiped the bathtub down, she remembered how the O’Connells had looked down on her and the agony of not being able to be a mother to her daughter.
She took in the floor she still needed to clean and the bed she needed to change. Should she say something about the fact that the old woman was soiling the bed again? Reine had found the adult diapers she was supposedly wearing tucked in the oddest of places. The daughter had to have noticed. But then, she remembered how she’d raced out of the house for a hair appointment or massage—she couldn’t remember which—as soon as they arrived.
“Hey, when you’re done there I need you to run upstairs and tidy up,” Ivy told her. “Run the vacuum, clean the bathrooms, and do Valerie’s room, too. She’s got a lot on her plate, looking after her mom.” She made a motion of looking at her watch. “Now, Valerie said she’d be back around two.”
She stood in the doorway, a big woman who had five inches and a hundred pounds on Reine. She had a dark round face and eyes that said she didn’t care or want to hear anything about Reine’s problems or her business. She wondered if that was why it always felt as if Ivy were talking down to her.
Reine squeezed her fist, holding the sponge on her knees by the bathtub, wondering whether she should point out that homecare meant looking after the old woman, not her daughter, and she worked only until one thirty. But instead she just shrugged and said, “Sure.”
Ivy let her gaze linger a second, and Reine felt the knot in her stomach. Had she said it the wrong way? She wondered why the woman was still staring down at her. She knew well when someone still had something to say, and the only thing she expected was something else to grind her down.
“I wasn’t going to say anything,” Ivy said, “but you were late this morning. Showing up all sweaty, running in the way you did as I was loading up the car, I can’t have that happening again, do you hear? And since you were assigned to me, to help me, I expect reliability. Tomorrow, make sure you show up to help me get the supplies before we leave for the homes we’re visiting. You’ll have to walk back to the office today. I have to leave now and get over to the Johnsons’, so when you’re done, just leave the bucket and cleaning supplies downstairs. Reine, consider this the only warning I’ll give you. Plan on being at the office fifteen minutes early, because that’s what the boss likes to see. I don’t want to be in that position of wondering whether you’ll even show, because if you don’t, you won’t have a job. You understand?”
She wanted to argue, to explain how she’d had to run sixteen blocks from the O’Connells’ because she’d needed to see her daughter. Even though she knew Ryan had wanted a word with her, she’d run out the door right after Marcus pulled away. Probably not something she should mention. Going toe to toe with Marcus O’Connell hadn’t been what she’d planned to do—not yet, anyway. Then there was his family.
“I’m sorry. It won’t happen again,” she said.
Ivy didn’t smile except when she was sitting and talking with the old woman. “Well, we’ll see, won’t we?” she said with a bite.
Reine realized she’d found herself on the bad side of her supervisor, but then, she wondered whether Ivy had made up her mind about her from the moment Reine was assigned to her. She’d come with the label of ex-con, out on probation. Her anxiety only twisted tighter in her stomach.
“We have three calls on the schedule tomorrow, and you have to wear the company scrubs, as is outlined in the employee handbook,” Ivy said.
Reine didn’t bother to get up. Should she point out that she was supposed to leave with Ivy? She was just the homecare assistant. She was to arrive and leave with the homecare nurse and do everything she asked. Also, although she was four days on the job now, she’d been told they didn’t have the uniform in her size.
“Sorry, Ivy, but I asked again yesterday about the scrubs and was told my size was backordered. Not sure what you want me to do.”
Ivy flicked her gaze down to her and gave her head a shake. “Well, then you should pick up something else to wear in the meantime instead of those ripped blue jeans. It’s not a good image for the company. Because I’m not completely heartless, I realize you’ve likely not had time to shop. There is a secondhand store on Third that might have something that would work.”
Reine squeezed the sponge, still remembering her parole officer tossing her the name and number for Better Way Homecare, saying it would be a dream job for her. “I’m doing the best I can, Ivy, but I haven’t even been paid my first check. This is all I have. Secondhand store or not, it’s going to cost money,” she said, but as soon as it was out of her mouth, she realized she should’ve said nothing. “You know what? I’ll figure something out.”
Apparently, that was what Ivy wanted to hear, by the way she gave her a nod and stared down at her. “You do that, then,” she said, then moved to step away.
“Oh, just to clarify, you’re leaving me alone to finish, and you don’t need help at the Johnsons’?”
Ivy gripped the strap of her black purse and pulled her keys from her pocket. “No, I don’t need help at the Johnsons’ until Friday, because that’s when he’s on the schedule for a longer visit, with a bath and a big clean of the house. Today, I just need to check his sugar levels, make sure he’s taken his insulin. I figure I’ll be in and out in five minutes, ten tops. Friday will be the cleaning and everything else, so plan on being there most of the day. Oh, and I forgot to mention the fridge here. Clean it out if you get a chance. I noticed a lot of old uncovered food. Just toss it all.”
Apparently, this was the “everything else” she was supposed to be doing.
“What if I run out of time? I’m supposed to be off in an hour…” She stopped talking, because from the way Ivy let her gaze linger on her again, she knew she was going to have to do more and talk less.
“Are we going to have a problem here?” Ivy said.
Reine made herself close her mouth and shook her head.
“We’re taking a chance on you, Reine. We don’t normally hire ex-cons. Should I be worried about leaving you here to finish?”
What the hell was she supposed to say to that? It was a familiar reminder that she had to know her place. “Dehumanization” was a word that cut so deeply in her soul, a word she’d heard too often from the lips of other inmates, and now that was all she felt.
“Of course not,” Reine said. “Just wanted to be clear on the rules. See you tomorrow?” She forced a smile to her lips even though she felt this going sideways. That had been her life for too long.
“Again, don’t be late tomorrow. And talk to Pete when you get back to the office about the uniform. Wear something that at least looks like scrubs. Pete is really big on all us girls looking the part.”
Then she was gone, and Reine let out a sigh, falling back on her heels and hearing the outside door close. She pictured her daughter’s face again and imagined the talk she hadn’t had with Ryan. She knew she didn’t want to hear him warn her off.
But at least she wasn’t locked in a cage, with people telling her when she had to go to bed, when she had to get up. She had no intention of ever going back again. Now she was on the outside, having to visit a man who could make her life a living hell.
She was taking a second to remember her daughter, just sitting with her that morning while she fought the giant ache of the years she’d lost with her, when she heard a crash from what sounded like the kitchen. She dropped the sponge in the bathtub, yanked off the rubber gloves, and ran out of the bathroom to see the woman, who she knew was in her seventies, standing over a broken clay plant pot. Dirt was spilled everywhere, and she was standing right in the middle of a pile of it.
“Oh no, Mrs. Hirst…” she started, seeing how confused the woman was. “Come on, careful now, watch your step.” She put her hand on the old woman, taking in the navy polyester slacks, the loose blue and white top, her hair still damp from the bath she’d just had.
“Oh dear, what did I do?”
“Were you trying to water the plant, Mrs. Hirst?” Reine helped her take a step back—in her slippers, thankfully.
“I don’t know,” she said, still confused.
How was she supposed to clean and keep this old woman out of trouble? She helped her into the living room, back to her chair.
“I’ll check the plants for you,” Reine said. “You sit back here by the window and see what a nice pretty day it is. Can I get you some water?” There was a mug of coffee there, still full, and a small wooden box on top of a newspaper, as well as a book she didn’t think she’d read.
“Who are you?”
“I’m Reine, remember? I came with Ivy.”
Mrs. Hirst reached over to the box and opened the lid to pull out a pearl necklace that was tangled with a bunch of other earrings and necklaces. “Could you help me put this on?”
“Of course I can.” Reine took the pearl necklace from her shaking hands and opened the clasp, then put it on her, wondering if this was what the old woman had to look forward to. “There, that looks so nice.”
The woman touched the pearls. “Herman gave me these on our first anniversary.”
She could see the old woman had evidently been pulled into a fond memory. “Who is Herman, your husband?”
Mrs. Hirst looked up to her again. “Who are you?”
Reine realized this was going to be a really long day. “I’m Reine. So, Mrs. Hirst, I need you to stay here. I’m going to clean up the mess in the kitchen.”
Reine took in the clock as she strode back into the kitchen, spotting a broom tucked in the corner. She realized she would be here longer than she wanted. As she swept up the dirt, she heard a creak and footsteps, and she glanced up to see Mrs. Hirst walking down the hall. She wanted to scream. Cleaning was one thing, but looking after a woman struggling with dementia was far outside her comfort zone and not what she’d signed up for.
“Mrs. Hirst, where are you going?” she called out.
Then the old woman walked back down the hall, now wearing a robe, and went right to the front door and opened it.
Chapter 5
Marcus’s phone was ringing. He took in the caller ID, Karen Curtis, and wondered when his sister had taken her husband’s name.
“So you’re finally calling me back. Took you long enough,” he said as he pulled up in front of the old commercial building where Reine’s parole officer, Manny Meskill, had his office. He put the car in park and turned it off before pulling the keys from the ignition, hearing Charlotte’s voice over his radio, then Harold’s, about a call in progress and a wellness check on some old-timer.
“Oh, park the nasty, already, Marcus. I was in a meeting. So what’s up with you? You said something in your message about Reine Colbert? And, just FYI, my husband—you know, the governor? Well, his assistant was in my office when I played your message out loud.”
He couldn’t remember what he’d said, exactly, when he was sent right to voicemail, other than Pick up the damn phone! or something along those lines. He shook his head as he sat in his parked car, staring at the dingy glass front that led to a narrow hallway. He knew the parole officer’s office was in back, with hard wooden benches in the hall where the parolees would sit and wait.
“Reine Colbert showed up at my door this morning, demanding to see Eva,” he said. “It was not a good scene. I tried to get her to leave, but everything went sideways when Eva heard her and came running out. Reine said she wants her back. Did you know she was out? Because I have to say, I can’t believe we never got a courtesy call…”
There was silence on the other end.
“Karen, you there?” He really looked at the phone.
“Yeah, sorry. No, I didn’t know she was out. But I’m not her lawyer anymore. I know her father brought in a lawyer of his some time back. What was his name? Gregor Smith, I think. But you’re the one who never wanted her in jail, remember? You called me to get involved because of the situation, the circumstances. Even you said you’d have let her walk. Do you need a reminder of everything that went down?”
Of course he didn’t, but he didn’t know how to explain this awful feeling that he hadn’t considered. “I’m not a monster,” he said. “Of course I’m glad she’s out, but this is about Eva. Remember, the girl Charlotte and I adopted, who is now our daughter? She’s not Reine’s anymore. So please tell me we don’t have anything to worry about.”
“You want the truth?”
The knot in his stomach tightened. “No, Karen, I want you to lie to me. What the fuck? Are you telling me there’s a chance she could get her back? She signed away her rights. She wanted us to adopt her…”
“Hey, don’t yell at me, Marcus. I’m trying to help. The truth of the matter is yes, she signed away her rights, but in reality, the law isn’t black and white. You know this already. In reality, she shouldn’t have been in jail, and there are circumstances, although rare, where everything could be reversed. But in this, she would have to prove in court that her decision to sign and relinquish her rights was done under duress or fraud. Remember at the time that the ADA was determined to strip her of her parental rights? She’d lost everything, which is duress. I can only imagine what she was suffering at the time. But, and there is a big but here, you and I both know that in order to accomplish any of this, you’d need a good lawyer, an expensive lawyer. Can she afford this? And that would drag Eva right into the middle of it. Did you try talking to her? She really said she wants her back?”
What was he supposed to say? He’d been shellshocked, staring at her face through the screen, standing on his doorstep, considering she shouldn’t even have known where he lived. How had she found out? He could have handled it better, but surprises were something he’d had more than enough of for one lifetime.
“I probably could have handled it better, but she showed up at the door and wanted to see Eva, and I said no.” Actually, he realized he’d said a lot more, and he didn’t think he’d ever shake the memory of how her haunted, angry misty blue eyes stared back at him. He knew hatred and anger well.
“You told her no? Why would you do that?”
He could hear her disbelief and wished for a moment that he could go back and re-do the conversation, but he still wasn’t sure he’d have let her in the door. “Karen, I was caught off guard, and it wasn’t a friendly visit. She’s angry, and maybe she has a right to be, but I don’t want that around Eva or my family. And for the record, it was more of a demand, as if she felt she had every right to just show up and see her. You should know that Eva asked her to come to Mom’s tonight. But after Charlotte managed to get Eva out of the house and to school, I told her to consider herself uninvited.”
Karen hissed. “Marcus, no…”
He could sense she had something more to say, but he continued. “In all fairness, Karen, she shouldn’t be there. It’s for family, and …”
“And you’re not thinking clearly. I get it. But a word of advice, Marcus: Reine is Eva’s mother. I always wondered what would happen when she got out, though I didn’t expect it to happen this soon. You can’t expect her to not play any role in Eva’s life. That’s not fair. Then there’s Eva. She’s going to want to know her mother, to see her. You really told her that, Marcus?”
The last thing he wanted was to listen to her reprimands, because he was still reeling from seeing Reine standing there on his doorstep. Marcus didn’t like being in any situation where he was caught completely off guard, and he found himself still trying to piece together why she’d gotten out so early, why no one had called him so he could get a plan in place. There was so much he didn’t like about this situation.
“She’s angry, Karen, and I don’t want that around Eva…”
“I hear you, Marcus, but you can’t expect her to just disappear. You need to park your anger and what you’re feeling and sit down with Reine. And you have to do it for Eva. I love that little girl, and she’s a part of our family, but I’m telling you this not as your sister but as a lawyer: Almost every case I deal with is based on anger and resentment because two people won’t reasonably sit down and talk and hear each other out. You and Charlotte adopted Eva, so of course you have rights, but so does Reine, and whether you want to hear this or not, big brother, one thing I never doubted was her love for Eva. Her greatest sacrifice was her daughter.”
Marcus pushed his door open and stepped out, the phone to his ear now. “That’s not what this is about.”
“You sure about that? You know I can hear your frustration, and I know you, Marcus. Maybe it’s best you don’t talk to her. Look, I was planning on coming down this weekend anyway. Do you know how to get a hold of Reine, where she’s living?”
Marcus pocketed his keys and gave the door a shove closed. “Just about to find out now. I’m about to pay her parole officer a visit.” He looked at the street and the cars going by, the old brick front of the building, as he stepped on the concrete sidewalk.
“You’re paying her parole officer a visit? Is it to just find out where she’s living and how to get a hold of her, or are you trying to stir up trouble?”
As soon as Karen said it, he stopped at the glass door, which appeared never to have been cleaned. “I’m not an asshole, Karen, but this is my family, my daughter, and I don’t want a repeat of the blindside I had this morning. I’m still the sheriff here, and she’s on parole, which is very much my business.”
“Marcus, tread carefully, because I can still hear the anger in your voice. Another word of advice: You can’t be the sheriff on this one, not with Reine. She already has the deck stacked against her.”
He took in the door, reached for it, and pulled it open. “I’m not completely heartless. Go back to work. See you when you come up,” he said, then hung up before his sister could add one more thing he didn’t want to hear.
He tucked his phone in his pocket and made his way down the narrow hall, his footsteps echoing on the cracked old linoleum. He could hear Manny and remembered now how loud he was, and there was that old wood bench. A man was sitting there, tall, lanky, dark skinned, wearing a navy hoodie. He lifted his gaze to Marcus with wariness as he took in the closed door.
“Manny in with someone?” Marcus said, taking in the old door. He lifted his hand and knocked when the man who sat out there said nothing to him.
Then the man only shrugged. “No idea,” he said.
Okay, not really helpful, considering even he could hear Manny on the other side. But parolees didn’t talk to cops, which was something he was used to.
He tapped on the door, looking down at the man again, who was looking away now, fidgeting.
“Park your damn ass out there and wait your turn!” came the snapped reply.
Marcus figured that was Manny, so he turned the knob and opened the door to look in. Beyond was a short man in a rumpled yellow shirt. Large nose, overweight, with the ruddy complexion of bad health and too much liquor. He was holding a phone, sitting behind an old wooden desk. No one else was in the box of a room. The chair in front of his desk was empty.
“Oh, Sheriff, sorry. Didn’t know you were out there.” His voice was gravelly, loud, and the only dark hair he had at the sides and back appeared in bad need of a cut by the messy way it stuck out everywhere. “Hey, listen, I’ll call you back. The sheriff just walked in… Yeah, yeah, likely someone on their way back to jail. Sure, six is great. Thanks there, darling.”
As he hung up, Marcus took in the windowless office. He thought Manny had packed on a few more pounds, as he struggled to get up with a groan, his thick white chest hair showing from the V of his dress shirt, with its top buttons undone. He shuffled over to the open door as Marcus moved into the room, taking in the two filing cabinets behind the desk, a lateral one and a tall six-drawer one. Both had seen better days.
“You’re late, Archie,” Manny said to the man waiting. “You just keep your ass parked there until I’m finished with the sheriff.”
Marcus took in his desk, the half-eaten burrito with spilled sauce, wrapped in foil, and a supersize takeout cup of a soda. The door was still open, and he could hear the creak of the bench outside.
Manny walked back behind his desk and sat down, then reached for the burrito and took a big bite. It oozed, and sauce dripped onto the desk, so he reached for a napkin from a pile and wiped the sauce from his hand as he chewed. He gestured to the chair opposite him. “So, tell me, which one of my parolees are you here about?” he said without bothering to swallow.
Marcus moved to the door and closed it. There was just something about this man that he’d never liked, his personality, how loud he was, and the feeling he couldn’t shake that he wasn’t there to help anyone but himself. “Reine Colbert,” he said. “She was recently released?”
Manny wiped his face, finished chewing, and swallowed. “Reine? Sure, just a week ago, actually. What did she do? Should have known from that doe-eyed look that she’d be right back in jail.”
Marcus rolled his shoulders as Manny dropped his gaze and swiveled around to open the lateral cabinet behind his desk. He pulled out a file and moved his burrito over before opening it and reaching for a pen.
“No, nothing like that,” Marcus said. “I need to know where she’s living and how to get a hold of her. I assume you know she has a daughter, and the circumstances of her incarceration?”
The man lifted his icy blue eyes to him. Noting the red over his nose and cheeks, his ruddy complexion, Marcus remembered how often he had visited the lighthouse bar. He knew his fondness for cheap draft and cheap whiskey. “Yes, I’m aware of what she was in for,” Manny said. “She’s a criminal with a record. She signed away her rights to her daughter, and I’m aware you adopted her. So what gives, Sheriff?”
“My wife and I adopted Eva, yes. Reine showed up this morning on my doorstep. I would have expected a courtesy call, yet I heard nothing from the warden of the prison or you, Manny. Would have liked a heads-up, at least.”
Manny shook his head. “So she’s already violated her parole conditions. Well, there’s a surprise.” The sarcasm dripped. He slapped her file closed. “She was warned to stay away. I guess you’ve already picked her up. Great, one more off my plate.”
As Marcus stared at the man he didn’t like, he could hear his sister’s warning, a voice whispering in his ear. “Of course I didn’t pick her up,” he said. “I’m not a monster. I just would have appreciated a heads-up, is all. I don’t like being blindsided. Where is she living, and what’s her phone number? She have a job? I want to know all the details, everything.”
The man opened the file again and let out a heavy sigh, then reached for a pen and a notepad piled in a messy stack of papers. “She’s in a basement suite. Here’s the address. No phone number. Got her a job with Better Way Homecare, cleaning. You know, Sheriff, one of her conditions is that she has to stay away from you and her daughter. I’ll haul her ass in here and read her the riot act. Better yet, I wasn’t planning on doing a home check until Wednesday, but you want me to send a message to her? I don’t usually give warnings. I send them back to finish their sentences—and I still might.”
He didn’t know what to say. He took in Manny, who leaned back heavily in the chair with a squeak, looking at him without feeling. “You want to deliver a message?” he said. “I don’t want to know what you’re hinting at. I seriously hope the message doesn’t involve ransacking her place and scaring her, which I’m sure you’ve already done. And no, you’re not sending her back to jail. That’s not why I’m here.”
Manny lifted the paper in his grubby thick hands and held it out, and Marcus strode over and reached for it, seeing the address and the reality of what Reine was living through. “You just give me the word, Sheriff, on how you want her handled. If she becomes too much of a problem, I’ll see that she gets a refresher on how it works. Nevertheless, if she shows up again, she will be back behind bars, serving her full sentence. I’ll make sure she understands how the rules work for her. She’s barred from contacting you or her daughter, Sheriff.” Manny scribbled something in what he could only assume was Reine’s file.
“Look, I’m not here to have her hassled, and I’m not filing a complaint. I guess I’m more pissed that you didn’t pick up the damn phone and call my office to let me know she was out.”
Manny leaned back and looked up to him, and something in his expression made Marcus think he never wanted to get on his bad side. “Part of the conditions of her parole is that she’s to steer clear of the victims, which includes you and your family. Her daughter is off limits. She knows this, Sheriff. No contact, no nothing. Do you seriously need me to outline how this works? I asked her if her daughter was going to be a problem, and she said no. Don’t worry, Sheriff. I know how to handle this. And what I won’t tolerate is a parolee lying. As cute as she is, that doesn’t give her a pass. I’ll see to it she gets a refresher. Now, since you’ve added to my plate, is there anything else, Sheriff? If not…” Manny lifted his hand and gestured to the door.
Marcus knew it was a dismissal. He shook his head, then lifted the note with Reine’s address. “No, but if it’s all the same, don’t mention this to Reine. I don’t want this to be an issue for her or a mark on her record.”
The man only stared at him, then pulled in a sharp breath as he looked away, reaching for another file. “I don’t tell you how to do your job, Sheriff, so don’t come in here and tell me how to do mine. Send Archie in on your way out.”
All Marcus could do was step out of the office. He looked down to the man fidgeting with his jeans, which had seen better days. “Your turn,” he said.
Then he started walking, shoving the paper in his pocket, hearing his sister in his head. Now he knew where Reine lived, where she worked. He needed to figure out how to handle the problem of Reine Colbert so that he and his wife and his daughter, Eva, didn’t end up with broken hearts.
Now on Audio
Narrated byLeo Jones
His crime was unforgivable, but the law protects him.
Grab a FREE US or UK Audible code below! First come, first served.
Join My Street Team
Are you a super fan of the Friessens, O’Connells, McCabes and more? I’m looking for eager readers to join my brand new Facebook street team to provide feedback and share your enthusiasm for my stories via reviews, social media and good ‘ole word-of-mouth. Interested? Click the button below to join the team.
Additionally, when my group reaches 2,000 members, I’ll be giving away a new waterproof Kindle Paperwhite to one lucky team member!
As always, thank you for your consideration and support–I’m truly grateful!
Free Audio Codes
Get a FREE US or UK Audible code for select McCabe Brothers titles. A limited number of codes are available; first come, first served. Honest reviews are always appreciated. Happy listening! *Due to limited availability, codes must be redeemed within 48 hours or will be reassigned to another reader.
***Before claiming your audiobook code please make sure you are signed into your Audible account. You do not need to have a paid membership to have an Audible account or claim FREE audiobook codes.
It was just over a week ago that we found ourselves in a major heatwave, with the kind of temperatures I’ve never experienced in my life, not ever. I think we spiked at 42 Celsius, which, if I do my conversion right, is 107 Fahrenheit. And worse, as you went down the coast, I believe in Oregon, it was spiking at 117 and even hotter in some places. So at which point does it become too hot to even survive?
The kind of heat that blanketed the Pacific Northwest meant we had to wake up before dawn. Every window in the house was open already in an attempt to cool off the house overnight, but unfortunately, even the overnight temperatures, although not in the hundreds, were still too hot. It became a cycle of getting out of bed just as the sun was peeking over the horizon to drag every curtain closed and lower the blinds as soon as the sun hit that side of the house. Even at six or seven a.m., that rising sun was so frickin’ hot that I could feel the heat coming in. Now, I don’t have air conditioning, but I do have one of those ceiling fans above my bed, which did provide some relief while I tried to sleep. But that’s another thing: Sleeping is very difficult in this kind of heat. Did we have another fan in the house? Sure, the one my son picked up the week before the heatwave. Evidently, he had figured out something I hadn’t!
Nevertheless, by day three of the heatwave, I had climbed in my SUV and driven into town. While driving, I had my air conditioning blasting in the extreme heat, and the way the engine sounded, as if it was working too hard, I wondered whether it was actually too hot for my vehicle and it could possibly overheat. Anyway, I made it into town and went to every single store that would carry a fan, four different ones, yet in every store, the shelves in the sections where fans and portable air conditioners are were empty.
After the second store, I stopped asking the salespeople if they had fans in the back or hidden somewhere else in the store, as the two times I asked, both sales guys stared at me as if I’d lost my mind. One responded, “No, and you won’t find one anywhere in town, and we have no idea when a new shipment will arrive.” Okay, in hindsight, maybe my son should have mentioned there was a heatwave coming so I could get some fans. I’ll remind him of that down the road at some point, like maybe his birthday.
When I finally made it home, I ordered two online, which still haven’t arrived, likely because of the backorders caused by everyone in this part of the world ordering one. Surviving in that kind of extreme heat takes an incredible amount of work, from keeping the ice cube trays full, with an additional bucket of ice in the freezer, to drinking tons of ice water to stay cool, to keeping the curtains closed and the windows shut when the sun hits.
No one was allowed to use the stove to cook anything, because it heats the house up, but by day three, I had figured out that I actually wanted something other than lettuce and cereal. I wanted something that was actually cooked, like chicken, so I realized I would cook it outside on the barbecue at dawn. On day three, I was outside cooking on a barbecue at seven a.m., having to jump in the shade because the sun was already beating down. Even then, it was too hot to be standing there cooking, but I did it, and in the fridge it went. At least we had some cold chicken, as turning on the barbecue any later in the day was also out.
Then came trying to write my book. I’m not kidding when I say there wasn’t much happening in that kind of extreme heat. The brain just doesn’t work. Our black cat spent all night outside every night because that was the only time that was cool enough for him. As soon as the sun came up, it was time for him to come in, but there were a number of days when my autistic son had to go out in the late morning and get him from where he was lying on the grass under my covered swing in the shade. He wasn’t even moving because it was too hot for him. The poor guy tried to find a cool place in the house, which resulted in him lying on the kitchen floor. I put ice cubes in his water dish and even tried spraying him with a spray bottle.
But as hot as it was outside, with keeping curtains and blinds closed and opening everything up every night, the house was at least bearable, and with my son gone to work, his fan was put to good use in front of my desk, blowing over a bucket of ice in an attempt to cool myself. Because we don’t have a pool, I pulled out my son’s inflatable boat and blew it up and filled it with water. I’m not kidding when I say you really look for ways to cool down!
Despite the high number of lives lost because of the extreme heat, there was no emergency help anywhere for those who needed it. I remember well the major windstorm we went through three years ago that knocked out our power for more than five days before Christmas. The roads had to be cleared for people to get through, as every power line was down, and people were left without power, heat, and water. When we went through that disaster, our neighbor was the only one to step in and help, saying local and provincial leaders weren’t going to be there in that kind of emergency. And they weren’t.
He was right, so when the heatwave hit, I really had no expectation that something would be set up by the powers that be. There were no shelters during that winter storm over three years ago where people could go to stay warm, and there were no wellness checks. You had your neighbors or yourself. In this heatwave again, we learned that lesson about being prepared and not relying on help to be there for us. When you have these heatwaves, or storms, or other emergencies, either communities and neighbors come together to help each other out or they don’t.
As quickly as the heatwave landed upon us, it left. The fans still haven’t arrived, but as someone once said to me, having them and not needing them is a better spot to be in than needing them and not having them.
Are you a super fan of the Friessens, O’Connells, McCabes and more? I’m looking for eager readers to join my brand new Facebook street team to provide feedback and share your enthusiasm for my stories via reviews, social media and good ‘ole word-of-mouth. Interested? Click the button below to join the team.
Additionally, when my group reaches 2,000 members, I’ll be giving away a new waterproof Kindle Paperwhite to one lucky team member!
As always, thank you for your consideration and support–I’m truly grateful!
Free Audio Codes
Get a FREE US or UK Audible code for select McCabe Brothers titles. A limited number of codes are available; first come, first served. Honest reviews are always appreciated. Happy listening! *Due to limited availability, code must be redeemed within 48 hours or will be reassigned to another reader.
***Before claiming your audiobook code please make sure you are signed into your Audible account. You do not need to have a paid membership to have an Audible account or claim FREE audiobook codes.
