Chapter 9
9
T he dull ache that had attached itself to Heath’s forehead threatened to explode into a migraine. He sat at his desk and stared at the computer screen. The bright light and jumble of letters only intensified the pain.
Owen and his brother—and fellow sheriff’s deputy—Tommy walked over from the coffee station at the back of the room. Tommy had the same light hair and hazel eyes as his brother, but his clean-shaven face made it clear who was the younger of the two.
“Looks like you need this more than I do.” Tommy set a paper cup filled with black liquid on the edge of Heath’s desk.
“Thanks. I swear, my body is telling me it has to be close to quitting time.” Heath sipped the hot drink and sent up a silent prayer that the caffeine would hit his blood stream in record time.
“Not too far off. Only about an hour,” Owen said, taking a sip from his cup. “You’re not on call tonight. Rest up. Take a break from whatever’s eating you up.”
Slashes of red splashed against Tommy’s cheeks. “Is it Mitch Parson? I heard you delivered the emergency order earlier. I’d love nothing more than to see that smug sonofabitch tossed away for the rest of his miserable life.”
Although Tommy was often the more carefree of the Wells brothers, Heath understood his anger. Tommy had gotten a front row seat to Mitch’s abuse and horrific behavior toward Clara and her kids. His quick thinking, along with his now wife’s, had led to Mitch’s first visit to jail and shown Clara she needed to leave her husband.
Unfortunately, like most domestic violence situations, the cycle hadn’t ended there.
Slouching into his seat, he propped his elbow on the arm of his chair and dropped his head to his hand. “It was hard to keep my cool. He’s not done with Clara, and he made that clear without actually saying anything that would get him in trouble.”
“Did you speak with his probation officer?” Owen asked.
“Yeah,” Heath said. “She shared his place of employment and the address where he’s living. I gave her a rundown on things, and she agrees the guy’s not trustworthy. He has a lot of people breathing down his neck right now. It will either keep him on the straight and narrow or push him to do something reckless.”
Tommy frowned. “You think he’ll make a move on Clara? Even knowing it’ll put him right back in jail?”
Heath mulled over the question and took another hit of coffee. “Hard to say. I don’t think he’ll walk away, and I have to believe Clara won’t go back to him. I think he’s gone too far.”
He gave a brief overview of what happened at the house earlier, the reminder of Clara’s frustration with his lack of motivation to figure out what Mitch had been hiding souring the liquid sloshing in his stomach.
“Shit,” Owen muttered. “That’s messed up. But I agree with how you handled the situation. Not much else you could have done, and getting the restraining order in place was priority number one.”
Restlessness tapped his booted toe on the ground. “It’s just a waiting game now, and I hate that.”
Owen clapped a hand on his shoulder. “I get it, but sometimes watching and waiting is the only thing we can do. Any luck with her vehicle?”
He cringed, Clara’s broken-down car all but forgotten in his driveway. “I haven’t even gotten a chance to look at it. I’ll make sure to check it out when I get home.”
“Offer still stands to help if you need it,” Owen said.
When the brothers walked away, he circled his hand around the paper cup and stared into the black coffee. Normally he’d spend the end of his shift at Lulu’s Diner, hoping for a quick conversation with Clara and to keep an ear open for anything of interest happening around town. But he wasn’t really up to it tonight.
Especially knowing the person he really wanted to see wouldn’t be there.
He should visit his mom and check on her, but that held little appeal. She’d insist they discuss whatever was sitting so heavy on his shoulders. Something he’d rather not dive into.
What he really needed was to get out of his head, and the best way to do that was to keep his hands busy. Might as well go home and see to Clara’s car. That way he could kill two birds with one stone. Plan made, he tossed on his jacket and walked outside. Once behind the wheel, he shot off a quick text to his mom before shifting into Drive and heading home.
Guilt battled with his conscience. His mom would be delighted for a little freedom, but he hated the idea of her alone. Maybe he should contact Mila and ask for an update. She’d be more forthcoming than his mom. At the stoplight, he grabbed his phone to make the call when a text buzzed through. He didn’t recognize the number but hurried to open the text before the light switched to green.
It’s Clara. Mitch was parked by my house earlier. I sent a picture. Just thought you should know.
The light changed before he could view the picture, and he tightened his grip on the steering wheel. He wasn’t surprised Mitch would do something careless, throw his weight around and prove to Clara he wouldn’t slink quietly away.
But he’d acted quicker than Heath anticipated. He must have left work and immediately tracked down Clara. That didn’t bode well for anybody. With any luck, the photo waiting on his phone would prove he was closer than was legally allowed and he could take it straight to a judge. But something told him Mitch was too smart to be so careless.
The tension in his head built but a tiny pang of relief loosened his grip on the wheel.
Clara had texted him.
He wasn’t an idiot. There was nothing more to the message than showing him something related to her case. But she’d trusted him enough to go directly to him, knowing he’d do whatever possible to help. That type of trust was hard earned with a woman like Clara.
He didn’t take that responsibility lightly.
Motoring past the downtown streets and blaring lamplights, the vivid purples and dark blues of twilight took center stage. The outline of the mountains in the distance appeared above the landscape, no more than a line of jagged peaks looming on the horizon.
He loved his town, loved the quiet charm and bustle of people as they created the world filled with mostly goodness. But he craved space. Craved privacy to shed the cloak of a public figure and just be himself. No eyes, no expectations, no judgement.
His small cabin outside of town gave him all those things, and as he approached his safe haven, he drew in a deep breath. Time to unwind, grab a quick meal, then get his hands dirty. Hopefully he’d have Clara’s car working and ready to go before dusk melted into complete darkness.
Pulling into his driveway, his gaze landed on the back of Clara’s car and rage erased all his plans for the evening.
The glass on her back window was smashed. Pellets of glass sparkled against the rusted blue paint and sprinkled the ground like confetti.
* * *
Clara waited until both the kids were asleep—each now content with the stuffy she’d brought from home—then tiptoed out of the room. She’d made sure to let them know before they drifted off that she planned to venture downstairs, but she carried a baby monitor with her in case one of them woke and was too afraid to remember.
She hated wishing away time with her children, but she’d kept her eye on the clock all evening. Speaking about Mitch in front of the kids wasn’t an option. Dean had been nice enough to agree to come to the shelter later in the evening and her heart hadn’t stopped pounding since she’d returned with Mitch’s laptop.
Since she’d texted Heath and let him know Mitch had followed her.
A quick glance at her phone as she hurried down the stairs showed he still hadn’t responded. Disappointment pressed on her lungs, and she tried to shake it off. She’d been silly to send the message and should just be thankful he’d chosen to ignore it. For months she’d told herself he was only a friendly deputy she ran into at work. That didn’t change now, even if the time they’d spent together the last twenty-four hours complicated the feelings she’d convinced herself weren’t real.
None of that mattered now.
Chatter led her into the large kitchen. Elsie and Dean sat at one side of the table with Mrs. Collins at the head. A bottle of white wine and a wine glass waited in front of an empty seat. Without waiting to be asked, she slid the computer to Dean then poured herself some wine.
Mrs. Collins and Elsie lifted their own glasses.
No cheers were made, no words of positivity or manifestation thrown into the world. Just three women offering silent support and companionship.
Dean gave a nod of greeting. “Nice to see you, Clara. Wish it was under different circumstances, but I hope I can help give you what you need.”
“I appreciate you trying.”
Dean flipped open the lid. “It’s locked. Any idea what his password is?”
She huffed out a humorless laugh. “That would mean we had a somewhat normal marriage where he actually shared things with me.”
Dean grimaced. “Sorry. Any shots in the dark?”
She rattled off his birthday, as well as hers and the children’s. When that didn’t work, she tossed out the date of their anniversary.
Nothing.
Needing to think, she sipped her wine. The cool, crisp notes of apple and pear erupted on her tongue. “He’s as far from sentimental as you can get. I can’t think of one thing on this planet he cares about more than himself.”
Elsie ran her fingertip along the top of her glass, lips quirked to the side. “Any pets from his childhood he was fond of? Is he close with his parents or a sibling? A friend who meant a lot to him?”
Clara shook her head. “Nothing. He’d be one to choose something that was so ridiculous he’d assume no one would ever guess it but would make him laugh and feel superior every time he typed it.”
Mrs. Collins grabbed her hand from across the table. “Was there a name he liked to call you?”
Memories of all the insults Mitch hurled at her came crashing back. The names didn’t hurt as bad as his fists, but each one had brought its own set of pain—its own shame and guilt. Her mouth went dry, and she took another sip so she could swallow past the ball of cotton in her throat. “He has a sharp tongue. Always coming up with names he imagined worse or more hurtful. But the one I hated most has always been dumb bitch.”
Tears stung her eyes, and a familiar sense of unworthiness settled on her shoulders like an itchy blanket. Feeling inferior, as though she lacked the intellect or common sense to be a respectable person, was one of the biggest hurdles she’d overcome in the past six months.
Tense silence hung in the air. Mrs. Collins and Elsie both wiped their eyes. Dean clenched his jaw and his fingers hit the keyboard with so much force Clara feared he’d break it.
“Still didn’t work,” Dean said. “I can hack into the computer without the password. It’s just going to take longer.”
“What about a number or something?” Clara asked. “Try one dumb bitch.”
Dean’s fingers attacked the keyboard again. His eyes peered over the top of the screen, connecting with hers. “I’m in.”
She sucked in a sharp breath. Leave it to Mitch to use such a demeaning term for his password. She could see him chuckling every time he typed the words. But if this proved one thing, he wasn’t nearly as smart as he thought.
“What now?” She had no idea how this stuff worked. Heck, Mitch hadn’t given her access to the only computer in their house. He’d been about isolation. Keeping her locked in the house as much as possible, alone and scared. He’d controlled her every move, her every minute.
But not anymore.
“Now I check to see if he saved any files from an outside source. If not saved, I can check to see if anything was downloaded. Most people don’t think to delete those items, but if he did, there are still ways for me to find what he deleted.”
“That stuff just stays in there even if the person gets rid of it?” she asked.
“Sometimes. With people who are really savvy, they can make sure it’s completely erased, but even then, it’s possible to find traces on the hard drive. My guess, Mitch isn’t that savvy.”
The echo of the keys bounced around the room. Each passing second increased her anxiety until she thought her pulse would pound right through her skin.
“And I was right,” Dean said, his words hard and clipped. He worked his jaw back and forth and curled his hands into fists on top of the table. “Not very bright at all, but very disturbed.”
She scooted to the edge of her seat, breath trapped in her lungs. “What is it?”
Dean flipped the lid shut. “You need to call the sheriff’s department. You don’t want to see this, but they need to get their hands on this right away. Based on what I just found, Mitch is going away for a very long time.”
Curiosity gnawed at her stomach lining. A part of her wanted to know exactly what Mitch had been up to, but another part told her to leave it be. Her life had been enough of a nightmare lately. Something told her seeing what was on that computer would haunt her for the rest of her life.