44. Troy
August, Present Day
Maple Ridge
Monday evening,Jess’s doorbell rings. I walk over to answer it.
Garrett is standing on the front stoop with Noah, Lucas, and Kellan. Each of them has either a toolbox or a can of paint or an electric hammer in their hand. The usual verses of Convicts not welcome, Go back where you belong, and Protect our children play in an endless loop in the background. The chants clash with each other since no one today has thought to coordinate things better. It’s all an unruly noise with a few new protesters joining the dozen or so lingerers.
“God, where’s their kill button?” Garrett grumbles.
Lucas glares at the group standing on the sidewalk. He’s still pissed after hearing about the callous comment a woman shouted at Simone almost two weeks ago.
“Finally, a cop with common sense to lock that bitch away,” a man yells, ignoring how Noah is wearing jeans and a T-shirt and not his uniform.
Kellan doesn’t say anything. His murderous scowl says it all. He’s barely holding himself back from decking the man. I can tell from the tightness of his exposed arm muscles. He met resistance when he returned to Maple Ridge after his three-year stint in prison, but it was never anything like what Jess has been forced to endure.
Plus, he had Mom’s support. She hasn’t apologized for what happened Thursday night, though from what my brothers told me, they did talk to her about Jess. She just hasn’t seen the light yet.
“I heard back from my FBI connections. You want to talk somewhere else, first?” Nothing about Garrett’s expression hints at what he has to tell me.
I pull the door shut behind me. Jess, Avery, Zara, Simone, and Emily are hanging out in Jess’s kitchen. I haven’t told Jess yet that Garrett was going to look into something for me. I wanted to hear what he found out first. But it seems like the kind of intel that might be useful for me to share with my brothers—the men who know me best. “You guys wanna join us?”
Kellan, Lucas, and Noah nod without a clue as to what this is about.
I lead them to the single-car garage. Some of the supplies we’ve been using are stored there, so our coming here won’t raise any questions from the women.
The space inside the garage is filled with all kinds of tools and discarded cabinets Jess hasn’t dealt with yet. Dust motes dance in the late afternoon sunlight streaming through the narrow windows in the garage door.
“I asked Garrett to check if Beckley had information about the individuals who attacked Jess while she was incarcerated there,” I tell my brothers and Noah. “Especially the last time, which almost cost Jess her life.”
We all look at Garrett.
“My contact couldn’t find out anything,” he explains. “He tried several channels. All were dead ends.”
I frown. “He didn’t find anything about any of the attacks?”
Garrett shakes his head. “Only a few incidents were listed in any of the logs, one being for the near fatal attack, but no motive was given for that one. The assault that caused the scar near Jess’s mouth wasn’t even listed. And there are no suspects identified for the near fatal attack. Nor was there an explanation for how Jess bled out for as long as she did before a prison guard found her. She wasn’t expected to survive.”
“Convenient,” I mutter. “What I want to know is if there was a connection between the attack and why it took so long for Jess to be found. She was in the kitchen when it happened. A place where you’d expect there to be video cameras.”
“Did the cameras record anything?” Kellan asks Garrett.
“I don’t know. My contact couldn’t tell me about that part of the investigation.”
“Jess said the lights went out just before the attack.” I pick up the full box of screws I’d been heading out to the garage to get when the doorbell rang. “How did the attacker find Jess in the dark?”
Lucas crosses his arms, his frown deepening. “Sounds like there could be a bigger cover-up involved.”
“At the time, Jess was labeled a cop killer,” I remind them. “If the guards caught wind of a plot to end her life, it’s possible they looked the other way and did nothing to prevent it.”
“Maybe. And maybe not,” Noah says. “We don’t know how the guards felt toward her. There are those who do want to make a difference and see prisoners rehabilitated so they make better choices when they leave the system.”
Garrett leans his hip on Iris’s old workbench. “What has Jess told you about her time in Beckley?” He directs his question to me.
“Nothing much. She prefers not to talk about it, and I haven’t pushed her for details.”
Garrett turns to Kellan. “Has she said anything about it to you?”
Kellan grunts a low scoffing noise. “What? You think we reminisce about our favorite guards and our prison-stay highlights?”
“Fair enough.”
Lucas uncrosses his arms and lets them fall to his side. “Let’s assume for a second it was an inside job, and some of the guards were involved. That means someone paid an inmate to kill Jess…and we’re assuming it was an inmate. Maybe it was a guard. We don’t have evidence either way.”
“But why would anyone want to have her killed?” Noah’s gaze slides to each of us in turn. “Jess isn’t the kind of person looking to make trouble. Just the opposite.”
“Did your FBI contact say anything about Jess’s record while she was serving time?” My question is for Garrett.
“I did ask about that, but they couldn’t tell me much. As far as they could tell, she kept to herself.”
She told me she had one friend in prison at the beginning, but the other woman quickly realized that wasn’t a good idea. It was too dangerous. Jess had been isolated almost from the start.
“The San Diego police haven’t made any arrests in her husband’s murder,” I tell them. “Sounds like they have no idea the motive behind it.”
Fuck.All the time wasted that could have been spent searching for the real killer, but instead, the SDPD had focused on Jess being the one who pulled the trigger. Now they’re left with a cold case no one has thought about in a long time.
If someone hadn’t questioned the evidence six months ago and realized the expert witnesses had been wrong, Jess would still be in prison or possibly dead.
An urge to kick something—a cabinet by the wall, the old barbecue in the middle of the garage—explodes in me. It takes all my restraint to rein in the urge. Kicking or shouting or punching won’t solve anything. It won’t make me feel any better either. Why the hell would anyone want to target her? That’s what I want to know. Why target Jess and why murder her husband?
Kellan looks at me and his eyes mirror the same fury burning inside me. “The big question is…if someone wanted to end Jess’s life while she was in prison, do they still feel that way now that she’s out?”
“If they do, the media conveniently told them where to find her,” I grumble, eyeing the barbecue again. I rake my hand through my hair.
“No one else in Beckley has reached the end of their sentence or has been out on parole since Jess’s release.” Garrett pushes away from the workbench.
“What about the death threat she got last week?” Lucas asks. “You think it could be linked to what happened in prison?”
I get Noah up to speed on that. “I doubt it. The threat was for her to leave Maple Ridge or else she would be leaving in a body bag. Sounds like something one of the protesters could have written.” Or someone who hasn’t been protesting but is angry that Jess lives here.
“Fuck,” Kellan says under his breath. “People are assholes.”
Noah shoves his hands into his shorts pockets. “Did she report it?”
“To the police?” I nod. “Officer Hunt responded to the call.”
“He’s a good cop. He’ll do what he can to figure out who left it.”
Frown lines deepen on Garrett’s forehead. “Christ. Between the death threat and Mom’s behavior last Thursday, I can’t imagine how Jess is doing.”
“She’s surviving,” I tell him. “But I want her to be doing more than just surviving.” She deserves to be living the life she’s dreamed of for too damn long. “The protesters, the threat, the feeling someone is stalking her, her brother-in-law refusing to let her see her daughter—it’s all taking a toll on Jess.”
I feel so goddamn helpless. I’m not sure what I can do to help her, and it’s killing me. I want to protect her, make her feel safe, take away all her heartbreak and pain.
But even though I feel helpless over the situation, that’s got to be nothing compared to what she must be feeling. And how she has felt for so many damn years. “As it is, her freedom is forfeit for a while. When she’s at work, the main door to the company office will remain locked.” But even that precaution won’t be enough. The glass isn’t bulletproof. She’ll have to work in my office to keep safe. Or better yet, I should demand that she stays home and keeps the curtains closed.
But I can’t do that. I can’t force her to give up the job because of one individual who might not even be a physical threat to her. I can’t take away what little control she has over her life right now. Too many people have already chipped away at it. Chipped away until there’s barely anything left for her to hold on to.
We return to the house and get to work on the renovations. By the time we clean up three hours later, the renovations Jess and I had planned to do to the house are officially completed.
And it looks amazing, especially compared to how the place looked when we started the project four months ago.
Everyone has seen most of the renovations. It’s the work done in the spare bedroom that the women haven’t seen yet, and that includes Jess. The day she hid in the secret room, she’d been too distraught to check out the space.
The room won’t have the same impact for Jess now that Amelia will never see it. But that’s not what I’m concerned about.
Jess got a tattoo to symbolize her daughter and everything she lost. Will this room trigger the land mine I’m most worried about? “Are you sure you want to see the guest room decorated like we’d planned?” I ask as she and I stand in her bedroom, my voice quiet so only she hears me. “If not, I can redecorate it.” Will the room cause you too much pain to come back from?
Her eyes widen for a fraction of a second. Determination then slips in, brightening the honey color in them. “I want to see it, Troy. Just like we planned it.”
“Alright.” I tie a silk scarf around those beautiful eyes and kiss Jess on her forehead. “Ready?”
“Ready,” she whispers.
I take her hand and lead her out of her bedroom and across the hallway. Everyone else goes into her room and waits there. I want Jess to see the guest room without them witnessing her raw from the pain of knowing Amelia will never see it.
Jess and I step into the room, and I close the door behind us. I turn her so she’s facing the window and press a light kiss on her parted lips. A small smile lifts at the corners of her mouth.
I brush my lips against the shell of her ear. “Ready?” The word comes out low and husky, my voice not betraying the nervousness pumping through my veins at what her reaction will be—especially since a lot of the extras I bought for the room, like the cushions, I got before she told me about trauma bonding. Now, I’m hoping she won’t take it the wrong way—that they won’t scare her.
“Yes.”
“Keep your eyes shut while I untie the scarf.”
“Okay.”
I make a quick job of untying the fabric. “Alright, open your eyes.”
She does, and a soft gasp tumbles from her. “It’s beautiful.” She slowly turns, the light catching on the tears in her eyes, and for a second regret burns in me at the pain the renovations are causing her.
She walks to the window seat and runs her hand along the wainscoting panel of one of the built-in bookshelves. The two white bookshelves on either side of the seat, facing each other, create a cozy nook. Perfect for reading.
“I love it. I can’t believe how amazing it looks.” Tears forge a trail down her face. Thank Christ I kept everyone else out of the room, giving her space to process everything…including how her daughter will never see it.
I pull Jess to me and hug her. Her tears soak through my T-shirt, the only indication she’s soundlessly crying. I don’t say anything. I feel so out of my element. I wish I did know what to say. Sorry just doesn’t seem enough.
After a few moments, she pulls away and releases a soft groan. “I’ve made a mess of your T-shirt.” Faint streaks of mascara are smudged under her eyes.
“It’s okay, Jess. It’s no big deal.” I gently wipe the smudges on her skin away with my thumb.
“God, I probably look a mess too.”
“You look beautiful as always.” I mean it.
She snorts, the noise thick with unshed tears. “You always know the right thing to say.”
“Believe me, I don’t. I’m sorry if the room makes you sad. I’m sorry things didn’t turn out the way you had hoped.” I’m not talking about the room, but her soft smile tells me she gets what I’m trying to say.
“The room doesn’t make me sad. It really is beautiful. I’m sure I’ll make good use of it, even if it’s not for the reason I had hoped.” She leans in and kisses me.
It’s not a heated kiss. It’s slow and passionate, sweet and intense. It says so much and not enough. And I wish it didn’t have to end. Wish we didn’t have to eventually leave this room and deal with the real world. Deal with the ignorance and prejudice and heartbreak waiting for us beyond the front door.
Jess turns and steps closer to the nearest wall. She traces her fingers over the surface. “I love the color.” She’d opted in the end to go with a light sage instead of the pink when I’d asked her about the paint color a few weeks ago.
“It was a great choice.” The color and white trim make the room appear more spacious and peaceful.
She sits on the window seat and looks out through the glass pane. “The view would be better without the protesters.” She sighs. “Hopefully by the time it starts snowing, they’ll decide that they prefer sitting in front of their fireplaces than standing in front of my house.”
“I hope it doesn’t take that long.” The first snowfall usually hits in November. Sometimes sooner.
She gives me a sad smile that echoes her heartbreak. The smile then widens and her eyes brighten. “This is so comfortable. I can see myself writing here once it gets too cold to write in my garden.”
“So you like it?”
“I love it. Thank you.” She jumps to her feet and kisses me again. “Thank you for everything you’ve done for me since?—”
A knock on the door interrupts whatever Jess was going to say.
“Do we get to see the room?” Emily’s voice comes from the other side of the door, her tone singsongy. “We’re dying out here waiting.”
Jess laughs and she sounds genuinely happy, her tears already drying. “Come on in.”
The door opens, and Emily, Zara, Simone, and Avery pour into the small space. My brothers and Noah wait on the other side of the door.
Zara turns on the spot, taking everything in. “Wow, this is incredible. I can’t believe the difference.”
Simone walks over to inspects the bookshelves built into the window seat. “I would’ve loved this when I was a little girl. Granny would never have been able to get me to leave my bedroom.” Her gaze shifts to the walls and the ceiling. “The whole place looks so magical.”
“That was the look I was aiming for.” Jess’s smile remains on her face, but I know her enough to see the cracks in her veneer.
When Jess and I initially discussed the renovations, I didn’t know she had a daughter. I didn’t know that Jess was hoping her little girl would one day soon see the room.
I rest my hand on the lower curve of her spine. If only I could fix everything for her the way I can fix a house.
Jess walks to the doorway where my brothers and Noah are watching us, a slight bounce to her step. “Thank you for helping Troy finish the room and the rest of the house.” She turns to her friends. “And thank you for helping me too. My life might be a big mess right now, and I’m still figuring out who I am and my role in this world, but you’ve all given me a beautiful home, so that part of my life is looking better.”
I can almost hear the words she leaves unspoken: if only I knew what to do about the rest of it.