Chapter 39
thirty-nine
. . .
SUTTON
To say I was buzzing on my drive back to Dusk Valley would’ve been an understatement. Three weeks away from home was three weeks too long.
And it wasn’t even being away from the town that had killed me.
It was being away from Lane. That man was my home now, and being separated from him was unnatural.
When I reached the city limits, instead of heading straight out to the ranch, I swung down Cassia and pulled up to the grocery store. I didn’t want to show up at Birdie’s house empty-handed, so I ran inside, grabbed a bottle of wine, then continued on my way.
As though he knew exactly when to expect me, Lane was already waiting on the porch.
I’d barely put the car in park before he opened the door and pulled me out.
I climbed his body, wrapping my arms around his neck and legs around his waist. Burying my face in his neck, I inhaled deeply, recommitting myself to his scent, his warmth, him.
“Fuck, baby,” he breathed. “I missed you.”
Pulling back, I captured his lips with mine. Instantly, our mouths opened, tongues tangled. I couldn’t press myself close enough, and though he was holding me tight enough to force the air from my lungs, I didn’t mind. I’d gone far too long without this.
Distantly, I registered a car door slamming, followed by someone yelling, “Get a fucking room!”
I wrenched myself away from him, not because I was embarrassed by having been caught but because I didn’t trust myself not to drag him into my backseat and rip his clothes off right now.
“Later,” Lane promised.
“Later,” I agreed.
He returned me to my feet, then took my hand in his and led me inside.
The family greeted me with open arms, and I spent ten or more minutes being passed around amongst the brothers, Birdie, and Aspen and Reagan, hugged and cheek-kissed within an inch of my life.
After that, we all helped Birdie carry food to the table. Drinks were poured, and plates were filled, but right as we sat, a loud knock came at the front door, followed by it creaking open.
“Sheriff?” someone shouted.
Lane turned to me. “Shit, I forgot Johns was coming,” he said with a chuckle.
Apologizing to Birdie, we both rose from the table, intent on meeting Johns in the foyer, but he appeared in the doorway to the dining room.
“Hey, man,” Lane said. “Let’s go sit in the den.”
“That won’t be necessary,” Johns said, eyes on me. Reaching for his belt, the world seemed to slow as he reached for something, coming away with his handcuffs.
“The fuck?” one of Lane’s brothers asked, but he sounded so far away.
“Sutton Rausch,” Johns said. “You’re under arrest.”
“Arrest?” All the blood seemed to drain from my upper extremities, settling in my feet and lower legs, turning them to lead. “For what?”
He ignored me, turning me surprisingly gently for someone about to haul me off to jail, collecting my hands behind me and slapping the cuffs on. The metal was so cold against my skin, it stung like frostbite.
“Johns!” Lane shouted as his undersheriff began reading my rights to me. “What the fuck is going on.”
“Sorry boss,” Johns said to Lane when he finished Mirandizing me, though I noted he didn’t sound remorseful at all. “Just doing my job.”
“What is she under arrest for?”
“Assault.”
“Assault of who?” I demanded.
“Stop talking, sunny,” Lane said, but not unkindly. “It’s gonna be okay. I’ll call you an attorney and meet you at the department. Just…not a word. It’s gonna be okay, baby. I promise.”
I nodded along like I believed him, but I didn’t. There was no way he could make that guarantee. Everything was happening so fast, and his own department hadn’t even made him aware of what was happening before coming for me. To me, at least, it was obvious they were attempting to ice him out.
His bias toward me was costing him the ability to do his job, and his team was turning on him.
I was loaded into the back of Johns’ cruiser, having to angle myself forward uncomfortably in deference to my arms behind my back. As we drove away, I looked out the window to see the entire Lawless family gathered on the front porch to watch me go.
The ride to town was tense, to say the least. I was certainly in shock, unable to outwardly react to anything despite my mind whirring a thousand miles a minute.
Dazedly, I allowed Johns to tow me into the station, my feet still so heavy with dread I could barely lift them to take steps.
He didn’t even give me the decency and inconspicuousness of bringing me in the back door, he perp-walked me right in the front and through the bullpen.
I’d worked alongside everyone in this department at some point over the course of each of our careers; that was the name of the game with first responders. For all of them to be looking at me now with such open disgust was a bit of a dagger to the heart.
Ignoring the stares, Johns marched me down the hall that ran parallel to the bullpen and directed me into an interview room. He took a moment to uncuff my hands from behind my back—only to restrain me in front again.
“Sit tight,” he said, speaking to me for the first time since reading me my rights, before he left the room.
It didn’t take long for him to return, though, and when he did, it was with a small stack of case files under one arm.
He rested them on the corner of the metal interview table, clicked a button on the camera in the corner.
A red light on the front illuminated, indicating it was recording.
Johns dug into his breast pocket and withdrew a small spiral-bound notebook, a trick I knew he’d picked up from his years working under Lane.
Anger spiked my blood, heating my veins, which was admittedly a welcome change from the numbness I’d settled into since he showed up at the ranch.
This little twit was spitting in the face of his mentor, and once we sorted all of this out and cleared my name, I had a feeling Lane would be going scorched earth on his ass.
Johns would never work in this county again, at least not in Lane’s department.
Flipping to a fresh page, he clicked open his pen and finally looked at me.
“Who am I accused of assaulting?” I asked before he could say anything.
“Where were you last night around eight p.m.?” he countered.
“Home.”
“Here in Dusk Valley?”
I shook my head. “No. I’ve been staying in Boise with my brother.”
“How long have you been up there?”
“About three weeks.”
“Why?”
“Why what?”
“You’ve been staying with Sheriff Lawless for the last several months, have you not?”
I rolled my eyes. “You know I have.”
“So why’d you leave?”
“Lane and I were experiencing some…differences of opinion. I went to Sean’s so we could have some space to figure things out.”
“What kinds of differences of opinion?”
“My relationship is private,” I said through gritted teeth.
Like hell was I going to give this guy any ammo.
An inkling had taken up residence in the back of my brain, like a prickling at the nape of my neck—the same sensation I’d been experiencing on calls all these months.
I couldn’t put my finger on why, but I had a feeling I knew exactly what this was about.
“Fine,” Johns said, scribbling some notes.
“Are you going to tell me who is accusing me of assault now?”
Johns shifted in his seat, turning toward the two-way mirror behind him, and gave a thumbs up.
Dread seized me, making it difficult to breathe.
A moment later, the door to the interrogation room clicked open, and a brunette woman entered.
When she faced me, I inhaled sharply. Not because I was surprised to see her—I’d worked out already that she was somehow behind this, and I experienced a brief flash of satisfaction before it withered away.
I gasped because Addie was in rough shape.
Her face was a kaleidoscope of bruises; her entire left eye was swollen shut, the other a mottled black and blue.
More purple bruising covered her puffy cheeks, and a two-inch-long gash cut through her left eyebrow was held together with stitches.
Her lips were split and the deep red of broken blood vessels.
“Hello, Sutton,” she practically sneered, causing a bit of blood to well in the cuts on her bottom lip.
It all clicked then.
Addie had accused me of doing this to her.
Her obsession with Lane ran far deeper than we thought. And I was caught in the middle of whatever game she was playing, like a fly in a spiderweb.
“I didn’t touch her,” I blurted.
Johns smirked at my hands, at my reddened knuckles from my latest kickboxing session.
“How do you explain that, then?”
“I take kickboxing classes,” I answered, then immediately regretted it, realizing that only gave them ammunition. Only provided evidence that I was, at the very least, physically capable of doing something like this.
Johns grin grew, and Addie chuckled next to him.
Get it together, Sutton, I silently admonished myself. I was only playing right into their hands.
“Agent Caldwell here says you came to her residence last night, forced yourself inside, and assaulted her.”
“Why?” I demanded. “What possible reason would I have to hurt her?”
I was doing a terrible job at keeping my mouth shut, but I couldn’t believe this.
Addie tossed a manila folder on the table and flipped it open, then pushed it across to me. At first, I couldn’t be sure what I was seeing. The synapses between my eyes and brain had to be firing incorrectly. But the deeper into the stack I went, the more my gut roiled with shame and despair.
The folder contained what pages and pages of texts…between Lane and Addie.
They started off innocent enough. Making plans for Crew’s wedding. Addie texting to check up on Lane after he was released from the hospital and recuperating. Asking if he needed help with anything.
But the tone quickly shifted to flirtation, to making plans to see each other, to suggestions of what they’d do together when Lane was cleared to return to work.
My eyes snagged on a particular missive, and a check of the date told me it was right after I’d moved in with him.
ADDIE
She’s ruining all of our plans
LANE
I know, baby, I’m sorry. But I can’t just kick her out. It’s my job to protect people.
ADDIE
how long will she be there?
LANE
I don’t know. But I can always come to you
ADDIE
This weekend?
LANE
Hell yeah. I need to get the fuck away from her anyway. She’s a mess.
ADDIE
I wish you didn’t have to deal with that trainwreck.
LANE
And it’s so much worse than you know.
Ice slid into my veins.
So much worse than you know.
Had he…had Lane shared my deepest secret with Addie? The idea that she was aware exactly how damaged I was had me choking down the bile that rose in my throat.
But he wouldn’t do that. He wouldn’t hurt me like that.
Would he?
Fuck, my head was a mess.
Still, I continued reading the messages, despite somehow knowing they were about to get worse.
And several pages later, I reached a section of texts sent on Valentine’s Day, and my entire world came crashing down around me.
LANE
[picture message] do you see this shit? Could she get any more desperate?
ADDIE
HAHAHA oh god that’s embarrassing. What does she think is going to happen? That you’re going to fuck her?
LANE
Seems so.
ADDIE
Wait…you haven’t, right?
LANE
Of course not! It’s me and you, baby. It’s always been you and me.
The ridicule continued long after that, but my vision had blurred too badly to continue reading. In disgust, I pushed the folder away, head hanging. I refused to let them see me cry.
“Jealousy is a powerful motive,” Johns said.
This time, I kept my mouth shut.
I’d officially given up.