Chapter 21
Sadie
“Can I help you?” I wrap my arms around myself.
“You’re Sadie Briggs, right?” The man’s voice is smooth, his eyes unyielding. “You live here?”
“Yeah, I live here…” My voice trails off, my eyes darting back to his truck. It’s not a government-owned vehicle. “What are you doing on my property?”
“That’s not very Texan friendly,” he chuckles, and in the laugh, I note he’s not from here. His accent is all wrong. He gestures to the back porch. “You mind if we sit on the porch for a few minutes? I won’t take up much of your time.”
I swallow hard, glancing around to find Flint. I quickly spot him, snoozing in the shade under a tree. He’s watching us, completely unbothered by this stranger.
And I don’t know how I feel about that.
“Come on,” the man presses. “Let’s go sit down. You look like you might pass out at any moment.”
I shake my head, my voice growing sharp despite the pang of fear quickly growing in my chest. “Whatever it is you need to say, you can say it right here.”
“Okay, well, first of all,” he begins, letting out an annoyed sigh. “You’re on house arrest here for the murder of your daughter, yes?”
I feel like there’s sand in my mouth. “I… I didn’t…”
“Of course, because no one intentionally kills their child when they’re driving recklessly, but you did kill her in that accident. That’s why you’re here. You shouldn’t have drunkenly got behind the wheel.”
“I don’t remember anything about the crash,” I spill the truth, my tone growing frustrated.
“Well, the official report said you were more than two times the legal limit.”
“Who the fuck are you?” I demand, my voice shaking as I clench my fists at my side. “Why are you here?”
He steps closer to me. “I think you have information I need—and I think I have information you need.”
“What information could I possibly need?”
The man takes a few steps back, reaches into his truck, and pulls out a manilla file folder. Briggs is written on the side of it in black marker, nice and neat and in all caps. He shuts the truck door, and then motions again to the back porch.
As much as I don’t want to, I move, my heels dragging the ground.
I thud up the back porch, and then stop, leaning against the railing. The man slips past me, casually plopping down in one of the rocking chairs, the file resting on his lap.
“Since you’re on house arrest,” he begins, his index finger tapping on the file. “You should be here all the time, yes?”
Something in my stomach churns, but I keep my gaze steady. “Yeah, I’m here all the time.”
He nods, his eyes scanning the area around us. “It’s a nice place you have here.”
“Thanks,” I mutter. “Now tell me who you are, because if you were the law, you’d have already told me.”
His gaze snaps back to mine, his lips curling into a smirk. “That’s really true, isn’t it? They sure like to show off their badges every chance they get. It’s quite validating for them, I’m sure. Though, I’d hardly call being a Podunk Sheriff something worth flaunting.”
“Who are you?” I repeat myself, folding my arms across my chest.
“It depends. I can be your friend,” he says, gesturing to the file folder. “Or I can be your worst fucking nightmare. That’s up to you to decide.”
“Maybe just start with your name,” I deadpan.
He ignores me and flips the folder open, holding it so he can read it without me seeing.
“Lila Briggs was only five years old. Sustained injuries from a car accident that led to her death. The driver of the vehicle claimed someone ran her off the road, causing the accident, but claims were found to be untrue. Driver’s blood alcohol level was twice the legal limit.
Judge convicted driver of vehicular manslaughter and sentenced her to ten years of probation. ”
My chest tightens. “Please stop reading that.”
“The thing is,” he clears his throat, dropping the file. “I couldn’t find anything in your history to suggest you’d be drinking?”
“I don’t know,” I force the words out.
“Hmm,” he frowns. “You have no memory of the accident?”
I shake my head. “No.”
“Did you ever see the car?”
“Yes,” I mumble, my eyes growing moist. I don’t even know why I’m continuing this stupid fucking conversation, and a rumble of thunder only adds to the electricity in the air.
“Anyway, it’s funny,” he continues, “Because there was a witness…”
I blink, my head snapping his direction. “What?”
“Yeah,” he says calmly, going right back to the file.
“Someone named Joshua Rigley. He was out with a heifer that was calving at the far end of his pasture. He saw a flatbed one-ton, similar to the farm truck that belonged to your husband, run a small white sedan off the road. He even saw the driver of the truck, get out and set the car on fire—after bashing the driver’s head into the steering wheel. ”
A rush of nausea roars through my body, and I swallow the bile shooting up the back of my throat. Whoever this is, is fucking with me. He’s fucking with me.
“And it’s crazy how this report never made it anywhere,” he tsks.
“Even crazier that there seems to be two reports on blood alcohol levels under the name Sadie Briggs that night. Whoever tried to manipulate this… They sure didn’t do a good job.
” He pauses, glaring at me. “Like maybe the handiwork of a corrupt sheriff, who paid a few people off with the leftover money from the budget.”
My head spins, and I white knuckle the porch railing.
“Anyway, you look a little overwhelmed right now,” he sighs, smoothing out his perfectly styled military cut.
Military cut. The reality hits.
“You can have this file, do what you will with it,” he keeps talking. “If you can tell me what you did with the man who ended up on your ranch, Sadie.”
Cade. He’s here for Cade.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I nearly whisper.
“Yeah, you do.” He lets out another annoyed sigh, running a hand over his face. “I was able to track Cade Kellan all the way to your pasture. What the fuck did you do with him?”
My heart skips a beat in my chest, my eyes bouncing between that damned file folder and the man’s razorblade gaze. He could be bullshitting me. There could be nothing in there. Nothing.
He catches me looking and holds it up, and I’m able to see all the information. “This file will bury your husband, and free you. You can take it to the county over. You can be free. Maybe even sue the county for what they did to you. Just tell me what you did with Cade.”
“I don’t believe you,” I state, even though I see it clearly.
He narrows his eyes at me. “Did you help him? Did you give him a truck? I know your husband wouldn’t have approved. He’d have wanted the glory of bringing in the crazy Marine.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I deadpan, holding his gaze.
“Cade is dangerous,” the man stands to his feet, just as the wind picks up from the impending storm. “He’s a lethal weapon, and his manic episodes are something that spare no one. You helping him is putting you and others at risk.”
He’s right. The man is right. I know he is.
But I can’t stop myself.
“I don’t know who Cade is.”
“Yes, you do. Are you taking care of him? Is he somewhere close? In the house?”
“Nope. I have no idea what you’re talking about.” I glare at him, just as I hear the familiar hum of Clayton’s truck pulling up in the driveway.
And for the first time ever, it brings relief.
The man on my porch shakes his head and then heads for the steps, leaning in as he passes me. “For an abused, little wounded woman, you sure are stubborn.” He pauses, a slamming door filling the moment before he continues. “If your husband doesn’t end up killing you, Cade will, I promise you that.”
“Who’re you?” Clayton suddenly barks, rounding the corner of the house. His eyes jump between the man and me.
The man eases down the steps and pulls out some form of identification. “Sorry to barge in. Just trying to get some information.”
“Of course,” Clayton visibly straightens up. “I hope my wife was hospitable, Captain Knight.”
“She was lovely,” he answers. “I don’t think Kellan came this way.” As the words leave his lips, his gaze bounces back to me for a split second. “Your wife keeps one hell of an eye on her ranch.”
Clayton’s smile falters, but only for a second. “She does.”
“Have a nice afternoon.”
With that, he leaves. And I’m left with Clayton, my head spinning in circles that I’m not sure I’ll be able to work myself out of.
My husband murdered my daughter.