41. Troy
August, Present Day
Maple Ridge
I siton Garrett’s garden bench, the sandwiches I picked up from Picnic Treats on the table in front of me. The laptop he was working on when I arrived is perched next to his plate on the table.
“You sure you don’t want a beer?” Garrett calls from the vine-covered archway that bisects the hedge separating this part of the garden from the house.
“No, I’m good.”
“Are you and Jess still going to Mom and Dad’s for dinner tonight?” He walks along the path, carrying two glasses of water.
“Yes…but I’m not sure if it’s a good idea.”
He hands me a glass. “Why not?”
“Mom wasn’t thrilled to hear that Jess was Savannah Townsend. And I’d kept it from her.” I shrug since it’s too late to worry about that. “But she did invite us to come, so I guess we’re all good…unless it’s an ambush.”
Garrett huffs out a chuckle. “Yeah, she’s not a big fan of secrets and lies. As I learned the hard way quite a few times growing up. Don’t worry about Mom. She liked Jess before she heard the news; I doubt that’s changed any.”
He sits next to me on the bench. Butterscotch wanders off to chase the butterflies hovering around the flowerbeds. “How’s the protester situation going? Are they still a problem?”
“There’re probably fifteen or so assholes who aren’t letting up.”
The rest of the protesters seem to have grown bored of harassing Jess now that the reporters have left Maple Ridge. Thank Christ for that.
Garrett’s forehead scrunches into a frown. He takes a bite of his sandwich. “Must say I’m surprised you’re here. Can’t remember the last time you dropped in for lunch.”
“Something’s been bothering me about Jess’s time in prison. Guess I just need a sounding board.”
Garrett gives a single nod. “Fire away.”
“I’ve been wondering why she was frequently attacked in there. Was it because she came off as weak and an easy target? Or was it an inside job that had something to do with her husband’s murder?”
“What does Jess think about those two possibilities?”
“I haven’t asked her. All I know is it wasn’t always the same person who attacked or harassed her.” My stomach clenches at how she went from living with an abusive husband to living in that hell, always having to watch her back. “She couldn’t identify who almost killed her just prior to her release.”
Garrett’s frown deepens. I can imagine all kinds of plot scenarios are going through his mind. “The prison guards must know who it was. There had to be cameras where it happened.”
“You would think there’d be cameras in the kitchen. Jess said it was dark when it happened. The lights were momentarily turned off and she was alone at the time.”
“Alone? She was in a fucking prison. Why the hell would the guards leave her alone in the kitchen?”
“No idea. But now you see why I’m questioning things. Jess said if Beckley knows who did it, they’re keeping silent.” I take a bite of my turkey sandwich and chew on it as I recall everything Jess has told me.
A finch lands on the stone birdbath in the middle of the flowerbed in front of us. Butterscotch stops chasing the butterflies and barks at the small bird. The finch takes flight.
“Before her location became public knowledge,” Garrett says, “did the Beckley administrators know where to find her?”
“Maybe. Possibly. Her brother-in-law knew. He was the one who arranged for her to move to Maple Ridge when she was released from prison. He and his wife share a mutual acquaintance with Anne Carstairs. I don’t know. Maybe the prison admins knew to contact him to pass on any messages to Jess since she didn’t have a phone when she moved here.” I do know Jess hasn’t reached out to Beckley or given them her information.
Her brother-in-law realized Jess needed a quiet place to recuperate from her ordeal. He might be keeping Jess from Amelia, but at least he did that much for her. Or was it his way of ensuring Jess kept away from his family? He is, after all, the brother of the asshole she married. Who’s to say he isn’t as manipulative as her late husband?
“As long as the San Diego police know where to find her, they can contact her if they figure out who attempted to kill her.” Garrett bites into his sandwich.
“That’s if they decide to prosecute the guilty party.”
“You don’t sound like you believe they would,” he replies around a mouthful of food.
“I don’t know. I just wish I knew what the motive was for the attack.”
“Why don’t I see what my FBI contacts can come up with? I’m not promising anything, mind you. But maybe there’s some intel they can drum up and share with us.”
“While you’re at it, see if you can get names of anyone else who’s been released from Beckley since Jess got out.”
Garrett’s eyebrows lift over barely widened eyes. “Any reason why?”
“I just want to be prepared in case there’s something we’re missing.”
“You think they might come after her ’cause they failed to kill her the first time?” He blows out a low whistle. “That would be pretty ballsy, especially when they won’t be allowed to leave California for a while.”
“It would be. But so is attempting murder while under maximum security.” Whoever did that doesn’t give a damn about the law and probation rules. “That’s why I’m wondering what else they have at stake—and why murdering Jess was important to them.”
* * *
A police cruiseris parked outside my office building when I arrive there after lunch. It probably has nothing to do with Jess, but I still quicken my pace.
I yank open the door to Carson Construction and enter the waiting area. A cop is standing in front of Jess’s desk. Jess is also standing there, her face pale.
“Hey, what’s going on?” My tone is stiff, my eyes narrowed. The last cop in here was Chief Wilson, and he’d been using intimidation tactics to get Jess to tell him where his wife and daughter were hiding.
The cop turns to me, suspicion shading his light-gray eyes. “Who are you?”
“Troy Carson. The company’s owner. Is there something I can help you with”—I read the name on his badge—“Officer Hunt?”
“So-someone left a threatening note for me while I was away at lunch,” Jess says, her voice shaky.
My gaze cuts to the cop. “What note?”
He holds up a plastic baggy with a handwritten message inside. “Do you recognize the handwriting?”
I read the message, and my blood sizzles and seethes. Who the…what the fuck? The muscles in my jaw tighten. “It doesn’t look familiar.”
“Have you noticed anything suspicious around the building over the past few days?” Officer Hunt inquires.
“Nothing that comes to mind. I’m usually only here first thing in the mornings and at the end of the day. Most of the time I’m on job sites. Or consulting with companies that hire me as a construction engineer.”
“Anything suspicious at any of those locations that you can remember?”
“No. Nothing. I can ask the tradespeople I use if they remember anything.” I read the threatening message again. “What about the protesters who’ve been harassing Jess? I wouldn’t put it past any of them to be responsible for this.” I hand the note back to him.
“Did any of the protesters threaten to harm you to your face?” He directs the question to Jess.
“Someone threw eggs at her when she was in my truck last Monday morning,” I supply. “At approximately seven thirty. They hit the side passenger window.”
“Did either of you see who did it?”
“No,” I reply. Jess shakes her head, her face still pale.
“Anyone else you can think of who might have left this?” He holds up the plastic evidence bag.
“The first day of the protests,” Jess says, “a woman told me to move away or else she would make my life miserable. There were other threats like that too.”
“Do you know who she was?”
“Unfortunately not. I heard her yell at me, but there were so many people, I couldn’t tell who said it.”
“Any other suspicious activity over the past few days?”
A heavy puff of air breezes past her lips. “I don’t know. Maybe. I had a weird feeling today while I was sitting in the local park that someone was watching me.”
“When was this?”
“Around noon.”
Fuck. Jess doesn’t need that on top of everything else. She was struggling with hypervigilance when we first met. That hasn’t decreased much since she started seeing Robyn. This—the feeling that someone is watching her and the letter—could set back her recovery.
“Did you see anyone who might have been watching you?” Officer Hunt asks her.
“No. I wasn’t alone in the park. Other people were there enjoying the weather. But I didn’t notice anyone actually watching me. It was just a feeling I got.”
He asks a few more questions, gives us his card in case we think of anything else, and leaves.
“Why didn’t you call me when you found the letter?” I gentle my tone even though what I really want is to rip whoever did this a new one.
“I was going to, but it didn’t happen that long ago. I called nine-one-one. Officer Hunt was in the area and arrived before I could call you.”
“Alright, but until the cops figure out who left the threat, Butterscotch and I will stay with you and Bailey at your house.”
She nods, not bothering to argue my decision.
Relief floods in. Her ability to make her own decisions is important to her, but her safety is important to me. She has a security alarm, but that might not be enough if someone’s determined to harm her. The hell if I’m taking that chance.
Still, my staying with her at her house might solve the problem of keeping her safe at night, but it doesn’t do anything about her safety while in this office.
“Fuck, you need a huge terrifying rottweiler,” I mutter and glance at the loyal but playful puppy sitting by Jess’s feet. “No disrespect intended, Bailey.” My gaze goes to the glass door to the reception area. “New rule. That door stays locked at all times.” I point at it. “No one’s allowed in here unless it’s me or one of my brothers or Lance.”
A small frown wrinkles Jess’s forehead. “Why? You don’t really think someone will be stupid enough to try anything while I’m here, do you? They still have to walk past the security cameras at the front of the building.”
“I don’t care how stupid or fucking intelligent whoever left you the threat is, I’m not taking any chances.”
She releases a frustrated grunt, her shoulders deflating. “So, I’m back to being a prisoner.”
“No, you’re back to me trying to keep you safe. Something the prison guards fucked up doing too many times to count. I have no intention of making that mistake.”
“Is this because you used to be a Marine? All this alpha protection mode you’ve got going.” She waves her hand at my body, her expression not giving away what she’s actually thinking.
“No. It’s because I’m in love with you, Jess, and don’t want anything bad to happen to you. The Marine training just means I’m a badass who knows a thing or two about protecting those I love. So get used to it.”
I half expect her to cross her arms and scowl at me, and I wouldn’t blame her if she did. If our places were reversed and I felt like my freedom was being taken from me, I’d be pissed too.
But she doesn’t do any of that. She surprises me with a soft smile and kisses me on the cheek. “Thank you for caring so much about me. Other than my grandparents, I don’t remember anyone else making sure I felt safe.”
It blows my mind she’s gone through life like that. My father and grandfather—both Marine vets—would’ve done everything in their power to keep my brothers and me safe when we were growing up. My brothers and I don’t hesitate to do the same for those we care about. “You’re welcome. I’m not letting anything happen to you, Jess. And I’ll take you to the park during your lunch breaks so you can write.”
Jess’s eyes brighten, and I know I’ve said the right thing. There’s been an unexplainable light to her ever since she began writing her World War II novel.
Her light extinguishes as quickly as it came. “I got a call just before I called nine-one-one. It was from Roger Carmichael about the renovations you were supposed to start next week. He canceled.”
“He did?” That’s weird. He and his wife were excited at the changes my crew and I were planning for their kitchen. Hell, I was excited about that project too.
“He didn’t approve of you hiring an ex-con to work for your company. I tried to explain things, but he wouldn’t listen.”
“That’s fine,” I say, desperate to put the light back in her eyes. “If he’s going to be ignorant, I’m not interested in doing the work for him.” Or any other narrow-minded individual.
“You matter more to me than any of that,” I tell her, and I mean it. I don’t care how many demons I have to fight—I’ll battle them all to free the woman I love from stalkers, prison guards, and the ghost of the man who stole her love.