Chapter 24
Hannah
The sheriff’s department is much busier than usual.
Deputies move between desks carrying folders and takeaway coffees. Phones ring somewhere deeper inside the building.
Conversation falters as I walk through the front door.
Heads turn.
“Hannah?”
The voice belongs to Mike Reynolds. He’s worked for my father for as long as I can remember. When I was six, he used to let me sit in his patrol car and switch the lights on for a few seconds while my father pretended not to notice.
He stares at me as though he’s seen a ghost.
“Oh my God.”
His chair scrapes backwards across the floor. “Hannah...”
The room erupts.
People spring to their feet. Someone calls for my father. Another deputy grabs his radio.
Linda hurries out from behind reception. I’ve known her since I was little enough to sit at her desk coloring while my father finished work.
She catches both my hands in hers. “Oh, sweetheart. We’ve been so worried.”
Her eyes fill with tears as she looks me over, taking in the bruises on my face and arms. “Are you all right? Did he hurt you?”
“I’m okay.”
Behind her, a deputy speaks rapidly into his radio.
“Tell the Sheriff she’s here. She’s safe.”
Safe.
The word catches somewhere deep inside me.
They really believe I escaped.
I look around at the familiar faces. People I’ve known most of my life. Every one of them looks relieved to see me.
Nobody doubts my father.
As far as they’re concerned, the sheriff’s missing daughter has finally escaped from Professor Bennett.
Then the conversations die away.
My father steps out of the corridor leading to his office and stops when he sees me.
I spent most of the drive here imagining what would happen when he saw me. I still don’t know whether he’ll shout at me, threaten me, or pretend none of this ever happened.
For several seconds, he simply stares at me. Then his face crumples with relief.
“Hannah.”
He crosses the room quickly, and the deputies move aside to let him through.
“Oh, thank God.”
He pulls me into his arms.
I go rigid.
His arms close tightly around me, one hand cradling the back of my head as though he’s afraid to let me go.
Around us, nobody speaks.
“I’ve been worried sick,” he exclaims.
Of course he has. He has an entire room watching. When he finally releases me, he looks over the bruises still fading beneath my cheekbone and the scrape on my forearm.
“Are you hurt?”
“No.”
He lets out a long breath. “Thank God.”
“I need to speak to you.”
“Of course.” He puts an arm around my shoulders. “Let’s get you home.”
“I’m not coming home,” I say in a low voice.
His arm goes still.
“I came to make you an offer.”
For a moment, he just looks at me. Then he lowers his arm.
“All right. Come with me.”
He turns towards his office. I follow him down the short corridor, aware of every face watching us go. He holds the door open for me, then closes it behind us.
The moment the door clicks shut, the concerned father disappears.
He walks behind his desk and takes his seat.
“Sit down.”
I do.
He leans back in his chair and looks at me.
“I’m listening.”
I draw a slow breath. “You win.”
My father narrows his eyes.
“I’m coming back. I’ll drop the investigation. Everything I found about you and East Ridge, I’ll bury it. I won’t give it to a journalist. I won’t take it to the state police. I won’t speak about it to anyone.”
His expression doesn’t change, but I know I have his attention.
“And I’ll retract everything I’ve said about you. Publicly, if that’s what you want.”
For several seconds, he just looks at me.
“That’s quite an offer.”
“I’m not finished.”
His eyebrows lift slightly.
“In return, you get Professor Bennett released. You tell the District Attorney he had nothing to do with my disappearance. You withdraw every allegation you made against him, and you make sure the charges are dropped.”
“And what will you tell them?”
“Whatever I need to. I’ll tell them I left home voluntarily. That Bennett thought I was in danger and was trying to help me. That he never kidnapped me or held me anywhere against my will.”
My father leans back in his chair.
“You understand that after everything you’ve said, people are going to have questions.”
“Then I’ll answer them.”
“Including questions about the allegations you made against me?”
“Yes.”
“And what will you say?”
I force myself to hold his gaze.
“That I was wrong.”
Something in his face relaxes.
“All right.”
I stare at him. “All right?”
“You’ve made your terms very clear.”
“I want Bennett released today.”
“I understand.”
“And this ends here. You don’t investigate him. You don’t go after his job. You don’t find some other way to punish him for helping me.”
“Agreed.”
“You’ll speak to the District Attorney now?”
“Yes.”
Relief washes through me. Bennett is going to be released. His name might never fully recover from what my father has done to him, but at least he won’t be sitting in a cell because he tried to help me.
My father gets to his feet.
“We should make sure we’re telling the same story before we speak to him.”
I stand too.
“About Bennett?”
“About everything. If you contradict me in front of the District Attorney, we’ll only make this more difficult.”
He’s right.
He opens the office door, and the noise of the department washes over us again.
Linda looks up from reception.
“Everything all right?”
“Everything’s fine,” my father says. “Hannah and I have reached an understanding.”
Relief spreads across her face.
“Oh, that’s wonderful.”
“It’s good to have you home,” Mike calls from his desk.
I manage a smile. “Thanks.”
My father puts his hand against my back and steers me towards the front doors.
Outside, I start towards Torin’s truck.
“Come with me,” my father says. “We can talk on the way.”
I stop. “To the District Attorney?”
“Yes.”
“I’ll follow you.”
“Hannah, we need to make sure we’re telling him the same thing. If we don’t get our story straight, Bennett stays exactly where he is.”
I glance at Torin’s truck. That’s what I came here for.
“You can leave the truck here,” he says. “We’ll pick it up afterward.”
I don’t like it. But arguing in the parking lot won’t get Professor Bennett released.
I follow him towards his SUV.
The familiar smell of leather and cedar fills the SUV as my father starts the engine.
I fasten my seat belt.
“So, what are we going to tell him?”
“The truth. You left voluntarily. Bennett believed you were in danger and was trying to protect you.”
“And I make it clear he never held me against my will.”
“Exactly.”
For the next few minutes, we work through what I’m going to say. My father corrects me occasionally, suggesting a different phrase here, a simpler explanation there.
It feels horribly familiar.
By the time we reach the next junction, we have a story that gives him what he wants and gets Bennett out.
I hate it.
But I can live with it if Bennett walks free.
The courthouse comes into view at the end of the block. I sit a little straighter.
My father needs to turn right here.
He drives straight through the intersection.
“You missed the turn.”
“We’ll call him from home.”
I turn to him. “You said we were going to see him.”
“There’s no reason to waste half the morning sitting around waiting for the District Attorney to be free. I can speak to him directly.”
The courthouse recedes behind us.
“But that’s not what we agreed.”
“Hannah.” His voice is calm. “It makes no difference.”
Before I can answer, he presses a button on the steering wheel.
A woman’s voice comes through the speakers. “Sheriff’s office.”
“It’s Hayes.”
“Yes, Sheriff.”
“I won’t be back this afternoon. And call Dr Whitmore for me. Tell him I’d like him at the house in about half an hour.”
“Of course.”
The call ends.
I stare at him. “Why are you calling Dr Whitmore?”
“You’ve been missing for nearly a week. I want him to check you over.”
“I don’t need checking over.”
“You’ve been in a car accident.”
“I’m fine.”
“You’re covered in bruises.”
“And I said I’m fine.”
His mouth tightens. “There’s no harm in letting him take a look at you.”
“I’m not going home.”
“Hannah—”
“No. That wasn’t the deal. You speak to the District Attorney, Bennett gets released, and then we decide what happens next.”
“You’ve had an exhausting week. You’re frightened, you’ve barely slept, and you’ve been through a serious accident.”
A cold feeling spreads through me.
“I know exactly what you’re doing.”
“I’m trying to take care of you.”
“No, you’re not.”
He glances at me, looking almost hurt.
“Hannah, I think you’re overwhelmed.”
The calm voice. The gentle concern. The quiet certainty that if I disagree with him, it can only be because there’s something wrong with me.
He hasn’t changed at all.
Through the passenger window, the last streets of town are slipping behind us. Torin’s truck is sitting in the sheriff’s department parking lot, and I’m here.
I unclip my seat belt.
“What are you doing?”
“I want you to stop the car.”
“Hannah—”
“Pull over.”
“We’re five minutes from home.”
“I don’t care. I’m not going there.”
He keeps driving.
“Dad, pull over.”
I reach for the door handle.
The SUV surges forward, pressing me back against the seat.
“What the hell are you doing?”
“I’m taking you home.”
“I told you I’m not going.”
“And I told you you’re not thinking clearly.”
My heart is hammering now. Ahead, a line of cars is waiting at the next set of lights.
They’re red. He’ll have to stop. I keep my hand close to the door handle as we approach the stationary traffic.
My father looks at the cars ahead. Instead of slowing, he swings into the empty turning lane and accelerates past the line.
“Dad!”
He drives straight through the red light.
A horn blares as we tear across the junction, and I grab the side of the seat to steady myself.
“Stop the fucking car!”
He keeps accelerating until the traffic falls away behind us and the houses begin to thin. I could open the door, but at this speed, hitting the road could kill me.
Within minutes, the last houses are behind us and fields stretch away on either side. We’re heading straight for home, and Dr Whitmore is already on his way there.
I don’t know what my father intends to do once he gets me inside. All I know is I’m not walking through that front door.