Chapter 12
twelve
. . .
LANE
I’d seen a lot of shit in my days as a cop, but I gasped when we walked inside, though it was masked by the sound of Sutton’s own.
“What the fuck?” she muttered, a bit dazedly, as though she’d emotionally disconnected from the scene.
Not that I could blame her.
The house was trashed. Not in a way we’d seen before with this intruder, either. Usually, he’d knock a few things around, throw couch and chair cushions on the floor, sweep papers off desks, rifled through drawers in search of who the hell knew what.
This was much, much worse.
Destruction began with the front door, the pretty fogged leaded glass window broken out and littering the floor inside—the obvious entry point.
Photo frames hung crookedly on the walls or had fallen to the floor entirely, glass smashed and ground into the carpet.
Gouges had been punched in the drywall, likely from the fireplace poker abandoned in the center of the room.
Each couch cushion had been sliced open, stuffing spilled out all over the floor, with a knife that had apparently then found its way into the middle of Sutton’s television screen.
In the kitchen, every drawer had been opened and dumped onto the tile, which was covered in about a layer of water.
I pulled out the notebook I stuffed into my pocket as Sutton and I had walked out the door earlier and began jotting notes.
“Little shit plugged the drain and left the sink running,” Johns explained unnecessarily. “It’s pretty obvious they wanted to inflict maximum damage.”
Sutton’s hand found her mouth as she took it all in, eyes wide and glassy, posture rigid. Wordlessly, she turned from the kitchen and headed down the short hall off which several doors opened. Bypassing the bath, she went to a room at the end, and I followed behind.
The door to her bedroom was entirely busted, hanging by a single screw from the top hinge.
Her bed had been destroyed, comforter and pillows pulled off, sheets askew, mattress beneath slashed.
Clothes appeared to have been ripped off the hangers in the closet, torn, tattered, and spread across the room.
Slowly, Sutton approached the dresser, choking on a sob when she located something on top.
I ambled up behind her, watching as she reached out with shaky fingers for a glass-topped jewelry box.
The window had been shattered, the top tossed carelessly aside, the rings and earrings and necklaces inside scattered around.
“Anything missing?” I asked softly.
She was quiet as she scanned the contents, lifting the top few trays to reveal the ones below. Finally, she gave me a small nod.
“The necklace my mom gave me when I graduated high school. And…” She shook her head. “Those earrings you bought me.”
I inhaled sharply. “You kept those?”
“In the same box and everything,” she whispered. “It’s gone.”
So badly, I wanted to press the issue. To demand why she’d hung onto those, but now was neither the time nor the place.
“Let’s get your stuff together and get out of here,” I suggested, making a note of what was missing but diverting the conversation.
“What’s the rush?”
“Being here is hurting you.” And I can’t stand that fucking look in your eyes for one more second.
Sutton sighed, swiping with jerky movements at her eyes. “You’re right. Sorry.”
“Nothing to be sorry for.”
Though she averted her gaze, she tried to smile, and I hated it. The fact that she was putting on a brave face, acting like her home hadn’t been destroyed, made me want to rip the world apart to find whoever had done this and make them pay.
Oblivious to the rage coursing through me, Sutton headed for the closet, rising onto her tiptoes to grab a duffel bag from the shelf.
Flicking through the hangers, she grabbed what she could salvage, then moved to the dresser.
Miraculously, those drawers remained untouched, and as she began shoveling socks and undergarments into the bag, I turned away.
A few more drawers opened and closed, and I glanced over my shoulder to find her moving toward the bed.
The bag fell onto the mattress with a whump as she crossed to the nightstand, adding a few chargers, a rectangular electronic device I recognized as her Kindle, and a couple things from the drawer.
“I just need to grab my toiletries, then we can go.”
She made quick work of her trip into the bathroom, which from the looks of it, seemed to have been spared the damage done to the rest of the house.
I left her to her own devices, walking back out into the living area, where Johns stood, hands on hips, watching Wallace take photos and dust for fingerprints.
“Fucking brutal, boss.”
“Seems…worse than the others.”
I didn’t want to put voice to the path my thoughts had taken, but it seemed the obvious deduction given the destruction.
Sutton joined us as Johns nodded.
“The other scenes weren’t anywhere near this level of damage.”
“Are you saying…?” Sutton asked.
Johns nodded bleakly. “I think the sheriff will agree with my assessment that it looks like you’ve been targeted specifically. And we have to consider the possibility that this isn’t related to the other break-ins, unless those were just trial runs for this one.”
I grinned. Johns was a few years younger than me—had graduated with Crew—but when he’d joined the department after completing his own criminal justice degree, I’d seen something in him and couldn’t resist taking him under my wing.
Though we’d run against each other for the open sheriff’s seat, when I’d been elected, I’d pushed hard for the city council to appoint him as my undersheriff.
Personal shit with my youngest brother and losing the election to me aside, he was a hell of a cop. As badly as I wanted to get back to work, I knew the department was in good hands with him during my absence.
“‘Sutton…’”
She murmured her name low, in a tone that had goosebumps breaking out on my skin, like a creepy whisper from the darkness.
“What?” Johns asked, clearly as confused as me.
“I just remembered…whoever broke in, they said my name. Like they were calling out to me.” Her eyes found mine, the amber depths swimming like bourbon on ice. “Like they were taunting me.”
Johns withdrew a notebook not unlike mine from his pocket. “You still sure it was a man?”
Sutton squeezed her eyes shut, and a single tear broke free under the pressure, sliding down her cheek. I clenched my fists as my sides to avoid reaching out and brushing it away.
“I’m not sure of anything right now,” she answered honestly.
Unable to resist touching her any longer, I settled a hand on her arm, cupping right below the ball of her shoulder. “We’ll find who did this, Sutton. I promise.”
Her gaze met mine, eyes wide and seeking. Looking for something in my expression. “Can I…”
“Yes.”
She choked on a laugh. “You didn’t even let me ask.”
“Doesn’t change my answer.”
I would do fucking anything for her. She had to know that by now. Whatever she wanted, the answer was and would always be yes.
After a brief hesitation, she tried the question again.
“Can I stay with you?”
“As long as you need.”
Her shoulders slumped in relief, and I relaxed myself, grateful I could do this one small thing for her.
“Ready?” I asked her.
“Just need to grab Boots’ food and litterbox.”
“I got it.”
“Ah, no,” Johns said, putting a hand up. “I’ve got it.”
I set my jaw. “I think I can handle carrying cat food and a litterbox.”
“Not happening on my watch,” he replied, tone firm, and Sutton smirked.
Johns brushed past her, but she followed him, directing him toward Boots’ things. With their backs turned, I grabbed Sutton’s duffel and backpack and carried them outside to her car, which I found irritatingly unlocked.
“You don’t lock your car?” I asked through gritted teeth. Dusk Valley was a small town with a generally low crime rate, but still.
“Fuck!” she shouted, and I stepped back, surprised by the outburst. “I can’t drive this.”
“Why not?”
Instead of giving a verbal response, she pointed at the tires, which I noticed for the first time were flat thanks to long slashes.
“Fuck,” I echoed.
“Yeah.” Her hands went to her hair at her temples, and she gripped handfuls, pulled, and screamed.
It was a shocking display of emotion from the woman who had so far held it together through the horrific experience of walking through her destroyed home.
Johns and Wallace raced outside, but I held up a hand, stalling them on her front stoop.
The screaming went on for another minute or so, and when she stopped, Sutton was breathing hard.
“You good?” I asked, brow raised.
“Not even close,” she gasped, but the words were accompanied by a little laugh that had me smiling.
I collected her things from the backseat of her SUV and moved them to my truck. To Johns, who walked over to load Boots’ litter box and food into the truck, I said, “Call a tow for this. Tell them to bill me.”
“That’s not necessary,” Sutton piped up, but I stared her down.
Maintaining eye contact, I repeated to Johns, “Tell them to bill me.”
“You got it, boss.” Before walking away, he paused and squinted at me. “You good?”
“I’m fine,” I snapped. “Get back to work.”
With a mock salute, he crossed the lawn and disappeared into the house with Wallace.
“Ready?” I asked Sutton.
Solemnly, she nodded and climbed into the passenger seat of my truck. Boots hopped into her lap, and she snuggled him, burying her face in his fur.
The entire drive home, Johns’ words swirled around in my brain, sticking right at the front like a popcorn kernel in my teeth.
What if he was right? What if this wasn’t just your run-of-the-mill nighttime intruder like we’d originally thought?
What if this fucker had targeted Sutton specifically?
What if trashing her house was merely a warning shot, and the worst was yet to come?
If someone was coming after her, I would do everything in my power to take them out.
After pulling my truck into the garage, I got out and started grabbing her things from the backseat. Sutton shuffled her feet as she headed toward the door.
“You can park here once your car is fixed,” I said. She pulled up short and half-turned toward me, and I indicated the empty stall next to my truck. Currently, a side-by-side sat there. “I’ll move that to the shed.”
“Are you sure?” she asked. “I feel like I’m already imposing enough.”
“You’re not,” I promised quickly. “My house is your house for however long you need it.”
For a moment, she simply stared at me in that way she’d long ago perfected, making it feel like she was flaying off layers of my skin to reveal the soft underbelly beneath my tattoos and tough exterior.
I’d always had a soft spot for defenseless creatures.
That wasn’t to say Sutton was defenseless, because I knew she wasn’t.
But, while I’d always wanted to be in law enforcement, specifically working for the Dusk Valley Sheriff’s Department, it was Sutton’s ordeal that drove me toward that goal harder than before.
Cases involving women always struck a particular chord with me, both because of Sutton and because I would go scorched earth if anyone dared harm my mom or sister in that way.
The trait was as deeply ingrained in the genes of the Lawless men as our family roots were planted into this land.
Sutton, though…she was my kryptonite. My Achille’s heel. The wound that refused to heal over.
I considered this my penance or my inability to save her all those years ago.
After some maneuvering, the side-by-side was tucked safely in the shed with my lawn tools, and I finally went inside. Sutton was noticeably absent, likely in her room getting settled.
She found me in the kitchen a while later, where I was whipping up a couple sandwiches for lunch. I didn’t look at her as she sat at the island, but the drumming of her fingers against the countertop invaded my senses.
A tense, rapid beat played out against the granite.
“Lane,” she said suddenly, finally drawing my gaze.
I didn’t miss the fear in her voice.
“What’s wrong?”
“I know this is going to sound insane, but I can’t help thinking…what if it was Ryan who broke into my house? What if he found me after all these years and is back for revenge or something?”
My heart stopped in my chest, veins icing over.
I hadn’t heard that name in a long fucking time—not for over fifteen years—and I never expected to hear it again. Certainly not from her, not when he’d violated her so badly.
“I don’t think so,” I said slowly, mind whirring with how to steer her away from this line of thinking.
“Could you…look into it? See if you can find out what happened to him?”
“He’s dead.”
The words were flat as I could manage, delivered without an ounce of emotion.
“He’s…Are you sure?”
“Positive.”
“How?”
Instead of giving a verbal answer, I navigated to Google and searched “Ryan Boyd dead.”
Several articles populated, and I selected the top hit, then read Sutton the first line.
“‘Human remains were located deep in the foothills of the Boise Ridge late Tuesday evening. Though sources say DNA has not yet confirmed the identity, they are confident it is the body of missing twenty-one-year-old Boise State student, Ryan Boyd…’”
Sutton’s eyes were wide, fingertips covering her mouth.
“And did DNA eventually confirm his identity?” she asked. I nodded. “You’re sure?”
“I kept an eye on things after he hurt you. You never looked into it yourself?”
She shook her head. “After the settlement, I just wanted to move on and forget it all. As if I ever could,” she tacked on, quieter.
The fucking settlement. If I could’ve gotten away with it, I would’ve taken out that prick attorney and the Boyds’ puppet detective too.
“I’ll look into it,” I said quickly, desperate for some way to erase that distraught-yet-numb expression off her face. “Double check it was actually him. Make sure it’s not connected somehow.”
That seemed to satisfy her, though she remained quiet as I put the finishing touches on our sandwiches, then contemplative once I slid a plate over to her and she dug in.
When she finished eating, she headed into the living room with her Kindle, Boots trotting dutifully after her, and I retreated to my office to think.
For a split second, I considered the possibility that she was right, that this was Ryan fucking Boyd.
But that was impossible.
Ryan Boyd was dead.
I knew because I’d made sure of it.
Sutton, however, didn’t, couldn’t, know that.
And if I had anything to say about it, she never would.