by Kelli Walker
“So if he were to show up around my house or something, that isn’t cause to be concerned?” I asked.
“Have you seen him around your home, Miss Carpenter?”
“I have. I attempted to file a police report, but I’m pretty sure the officer thought I was crazy and seeing things.”
“Well Mr. Winston is able to travel freely throughout the county. I can tell you he’s attempting to find work and staying at a place of residence that has been signed off by myself. But you can rest assured that your home address or anything else related to you and his son-- and I use that term lightly-- cannot be legally given to him.”
“So you can’t tell him where I live or anything,” I said.
“No, ma’am.”
Then how the hell was he outside my house?
“Thank you for your time, officer,” I said.
“Do you have any other questions, Miss Carpenter?”
“Not at the moment, no.”
“Well, now that you know how to get in contact with me, feel free to anytime. I can’t discuss specifics about Mr. Winston’s parole just like I can’t discuss specifics about yourself with him, but I’m here if you have any other questions or concerns. And if you feel there’s been some sort of violation--police interference or not--don’t hesitate to call and file something.”
“I appreciate that, sir. Thank you.”
“Not a problem. You have a good day, ma’am.”
“You, too.”
It gave me some sort of comfort knowing that information, but in some ways I was more unsettled than before. If he couldn't legally give out my information, then how in the world did that man know where I lived? I slid my cell phone into my back pocket and decided to make myself a cup of coffee. I’d gotten the boys off to school without so much as a drop of caffeine in my system, and I knew I couldn’t be working with power tools before my eyes opened well enough to see.
I poured myself a strong cup and creamed it down before I went to get the newspaper and the mail. But when I opened the mailbox, there was a letter addressed to me. No address, just my name. And no return address either.
I looked around, trying to see if anyone was watching me before I pulled it out.
I set my coffee inside my mailbox and quickly opened the letter. And even though the letter wasn’t addressed or signed at the end, I knew exactly who had sent it.
Isabelle,
You took my son from me, and you had no right. I was a broken man, but I’m healed now. I’ve paid for my sins, and I’m coming for yours. That boy is mine. You had no right to him then, and you don’t now.
“Isabelle?”
I jumped, screaming as my arm knocked against my mailbox. My coffee mug went tumbling to the ground and smashed against the pavement as glass and hot coffee slapped against my bare leg. I was trembling, clutching the note tightly in my fingers as a pair of hands twirled me around.
I looked up into Tristan’s eyes as tears filled mine.
His eyes fell to the piece of paper crumpled up in my hands and he took it. I couldn’t take a deep breath. I couldn't see through the blinding tears. Tristan wrapped his arm tightly around my waist and began guiding me to my house as tears slid down my cheeks. My world tilted. My feet stumbled underneath me.
George.
I had to call Darnell’s parole officer.
“Jackson, it’s Tristan. I need your ass on this phone now. Call me back.”
I tripped trying to get up onto my porch and a pair of strong arms caught me around my waist.
“Come on,” Tristan said. “Let’s get you inside.”
“He came back,” I said with a whisper.
Tristan shut my door quickly and locked it before he peered out of my kitchen window.
“When did he come back?” I asked breathlessly.
“Come on. Let’s get you sitting down,” he said.
“I-I-I have to work. I have to call-... George.”
“Who’s George?”
“Darnell’s parole officer. I have to call him.”
“Let’s sit you down first.”
I felt Tristan lower me to the couch. The cushions hit the backs of my legs and my body collapsed from underneath me. I felt a crushing pain sitting on my chest. Like my heart was being drowned in adrenaline running through my veins. I felt a strong pair of hands wrap around mine as I blinked my tears away, and Tristan’s beautiful face finally came into view.
“Here’s what we’re going to do, okay?” he asked. “You’re going to get his parole officer back on the line and I’m going to get Jackson on the phone. Together, we’ll figure out what we can do to-”
But his phone vibrating against his hip interrupted him and I watched him move like lightning. He ripped it out of his pocket and put it to his ear, not bothering to check and see who it was.
“Call George,” Tristan mouthed as he got up from the floor.
So I stuck my trembling fingers into my pocket and pulled my phone back out.
Tristan
“So I come back from helping with fieldwork and I’ve got seven voice messages and a threat from you,” Jackson said. “Yet you’re still alive. What gives?”
“Remember the woman across the street?” I asked.
I looked back at Isabelle, watching as she raised her phone to her ear.
“Are you defaulting on your ‘don’t do anything else’ promise?” Jackson asked.
“Yes. Because the danger is popping up in our neighborhood,” I said.
“Oh shit. What’s going on?”
“I figured out why she needed a Criminal Defense lawyer.”
“Then spill all the juicy details,” he said.
“She has two sons, but one of them is adopted. Apparently, her son knew him in elementary school, and when he father was arrested and convicted of child abuse, she adopted him.”
“Wow. That’s a hell of a woman.”
“You’re telling me. Now, the man’s out and he’s coming around her place. He’s left a threatening note in her mailbox that talks about how she didn’t have a right to him then, and she doesn't now.”
“Oh, let me nail this asshole. Please,” he said.
“I’m going to let you. I want you to pull as many strings as you can to look into a man by the name of Darnell Winston. His parole officer’s name is George, and he’s based in Williamson County, Texas.”
“That’s more than enough information to start out with,” he said.
“Isabelle’s currently calling his parole officer, but I want you to follow up. I want him to know that someone from the CIA has their eye on this.”
“Yes, flexing my badge and taking down scum. It’s what I signed up for. You know, as long as it’s from behind a computer screen.”
“I also want you to tap into the Georgetown police department. Look into an Officer Deacon.”
“Any reason?”
“When his man appeared the first time, she called the cops. They sent an officer to her home and he didn’t seen all too keen on wanting to believe her side of the story. He was also pretty interested in my relationship with her.”
“Is there a relationship?” Jackson asked.
“Later.”
“So there is! Oh. Dude. I am coming into town soon. You’re all set up in the house, right?”
“Focus, Jackson.”
“You know I can do many things at once.”
“And I’ve known many women to deck you in the face for it,” I said.
“What can I say? I like ‘em sassy and strong. Can you get me a picture of that letter, by any chance?”
“I’ll text one to you once I get off here. I want all you can find on this man. I want you to track him if you have to. I want to know what he’s doing, where he’s going, and why he’s going there in the first damn place. I want to know who he’s living with, where he’s applying for work. All of it.”
“I love it when we get the band back together,” he said. “I’ll call you the second I have
it compiled. And get me a picture of that note!”
Jackson cut the call and I promptly took a picture of the letter in my hand. I took it from several angles, knowing he’d try to do anything he could to pull evidence off the damn thing. I even went back outside to retrieve the envelope from the ground. I sent him multiple pictures before I made my way back into the house and found Isabelle sitting at her kitchen table with her head in her hands.
I went and sat down in front of her, wrapping my hands around her wrists.
“What did his parole officer say?” I asked.
“That he would log it and look into it, but that was it.”
“Well luckily, you’ve got someone from the CIA following up with him as well as with the Georgetown Police.”
“So that was him? Your contact?” Isabelle asked.
“That was him. And he’s compiling information I need as we speak. He’s quick when he’s emotionally invested in something, and he’s definitely invested into this.”
“Why?” she asked.
“Let’s just say Jackson can sympathize with DeShawn.”
The empathy that poured from her eyes for a man she didn’t know only solidified how wonderful she was to me. And it killed me to see her as distraught as she was.
“Do you have any sort of surveillance system around the house? Or around your shed out back?” I asked.
“I don’t, no.”
“Okay. That’s fine. I do think you should get one, though. Even if it’s only temporary. Just a small camera mounted on the railing of your front porch or something.”
I got up from the table and walked over to the kitchen window. I peered outside, looking up at the telephone poles to see if there were any cameras or wires running that could indicate a camera somewhere. But there were none. Typical for a small town, but it was worth it to check. I knew how stuff like this worked with local police. The letter and the truck that blinded me and the presence of him in her driveway was all circumstantial. Without a picture or a video or any sort of viable physical evidence, things never escalated with them until they escalated with the victim.
And that wasn’t happening on my watch.
I knew Jackson could work miracles, but even looking at that letter up close told me there wasn’t anything he’d be able to pull from it. He might be able to match the handwriting with something of Darnell’s if he could find it, but that was a slim chance, at best.
“What am I going to do?”
I heard Isabelle’s breathless plea and I couldn't stand it any longer. I forced myself out of ‘agent mode’ and strode back over to her. I ripped her up out of her chair and wrapped my arms around her, trying to steady her body with my own. She tucked her head underneath my chin and quaked against me, her fear going above and beyond any self-control she might have had.
“Breathe,” I said. “Slow, steady breaths.”
“My boys. Should I make them come home from school again?” she asked.
“Right now, we need to get you stable. Breathe in, and out. In, and out.”
I expanded my chest against her cheek and felt her trying to follow my breaths. I stroked my fingers through her hair, working it out of the bun and letting it fall down her back. Her breaths were shaky and her legs grew weak. She became heavier in my arms until she was nothing but a sobbing, shaking mess.
She’d been so strong for so long, and her body simply couldn’t handle it any longer.
“I’m not going to let anything happen to you. Or to those boys,” I said.
I kissed the top of her head as her arms snaked around my neck.
I hoisted her higher up my body until she was practically in my arms. It felt as if a decade’s worth of emotions and tears poured from her and into my arms. I walked her back over to the couch and sat down, grabbing a blanket to cover us with. I rocked her side to side, kissing her forehead and murmuring things I hoped would calm her down.
Things I hoped she believed.
“You’re safe with me. Your boys are, too. And as long as I’m here, that man can’t touch you or them. I’ll make sure of it. Sh-sh-sh-sh, calm down. Deep breaths, like I showed you.”
I felt helpless. I didn’t like feeling helpless. The last time I felt that fucking helpless was when Lisa’s oncologist told us chemotherapy wasn’t working. And it was a moment ath destroyed me and altered the course of the rest of my life. That kind of helplessness wasn’t an option here. That kind of loss wasn’t an option here. No matter what I had to do and no matter what I had to sacrifice, Darnell would be back in jail and this family would be safe.
“I swear to you--on everything I am, Isabelle--I won’t stop until that man is back behind bars.”
And I meant every fucking syllable.
Isabelle
I smoothed the sandpaper with the grain as fast as I could. Two rush orders had come in over the past couple of days, so I wanted to get a headstart on them. It was a nice chunk of change. My rush order service with delivery included was a pretty penny, even for the smaller items. And when they came in, I was hard-pressed to turn them away. Though it did make for long days in my woodshed.
But a knock at the door ripped me from my sanding trance.
“Who is it?” I asked.
“Thirsty?”
I smiled at the sound of his voice as I wiped at my brow.
I went over and opened the door and saw Tristan standing there. He was holding a glass of iced coffee that smelled heavenly. I tipped the caffeine up to my lips and drank until I drained even the ice cubes of their tinted color. I’d been in my workshop since four in the morning trying to pump out both of these orders on a Saturday for a Monday morning delivery time.
“Glad I brought it over,” Tristan said as I handed him the glass.
“Thank you so much,” I said.
“Working hard on a Saturday?”
“Rush orders. And the boys are still asleep, so what else am I going to do?”
“It’s eleven o’clock.”
“They’re sixteen.”
Tristan chuckled and the sound relaxed my exhausted, aching body.
“Well, I come bearing news. May I come in?”
“Did you hear back from Jackson?” I asked.
“I did. I’ve got some information for you.”
“Then by all means, come on in,” I said as I stepped off to the side.
“So, Darnell isn’t in a halfway house. He’s staying at a rental property. And he doesn’t have a job. At least, not one Jackson can find.”
“How is that possible then?” I asked as Tristan walked in.
“Either Darnell knows the owner of the house and they’re doing him a favor, or he’s got someone else living with him. Jackson’s looking into the latter, because the former doesn’t seem plausible.”
“Why not?” I asked.
“The owner of the property is Edith Crumble. According to the records Jackson pulled, she’s an eighty-seven year old transplant. Moved to Georgetown seven years ago.”
“So she wouldn't know Darnell,” I said.
“Yep. Jackson’s looking into the possibility of him having a roommate of some sort, but in the meantime he pulled some security footage I thought was interesting.”
I crossed my arms over my chest and leaned against the wall.
“Your hunch about Darnell looking into his son was correct. You know, back before the letter happened. Jackson grabbed multiple screenshots of him coming and going from the courthouse. I’d say it was him meeting with his probation officer, but the probation department in the county isn’t in the courthouse here. It’s a different building. We can’t track his official movements once he’s in the courthouse, but he has signed in and out of the public records office several times.”
“How do you know that?” I asked.
“I made a visit yesterday and took pictures of the logs. It’s old school down here. You have to sign your name in and out. I took pictures and sent them to Jackson.”
“That isn’
t good,” I said. “If he’s been trying to access DeShawn’s records, then he’s not going to find them under ‘DeShawn Winston’. For his twelfth birthday, he wanted his last name changed to mine so he could match Dom. That’s what we did.”
“Which could make a man like Darnell angry,” he said. “That’s why I wanted to talk with you. There is a possibility that everything is innocent. There is a possibility that he’s going through public records to look up other things. But given the letter and the presence at your house and the experience I had-”
“Wait, what experience?” I asked.
Tristan sighed and I felt my stomach tumble over on itself.
“You remember the night we were together?” he asked. “When I brought over the cookies?”
“How could I forget?” I asked with a grin.
“When I was walking back to my place, there was a truck parked on the curb. I didn’t think anything of it at first until I saw it moving a lot on its frame. When I started walking towards the car, it cranked up and someone flashed their high beams at me before squealing out of the neighborhood.”
“Why do you think that’s connected to any of this?”
“My neighbor came out onto his porch to look at all the commotion and I asked if he’d just had a friend over. He said he didn’t know who it was.”
“Does Darnell have a truck or anything?” I asked.
“From what Jackson’s found? No. There’s no vehicle of any sort registered in his name. But if he is living with a roommate--and that was Darnell behind the wheel of that truck or car for whatever reason--that could explain what happened to me that night.”
“I’m so sorry for getting you wrapped up in all this,” I said.
I cupped my hand over my mouth as Tristan took a step towards me. His hands cupped my upper arms and smoothed over them, relaxing my muscles underneath his reassuring touch.
“I told you I would help. You didn’t drag me into anything. I’m nosy. There’s a difference.”
I giggled as my eyes connected with his, but a loud sound reverberated behind us.
“What was that?” I asked.
“No! Stop!”
“Dom!?” I called out.
