Buckled

by Pam Godwin

  It can’t be Levi Tibbs, because he didn’t disappear until after I met her. Whomever it is, I want to kill him for hurting her.

  How morbidly ironic that he may have already died at my hands.

  But how can that be? My mind sifts through the names and faces of the dead bodies in the ravine. They all lived alone in different parts of the country. None were from Chicago. None were married. None shared her last name. Although, Jake and I didn’t dig very deep into their personal lives. We had neither the time nor the money to investigate. We just wanted them dead, removed as a threat, and we were prepared for parents, siblings, lovers, anyone who cared about their miserable existences to come looking for them.

  Except no one came.

  Until six months ago.

  Her husband left her, and she did what? Sold her belongings and drove to Sandbank to find him? How did she know to come here? What does she think happened to him?

  A blizzard of impatience rages inside me, but I force myself to remain still and composed. “I need his name.”

  She closes her eyes and makes a distraught sound in her throat. “I’m…” She clutches the envelope on her lap, creasing the edges. “I’m afraid.”

  Afraid of my reaction? Afraid I’ll confirm what she already suspects?

  “Tell me, Maybe.” I step toward her.

  She flinches and covers her mouth with a hand, holding in a sob.

  Fuck, this isn’t good. What the hell is she scared to tell me?

  “Let’s start with the day he left.” I lower onto the bed beside her, rest an arm around her back, and kiss her shoulder.

  She softens beneath my touch and pulls in a deep breath.

  “He said he was going out of town. Just a day trip to Oklahoma to meet with an investor. He never came home.” She stares at the envelope on her lap, unblinking. “He never called. Never answered his phone or messages. He was just… Gone.”

  The haunted hush in her voice constricts my throat.

  How many phones did I destroy and throw into the ravine with the bodies? Most of them were burner phones, all of them locked with passwords. I didn’t even try to hack into them. I didn’t care.

  Her husband is dead. I’d bet my life on it. And I’m going to have to tell her.

  “Did you call the cops?” I rub a hand along her spine.

  “No. First, I checked our credit card and bank accounts, hoping to find activity that would pinpoint his location.” She stiffens beneath my fingers. “That’s when life as I knew it fell apart.”

  She doubles over and presses her hands to her face. I bend with her, hugging her with a lead weight in my stomach.

  “I was so naive.” She releases a hicupping cry. “I married him within weeks of meeting him and turned over all the finances to him. I signed documents and transferred accounts so he could access everything. Every dollar I earned and invested since college. He said he knew how to grow my money, our money. He owned a small investment firm.” She straightens, bristling with anger. “He lied.”

  The killer inside me sharpens its claws and distorts my voice. “What do you mean?”

  She winces at my tone. “He cleaned me out. Took every penny I had. Since he was handling the bills, I turned over all my advances and royalties to him. I didn’t know he stopped making the mortgage payments on our condo. I lost that, too. He left me with nothing. No car. No savings. All I had was the few clothes to my name and the diamond on my finger, which turned out to be a twenty-dollar piece of glass. On top of all that, my mom had just died. When I met with the attorney, I learned that my husband worked with my mom behind my back to manage her finances and…”

  “He cleaned her out, too.”

  She nods stiffly and swipes at the river of tears on her cheeks. “She was sitting on a wealth of old money, an inheritance passed down through generations in my family. She trusted him because I trusted him. It’s all gone.”

  The son of a bitch left her homeless and broke and stole from her dying mother. Who the fuck would do that?

  Any one of the selfish, ruthless men buried in the ravine.

  The pound of my heart thrashes in my ears.

  Did her money end up in my father’s hands? Did it pay off his debts and fund the drilling on Julep Ranch? My mind spins to connect the dots, but the answers can wait.

  “I’m so sorry, Maybe.” I gather her in my arms and rest my forehead against hers. “I would do anything to take away your pain.”

  “You’ve been…” She clings to my shoulders, her breaths shredding between tears. “You’ve been so good to me, Jarret.”

  She glances down at her lap, and I follow her gaze to the envelope. Whatever it contains seems to be her greatest torment. I don’t know if it’s evidence against her husband or my family or something else entirely. My fingers twitch to yank it away, but I won’t push her. She’s so fucking brave and strong I refuse to take that from her.

  “When I discovered the state of our finances, I was scared for him.” She releases me and faces forward, her voice flattening. “I assumed he was in trouble and needed the money. He left behind his clothes, his personal belongings, and his computer. I was going to call the cops, but then…” She grits her teeth. “I figured out his computer passwords and pried into his life. Emails with your dad. Documents on his hard drive. There was so much I didn’t know about my husband.”

  My thoughts drift back to one of the first conversations I had with her, when I asked her how we got on her radar. “You said you were following a lead on a different project, and it led you to my father.”

  “The project was my missing husband. The lead was Dalton Cassidy.”

  “Conor and Lorne’s father?” My head jerks back. “He’s been dead for…”

  “Four years. I heard about him but never met him.”

  I swallow around a hot ember. “How did your husband know Dalton?”

  She lifts the envelope and holds it out to me as a fresh wave of tears soaks her cheeks. “Please, don’t hate me.”

  I accept the envelope and touch my lips to her grooved forehead. “I could never hate you.”

  “Open it.” She grips the ends of her braids, twisting the strands around her fingers.

  I guide her hands to her lap and turn my attention to the documents. As I lift them from the unsealed envelope, my eyes lock on the header, honing in on three words.

  Petition for Divorce

  As I read the names, my heart stops, and the papers crinkle in my clenched hands.

  Petitioner: Maybelline Cassidy

  Respondent: Rogan Cassidy

  The room tilts, and the air evaporates from my lungs. “Cassidy?”

  “Quinn is my maiden name. When Rogan left me, I changed my name back.” She hugs her torso and stares at the floor. “I need to find him, Jarret. If I can serve the papers and talk to him—”

  “Slow the fuck down!” My voice comes out louder than I intended, making her flinch. “I’m still trying to wrap my head around the names.”

  She closes her eyes and sucks in a serrated breath. Then she drags her gaze to mine. “Rogan Schroeder. That’s the name he used in his email correspondence with your dad.”

  “But his last name is Cassidy?”

  “Yes.” She inches away.

  I drag her back by her arm. “How—? Look at me, Maybe.” I wait for the connection of her eyes and ask in a softer tone, “How is he a Cassidy?”

  “He’s Dalton’s son.”

  Ice hits my stomach, and my head spins with dizziness.

  Is it possible? A surface investigation on Rogan Schroeder showed he lived alone in Texas. The ID in his wallet confirmed his Texas address. But given his line of work, it makes sense he used a false identity and fake driver’s license.

  “Rogan’s older,” she says in a shaky voice. “Almost forty. Dalton knocked up Rogan’s mom after high school and stuck around long enough to give Rogan his last name. Then he bailed and married Ava O’Conor. During the year I was with Rogan, he made
some snide comments about how his dad started a new family and owned all this rich land while he and his mom struggled to make ends meet.”

  “I didn’t know.” I set the papers aside and brace my elbows on my knees, rubbing my face. “Conor and Lorne…”

  “Rogan knows about them, but they don’t know he exists. Dalton wanted it that way. He paid the required child support and kept in touch with Rogan, but he wasn’t around.”

  Rogan Schroeder was a Cassidy.

  I close my eyes, recalling his dark hair, dark eyes, overly confident and charismatic demeanor. He was a good-looking man, and despite the fourteen-year age difference, I can see the similarities between him and Lorne.

  I killed Lorne’s and Conor’s brother. Maybe’s husband.

  Bile rises, but I swallow it down with the reminder that Rogan was a sleazy piece of shit and a threat to Conor’s life.

  “Was he motivated by revenge?” I ask. “A scorned son with daddy issues?”

  “I don’t know. Other than a few comments, he didn’t talk about his family. I know it bothers him, but not enough to…”

  “To do what?”

  “I haven’t pieced everything together. The first thing I found on his computer was a rent agreement. He paid the lease on the apartment Dalton and Conor stayed at in Chicago, and I thought it was odd. Rogan isn’t a charitable guy, especially not with the man who abandoned him. The only reason he would help Dalton was if he was getting something in return. He either moved Dalton and Conor there to keep them close or to keep them away from the ranch. I believe Dalton offered a piece of the land in exchange for help.”

  My hands flex and release.

  “I dug deeper and…” She stands and paces through the room. “I found copies of Ava O’Conor’s trust and learned about the stipulations on the Power of Attorney and the rightful owners of the land. I knew she was Lorne’s and Conor’s mom, but I didn’t understand why he would have those documents. When I went online and researched the Cassidys, things started to click.”

  “You found out what happened here. With Conor and Levi Tibbs…”

  She nods, her expression darkening. “I spent days going through Rogan’s email. That’s how I found your father.”

  I rake a hand through my hair. “What did the emails say?”

  “They were vague. Nothing about the attack on Conor or a ploy to keep her away from the ranch, but there was an undercurrent between the words that made me uneasy. Discussions about meeting times. The drilling on the land. Updates on Lorne’s and Conor’s whereabouts. Conversations about missing business partners. That’s how I got the list of names. I surmised enough to know Rogan and your dad worked out an agreement. Dalton was dead, but Rogan was already tied in. He was helping your dad with his debts in exchange for a cut of the land. And it was my money funding the partnership.”

  My stomach hardens, and my voice comes out as a growl. “What did you do, Maybe?”

  “I emailed your dad from Rogan’s account and demanded to meet with him.”

  I surge from the bed. “You could’ve gotten yourself killed!”

  She stumbles back, eyes wide. “Of everything I’ve told you, that’s…” She shakes her head in disbelief. “That’s what you’re upset about? Don’t you get it? My husband played a part in keeping Conor and Lorne off their land so he could profit from it.” She narrows her eyes. “Or maybe you were in on it?”

  “I had nothing to do with that or the money that was taken from you.”

  She pulls in a deep breath, her eyes huge and searching. “I believe you.”

  My pulse crashes through my veins. Not once has she mentioned murder—Rogan’s intent to kill or my blood-soaked history. She doesn’t know.

  Her innocence is so fucking beautiful and devastating it takes my breath away.

  “Why didn’t you tell me you were married?” I step toward her.

  “The first couple of weeks I was here, I had a lot of reasons. You owned a business that was pulled out of debt with stolen money. You lived in an extravagant estate while I lived in my car. You were thriving while I was barely surviving. Your father isn’t in the picture, and my husband is missing. All evidence points to your involvement. I didn’t trust you.”

  All of that is true, and it fucking wrecks me that her trust was used against her. No wonder she fought me as hard as she did.

  “And now?” I step closer, leaving a few feet between us. “You said you were afraid.”

  “I trust you not to hurt me, but over the past six months, it became harder and harder to tell you. I fell in love with you while married to Conor’s brother. We’ve been so happy and content I fell into a dream I didn’t want to wake up from. Ignorance is bliss, right? But dreams end, and now we stand in the moment of truth.” She swallows hard and gives me steady eye contact. “I know you had something to do with Rogan’s disappearance. Did you threaten him? Force him to go into hiding? Your dad said you know where he is.”

  “I’ll tell you.” Dread eats away my insides as I pace a circle around her. “I need to know about your meeting with my dad. You emailed him and…”

  “I told him I was a news reporter and threatened to sell an incriminating story if he didn’t meet with me. He gave me his address, and I packed up what little I had left, bought a cheap car, and drove to Texas.”

  “Did you tell him you were Rogan’s wife?”

  “No, but he knew. When I arrived, he knew my name and everything about me. Rogan must’ve told him.”

  An overwhelming surge of protectiveness ripples through me, and I can’t stop myself from cupping her face and lifting her forehead to mine. “You’re a beautiful, naive woman. You drove across the country by yourself, met with a dangerous man you didn’t know, and not once did you call the cops. I should spank you for that.”

  Her cheeks warm beneath my hands. “Let me ask you this. If I stole money from you and disappeared, would you call the cops?”

  “No.” I’m so certain I don’t even think about it. “I would hunt you down and punish you.”

  “That’s what I did, although the punishment I had in mind isn’t the same as yours.” She sighs. “I was determined to find him, get answers, and drag him through a miserable legal battle. That is, until I met you.”

  “Your priorities shifted.” I stroke a thumb across her cheekbone.

  “You must think I’m horribly flaky and incompetent.”

  “Because you chose to stay with me rather than pursue your deceitful, manipulative thief of a husband?”

  She smiles sadly. “I need you to know I didn’t come here to create family drama for Conor. I’m married to her brother, a brother she doesn’t know she has, and I didn’t want her to find out about him from a scorned wife. I guess I wanted her to think the best of him, to know him the way I knew him in the beginning. A tiny part of me still holds onto hope that he got himself into financial trouble and wasn’t involved in the attack on her.”

  While her optimism never ceases to amaze me, it’s also tragic. Rogan had it out for Conor and Lorne the moment he discovered the oil on their land. He stole from his wife and hired contract killers with the intent to murder.

  “What did my father tell you?” I lean back, watching her expression.

  “He said his sons turned on him, and he’s out of the loop. Said he doesn’t know what’s going on with the ranch or my money, but you and Jake know. You know where to find Rogan. He sent me to you with a warning. He said what you’re doing is illegal and I should watch my back.”

  “A warning you ignored.”

  “You warned me, too.” She lifts a shoulder.

  I remember it well. The night I told her I could be a coldblooded psychopath, I said she should run. She didn’t.

  If I tell her I killed her husband, she will run.

  “Have you met your dad’s girlfriend?” She watches me with suspicion.

  “Raina? Yeah, she lived here a few weeks. Why?”

  “She’s stunning. And young. I do
n’t know your dad well enough to make assumptions, but I don’t understand why she’s with him. It’s not just an age thing. He’s an asshole. I mean, he talks down to her and not in an attractive way.”

  “What are you saying?”

  “I don’t know. Call it woman’s intuition, but I sensed something malignant between them. Like she didn’t want to be there.”

  “I felt the same and asked her if she was in trouble. She snapped at me.”

  “Okay.” She sighs. “Well, she has my phone number and hasn’t tried to contact me.”

  “What? How?”

  “On my way out, I told your dad to call me if he had anything else to share. I did it for her benefit. I insisted he write it down, and as he did, I met her eyes and said the numbers. She got the message.”

  “She won’t call.”

  “I know.” She straightens her spine and meets my gaze with refocused strength. “Where’s Rogan, Jarret?”

  Buried at the bottom of the ravine with his truck and phone.

  At my silence, she grips my arm. “If my money is soaked up in the ranch, I’ll let it go. And I’m not on a mission to win Rogan back. I just want the divorce, and I… I need a moment with him, to look him in the eyes and tell him I know what he did. I need that closure.” She lowers her hand and steps back. “If you still want me after that, if you can forgive me for deceiving you, I want to stay.” A tear skates down her cheek. “I want to say yes to your proposal.”

  Her words annihilate me, and the self-disparaging look in her eyes guts me. She’s asking for forgiveness when none is needed. I’m the one stained in sins. I can’t give her the divorce she wants or the closure she needs. I robbed that from her.

  I hover on the precipice between right and wrong, good and bad, and everything inside me tilts toward doing the dishonorable thing. The thing that wipes all this away and leaves me standing on a pedestal of integrity.

  It’s on the tip of my tongue to put all the blame on my father. He paved the trails of sin through Julep Ranch. He involved her husband and spent her money. I want to tell her Rogan died at his hands and convince her to let it go. I could do that so goddamn easily. She loves me. She’ll let me heal her and protect her, and with time, she’ll move on. With me.