When Striker shut down the interrogation, I rose to leave, then realized Dawson was still holding my hand. That’s when I remembered that Sheriff Higgins told us that nobody would be watching the interrogation. That he had made sure of it. Striker and Higgins both knew who Dawson really was. There had been no reason to pretend.
“I need to go,” I said, pulling my hand from his. He did nothing to stop me but followed me out of the room to the main lobby. Instead of just Garrett, AJ, and Tabby waiting for me there, I found them with a very weary and terrified-looking Gramps.
“Junebug!” he cried before hurrying over to hug me senseless. “Oh my sweet girl … I thought—” He stopped himself short, not wanting to admit the dark thoughts that had plagued him in my absence. But his expression betrayed him. It was the same he wore the night Sarah Woodley’s remains were found
“I know, Gramps,” I replied, voice breaking slightly. “I’m here.… I’m still here.”
“What happened? All they’ll tell me is that you were kidnapped and Grant Matthew is dead. I don’t understand how those two things go together. Who did this? Is he here, because if he is, I’m gonna—”
“It was Mr. Matthew, Gramps.” My words stopped him cold. “He’s been exploiting and killing girls for years. He somehow figured out that I was helping one of them.…”
“He’s dead now, sir,” Dawson added, hoping to assuage the poor old man before he had a heart attack.
“Grant did this?” he said, voice full of disbelief. “How—how could he? I’ve known him for decades—fought beside him in Nam. How could he hurt you? He knows you’re all I got.”
I closed my eyes, fighting back the tears that I knew would make the whole scene worse. My need for some shred of control in that moment was fierce.
“He fooled everyone, Gramps. Whoever you thought he was, he wasn’t. That’s all I can say.”
“Christ on the cross, I just don’t understand it. I’da taken a bullet for him back then.”
“Please don’t try to make sense of this, Gramps. You’ll make yourself nuts in the process.”
He looked down at me and forced a smile. “Ain’t no sense in tryin’ to sort out crazy, is there?” I shook my head. “All I can say is if he weren’t already dead, I’da killed him myself.”
“I think there would have been a long line for that privilege, sir,” Dawson added.
Gramps gave him a pointed nod. “Damn right. Now, let’s get you home, Kylene. You need some rest.”
As he ushered me out, I realized he was still wearing his correctional officer uniform.
“Gramps, did you come here from work?”
“I was goin’ in when the sheriff called the house.”
I took a deep breath, knowing that what I was about to say wouldn’t be taken well. But I was going to say it all the same. The thought of Gramps—or anyone—fussing over me and worrying in plain sight made my skin crawl. I just wanted to be alone, if for no other reason than to prove to myself I could be—that Matthew hadn’t taken the last bit of mental stability that had recently been eroded. My strength and independence had long defined me.
Without them, I wasn’t sure I knew who I was.
“Please don’t stay home on my account, Gramps. I’ll be fine. I promise. You’ve missed so much work because of me already. I don’t want you to lose your job … you can’t afford to.”
“If the warden wants to fire me over this, he’s welcome to,” he replied, steel in his tone.
“Gramps—”
“No, Kylene!” he shouted. “This is the second time since you’ve been back here that you’ve damn near been killed. Don’t you dare try to tell me what to do!”
My heart crashed into my shoes. “Gramps, I’m sorry but you can’t shelter me. And losing your job doesn’t make things any better—or me any safer.”
His expression hardened.
“No, maybe it won’t, but it’ll keep you from doin’ somethin’ else that puts you in danger, like chasin’ a chance that you can find the people responsible for your daddy’s incarceration.”
I steeled myself against my pounding heart and the hurt I knew my words might cause.
“No,” I said, taking a step back from him. My temper was rising, shoring up the holes in my crumbling emotional wall. “It won’t.”
“Kylene,” Dawson said, his voice teeming with warning.
“No,” I said, wheeling on him. “This is my life. I’m technically an adult now, and I get to make my own choices. If I get hurt trying to free my father because I can’t possibly live a life with him in prison, then so be it.”
Anger. Anger was exactly what I needed to mask my vulnerability and guilt in that moment. Anger would see me through this, but at what cost? It was a relationship killer, and I knew it. Even as I said those hurtful things, I was aware of what I was doing—but that didn’t make it stop. I was fresh out of coping mechanisms and devolving quickly.
Before that night, Gramps thought I hung the moon. But after I was finished with him, I wasn’t so sure anymore. The look of pure shock and sorrow on his face put the fear of God in the shred of soul I had left. If Gramps abandoned me, I’d be all but orphaned.
An adult-sized consequence for adult-sized choices.
Gramps eventually pulled himself together, masking his emotions with an expression I didn’t recognize on him.
“I love ya, Junebug. More than anything. And I hate that you’re hurtin’ right now and pushing me away. I know that’s why you’re actin’ out. But you’re right. This is your life. And if you want to throw it away, I sure can’t stop ya. But you can’t expect me to sit back and watch you do it.”
With that, he hugged me again and kissed me on top of my head before he walked out of the sheriff’s office to return to the prison, leaving me behind with a roomful of staring eyes and a mountain of shame. The crowning glory to my evening.
“I think it’s time I take you home,” Dawson said, moving toward me. He was wise enough not to overplay his hand and touch me. Smart, that one. So, so smart.
“Yeah,” I muttered under my breath, balling my hands into fists to keep them from shaking. “Let’s go.”
“Are you going to stay with her?” AJ asked, reminding me that he’d been there to witness how much of an asshole I’d just been to the man who loved me unconditionally. Garrett and Tabby, too.
“Yeah, I’ll stay—”
“The hell you will,” I said, whirling around to face Dawson. “I don’t need to be babysat. I’m alive. I’m fine. Matthew is dead. I don’t think we have to worry about his corpse coming for me. And if we do, we’ve got a zombie apocalypse on our hands. I think that’s a problem your presence won’t solve.”
“Ky—”
“I mean it! Can we just go? Please?” I stormed toward the door as I dug my fingernails into my palms. I stopped short when I heard Garrett say something to Dawson. Something about defense mechanisms and deflection.
“No, Garrett. Not you,” I said, my voice almost a growl. “Not. You.”
He put his hands up like I was pointing a gun at him.
“We’re all just worried about you,” Tabby said softly, using a calm and soothing voice. Unfortunately for her, I was well past the point of that parlor trick working.
“I’ll be outside,” I said, shoving the door open. “When you all are done deciding what’s best for me, we can go.”
The bite of cold air was welcome, and I breathed it in, letting the burn in my lungs numb me. I was spiraling out of control, and the worst part of it all was that I knew. I knew what I was saying was awful and mean and done with the express purpose of hurting those around me, but I couldn’t stop myself. Whatever stress I’d felt that day—combined with the emotions I’d been repressing—were coming out loud and ugly and full of venom. I needed to get a hold of myself. I needed to take back some measure of control.
I needed to not feel like a victim—victim didn’t sit well with me.
Dawson came out not long after I did, wa
lking past me to his rental car. I remained where I stood, breathing so deeply that it felt like I had ice in my belly. A minute later, he pulled up next to me.
The window rolled down. “Get in,” he said. No “please.” No placating tone. Just an order.
“You’re not staying at my house.”
“Wouldn’t dream of it, Danners. Now get in the car.”
I did as he said, and we rode to Gramps’ house in silence, me staring out the passenger window, praying that daylight would soon come, and Dawson doing whatever it was that Dawson did when he was eerily quiet. How quickly we’d fallen back into our old roles. How quickly we’d erected the wall between us. But that was my fault, not his.
He pulled into the driveway and got out without a word. I started up the sidewalk after him, prepared to argue, but before I could, he turned to me and said he was just going to do a sweep of the house first. Standard protocol, he explained. Nothing special.
“Okay,” I said, a knot in my stomach tightening.
“We’re clear,” he announced as he came down the hallway. He hovered in front of me, jaw working furiously as he ground his teeth. I stared up at him, still wondering what went on in that mind of his sometimes. “If you need anything, you know how to reach me.”
“I’ll be okay, Dawson,” I replied. “I am okay.”
He opened his mouth, then snapped it shut, giving me a tight nod before heading for the door. He exited without looking back.
The knot pulled tighter.
To distract myself, I got ready for bed, leaving practically every light on in the house as I did. Then came the time to shut them off and I hesitated for a moment. He’s dead, I told myself, flicking the first of the switches down. One by one I made my way to my room, the shadows chasing me through the door until only one light was left. I lay down in my cot and stared at the tiny lamp next to me. I was desperate to leave it on, but if I did, then Matthew won. He killed a part of me vital to my survival, and I couldn’t let that happen.
With a deep breath, I steeled my nerves and reached for the switch. The click echoed through the dark room as I settled back into my bed, burrowing deep into the blankets. No matter how enveloped in them I was, I was still freezing. I tossed and turned forever, wondering when I would be rid of the cold that seemed to permeate every cell in my body.
I fell asleep wondering if I’d ever feel warm again.
FIFTY-THREE
I shot awake in bed, drenched in sweat.
Mr. Matthew’s words ran rampant in my mind. These hills are riddled with bones.… I could hardly breathe.
On shaking legs, I climbed out of my cot and hurried out of my room. It was too small. Too similar to the cage I’d just escaped. And the silence around there was undoing me second by second. I couldn’t stay there; that much was obvious.
Where to go, however, was not.
I snatched a hoodie off the kitchen table and my car keys from the hook by the entrance. I was out the door, still slipping a boot on, then running to the driveway, only to find it empty. My car was probably still at Dawson’s where I’d left it. I pulled out my phone that Sheriff Higgins had returned to me at the station and stared at it. It was two in the morning, and I had nowhere to go.
I felt like I was going to explode.
Without a thought, I took off in a sprint, unsure where I was headed but needing to burn off some of the nervous energy threatening to break me—if it hadn’t already. I was on the main road in town before I realized which direction I was going. Instinct had kicked in, my mind and body seeking safety. There was only one place I could find it. One person who understood.
Rain started to fall just as I arrived at Dawson’s tiny ranch home, panting hard and sweating. I stopped up in front of it and did my best to compose myself before I walked up the front sidewalk, hands wrapped tightly around my waist. I told myself it was the cold and the rain outside—that’s why I was doing that—but even I couldn’t lie that baldly to myself. The cold I felt had nothing to do with the weather.
I raised my hand to knock on the door, but it swung open before I could, revealing a shirtless Dawson with weapon drawn. I flinched at the sight of the gun and he quickly put it away.
“I heard footsteps,” he said, his eyes assessing me. I clutched my waist tighter. “Danners?” When I didn’t answer right away, he took a step closer, rain gliding down his skin as his hand fell gently on my arms where they held me together. “Did you just run here?” I didn’t bother to respond. “Kylene … talk to me. Please.”
“I’m not okay,” I finally said, my voice cracking on the final word. My head started shaking side to side, small movements at first that only grew with the swell of emotions I’d tamped down—the ones I no longer could. They were about to crash down on us both. “I’m not okay … I’m not okay…” My body racked with sobs as I stood there on Dawson’s front steps and completely fell apart. Though my head was down, I could feel him staring. Then his arms were around me, firm and sure, dragging me into his body.
“You will be,” he whispered. “I promise that one day, you will be. Now, come inside.”
Never fully letting go, he ushered me into his house and closed the door. He peeled off my wet sweatshirt, then got us both towels. He wrapped one around my shoulders, then went to the kitchen to get me a glass of water.
I did my best to control my outburst, but it took effort—a lot more than I had the energy for. Hovering awkwardly in the foyer, shaking with cold, I tried to keep telling myself that it was over. That nobody could hurt me now. But, for whatever reason, my mind had a hard time accepting that reality.
“I’m sorry—” I squeaked out before sniffling. “I didn’t want to come here but I didn’t know where else to go.”
He stopped in his tracks. “You don’t need to apologize to me, understand? You have nothing to apologize for. I didn’t want you to be by yourself tonight anyway. Being woken up is the least of my worries.”
I forced a smile through the tears. “I probably should have called first. I forgot that running up on you in the middle of the night might get me shot.” I laughed a little, but it lacked any hint of amusement. Judging by the harsh expression on Dawson’s face, he’d noticed.
“Do you want to talk about it? About what happened?”
I shook my head. “I’d rather pretend it didn’t.”
“But pretending never works, Kylene. It only makes life worse when you can’t anymore.”
I drew the towel across my face to wipe it off, my tears having slowed to a near stop.
“I think you underestimate me, Dawson.”
His gaze sharpened as he took a step closer. “I used to.” He reached toward me, offering the glass of water. “I don’t anymore.”
Not knowing how to reply, I gladly guzzled down the water instead. The weight of his words pressed down on my too-tired mind, and it felt like they would alter it in a way that I just wasn’t ready for. I almost wanted him to insult me or tell me I was crazy or anything that felt normal. I needed some normalcy in that moment.
When I was finished, I handed him the glass. Then a morbidly amusing thought crossed my mind, and, in Tabby fashion, it came flying out of my mouth before I could stop it.
“I guess we both knew it was only a matter of time before I started acting like a normal teenage girl. I’m probably your worst nightmare right now, huh?”
His whole body tensed at my self-deprecating remark. Then he spun quickly away from me, his arm with the glass in hand swinging hard in the opposite direction. A crash sounded through the room before the tinkle of shattered glass on tile echoed behind it. Dawson’s back was to me, but I could see him breathing hard, the muscles of his back tensing as he raked his hands through his wet hair. He apologized, then stormed away from me and the broken glass, into the tiny living room. He paced around and around the coffee table until a path was worn into the carpet and my chest was so tight I could barely breathe.
After what seemed like an eternity, he st
opped.
“My worst nightmare, Danners, is that I’d failed you—failed my partner. That I wouldn’t find you in time. That something would have been done to you that couldn’t be undone. That I’d find your body … that you’d be dead.” He slowly turned to face me. I didn’t dare move. “I’ve never been more terrified in my life.”
“I didn’t mean to—”
“That sounds a lot like the start of an apology,” he said, walking toward me. He stopped only inches away, his body still coiled with anger—anger at himself.
“I wasn’t trying to. I just wanted to say that I didn’t come here to make you feel bad. I really thought I could handle it, Dawson. I really did, but then I kept hearing Matthew’s words in my sleep and I woke up in the dark and I felt like the world was compressing and I had to get out. And I know that’s because I’m in way over my head. I mean, who am I kidding? I’m not my dad … I’m not you.”
He cupped my face in his hands, holding it gently.
“You listen to me, Danners, and you listen well. I’ve seen seasoned agents fall apart after things less traumatic than what you’ve been through, so as far as I’m concerned, you’re just as strong as anyone I know in the bureau. Got it? I’m amazed by what you did on your own, by how you got out of there. I don’t know that I would have.” I tried to pull away from him, the intensity of his gaze becoming too much for me, but he held me in place, unwilling to let me go. “There is no shame in breaking down about this. None. If you want to sit on my couch and cry for the next five hours, I’ll sit with you. You’re not acting like some dramatic teenager. You’re acting like a cop who just went through some serious shit.”
Silence drew out between us, making me uncomfortable. There were only two ways I knew how to fix that: humor and anger. And after what he’d just said to me, I had no room for the latter.
“Crying makes my head hurt—which I don’t need help with at the moment—so I think I’ll pass on the five-hour bawlfest, if that’s okay with you.”
His expression lightened a bit, a small curl tugging at the corner of his mouth.
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