by Nora Roberts
Rising, Zane circled the room, picked up his baseball, rubbed the stitching as he paced.
He remembered Traci’s older sister, a little.
And wasn’t it odd, when Zane had mentioned her sister, or asked any question of Traci directly, she’d glanced at her husband—as if for permission—before answering.
Not odd, Zane corrected.
Telling.
He put the ball back on his desk, walked out to reception.
“The Drapers didn’t look happy when they left,” Maureen commented.
“They wouldn’t be after I pointed out that doing his own survey—one that two professional surveys dispute—wasn’t going to fly on his claim for a foot-wide strip of land. Added to it, his neighbors have used said foot-wide strip of land, maintained it, have a hedge planted on it, for over twenty years. Pointing that out, suggesting if they wanted to pursue this boundary issue he hire a reputable surveyor made me, in Draper’s opinion, an asshole city lawyer who didn’t know shit about shit.”
“Did you see the bumper sticker on his pickup?” Gretchen, a trim, petite streaky-haired blonde with a sharp legal mind, spoke up from her desk. “Sorry, interrupting.”
“No, that’s okay, and I didn’t. What about it?”
“It said: You won’t get my guns, but you might get my bullets.”
“Charming.” Zane sat. “What do you know about Traci, Maureen? I don’t remember her at all, but I knew her sister a little.”
“Not much. She’s younger than my kids. Her dad’s a mechanic. We still take our cars to his garage. Nice guy, friendly enough.”
“Right, right, I forgot. Mr. Abbott, sure.”
“The mother’s a little shy, but affable. Works at the bakery here in town. The Drapers, now, they’re more hill people than lake people.”
“That I remember, too.”
“Well, it seems to me the kids—four boys—were mostly homeschooled. I’m stretching my memory and talent for gossip,” she added, “but I think one of them went into the service, another one just took off and ended up in jail for cooking meth. One’s married, lives out there with his wife and kids on the Draper land. Clint would be the youngest, I think, and he and Traci got married about a year ago.”
“Okay.”
“If you want to know more, you might ask Lee. I know he’s had the two youngest as guests—in jail—a time or two. But I’m wondering why you’re asking if you’re not taking them as clients.”
“She never looked me in the eye, not once. She couldn’t have said as much as ten words.”
“She might be shy, like her mama.”
“It wasn’t shy. I’ve got some time, right?”
“You’re clear for the next hour.”
“I’m going to take a walk.”
He walked straight to the police station. Of course, straight in the small-town South meant stopping half a dozen times over the three-block walk when someone called out to him, having conversations about the weather—hot and humid—how Emily was doing, how he liked living up in the fancy house.
When he finally got there, he found a couple of officers, including his brother-in-law, working at their desks, the dispatcher at her station.
More conversations, thankfully brief.
“I was hoping for a few minutes with Lee. Is the chief in?”
“Yep, in his office,” Silas told him. “Go right on back.”
He found Lee at his desk, scowling at his computer screen. The scowl cleared when Lee looked up. “A distraction, just what I need. Budget—pain in my ass. Come on in.”
The office suited Lee—small, spare but for a few family photos. It held a couple of creaky visitor chairs, a bulletin board, a whiteboard—both covered—a coffee maker holding dregs, and a stack of files on the desk.
Though Lee’s door was rarely closed, Zane closed it behind him.
Lee lifted his eyebrows. “Problem?”
“I don’t know. I just turned away a client. Clint Draper.”
“Ah.” Nodding, Lee gestured to a chair, leaned back in his. “Boundary line. Doesn’t matter how wrong he is, how many ways he’s told he’s wrong, he won’t let it go. I guess he wants to sue Sam McConnell.”
“On the strength of a survey he and his brother conducted themselves. He didn’t like being told it wouldn’t wash.”
“Are you worried he’ll take a swing at you?”
“Should I be?”
Lee puffed out his cheeks. “I wouldn’t think he’d come at you. You’re young and fit and he’s a coward under it. We did answer a call a few weeks back. Mary Lou—Sam’s wife—called nine-one-one when Draper started a pissing match with Sam over the line, tried hacking at the hedges. But then Sam’s older than me, and not what you’d call robust. Those properties are just inside my jurisdiction. The rest of the Drapers belong to county, and I can’t say I’m sorry about that.”
“Maureen said you’ve had him here, as your guest, a couple times.”
“Drunk and disorderlies, pushy-shovies.”
“Have you ever been called out to his place for anything other than the border business?”
Once again, Lee lifted his eyebrows. “Such as?”
“He brought his wife—Traci—with him. I know the look, Lee, the attitude, the signals. I know when I’m looking at abuser and abused.”
Now Lee let out a sigh. “We’ve never had a domestic disturbance call out there. I’m going to say despite the border bullshit, the houses aren’t within spitting distance. And Clint’s brother Jed, who he runs with, is on the other side. Old man Draper’s land’s behind Clint’s place.”
Zane nodded slowly. “So, she’s surrounded.”
“You could look at it that way. I know about a month after they got married, Traci took a fall, had a miscarriage. They both say she felt light-headed, tripped, and fell down the stairs. Her mother came to me, swore he’d done it somehow, but Traci stuck to the story, and there wasn’t a sign that’s not what happened.”
“But it’s not what you think happened.”
“I know the signs, the attitude, the look, too. But she never budged from the story. I pushed it as far as I could, even slipped her Britt’s card.”
“All right. I wanted to see if my instincts on this hit the mark. Thanks, Lee.”
“Nothing you can do,” Lee said as Zane rose. “Nothing the law can do unless she changes her story, unless she comes to us for help.”
“I know. I hope she does, because you could and would help her.”
Maybe, Zane thought as he walked back to his office, she needed to hear that from someone who knew the fear, the helplessness.
He kept it to himself, but two days later, Zane drove out to the disputed property line. He took a casual walk along it, and up to the Draper house. He knew, because he’d asked around, the family had built the little two-story place.
He could see the windows sparkled, and someone had tried to spruce it up with a small, struggling flower bed. He could see a clothesline, a vegetable garden in the back—and Traci hoeing weeds.
When he wandered back, he knew, knew, by the look of alarm on her face he’d been right about her life here.
“Miz Draper.” He gave her an easy smile, kept his distance. She wore a straw hat and a long cotton dress with the sleeves rolled to just below the elbows.
She had to be roasting.
And though he knew the answer, had made certain of it, asked, “Is Mr. Draper home?”
“He’s at work. He’s working with his brother at the feed and grain outside Asheville. You have to come back after four-thirty if you want words with him.”
“Oh, that’s all right. I just thought I’d come take a look at the line, maybe give y’all the name of a surveyor.”
“He doesn’t need a surveyor. He and his brother did it themselves. I need to get my weeding done.”
“You’ve got some nice tomatoes going there. Pretty land.”
It wasn’t, but he could see she tried to make it so.
“That foot-wide strip won’t make any difference to you.”
She kept her eyes down, wouldn’t meet his. Her hands gripped the hoe like a weapon. “Clint wants what’s his.”
“Pretty sure he’s got what’s his. Miz Draper—Traci—I’ve been where you are.”
Her eyes wheeled up, then down again. “I don’t know what you mean. I need to get back to work now.”
“I think you do know. Your sister was only a couple years ahead of me in school. She’d have heard the story. I was afraid, too. Afraid to tell anybody. Afraid he’d hurt me worse if I tried, or that no one would believe me. We can help you.”
“You need to go. Clint doesn’t like people coming by when he’s not here.”
“So he can keep you isolated, cut off. Under his thumb, with his family close and yours not. You can trust Chief Keller. You can trust me and my sister. All you have to do is ask for help, and you’ll get it. He’ll never hurt you again.”
“My husband doesn’t hurt me. Now you best leave.”
“If you ever need help, you call.” He took a card out of his case, laid it on the stump he imagined they used to chop wood. “It’s all you have to do.”
Almost certain she wouldn’t call, Zane left her, walked the line back, then cut over to the McConnell home—a study in contrasts.
Though it might’ve started out about the size of the Drapers’, they’d added on nearly that much again, with large windows, wide porches.
And now that he knew how to recognize it, some very nice landscaping.
Like Traci, he found both the McConnells in their back garden. The woman, sturdy in knee-length shorts and floppy-brimmed hat, straightened, pressed a hand to her lower back.
“Well, look here, Sam. It’s the young Walker boy. Come on back here, Zane. You won’t remember me. I taught at the middle school, but I never had you. Had your sister one year, though.”
“It’s nice to see you.” He shook hands with both of them. “That’s a garden and a half.”
“Always plant too much.” Sam, a bandanna covering his balding head, knobby knees jutting out from his shorts, shook his head. “The grandkids put up a roadside stand to sell some of it, and we still give bags away.”
“It’s time for a breather,” Mary Lou declared. “How about we sit in the shade of the porch, have some lemonade?”
“I wouldn’t say no.”
He walked back with them, took a seat with Sam while Mary Lou went inside.
“A lawyer now, aren’t you?”
“Yes, sir.”
Sam pulled out another bandanna, wiped his sweaty face. “That Draper boy hire you?”
“He tried. He hasn’t got a case, Mr. McConnell, and I told him as much. I expect, considering, you’ve been to your own lawyer and been told the same.”
“We have. And that if he keeps on at us, we can sue him for harassment. I’d rather avoid that kind of thing.”
“I don’t blame you.” Zane got up to take the tray of lemonade from Mrs. McConnell.
“I heard enough to know you’ve got the good sense not to take a fool and bully on for a client,” she said, pouring the lemonade over ice.
“Yes, ma’am, I do. The boundary issue isn’t why I’m here. It’s an excuse. I wanted to ask, and I know it’s not my business, but I need to ask if either of you know of any trouble next door. Between Clint and Traci.”
He noted the quick exchanged look. “We stay out of their way,” Sam began. “As much as we can. They aren’t what you’d call friendly.”
“She won’t say boo,” Mary Lou continued. “I had her in school, two years. She had a good brain, did well, had friends. Was a little shy, but not timid. I took them over a cake when they moved in. She took it politely enough, but wouldn’t ask me inside. Even said she didn’t remember my classes, though I could see she did. I tried again when that poor girl lost her baby. He wouldn’t let me in, though he took the casserole I took over quick enough. Never returned the dish.”
“Oh, now, Mary Lou, it wasn’t your best one.”
“It’s the principle, Sam. Chief Keller asked us what you’re asking. We had to tell him what we’re telling you. We’ve never heard or seen anything that looks like he’s physically abusing her. But I’ve looked out the window upstairs, seen her out hanging wash, crying while she did.
“She’s not the girl I knew back when she was ten, twelve. She’s not that girl. It’s breaking her mama’s heart. Her mama, as good a woman as I know, isn’t welcome over there. Her sister either. Not since she lost the baby, and not much before that either.”
“The Drapers are hard people,” Sam added. “We steer clear, and never had any trouble to speak of until the boy built that house. I’d give him the damn land at this point, but Mary Lou won’t hear of it.”
“I will not. You give in to a bully, they find something else to bully you over.”
“You’ve got that right,” Zane agreed.
* * *
He stewed and chewed over it a bit longer, then found himself telling Darby. She listened over a beer on his back patio.
“I met Traci’s sister at Best Blooms. Joy introduced us. Allie was in there looking for a hanging basket for her mom for Mother’s Day, and Joy asked how Traci was doing. Apparently she used to work for Joy in the busy season.”
“I didn’t know that.”
“Allie just said she didn’t see much of her. It struck me she would’ve said more if I hadn’t been there, so I wandered off. They talked for a while. It sounds to me like the classic separation tactic.”
Shifting, she looked at Zane directly. “So this is what’s been on your mind. I figured it must be some legal wrangle you couldn’t talk about, but it’s not. Why didn’t you tell me before?”
“They’re not clients, so there’s no privilege, but…” He waggled a hand in the air, and she pointed at him.
“Not it.”
“Not altogether.”
“Some elements are similar to what happened to me. The separation gambit, for instance. Did you think it would upset me to talk about an abused spouse? Because you’re right, she’s being abused. If it’s not physical, it’s certainly emotional.”
“I had concerns there, yeah. It’s always under there, right? And those memories, the feelings are so easily triggered. I didn’t want to trigger yours.”
“You, obviously, look to protect. It’s your nature. I object to being protected. I have to. It’s a survivor trait. On the issue of abuse and triggers, I’m solid. My experience was, thankfully, short-lived, and I came out of it smarter and stronger.”
“Can’t apologize for my nature.”
“Nope, me neither. But if we’re in a relationship…” Tipping her head, she gave him a long look. “Would you say we’re in a relationship?”
“It has all the earmarks thereof.”
“‘Thereof’—lawyer.” She smiled, sipped. “In that case, this is just the sort of troubling event we should be able to talk about. Now, would you like my take on the troubling event?”
“I would.”
“From what you’ve said, it sounds as if Clint was raised to believe men are in charge, and superior. Women are meant to do what they’re told, tend the house, have children. She was pregnant—probably why they got married in the first place. Now she’s not. Whether or not he had anything to do with her losing the baby—and my money’s on he did—she failed in one of her duties. She’s cut off from her family and surrounded by his and their particular culture.”
“She could walk away,” Zane pointed out. “Her family’s right here. So’s the law. I know it’s not as simple as that, but—”
“It’s not, it’s not, it’s not. Yes, she’s an adult—you weren’t. Yes, she has family, she has support if she reaches for it. But—”
She sighed, heartfelt and long.
“After Trent, part of my therapy was group sessions. Jesus, Zane, the stories I heard. Women who’d stayed for years. Women who got out, then went back, again
and again.”
“Revolving door,” Zane said. “That’s what we called it.”
“But it wasn’t because they wanted to be hurt, not because they were weak. It was because they’d been beaten down emotionally, spiritually, mentally. Because they were caught in a cycle. Abused by a parent, now a spouse. Or because they believed he’d changed, convinced by him or themselves it wouldn’t happen again. Or if it did, they deserved it. And some, because they had nowhere else to go.”
“I know it. I prosecuted my share of batterers. Just like I know I can’t help Traci Draper, Lee can’t help her, her family can’t help her, until she steps across the line and asks.”
“And you want to help,” she concluded. “Even need to help. So it pisses you off you can’t help.”
“Oh yeah. And since it does, let’s put it away. Put it the hell away. Let’s call Britt, have her bring Silas and Audra and Molly up, hang out.”
Darby cocked an eyebrow. “And what do you plan to feed them? It’s unlikely they’ve had dinner yet.”
“Uh … delivery?”
Darby shook her head. “Big, beautiful grill right there. And if you wait until tomorrow, you could ask your whole family, use that grill—having picked up red meat. And your back wall will not only be finished, but planted.”
“Not as spontaneous.”
“No. But…” She rose, skirted the table, straddled his lap. “We could try a different kind of spontaneity.”
“We could.” He watched, a little stupefied, when she peeled off her shirt. “Here? But it’s—”
“A really pretty evening,” she finished, and took his mouth with hers.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
He hadn’t hit her that hard, and God knew she deserved it. And more. She’d barely lost consciousness after her head struck the floor—with a satisfying thud.
He hadn’t bothered to hit her again, and certainly hadn’t bothered with sex. She’d lost her appeal in that area.
It amazed him now how much passion he’d once felt for her, how perfectly she’d suited him, in every way. My God, he’d even forgiven her for betraying him, accepted her sobbing apology, her excuses about being weak, afraid, being manipulated by the police, her own family.
