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Carter Farms is dead quiet when I pull off to the side of the road, hiding the truck behind the trees. On foot, I cut through the field to the house. The chickens are out in the yard, so I know she’s home. She always calls the chickens inside the coop when she leaves to keep them safe.
The rooster jumps from the railing, crash-landing in the grass. I sidestep it and climb the back porch, rapping the screen door hard.
Silence.
I knock hard again. Through the screen, I see her lean into the hall.
“That’s enough,” she hollers. “I heard you.”
I lean against the wall. “Open this fucking door, Diane, or I’ll break it down. I’m done with this.”
She gasps. Then, the door flies wide open, and her eyes narrow on me.
“I didn’t invite you here, Westin Quinn,” she snaps. “Don’t you go beating on my door like you’re the damn sheriff.”
She’s pissed off, but not really, and I’m too distracted by that short yellow dress to care. Quick as a flash, I heft her in my arms and kick the door open. We tumble into the empty kitchen, and I push her up against the hallway wall.
“Westin,” she gasps. “Put me down.”
I kiss her hard to shut her up. She’s got a bite to her, like hard liquor. My forehead creases. It’s early in the day to taste like whiskey, but maybe she was just having iced tea with something extra.
I pull back, and that’s when I see it: a faint, green bruise on her temple.
My stomach drops. Suddenly, her refusal to see me makes sense.
Someone hit her.
I let her slide to her feet, taking her by the jaw and turning her head. Defeat clouds her eyes. She goes limp, letting me brush her blonde waves back. There’s a scab about the size of a quarter and a healing bruise on her hairline.
My blood turns to fire.
“Who did this to you?” I ask, keeping my voice tempered.
I don’t want to scare her more than she already is. She shakes her head.
“Nobody. I fell on the back porch and hit the railing.”
I study her face and decide she isn’t lying; she’s just withholding the truth. Right away, I know it won’t do any good for me to go after David in front of her. It had to be him. There’s no one else, not unless David let those Garrison fuckers mess with her. The thought of him standing there and letting them beat her is somehow worse than if he did it himself.
She tilts her chin. “I fell.”
“When?”
“About a week ago.”
“You said on the front porch?”
“The back,” she says, narrowing her eyes. She’s too sharp for me to trip up.
“Did you go to the quick clinic?”
She shakes her head. “No reason to. I put a cold rag on it and patched it up with gauze. Didn’t even hurt.”
She’s lying about that part, I can see it in the way her pupils blow. I make sure my face is unreadable. It’s clear she has been abused and she feels ashamed. Getting angry in front of her would be cruel.
I need to make sure she feels safe. Then, I can put a bullet into the motherfucker who did this to her later on. She shouldn’t have to see the ugly parts.
I’ll get the truth out of her gently. If it was her brother, he’d better find a priest and start confessing, because there’s nowhere on this Earth he can hide where I won’t find him.
