Page 47 of Hunted By Them

“I’m telling you that right now, there isn’t enough proof to take to a DA. If we find video evidence, a witness, or an admission of guilt, then we have something. Right now…we only have your word against his, and your neighbors saw nothing.”

“He’s not going to stand on the sidewalk and confess for your convenience,” I snapped, shaking my head. “He destroyed almost everything I own. I don’t believe this.”

Grady’s look was sympathetic, but unmoved. “Document everything. Change your locks. Consider a restraining order. If he contacts you, call us, but other than that, our hands are tied. I really wish I had better news.”

It was the gentlest dismissal I’d ever heard. I stood before I said something I couldn’t take back and thanked him with a frosty politeness.

Outside, the morning was too bright. I sat in my car with my hands on the wheel and stared at my reflection in the mirrored glass of the station windows. I looked like a crazed woman. Even my hair was standing out like it couldn’t just lie down and take this. I wanted to scream.

Instead, I opened my apps, clicked on Maps, and typed in Westview Country Club.

If the law didn’t have a spine, then I would.

The country club smelled like old money and fresh grass cut within an inch of its life. Jumping out of the car, I stared up at the ostentatious building that Connor had forced me to attend dozens of times. Everything, from family gatherings to when his boys brought their significant others for a day of couples golf.

Gag.

I marched up the stone steps, past the lush gardens, and yanked open the door that a giant could walk through. The lobby displayed perfectly clean carpets and oil paintings of men who were important here, and had probably never apologized or taken accountability for anything.

I stomped across the floor, and every head swivelled like they were shocked the doors even allowed someone like me…a commoner…to enter.

“Welcome to Westview…” the desk attendant began, then took in my face and my posture and decided to skip the script. “Can I help you?”

“Yes,” I said, smiling with all my teeth. “Connor Keating. What tee? And don’t bother saying he’s not here, because his car is in the parking lot.”

She blinked. “I’m sorry, Miss…”

“Harlow.” I placed my palms on the counter. “He’s expecting me. He’ll be playing with clients. You can radio someone or you can point, but I’m going to find him.”

The young man beside her looked like he wanted to be anywhere else. “Uh, Mr. Keating’s foursome went off the north course…they should be at tee five by now, I think.”

“Perfect,” I said, pointing at him. “Now that is real customer service. Thank you.”

I didn’t wait to see if they would send someone to escort me. The pro shop had a bucket of balls and a rack of clubs just lying out like candy on display. I snatched the balls and a seven-iron, then walked out onto the emerald green grass. One thing this place was known for was the grounds maintenance. I had to admit, the place looked as perfectly fake as those who played here.

I should have had a plan beyond straight-up rage. I didn’t. Rage worked fine.

The north course rolled out in gentle hills, but it was a ways to the fifth tee. A golf cart that didn’t seem to have anyone using it was just sitting there, prime for the taking. So, I did.

My hair blew out behind me as I whizzed along the path and nodded to those heading the other way like I belonged. I’d never belonged, that was the joke. Now I wondered how many times Connor sat around with his friends ogling the beer cart girls and laughing about what fools their girlfriends or wives were. I wondered if there had been more than one girl. Had it happened here or at his work? Or had he just taken them back to his apartment, not caring if I stopped by?

With each blade of grass I passed, the more enraged I became, and then there he was. Tanned arms, smug posture, and white smile cranked to impress the executives. Three men in polos lined up to clap him on the back after he took his shot. It would have been so tidy if the police had just been able to do their damn jobs. But one thing I’d learned over and over again was that this world was not fair. It was tilted and stacked against ninety-five percent of us.

Well, now the police would deal with my aftermath.

I stopped about thirty yards away and climbed out of the cart as the next guy set up to take his shot. Dropping the basket of balls on the ground, they rolled out, giving me a nice dozen to start. The sudden clatter on the paved walkway had their heads pivoting in my direction. Connor lifted his hand, trying to shield his eyes from the sun that was directly behind me.

I set my feet.

“Hey, asshole,” I shouted.

His smile froze, then slid sideways. “Sage?”

I took a breath, smirked, and swung.

I hadn’t golfed in months, but fury was the best coach. The ball smacked into his shoulder with a meaty thwock. He yelped and staggered.

The startled clients stared at Connor. One laughed, sounding a bit confused.