Page 27

“But she stabbed him in the testicles with a pencil.”

I shrugged. “He still had one left. She should have stabbed him twice.”

“I don’t know if any man deserves that.”

My eyes narrowed. “Ron was high out of his mind. He put his one-week-old infant daughter in the bathtub, turned on the tap, and told Vanessa that if she didn’t hand over every cent she made from her tips at work that day, he’d let Lila drown. It didn’t matter that Vanessa had already given it to him. He didn’t believe her. She tried to stop him and he broke her nose and her elbow. She was on the ground, begging for her daughter’s life, when she saw that lip pencil under the sink. What the hell was she supposed to do? Of course she stabbed him.”

“Well. Can’t say I wouldn’t want Emma or Grace to do the same, if it came to it.” He shifted, still perturbed. “Is Lila aware that he died in a drunk driving accident last year?”

“She’s aware.” I’d done a background check of my own and saw that she had been the sole inheritor of his estate, which had amounted to less than nothing once his extensive debts were paid, but he had also left a $900 Treasury bond in her name. Lila had donated the entire amount to a non-profit health clinic that provided medical care to low-income and unhoused addicts.

“All right. Despite her shaky beginnings, Lila had a normal childhood. As an adult, she won awards and acclaim for her wildlife photography and then, for unfathomable reasons, married a ne’er-do-well ex-SEAL. She came to her senses, and they parted ways ten months later. She currently lives in West Oakland and makes a living as a photographer. Does that sound about right?”

“More or less.”

He flipped the page. “San Francisco sent over the police report from the airport incident. They never opened an official investigation. A little slap wasn’t worth their resources. They believe it was a random attack, not personal.”

My jaw tightened. It was personal to me. Some fucker had assaulted my wife, and he was still walking around on two unbroken legs. I wasn’t going to feel right until I rectified that.

“The second incident, at the bar in West Oakland, was a little more serious. The police opened an official investigation into this one. They reviewed the security footage from the cameras installed above the bar, at the front entrance, and at the back exit, but the attack wasn’t captured. Lila said her attacker whispered her name, so they figured it might be an ex-boyfriend. Didn’t mention an ex-husband, I noted.”

I grunted. “The ex-husband has an alibi, as you damn well know. I was at your granddaughter’s birthday party.” Emma and Blair had put me in charge of the cupcake decorating station. My fingertips had been stained blue for two days.

That actually surprised him, not that he truly suspected me, regardless. He pulled out his reading glasses from his breast pocket and held them in front of his eyes as he examined the report more carefully. “Hell's bells, you’re right. What are the odds of that? The same damn day. Well, I figure we’ll keep our eye on him, just to be safe. It’s been my experience that husbands are the most likely suspect for a reason.” He tucked his glasses back in his pocket. “The officers haven’t gotten around to questioning any of the ex-boyfriends, caseloads being what they are, but I’m sure they’ll get right on that,” Sherwood added drily.

The fucking incompetence. My molars ground together.

“Now, a stabbing is a big deal. The National Park Service is running its own investigation, and they’re taking it very seriously. They’ve interviewed witnesses, spoken with every person enrolled in Lila’s photography workshop, and talked to the rangers to see if they noticed anyone behaving oddly. Lots of photographs from the workshop, but nothing useful. Just animals, trees, and mountains.”

“No leads?” I asked, even though I knew the answer.

“No leads,” the sheriff confirmed. He cocked his head. “And now Ms. Ford is staying with you. That’s an interesting turn of events. Seems to me that any time there’s trouble, you folks at Mercy River Ranch are smack dab in the center of it. Now, why is that?”

“You really gonna throw stones, sitting here in your glass house? If I recall, it was one of your deputies who tried to murder one of my ranch hands, and your own daughter⁠—”

Sherwood held up his hands with a chuckle. “All right, all right. No use pointing fingers when we’re all on the same side. My point is that you’re asking me to turn police files over to a civilian, and I’m not sure that’s wise.”

“She’s my wife.” My hands wrapped around the armrests. The wood creaked. “I respect the job you do, Sheriff. But you and I both know that the majority of crimes go unsolved. Caseloads being what they are, as you said yourself.” A smarter man would have resisted mouthing off, but I was too pissed to stop myself. “Cases get solved when someone kicks up a fuss and forces police to do their goddamn jobs. So I’m making a fucking fuss, Sheriff. I won’t stop until I know Lila is safe.”

Sherwood was quiet for a long moment, then he flipped the folder closed. He slid it across the desk to me, but when I moved to take it, he didn’t let go. “Look me in the eyes, Seb.”

I looked at him squarely.

“You can have the file. I figure one way or another, you’ll take it anyway, and I don’t want to have to arrest you. But I want you to promise me that when you have something, you come to me first. You don’t go after him alone. I want your word on that.”

I didn’t blink. “You have my word.”

Some people lived by that kind of moral code. They would sooner cut off their own arm than break a promise. Their word was their bond, and come hell or high water, they would keep it.

I was not one of those people. When it came to Lila Ford, there was no line I would not cross. I would steal. I would lie.

And I would kill.

I commandeered Jay’s office to go over the files—Lila didn’t need to deal with this shit again, not yet, especially since she’d already given her statement to the police after each incident. An hour later, I had a muscle cramp from clenching my jaw so hard. Sheriff Sherwood had warned me the evidence was slim, but goddamn. This was shoddy. It drove me insane how unseriously they took the attacks.

At the airport, police had questioned exactly one witness: the employee who ran the taxi stand. They didn’t take down his contact information for follow-up questions and only referred to him by his first name. At least they’d included the footage from the security cameras, but it didn’t provide a clear shot of his face. The unsub had been careful to keep his hood up and cinched, obscuring any identifying features.

But I’d gotten a good look at Lila as she faced her attacker, her expression morphing from friendly to fear to shock and confusion. I watched four times, and each time was a punch to the gut. The way she had fallen back a step, her hand on her cheek, mouth agape—it made me see red.