“Because of everyone.” He turned to look at her then, and the pain in his eyes was raw, unguarded. “My mom. The guys I served with. That woman—” He stopped, his throat working.
Johanna waited, letting the silence stretch.
“Crystal?” she finally asked when he didn’t continue. “The woman from the bar? You were trying to help her.”
His laugh was ugly. “Yeah, and look how that turned out.”
“Do you know what happened to her?”
His head snapped around, eyes narrowing with sudden suspicion. “What?”
“Do you know what happened to her after your trial?” she repeated.
“No. And I don’t care.”
But she saw it now—the flash of pain behind the anger, the way his shoulders hunched forward as if retreating from a gut blow. He did care. He cared too much.
“You’re angry with her,” she observed. “Because she blamed you for killing her boyfriend. Because she put you in prison.”
“Wouldn’t you be?” Boone’s voice was low, dangerous. “I tried to help her. I saw what that bastard was doing to her. And she repaid me by lying on the stand.”
“She was a victim, too. You know that, right?”
“She put me in prison.” Each word was distinct, carved from ice. “Four years of my life, gone. My mother getting worse every day without me there to help her, and now she doesn’t even recognize me. And for what? So Crystal could pretend she was with a man who didn’t hit her?”
“She was broken and scared,” Johanna said softly. “Just like you are now.”
His face went completely still, the words landing with visible impact. For a moment, she could see the wall he’d built around himself crack, just a hairline fracture, but enough of an opening for her to slip through.
“What if you knew what happened to Crystal? Would it help?”
He didn’t answer, but he didn’t deny it either. The engine continued to rumble, sending vibrations through the door and into Johanna’s palm.
“Stay one more night,” she urged. “Give us until tomorrow.”
“What difference would it make?”
“Maybe all the difference. I think you need to know what happened to her, and I think we can find out.”
Boone stared at her for a long moment, a riot of emotion working behind his eyes—doubt, hope, fear. She couldn’t tell.
“One night,” he said finally. “That’s it.”
Relief surged through her. It was a small win, but it was a win nonetheless. “Thank you.”
But Boone didn’t move to turn off the engine or get out of the truck. He just sat there, hands still gripping the wheel, staring through the windshield at nothing. She understood—he needed space, time to feel like this was still his choice.
“We’ll be in the house,” she said, stepping back. “When you’re ready.”
Walker was still waiting on the porch, impatience radiating from him like heat waves off pavement. “What happened?” he asked as she approached. “Is he staying?”
“For tonight, at least.” She glanced back at the truck, where Boone remained motionless behind the wheel. “But we need to do something if we want to keep him.”
“What?”
“We need to find out what happened to Crystal.”
Walker’s eyebrows rose. “The woman from the bar? The one who testified against him?”
