Oh, no.
Her notes.
And patient files.
Her morning coffee slipped from her fingers, hitting the floor with a dull thud, dark liquid splashing across her boots. She barely noticed as she rushed to the desk where her confidential therapy notes lay scattered, drawers hanging open, the careful order of her workspace destroyed. The filing cabinet beside it gaped open too, folders pulled out and rifled through, their contents strewn across the floor like discarded trash.
“Oh my God,” she whispered, her hands hovering over the mess, not sure what to touch first.
She forced herself to breathe, to think through the adrenaline now coursing through her system.
First step: determine what was missing.
She scanned the room, trying to catalog the damage. Her computer was still there, untouched on her desk. The small safe where she kept petty cash for office supplies—also untouched. This wasn’t a regular burglary. Someone had been looking for information.
The realization sent a cold wave of fear through her. Information about her patients. About the men who trusted her with their darkest moments, their most vulnerable confessions.
She reached for her phone with shaking hands, scrolling to Walker’s number. He answered on the second ring.
“Morning, Jo. You need coffee reinforcements already?” His voice was warm, teasing.
“Someone broke into my office.” Her voice sounded steadier than she felt. “They went through the files.”
“Fuck. I’ll be right there. Don’t touch anything.”
She hung up and stood in the center of the violated space, arms wrapped around herself. Her gaze kept returning to one particular scatter of papers near the desk. Boone’s file, she realized with a sickening lurch. The tab with his name was clearly visible, the contents of the folder spread out in a way theothers weren’t—like someone had been reading them carefully rather than just searching.
Three minutes later, Walker’s heavy footsteps sounded outside, followed by the door swinging open wider. He filled the doorframe, his face set in hard lines, blue eyes sweeping the room, blazing with anger.
“Jesus,” he muttered, stepping carefully over the broken glass to reach her. He skimmed a hand down her back. “You okay?”
She nodded, though the tightness in her chest suggested otherwise. “They didn’t take anything valuable. Just went through the files. They got in through the window.”
He went to it and examined the splintered wood around the latch. “Yeah, they pried it open from outside. And they were sloppy about it.”
“Look.” She pointed to Boone’s scattered notes. “They were focused on his file specifically.”
Walker knelt beside the papers, careful not to disturb their position, his face darkening as he scanned the visible text. “Progress notes, psych history. Everything’s here?”
“I think so. I need to check all the files, but it looks like they were reading, not taking.”
“Boone’s history with Hank Goodwin...” Walker stood, his jaw working as he processed. “This has the sheriff written all over it.”
“You think Hank did this himself?” Johanna couldn’t quite picture the sheriff breaking and entering, but then again, she didn’t know where his vendetta against Boone and Walker might lead him.
“Maybe not personally, but on his orders? Absolutely.” Walker touched her shoulder, warm and steadying. “Do you want to report this?”
“To Hank?” She raised an eyebrow. She shook her head and moved to pick up the scattered pages of Boone’s file. “Sothe bastard can come out here, pretend to take notes, and learn even more about what we’re doing? No thanks. This is exactly what he wants—an excuse to poke around the ranch officially.”
Walker didn’t argue, just bent to help her gather the papers. “It’s not the first time he’s tried.”
No, it wasn’t.
Their mailbox had been vandalized in September, and the property fence was cut last month. It was just pure luck that none of their animals had been out in that pasture to wander onto the road. Hank had responded to their calls for police both times, and his half-hearted investigation and sneering remarks about “fancy therapy programs for criminals” had made his feelings about Valor Ridge abundantly clear.
She stacked Boone’s file together, a fresh wave of violation washing over her as she handled pages that unknown hands had touched. “I know, but those were outside the property. This is... personal.”
“Targeted,” Walker agreed, his voice tight. “We’ll increase security. Cameras on the office. Better locks.”
