Hank pulled out a small notebook and flipped it open with exaggerated care. “According to the report, someone broke into Johanna’s office and disturbed confidential files. That’s a serious matter, Walker. Could be a felony, depending.”
Behind him, Walker heard Johanna approach, her footsteps crunching softly on the frozen ground. He wanted to tell her to stay back, to let him handle this, but he knew better. Jo had never been one to hide behind anyone.
“Sheriff Goodwin,” she said, cool and professional. “As I’m sure you’re aware, patient files are protected under HIPAA, so whoever broke into my office would have committed a federal crime.” She paused, and her next words came out sharp enough to draw blood. “Of course, if a person hired someone else to do it, that would make you an accessory.”
Hank’s gaze shifted to Walker, satisfaction gleaming in his pale eyes. “Got yourself a firecracker here, Nash. Always did have a thing for women who don’t know their place.”
Rage boiled hot in his chest and crawled up his neck. He opened his mouth to respond, but Johanna set a restraining hand on his arm and beat him to it.
“My place, Sheriff Goodwin, is wherever I choose it to be.At the moment, that’s here at Valor Ridge, helping veterans and ex-inmates rebuild their lives. Now, if you’re done harassing us today, you can show yourself out.”
Damn, she was magnificent when she got fired up. Walker grinned.
Hank’s face tightened, but he quickly recovered, turning his attention to the bunkhouse where Boone had emerged to stand beside Jonah. The sheriff’s mouth curved into a slow, predatory smile.
“Well, if it isn’t my wayward nephew,” he called out. “How’s life treating you out here with the rest of the misfits?”
The grin faded. Hank was deliberately shifting focus, trying to provoke Boone now that his attempt to rattle Johanna had failed. The bastard had a talent for finding wounds and digging his fingers in deep.
Boone approached with measured steps, Bishop at his heels. The dog’s hackles rose slightly, sensing his owner’s tension.
“Sheriff,” Boone said, his voice carefully neutral.
“Your mother was asking about you yesterday,” Hank said, his tone falsely casual. “Seemed confused when I told her you were still out here. Said you promised to come home weeks ago.”
Boone had to know Hank was using Leonora as a weapon, but that knowledge didn’t stop the flare of pain in his eyes. “Mom knows where I am. I visit her every Tuesday.”
“Yes, well, she doesn’t always remember those visits, does she?” Hank’s smile was cold. “Doctor says that’s common with her condition. Though he also mentioned stress can make symptoms worse. The stress of, say, having a son who killed a man with his bare hands.”
Walker stepped forward. “That’s enough, Hank.”
“This is family business, Nash. It doesn’t concern you.” Hank’s gaze never left Boone. “Still talking to people whoaren’t there. Still forgetting where she lives half the time.” He shook his head in mock concern. “Town’s been real patient, considering. But patience runs out, especially when she starts wandering into people’s yards at night.”
“That happened once,” Boone growled, taking a half-step forward. “And I’ve hired someone to stay with her when I’m not there.”
Walker moved then, positioning himself subtly between the two men. “I think we’re done here, Sheriff. You’ve got all you need for a report.”
Hank made a show of closing his notebook and tucking it into his breast pocket. “Just doing my job, Nash. Making sure everything’s on the up-and-up out here. Wouldn’t want any more... incidents.” His gaze slid meaningfully to Boone. “Town’s watching. One wrong move, and I’ll shut this place down faster than you can say ‘parole violation.’”
With that, he tipped his hat again and sauntered back to his SUV. But he stopped before getting in and spun back. “Just one more thing.” He looked around the ranch with exaggerated interest. “County’s been reviewing zoning regulations for facilities like yours. Therapy practices operating on agricultural land, housing for ex-cons—it’s a legal gray area. Might want to make sure all your paperwork’s in order.”
The threat wasn’t even thinly veiled.
Walker met Hank’s stare without blinking. “Our permits are current. Feel free to check with the county office.”
“Oh, I will.” Hank’s smile was all teeth and edges. “Dennis Sharpe and I were just discussing it over coffee this morning. Funny timing, with the break-in and all.”
Of course. Dennis Sharpe, the county clerk who controlled permitting and had been in Hank’s pocket for years. This was a coordinated effort to find any leverage against Valor Ridge before they expanded in January.
“We’ll be sure to file any additional paperwork needed,”Johanna said, her professional mask firmly in place despite the anger radiating from her. “Thank you for your concern.”
Hank nodded, seemingly satisfied with the damage he’d done. “Well, I’ll get this write-up filed. Don’t expect much to come of it, though. Like you said, probably just kids.”
He slid behind the wheel of his cruiser, and the engine roared to life. Gravel sprayed as he executed a sharp turn and headed down the driveway.
Walker exhaled slowly, but it did little to ease the tension in his shoulders. He turned to find Boone staring after the sheriff’s vehicle with an expression of barely controlled fury.
“He’s full of shit,” Walker said quietly. “Your mom’s doing better, and we both know it.”
