Ms. Randall’s office was about three hours away. That would at least give me time to call and warn her that I was coming. For half a moment I considered trying to catch up with the transport van, to stop them from taking Connor at all. But I knew that would just end up getting us both in more trouble. Ms. Randall could work from the inside and hopefully, if I could convince her, she could stop Connor from going back to prison at all.
I just hoped she’d listen.
I gripped the steering wheel so hard, my knuckles turned white, pushing the truck well past the speed limit as I tore down the highway toward Ms. Randall’s office. Every second that ticked by was another second closer to Connor being thrown back into prison. And for what? A gun my father had almost certainly planted?
The thought made bile rise in my throat. I knew my father was capable of cruelty, but this was beyond anything I’d imagined. He’d rather frame an innocent man than accept his son was gay. The realization shouldn’t have hurt after everything he’d done, but it did. It hurt like hell.
I fumbled for my phone, hitting Ms. Randall’s number on speed dial. She’d given it to me years ago when I first started working with the parolee program, back when I still thought I could make my father proud by helping out.
The phone rang three times before her crisp voice answered. “Randall speaking.”
“Ms. Randall, it’s Ryder McGrath,” I said, trying to keep my voice steady despite the panic clawing at my chest. “I need to talk to you about Connor Martin.”
There was a pause. “I figured you’d be calling. I just got the paperwork on my desk about his violation.”
“He didn’t do it,” I blurted out. “My father set him up. Connor would never be stupid enough to have a gun.”
“Ryder,” she sighed, and I could picture her pinching the bridge of her nose like she always did when dealing with difficult cases. “I understand you’re upset, but they found the weapon under his mattress during a surprise inspection.”
“It wasn’t his,” I practically shouted, then forced myself to take a breath. “It couldn’t have been!”
“We know it wasn’t his,” she replied. “It was from your father’s gun safe. They found the tools Connor used to break into it and steal it.” She paused again. “You father claims Connor threatened his life last night.”
“That can’t be true,” I said, my voice shaking as my heart raced. “Dad found out about…somethinglast night and threatened to hurt Connor in front of half the town. He wasn’t very happy with us.”
Another pause, longer this time. “About us? Are you saying what I think you’re saying?”
My heart hammered in my chest. I hadn’t meant to out myself or our relationship, but there was no going back now. Connor’s freedom was worth more than my privacy.
“Yes,” I admitted. “Connor and I are together. My father found out last night at the church dinner and completely lost it. He disowned me, tried to punch me, and Larry took the hit instead. There were at least fifty witnesses.”
“Jesus Christ,” Ms. Randall muttered. “Why didn’t Connor call me about this?”
“Because my father doesn’t have a phone in the bunkhouse and none of the parolees are allowed to have cell phones on the job.”
I heard papers shuffling on her end of the line. “This complicates things, Ryder. Even if what you’re saying is true… we’ll need evidence?—”
“Do you remember what happened with Sam?!” I shouted, unable to hold myself back any longer. “After seeing thosebruises on my neck, are you really going to sit there and say my fatherisn’tcapable of this?”
“It’s not that simple…”
“Yes, it is,” I barked. “And I’ve got witnesses to prove it. I can give you every detail about the ranch, the program, the guns, the tools, and anything else you want to know to prove Connor is innocent. Now are you going to do the right thing or are you going to let my father get away with hurtingmorepeople than he already has?”
There was a long pause on the other end of the line and then a sigh. “How long until you get here?”
“Three hours. Two and a half if I can help it.”
“I’m not making any promises to you, Ryder,” she said. “I’ll see you when you get here.”
It wasn’t the answer I wanted, but it was something. “Thank you.”
“Don’t thank me yet,” she muttered. “This is gonna be goddamn near impossible to pull off.” Then she added, “You better be right. I could lose my job over this.”
There was a click and the line went dead.
Three hours. That’s how long I had to wait until I learned if the man I loved would ever see the light of day again. It might as well have been a fucking eternity.
Chapter 27
