“You don’t have to do that, sweetheart. We can give the sheriff a name, and he can file a restraining order. You’ve suffered enough.”
A quick glance reveals Knox, Elias, and Hunter stepping onto the porch, the tension dropping from their shoulders as they realize this visit is from someone we want and not a threat to Maisie.
“No. I need to. Not just for you. For me too.” Her eyes flick over my shoulder, settling on my pack mates, men who are as fiercely protective of Maisie as I am. A soft smile warms her gaze. “It wasn’t something I could do before, but I think I can do it now.”
Over her shoulder, Sheriff Watson parks his patrol car, cuts the engine, and climbs out, slamming the door shut behind him.
Maisie gets to her feet, and I take her hand, not ready to break off all contact yet. The five of us stand on the front porch, waiting to let the sheriff inside and find a solution to deal with Maisie’s ex.
She clears her throat, drawing my gaze.
I look down at her. “Sweetheart?”
“I know it upset you to hear it all before, but do you mind staying with me while I talk to the sheriff?” she asks me. “Knox, Elias, and Hunter already said they would.”
“I promise to hold your hand while mentally burying your ex six feet under.”
I surprise a burst of laughter out of her, so she greets the sheriff with a smile rather than the nerves I saw building in her eyes when she told me what she intended to do.
Whatever happens, we’re all in this together.
Chapter 13
Maisie
Over the next hour, I bite every nail on my left hand down to the quick.
The statement I gave to the sheriff is thorough. So thorough that it’s night outside and my mouth is bone dry despite draining two bottles of water and having two bathroom breaks.
It’s everything I told Wyatt, Elias, Hunter, and Knox. All my pain and hurt. Every fight I can remember. The night I wished a cop had come to tell me my husband was dead. The desperate fear I would be trapped in a life I hated forever.
I reveal all of it.
I get no judgment from the sheriff. There are no pitying looks or the slightest hint that he doesn’t believe me. He listens quietly, notes down everything I say, and says he’ll start the paperwork to get a restraining order in place.
The second Derek shows his face in Rios, the sheriff will throw him straight into jail.
The relief is…incredible.
And Wyatt is true to his word. He keeps a hold of my right hand and periodically makes me smile by telling me he is still mentally burying Derek six feet under.
When the sheriff gives him a pointed look, Wyatt says, “Mentally, Sheriff. All acts of violence involving an ax to his head are happening in my mind only.”
I don’t have a picture of Derek when the sheriff asks for one. There was no way I was taking any piece of him with me when I left Oregon.
“Not to worry, Maisie. I’ll get one,” he says.
The sheriff knows about Derek’s trial and conviction, so a picture will be easy to find since he’s already in the system. He intends to share those with the businesses in town. No matter which store Derek goes into, someonewillsee him.
The sheriff tucks his notebook into his pocket. “We dusted your car and apartment door for fingerprints after the fire. I’m still waiting for the results to come back, but I’m positive we can get him for arson and attempted murder. With your statement, I have more than enough to put him away for a long time.”
My eyes widen. “You knew it was him?”
The second the words leave my lips, I realize how stupid a question it was to ask.
Ijustlaid out nearly ten years of our lives together. No one else would have a reason to set my apartment on fire with me inside it except my ex-husband, who nearly killed me in a Nevada motel room before I got away.
“I’ve been keeping an eye out for unfamiliar faces,” the sheriff explains, his brown gaze knowing. “You were running from trouble, even if you weren’t ready to talk about it. It’s about what I expected.”
