As succinctly as I could, I told him about Sutton’s situation—and briefly dove into all of the other strange things that had been happening around us for the last few months.
“Addie and I had averybrief personal relationship,” I admitted. “But it ended a long time ago. Since then, we’ve been colleagues and friends.”
“She always mentioned what a great cop you are. Said you’d be a great fit for the Bureau.”
I grimaced. “I’m happy where I am.”
“I figured,” he chuckled. “If you’re as good as she says, you would’ve already gone for it if the FBI was where you wanted to be.”
Over the years, Addie had brought up the idea on more than one occasion, extolling the benefits of being a federal agent. Every time, I shut her down. That wasn’t the career I was destined for.
“She was never really the same after her husband died, you know,” Agent Fontaine continued. “Still a hell of a cop, but…wilder. Less disciplined, like his death had snapped some sortof mental tether on her. But she wasn’t a danger to herself or anyone else. At least not in a way that compromised her ability to do her job. So I didn’t press the issue. Of course, she underwent Bureau mandated therapy after Malone was killed and her own near-death experience, and they cleared her to return to duty. That was good enough for me. But maybe I shouldn’t have let it go so easily.” He sighed heavily. “I’ll ask around to the rest of our team. See if anyone has seen or heard from her. Is this a good number to reach you at?”
“Yes,” I said. “One more question before you go.”
“Sure.”
“Is she…dangerous?”
“Why do you ask?”
I hadn’t even shared my theory with Trey yet, but I laid it all out for Addie’s supervisor now. Though it had been years since I’d spoken to the man, I valued his opinion. He was a highly decorated agent with an impressive case closure rate.
When I finished, he said, “If she’s suffered some sort of psychotic break like you seem to think…yeah, she’s dangerous. She’s smart enough to pull all of this off and righteous enough to think she’ll get away with it. Tread lightly, Sheriff. And give me a call if you need our help.”
After thanking him and assuring him I would do that, I hung up and headed back to Trey’s office.
“How’d that go?” he asked when I appeared.
I slid into the chair beside him and rubbed my hand down my face. “About how I expected,” I said, then ran through our conversation and shared my theory about Addie.
“What do you need from me?” Trey asked when I finished.
“Find whatever you need to get Sutton out of jail ASAP. If I’m right, she’s in serious danger.”
forty-two
. . .
SUTTON
I hatedmyself for my cowardice. I should’ve looked at Lane, should’ve demanded he tell me to my face that he’d only been toying with me all these months. That he’d been fucking both meandAddie—a new kind of violation I’d hoped never to experience.
His betrayal gutted me, the overwhelming pain and disgust with myself far worse than what I’d endured after being raped.
Once Lane was gone, thankfully, Johns led me out of the interview room and toward the holding cells at the back of the building, but before he locked me away, he paused at the phone on the wall and nodded at the slip of paper in my hand.
“Call your attorney.”
Oh, right.
With my hands cradled awkwardly around the receiver thanks to the cuffs, I dialed the number and brought it up to my ear, waiting while it rang.
“Hello?” a woman answered.
“Is this Berkley?”
“Yes.” A beat, then, “Oh, is this Sutton?”
