For a moment, she simply stared at me in that way she’d long ago perfected, making it feel like she was flaying off layers of my skin to reveal the soft underbelly beneath my tattoos and tough exterior.
I’d always had a soft spot for defenseless creatures. That wasn’t to say Sutton was defenseless, because I knew she wasn’t. But, while I’d always wanted to be in law enforcement, specifically working for the Dusk Valley Sheriff’s Department, it was Sutton’s ordeal that drove me toward that goal harder than before.
Cases involving women always struck a particular chord with me, both because of Sutton and because I would go scorched earth if anyone dared harm my mom or sister in that way.
The trait was as deeply ingrained in the genes of the Lawless men as our family roots were planted into this land.
Sutton, though…she was my kryptonite. My Achille’s heel. The wound that refused to heal over.
I considered this my penance or my inability to save her all those years ago.
After some maneuvering, the side-by-side was tucked safely in the shed with my lawn tools, and I finally went inside. Sutton was noticeably absent, likely in her room getting settled.
She found me in the kitchen a while later, where I was whipping up a couple sandwiches for lunch. I didn’t look at her as she sat at the island, but the drumming of her fingers against the countertop invaded my senses.
A tense, rapid beat played out against the granite.
“Lane,” she said suddenly, finally drawing my gaze.
I didn’t miss the fear in her voice.
“What’s wrong?”
“I know this is going to soundinsane, but I can’t help thinking…what if it was Ryan who broke into my house? Whatif he found me after all these years and is back for revenge or something?”
My heart stopped in my chest, veins icing over.
I hadn’t heard that name in a long fucking time—not for over fifteen years—and I never expected to hear it again. Certainly not fromher, not when he’d violated her so badly.
“I don’t think so,” I said slowly, mind whirring with how to steer her away from this line of thinking.
“Could you…look into it? See if you can find out what happened to him?”
“He’s dead.”
The words were flat as I could manage, delivered without an ounce of emotion.
“He’s…Are you sure?”
“Positive.”
“How?”
Instead of giving a verbal answer, I navigated to Google and searched “Ryan Boyd dead.”
Several articles populated, and I selected the top hit, then read Sutton the first line.
“‘Human remains were located deep in the foothills of the Boise Ridge late Tuesday evening. Though sources say DNA has not yet confirmed the identity, they are confident it is the body of missing twenty-one-year-old Boise State student, Ryan Boyd…’”
Sutton’s eyes were wide, fingertips covering her mouth.
“And did DNA eventually confirm his identity?” she asked. I nodded. “You’re sure?”
“I kept an eye on things after he hurt you. You never looked into it yourself?”
She shook her head. “After the settlement, I just wanted to move on and forget it all. As if I ever could,” she tacked on, quieter.
The fuckingsettlement. If I could’ve gotten away with it, I would’ve taken out that prick attorney and the Boyds’ puppet detective too.
