Prologue
“This is some angry rain.”
Sheriff Mitch Buchanan puffs smoke from his cigarette through the crack in the police car’s window. “We’ve had worse. Just last month, if I recall. Took old Steven Mellow’s truck straight into Current River.”
Sheryl snorts in the passenger seat. “The old mule was drunk. It wasn’t just the rain.”
Mitch nods. “True. Is your nephew here yet?”
Sheryl sighs. “He’ll be here in a few days. Haven’t seen him in years. He’d better not bring his crap into my house, that’s for goddamn sure.”
“Your sister asked you to put him on the straight and narrow, and if anyone can do that, it’s you.”
“That was pretty much what she said when she talked me into agreeing, and now I’m stuck with a roommate for God knows how long.”
It continues to pour as they sit in the warm car, listening to good old country music. Mitch lights up another cigarette and shifts in his seat. He’s in his mid-fifties and overweight, making sitting for hours in thesame spot harder than it used to be. Back in the day, he’d spend ten-hour shifts driving across Carter County in beautiful Missouri. Now, as sheriff, he prefers to stay closer to his hometown, Van Buren, which is the largest in the county. He grew up here, got married to Rebecca, and then lost her when their only child, Joel, was barely ten. Years later, when Joel was in his mid-twenties, Mitch lost him as well.
He takes another puff of his cigarette, enjoying the warmth it spreads in his chest. He tries not to dwell too much on what happened to Joel, but it’s harder when the reason for Joel’s death is right in front of him.
Will Thomas is down on his knees in the mud, his hands cuffed behind his back. He’s soaking wet, as one would be after staying in the rain for over an hour.
If God is kind, Will Thomas is about to get himself a nice case of pneumonia.Though, if God were kind, Rebecca and Joel would still be alive.
“My shift’s about done,” Sheryl says with a yawn. “We’d best take him back.”
Mitch nods and raises the headlights, making Will jerk from the blinding assault. He lowers the window and calls, “Get your ass in here!”
There’s a blanket spread in the back seat, but the upholstery is likely to get wet regardless. Theycoulduncuff him and leave him to walk home, but it’s a long walk, and it’s about to get dark. When it’s nighttime on these rural roads, you can’t see shit, which means youmight get yourself killed by a car that drives too fast.
The last thing Mitch needs is Will Thomas’s death on his hands. Mayor Ray Walker, Will’s uncle, might have a problem with that, though the man’s dislike for his nephew is well known.
“I can’t open the door,” Will says as he reaches the car.
“You can.”
Will grumbles something, then turns around and uses his hands to pull at the handle. With the door open, he turns back around to slide into the car, bringing with him cold and rain.
“I can’t close the door.”
Well, he has a point there. With a grunt, Mitch climbs out and quickly shuts the door before returning to the driver’s seat. He watches Will through the rearview mirror. His handsome face is pale beneath his little beard.
With their eyes locked, there are many things Mitch wishes to tell the killer in the back seat, but he keeps his mouth shut since the most important thing doesn’t need to be spoken aloud.
You’re mine to punish, Will Thomas, and there is nothing you can do about that.
Chapter 1
Will
Will is too worried about getting sick to have a decent night’s sleep. He has people relying on him, and despite the damn rain last night, spring has arrived, making this the perfect time for logging.
At around six o’clock, he grunts in defeat and steps into his bathroom. He almost falls asleep during the shower, so he turns the water icy cold until his senses sharpen. Once dressed in his work clothes, he gulps down the most bitter coffee he can make, bringing him one step closer to a functional state. He makes himself a quick sandwich for lunch, then climbs into his red truck.
As he cuts through the misty road while the sun rises in the distance, he puts on loud music and tries to clear his head. He can still smell the scent of rain that poured down on him for what felt like hours.
Months have passed since the sheriff last caught him off guard. It used to happen often in the years followingJoel’s death half a decade ago, but he hasn’t heard from the man in months. As small a town as Van Buren is, you could go for a long time without meeting certain people if you knew how to avoid them. He allowed himself to get too confident, and last night, he paid for it.
It could have been worse, he tells himself, remembering times when he was left with more than a cold and aching knees.
