“I’ll get it,” she said.
“No, no. You finish your breakfast. I’ll see who it is.”
He left her in the kitchen. Leah felt her pulse quicken and she chastised herself for automatically thinking the worst. She gulped her coffee and followed her father to the door.
“Good morning, Randy.”
Leah recognized the voice and held her breath. It couldn’t be good news, but how bad would it be?
“Clint, I’d say it’s good to see you again, so soon, but I fear you’re not here with a snow report.”
“Afraid that’s true. May I speak to Leah?”
“She’s eating—”
“I’m here, Pop.”
He turned when she spoke, and Leah caught her first glimpse of Clint. He looked wonderful, standing there at the door in full uniform. Obviously he was here on official business. And like a badge bunny, Leah loved the sight of a man in uniform. She felt her face flush. He was more handsome than she remembered even from a few nights ago, especially with the dotting of white at his temples.
His eyes regarded her with an unreadable expression. He looked away first. “Hello, Leah. Sorry to ruin your first week home.”
She stepped forward, trying to find her voice, clearing her throat. “That’s okay.” Cold air rushed in from the outside and Leah shivered. “Why don’t you come in?”
He stepped inside. “I wish I was here now with better news or on a simple social call, but I’m not. First, I have to serve you with a restraining order.” He held out some paperwork.
“A restraining order?” Her father tensed and stepped forward to peer at the papers.
Leah put a hand on his shoulder. “It’s okay.” She turned to Clint. “The Drapers?”
“Yep, sorry. Drawn up by Rachel Clyburn.”
“I expected as much, maybe more. Took them three whole days.” She took the TRO paperwork from him. She’d seen enough in her time on the force that she knew what it said. But still a jolt hit—this could keep her from getting her job back, if she decided that was what she wanted. She would have a chance in court—the Drapers had to show cause for the order—so she made a mental note to get the temporary restraining order to Gretchen as soon as possible. She didn’t look forward to another court confrontation, because if they did show sufficient cause for the judge, she’d be under the confines of the order for three to five years. A judge could even deny her the return of her firearms.
“There is more, I’m afraid. I can’t say for sure the Drapers are responsible for this, but you need to take a look at your cars.” He turned back to the door and Randy stepped in front of him to open it.
Leah grabbed a jacket and followed her father and Tanner out the front door.
The cold air hit hard, but the bright-red paint hit harder.
KILLER.
It was on her dad’s work truck and the little sedan that No Violence at Home had gifted her with on her release.
Leah stood rooted, fearing if she moved, she’d break down, and she didn’t want to do that in front of Clint.
Her father stepped forward, hands on hips. “This happened not too long ago. Look, they wiped snow off the vehicles to paint them.”
“I may have seen the culprit,” Clint said. “As I was coming up your driveway, I saw someone in camo running through the trees. He was too far away for me to get a good look. I can take a look around, maybe find some evidence.”
“Why?” Leah asked, unable to keep the bitterness out of her voice. “It’s not your jurisdiction. We’re in the sheriff’s area.”
He turned to face her, his gaze a study in compassion; Leah saw no pity or falseness there.
“I can get ahold of a deputy to come out here and take pictures. You should report it.”
“I—” Leah stopped, wanting to say, “What’s the point?” Even if he could prove this was done by the Drapers, they would never be held to account. It had been a mistake to come home, she thought for the hundredth time. “I should have driven a thousand miles in the other direction,” she almost blurted out as anger and resentment threatened to swallow her whole.
Clint stepped closer and his presence had a steadying effect on Leah, sort of like the effect a good partner had on a cop when the call was bad and dangerous. He had her back. She clamped her mouth shut.
He hooked his thumbs in his gun belt. “It’s important to document anything that happens like this, you know. And this is wrong. The guy who did this is beyond off base. The law exonerated you, Leah. There’s nothing to be ashamed of. Do you remember one of the quotes I sent you . . . ?”
Clint’s letters had made Leah feel free, even behind bars, because she could imagine and see in her mind’s eye all the places and things he wrote about. They were a breath of fresh air. She nodded. “Agatha Christie: ‘I learned . . . that one can never go back, that one should not ever try to go back—that the essence of life is going forward.’” Leah smiled. “I wrote that on a piece of paper and put it in my Bible.”
Clint returned the smile and Leah was mesmerized. “Move forward, Leah.”
The earnestness in his expression warmed her spirit and doused some doubts about coming home and all of the angst about the stupid spray-painted message. The 3D Clint from all his letters stood in front of her. She’d barely known him before all of this happened, and now she was certain that the only positive here was that she had gotten to know him better.
“I’d like to do that, but it looks as if some people will never be able to move on.”
“Forget them,” her dad said, throwing his arms up in frustration. The rancor in his voice surprised her, though she knew it shouldn’t. “I refuse to let anyone ruin the rest of your life.” Her father kicked some snow and stomped over toward the cars.
“I agree with your dad,” Clint said, and Leah jerked around to face him. “Whoever did this wants to scare you, maybe make you leave the area. Don’t let them bully you.”
An indefinable expression crossed his face: support, caring—maybe something else. It made Leah want to reach out and touch his hand, but the moment passed. He stepped back.
“Thanks, Clint.”
“I haven’t done much but bring you bad news.”
Leah inhaled, exhaled. “You’ve been a friend in the midst of bad news. There’s a difference.”
“Well, never forget that you’re innocent. I pray now that the worst is behind you.”
“Like I told you in my letters, I’m glad you didn’t listen to me and kept praying. I know now that God listens, he hears every prayer, and nothing is wasted.” She wanted to grab him in a hug but extended her hand instead.
“Good to hear. I’m sorry we didn’t get to talk much the other night. Maybe after you’re settled and you have some time, we can grab lunch? Catch up with what wasn’t in the letters.” He grasped her hand with both of his warm, strong ones and held it for a moment before releasing it. The jolt to Leah’s system was electric.
“I’d like that. I know I’d like to hear more about your promotion and what’s going on at the PD.” She still felt the warmth from his grip after dropping her hand to her side.
He looked as if he was going to say something, but her dad interrupted, stomping snow off his boots.
Clint turned to her father. “Randy, you and Leah should both know that you can call if you need anything. You can also call Jack.” He turned to Leah. “That’s my sheriff friend. Your dad has his number.”
“I appreciate that,” her father said. He’d calmed down and walked back to the porch.
“Goodbye, Leah. Please try to enjoy your freedom.”
After Clint left, Randy turned to Leah. “He’s a nice guy, one of the good ones.”
Leah nodded in agreement, a little chagrined when she remembered that morning they’d handled the domestic violence call. “Saint Tanner” wasn’t even on her radar. Today, the same as when he’d helped empty her house with Dad, she found herself agreeing wholeheartedly. The warm feeling it gave her when
he asked about lunch hadn’t faded. It wasn’t the first time she’d ever seen him, so it couldn’t be love at first sight, could it?
Yet as strong as she knew her feelings for the man were, a question intruded: What about Jenna?
CHAPTER 40
Her father did the best he could with the cleanup, but both cars would have to be repainted. You couldn’t see the word killer anymore, but it was obvious something had been there.
“Ruined the paint job on your new car,” he said, wiping his brow as they stood on the porch.
“It’s okay, Dad.”
He faced her. “It’s not okay . . . but we’ll get past it.”
“You’re right; we will.”
“Ready to go find a tree?”
She smiled and hugged her arms to her chest. “Yeah, give me a minute. Everything is so beautiful with the sun glinting off the snow.” She breathed deeply. “And the cold air tickling my nose . . . This is wonderful.”
He chuckled, patted her back, and went inside.
Leah relished her view. The light dusting of snow on the ground and trees dissipated quickly. Where there still was a covering, the clean, white snow was a refreshing sight. She thought of Nora, still at Coffee Creek with three more years to serve, and the conversation they’d had on Leah’s last day as her cellmate.
“You get out, enjoy the outdoors, sunsets, sunrises, and think of me. Don’t take nothing for granted, ever.”
“I won’t. And when your time is up, I hope you’ll come visit and we’ll drink coffee outside watching the sunrise.”
“Sunset, honey. When I get out of here, I’m never getting up before 10 a.m. again.”
They’d both laughed.
Leah had meant what she’d said. While she’d never miss Coffee Creek, she missed Nora. The woman had been a good and steady friend. As good a friend as she’d ever had. It never ceased to amaze Leah that she’d met such a friend in prison.
Sighing, she went back into the house to change for the trip to Prospect and Christmas tree hunting. Later, sitting in the four-wheel drive truck, traveling frosty paved roads and then snowy, bumpy dirt roads as they climbed to a higher elevation, Leah was flooded with a tsunami of good memories. Her mother had loved Christmas and spared no expense decorating. The tree was always the first box to be checked off.
“Mom liked to check boxes.”
“What?” Her father glanced over at her.
“Mom. She always had a list and she always checked boxes.”
He grinned. “She sure did. Boy, I’d forgotten. She was the most organized person I’ve ever known.”
Leah laughed, joy marinating her soul as she remembered her mother. Sun Radcliff’s parents had emigrated from South Korea before Sun was born. Leah’s mother once told Leah she’d like to visit Korea, but she considered herself 100 percent American. She always had a smile and she loved to chat with anyone. She’d never met a stranger.
“I haven’t thought about Mom much lately,” Leah said. “But now I remember her laugh and her joy at just living.”
“I think about her all the time.”
Leah turned to study her father. He had a nostalgic smile on his face. Her parents’ relationship had always been warm and loving. It made Leah sad to think that even with their example, she’d settled for something less. But she wasn’t going to stay sad. Even if it was just to honor her memory, Leah was going to emulate her mother.
She reached out and put a hand on his arm. “It’s good to think about her and how much she loved Christmas.”
“I agree. Let’s make this the best Christmas ever.”
Leah grasped her dad’s arm with both hands and grinned. “Amen to that, Dad.”
After finding a tree, the rest of the day was spent settling in, dodging phone calls from reporters, and simply appreciating freedom. That night, Leah slept soundly through till morning.
The next day, while her father was in the garage pulling out all the Christmas decorations, Leah spent some time inside on the computer, catching up on the past. The house smelled of fresh-cut Christmas tree, and the five-foot noble pine in the living room was perfect.
She knew a lot had changed in four years, and she’d kept up with most of the big news. What she wanted to do now was read the local stuff, catch up on hometown happenings she might have missed. Gretchen would be over in the afternoon to discuss the temporary restraining order and her future options.
Duke Gill was now a county commissioner, Larry Ripley was a state senator, and Grady Blanchard was the sheriff of Jackson County.
She could be happy for Becky because of Grady, but the other two names bugged her. They’d both managed to escape the Hangmen stigma, probably because they weren’t cops. But Leah knew they had to be just as involved as everyone else. Just as dirty as the dirtiest.
As state senator, Larry Ripley’s district covered Table Rock, Medford, and the surrounding area. On his website there were hints that he’d eventually be running for a federal congressional seat. Time hadn’t dimmed Ripley’s rising star. He really hadn’t changed much, Leah thought as she looked at his picture. Maybe a little grayer, a few more wrinkles, but the same superior smirk that she’d hated so many years ago.
She sat back and stared at the picture. How could people look at that face and think of Larry Ripley as sincere?
“What were you and Brad up to that night? It certainly didn’t have anything to do with collecting first and last months’ rent. Was it more about furthering your political career?” Leah asked out loud.
She then switched gears and went to research her department. She’d been an officer for a little over three years before the shooting, and Table Rock was a small enough department that she’d known everyone back then. Who was still in uniform that she knew? She could have asked Clint, but their letters were more personal, and she never wanted to seem as if she was simply pumping him for information.
Leah clicked on the department website and perused the roster. One name she didn’t find was Richard Chambers, Brad’s old partner, and she wondered what happened to him. He had not been called as a witness in her second trial. A lot of Brad’s old crowd were still employed, though. Patterson was gone, Racer and Wilcox were gone, but Forman was still there. He was a night shift sergeant.
Of course Marvin Sapp and Vicki Henderson were still in patrol. And Clint was day sergeant. She also knew Interim Chief Haun and wondered if he’d be made permanent chief. Brad never liked Haun. “Too straight-arrow and by the book,” he’d said. Leah had never had a problem with him. As she read the list of officers, she realized how narrow her focus had been when she worked. Only people approved by Brad were in her circle back then. But those outside of it were good people, good officers—she knew that now. He’d probably avoided anyone who would call him out on his behavior.
She also realized, with a great deal of regret, that she should have come forward the first time he hit her. When she thought about that, an uneasiness settled in the pit of her stomach. Why hadn’t she?
During the last year of her incarceration, she’d been approached by No Violence at Home, the women’s advocacy group Gretchen was associated with. Would she be willing to tell her story? Help make sure other women recognize the danger? That even when the boyfriend or husband says he’s sorry and appears to be an upstanding member of society, there still needs to be intervention?
Leah had put them off, saying she had to think about it. She was still thinking. In court she’d told the jury she hadn’t reported the abuse for all the reasons domestic violence awareness bulletins warned about: she thought it would stop, she didn’t want to hurt his career, she didn’t want to admit she was a victim, and she couldn’t wrap her mind around the idea that she’d married an abuser, a man just like the men she often arrested. It wasn’t until the worst-case scenario happened that she was forced to admit it: Brad was an abuser.
Would intervention have helped? Brad’s personality was such that he never would have spoken to a counselor wi
llingly. At least that’s what Leah thought. And it was something she would never know for sure.
“Absolutely, fight to get your job back.” Gretchen was adamant. She’d come to Leah’s home to work on the TRO and tie up all the loose ends in Leah’s case: monetary compensation, return of firearms, and now something Leah really hadn’t thought much about—getting her job back. “You shot someone in self-defense; you broke no laws.”
“But I don’t see how it will be possible to be an officer here again. The Draper—”
“Stop right there. They cannot dictate the rest of your life.” She waved the TRO. “And this has absolutely no merit. Have you contacted them in any way?”
Leah shook her head.
“Did you plan to contact them?”
“No.”
“They won’t be able to show cause for such a broad order. Asking you to stay away from all of his property is asking you to stay out of Table Rock. They might as well ask you to stop breathing.”
Leah closed her eyes. “So much pain . . . I hate coming home to so much pain. To them Brad could do no wrong. I don’t want to hurt them any more than they’ve already been hurt.”
“Leah, you have a big heart, a compassionate heart. But your former in-laws may soon find themselves in hot water for bribery. Birch didn’t just go after you full speed ahead because he didn’t like you; he was getting paid.”
“Can that be proved?”
“Not yet, but my source at the state PD says they’re working on it. If the Drapers get hurt more now, it won’t be you doing the hurting.”
She paused and Leah thought about that. In spite of their hatred toward her, Leah couldn’t hate Blanche and Harden and Ivy. They had, after all, been family for a couple of years, and they were, at that time at least, good to her.
“Besides,” Gretchen continued, “you still want to find out what Brad and Larry were up to that night, right?”
Leah looked up at her lawyer. “More than ever.”
“Well, I think the best way for you to do that is to get your badge and gun back. A big fat lawsuit might be the only way to do that.”
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