Beside her, Samuel abruptly let out a string of curses. Truman flinched and shot him an irritated glare.

“It’s red paint,” Samuel muttered, his tone heavy with menace for the culprit.

Truman nodded. “It’s darker than the paint at Bree Ingram’s farm, but still . . .”

“Bree?” Sandy’s heart stopped. “Someone did this at her farm too?”

“It was different,” Truman told her in a calm voice. “No words. Just some markings on the stalls and her truck yesterday.”

Sandy fumed. Bree was her closest friend but hadn’t said a word. “She’ll be getting a phone call from me,” she stated. “Any broken car windows?”

“No,” answered Truman. “Yesterday was the first incident, and it was just paint.”

WHORE. Sandy stared at the huge letters. Why would Bree be targeted too?

“Who does shit like this?” Samuel swore again. Fury radiated from him, and Sandy knew he wanted to hit someone. His anger didn’t make her nervous. She was pleased he’d responded with Truman.

“Did you find some cameras?” Sandy asked Truman. It hurt to rely on someone’s kindness to help protect her property, but she simply didn’t have the money. She’d been in the red for months. If she had an accountant, he’d be in deep shock.

Good thing I can’t afford one.

“Uhhh . . . I should have some by tomorrow.”

Sandy didn’t miss the glance Truman exchanged with Samuel. She narrowed her eyes at the two men, who she suspected weren’t being completely truthful.

That makes three of us.

“I would have installed one to cover this area.” Truman indicated the entire back side of her building. “It ticks me off that I’m too late. But we’ll definitely have them up by tomorrow evening.”

“Absolutely,” Samuel chimed in. “We’ll have the asshole the next time he tries anything.”

Why am I not reassured? She didn’t want to think about what the offender might do next time.

During Truman’s last visit she’d been frustrated. Today that frustration had been replaced by . . . fear. A shudder shook her entire body.

It can’t be . . .

“Do you have more of the house’s original paint?” Samuel asked. His dark gaze bored into her skull, and she knew he’d seen her flinch a moment ago. She wondered if he suspected her . . . her lies . . . her facade . . .

“I do. I painted it by myself two years ago.” Her voice fell. “I’ve worked so hard . . .”

“You have,” Samuel agreed. “I’ll help you cover it up.” He stepped closer, his gaze locked on her face. “You have a feeling you might know who did this,” he stated softly.

Sandy looked away, trying to control the tremble in her chin. “No. I told Truman the other day I have no idea what’s going on.”

“Sandy.” Samuel touched her upper arm. “Look at me.”

She did and crossed her arms on her chest. The concern in his eyes took her breath away, but she stayed stoic, not wanting him to see the true depth of her fear. The silence awkwardly stretched for a few seconds.

“Tell me what you think is going on,” Samuel said patiently. “I can’t help you unless you talk to me.”

Tell him. Every fiber of her being told her she was wrong and then a split second later screamed that she was right. The conflict was tearing her apart.

She looked at her boots and rapidly spoke before she could change her mind again. “It could be my ex.” A weight lifted from her shoulders, and she tentatively met Samuel’s gaze again.

Samuel’s expression hadn’t changed.

“Ex-boyfriend?” Samuel asked.

“Ex-husband,” she whispered.

“Why do you suspect him?” Samuel’s voice maintained its calm tone.

Sandy finally glanced at Truman. “I’m sorry I didn’t mention it sooner.”

“You thought he was a possibility when I was here the other day?” he asked.

“I didn’t want to consider it. It’s been over ten years since . . .” She swallowed and tightened her crossed arms.

“Since what?” Samuel asked sharply, his brows coming together.

“Since I’ve heard from him.”

“Why so long?” the officer pressed.

“Because I changed my name and moved here without telling him.” Only two other people in Eagle’s Nest knew those facts. Now the number had doubled. It felt as if she’d stepped off a pier into black, fathomless water, her deepest secrets dragging her down.

“What did he do to you?” Samuel asked gently.

“I’m jumping to conclusions,” she forced out in an upbeat voice, trying to pull herself up to the surface. “I’m sure it’s just teenagers.” She smiled, knowing it was fake.

Neither was fooled.

“You don’t believe that,” said Truman as Samuel nodded. “Why would your ex do this?”

Sandy closed her eyes for a long moment, a rushing sound in her ears. “Almost no one knows about this.”

“We’ll keep it as quiet as we can,” Samuel promised.

Can I do this?

“I left an abusive situation in Portland. I was terrified he would injure me in a permanent way if I didn’t get out of there.”

“Or kill you.” Samuel’s tone was flat, but anger projected from his eyes. Sandy looked away from the heat of his fury, but it comforted her instead of scaring her.

She’d been lucky to have a fresh start in Eagle’s Nest. Now she had true friends and a spine of steel. But as soon as her ex-husband entered her thoughts, she’d become that woman—the woman who watched every word she said and tiptoed around her husband for fear of reprisal.

An abused wife.

Sandy despised the woman she used to be. She had fought and cried and struggled to get rid of that woman. But with a few broken windows and spray paint, she had reappeared.

What doesn’t kill us makes us stronger.

I should be fucking Wonder Woman.

“I was stupid to stay as long as I did, but I was barely eighteen when we married, and he was ten years older. He’d convinced me that I was the one with the problem—I was the one who needed to learn to make our marriage work.” She shook her head in disgust. “He was the king of gaslighting. It took a lot of therapy before I understood how he’d manipulated my thoughts and actions for twenty years. The physical stuff started toward the end. Damn, I was such a stereotype. I believed him when he said a punch was an accident. And then I believed him when he promised it’d never happen again. He begged and pleaded for me to forgive him as he explained how much strain he was under at work. Over and over I gave him more chances. I hid bruises, a broken arm, and black eyes. I honestly believed it was my fault. But when he knocked me unconscious, I knew I was done.”

Both men watched her with wide eyes, no blame or pity present.

Thank God.

She couldn’t stomach pity. Pity was for victims, and her days of being a victim were far in the past.

“I moved out while he was at work. I hired a divorce lawyer who also helped me start a new life. With a new name.” She raised her chin, making herself look both of them in the eye. “During our divorce he threatened multiple times to kill me. My spousal support payments were removed from his paycheck because he refused to pay.” She gave a nervous laugh. “That turned out for the best. The state sent the payments to me, so he never knew where to find me.”

“What’s his name?” Samuel spoke softly, but his command was clear.

Sandy cocked her head as she met the officer’s gaze and paused before answering. “Lionel Kerns.”

“What’s your real name?” he continued in the same gentle tone.

“Jada.” She pressed her lips closed. The name hadn’t crossed her lips in years; it belonged to another woman. And she’d sworn she’d never say Jada Kerns again. Lionel’s last name was like a brand that’d been forcibly burned into her soul. It was best forgotten.

“Jada. That’s lovely,” Samuel said.

Truman jerked his gaze from her to Samuel, confusion on his face. She took little notice. Samuel’s compassion felt like a lifeline, one that was slowly hauling her out of the rough, black water.

Samuel understood and didn’t seem to think any less of her.

Male judgment about her previous life was one of her worst fears. It’d kept her single and avoidant, believing no man could understand. Or, worse, that any man would be the same as Lionel.

Samuel looked at Truman, a desire to hunt in his gaze. “Let’s find out where Lionel Kerns is these days.”

EIGHT

Mercy decided that Art Juergen looked like a man who enjoyed retirement.

He wore a pink golfing shirt and tan pants, appearing as if he’d just stopped in after nine holes. His hair had a little more silver since she’d last seen him, and his skin indicated he’d spent a lot of time on the course.

After shaking his hand, she watched as he met Jeff and Eddie. Within thirty seconds the three men were talking as if they’d known each other for years. Art had a knack for putting people immediately at ease. Eddie hadn’t crossed paths with Art in Portland, and Mercy saw he was making up for it. He peppered the former agent with questions.

“You don’t know how stoked I was to hear that something turned up after all these years,” Art told them as he took a seat in the small conference room. “It’s that case for me. The one that I’ve always wondered about.”

“I don’t know if the new lead will take us anywhere,” Mercy said. “Yes, we’ve got the remains of one of the robbers and some money bags, but will it help us find the other men?”

“Won’t know until you try,” Art said earnestly. “Every few years the robbery would be featured on a TV news show or turn up in a magazine, and the leads would start pouring in again.” He stroked his chin, a faraway look in his eyes. “When the investigation started, there were over a hundred agents working it. Stories were in the news every day, and tips flooded our phones. It took a lot of manpower to follow up on every call, but we did.”