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Then again… why would he be local? Julie wasn’t from New York; she’d moved nine times. Her ex would probably rely on accomplices he knew personally rather than take a chance on strangers.
Ronan leaned in again, clicking through the rest of Dawson’s file. Two children, two different mothers—delinquent on his child support payments. Every arrest was for cocaine, so at least they knew the guy’s weakness.
But something wasn’t adding up—the man should be in jail now. Serial offenders didn’t typically get catch-and-release treatment, and his bail should’ve been far beyond what Dawson could afford. And if he got caught crossing state lines before his trial, he’d be right back in Nebraska Penn.
Ronan cut his eyes at the bedroom—Julie’s peacefully sleeping form. Was she from Nebraska? Her stalker didn’t just pull Dawson out of a phone book—again, presuming that this was actually the man she’d seen in the motel parking lot.
He had a little time for speculation. It was too early to call Charles and touch base about the security company—too early for Paddy, too. Maybe by dawn, he’d have a real lead.
Ronan opened a new tab and tapped in Jason Mercer’s information. He’d already gone over Mercer’s file, but when he’d first run the man through the system, he hadn’t had anyone to cross-reference Mercer against.
Unlike Dawson, Mercer had been born in New York, had been staying here with his mother at the time of his death. But he’d been an Air Force brat, lived in thirteen different states, including Nebraska—Mercer’s father had been stationed there twice. He’d never served time in a Nebraska prison, so that was unlikely to be the connection, but he had been arrested at twenty-nine, two years ago… in Ravenbrook.
Bingo.
And there was another connection, according to his software.
Ronan’s heart raced as he read through the court transcripts. One name showed up three times between the two files—Daniel Graves had testified at Dawson’s last trial, vouched for his character. But compass-loving Eli Dawson was a deadbeat father and a chronic offender, one who was still using substances.
He clicked through to the software’s homepage, then scrolled for any other connections: common groups, credit card transactions, even news stories involving Jason Mercer, Eli Dawson, and Daniel Graves. None had all three, but there was a two-year-old photo attached to a Ravenbrook press release about catching the perpetrator in a string of burglaries. Mercer in handcuffs, the sheriff walking behind him: Sheriff Daniel Graves.
Ronan squinted, thinking. Graves, Graves, Graves. The name wasn’t familiar, but his face… Did they know each other?
Then it clicked: He did know Graves. He’d been in the news after he’d nearly died in a house fire—arson. But that wasn’t why he remembered the man. His wife had gone missing that night. Ronan generally stayed out of O’Connor Media’s “top stories,” but his brother Charles had brought the guy up as evidence that Ronan’s profession was tainted—Graves should have been a suspect. Instead, he’d somehow become a martyr, the victim of a disturbed woman that he’d tried so hard to help.
“Is this why you keep that lame job?” Charles had asked. “Because if your wife pisses you off, you can get rid of her and walk away more popular than you were before?”
Mouth dry, Ronan tapped in “Daniel Graves” separately, watching the circle on the screen while the program pulled his data—public information and much more that wasn’t. Even small-town newspapers were online these days, and Graves’ name came up often. Every year, in fact, for… the Christmas tree lighting ceremony.
Ronan scrolled through the online paper to years past. One year back. Three. Five. Seven…
The world stopped spinning. His lungs turned to ice.
Her hair wasn’t the same, a darker shade, but he’d know her face anywhere. Juliette Graves—pretty close to Julie. Missing for six years now, legally declared dead the year prior.
Ronan forced a breath into his too-small lungs, but his heart remained rabbit-quick against his breastbone. Her husband was the sheriff—a fucking cop. Was that how he’d gained access to Ronan’s security feeds? Companies often shared footage with law enforcement willingly, assuming they were allies, but Daniel might have found a way to erase any footage that implicated him.
His gaze remained locked on the screen—on Juliette, standing in front of a twenty-foot Christmas tree, a madman’s arm around her shoulders.
Juliette wasn’t just a suspect in her husband’s attempted murder case, hadn’t only lit his home on fire. She was supposed to be dead. And according to this, she was wanted in connection with the disappearance of another officer, too—a Ravenbrook deputy.
His chest was wrapped in thorns, acid eating at his guts. According to the law, the APBs, the warrants, all the files that mattered, she’d tried to kill a cop and made another disappear. The moment the world realized she was still alive, she was on the hook for attempted murder and arson, a suspect in another disappearance. She’d go to jail, if only to await trial.
And Ronan knew better than anyone how easy it was for law enforcement to get to someone inside a prison.
If they locked her up, she was as good as dead.
Which was what Daniel Graves was counting on.
Chapter 23
Juliette
His voice came to her in snippets, low, frantic words whispered from somewhere across the room. Juliette stretched—the other side of the bed was cold.
“Charles, I wouldn’t ask if it wasn’t important. I need your help here. This guy… he’s too smart for me.”
Juliette pushed herself to sitting, her heart in her throat. Her eyes were bleary, brain still asleep—unable to process what she was hearing.