Page 21 of Finding His Redemption

“I—” She started to speak, but no words came. Her throat had closed up tight.

“Mom?” Oliver’s voice drifted from the back room, high and worried. “What was that noise?”

The sound of her son’s voice snapped her back to the present. She dropped to her knees, frantically gathering the larger pieces of glass, her hands shaking so badly she could barely hold them.

“It’s okay, baby!” she called back, voice cracking. “Just dropped something. There’s glass everywhere. Stay in there until I get it cleaned up, okay?”

Margery grabbed a handful of napkins to help soak up the coffee. “Hank, can’t you see the girl’s upset? Maybe save your questions for later.”

But Hank wasn’t done. He circled the counter and dropped to a crouch on the pretense of helping her clean up the glass. “You sure there’s nothing you want to tell me? Nothing at all about what you might’ve seen out there yesterday morning?”

She looked up at him and saw something in his face that made her blood run cold. There was no concern or suspicion in those eyes. Just hunger, like he was feeding off her fear.

How could his eyes look so much like Boone’s but express something so different?

“I-I don’t know,” she whispered and thought back to her drive that morning. She’d been distracted, as she always was when she had to check in with Marshal Brandt, but she did remember seeing another vehicle. She hadn’t thought much about it at the time because it wasn’t uncommon to see cars parked alongside that road before dawn—fishermen going down to Coldwater Creek or hikers headed up the mountain, hoping to summit by noon. “I think I saw a car. Or, bigger than a car. Maybe a truck or van? It was pulled off the side of the road in the bushes. Light-colored. White or silver.”

“Now I know that’s a lie, Vanessa. You’re covering for someone. Tell me about the hitchhiker out there yesterday morning. The man from Valor Ridge.”

“He wasn’t—” Too late, she realized her mistake.

Hank’s smile widened, showing too many teeth.

“He wasn’t what?” The sheriff’s voice was soft, dangerous. “Go on.”

Nessie’s pulse hammered against her throat. She’d walked straight into his trap, and now she was caught. “He wasn’t hitchhiking. He was just... walking.”

“Walking where?”

“I don’t know. Away from the Ridge, I guess.”

Margery had gone very still, her shrewd eyes darting between them. The other customers were trying to pretend they weren’t listening, but the bakery had gone quiet except for the soft scrape of glass against linoleum as Nessie continued gathering broken pieces with trembling fingers.

Hank shifted closer, his voice dropping to a whisper only she could hear. “A woman’s dead, Vanessa. Murdered. And you gave a ride to a convicted felon who was walking away from the scene of the crime.” He paused, letting that sink in. “Now, you can tell me about it here, in front of all these nice people, or you can come down to the station where we can have a more private conversation.”

The threat was clear. And they both knew what a trip to the sheriff’s station would mean. Questions about why she’d really been out there that morning. Background checks that might reveal things she’d spent four years trying to bury.

Her hands stilled. A sharp edge bit into her palm, but she barely felt it.

“There’s nothing to tell,” she said quietly. “I got a flat tire on my way home. He helped me change it, and I gave him a ride to town. He didn’t have any blood on him or anything like that. And he wasn’t in a hurry?—”

“What’s his name?”

Nessie hesitated, mind racing. She didn’t want to feed Jax to the wolves, but lying to the sheriff would only make things worse.

“Jax,” she said finally. “Jaxon Thorne.”

Hank’s eyes crinkled with satisfaction. He’d already known. This had been a test, and she couldn’t tell if she passed or failed.

“Where did you drop him off?”

“I didn’t drop him off anywhere. He was here until Boone came to get him.”

“Why am I not surprised my wayward nephew is neck deep in this?” Hank’s lip curled into a sneer just as his radio crackled again.

“Sheriff, the crime scene team is wrapping up here. You coming?”

He stood, brushing off his knees, and keyed the radio. “On my way, Murdock. Don’t let them leave until I get there.” His cold eyes found hers again. “This conversation isn’t over, Ms. Harmon. I’ll be back with more questions.”