Page 43 of Finding His Redemption

And ring.

Finally, it stopped. The silence that followed felt heavier than before, crushing her like a weight. She counted to ten, then twenty, willing her pulse to slow. It was probably just a telemarketer. Or someone with the wrong number. Nothing to panic about.

The phone rang again.

This time, she snatched it up before the second ring. “Hello?”

Silence.

“Hello?” she said again, louder this time.

Still nothing.

She hung up and threw it down, staring at it, mentally daring it to ring again.

It did.

She snapped it up. “Leave me alone!”

“Nessie, what’s wrong?” the voice was male, deep, and alarmed.

And familiar.

She froze, looking at the name on the screen. Corbin Brandt. Shit. The universe had a sick sense of timing.

She sucked in a soothing breath and raised the phone to her ear again in time to hear him shout, “Vanessa!”

“I’m here. I’m okay.”

“What’s going on?”

“Nothing,” she lied, cursing her own jumpiness. “Just had a couple of hang-up calls. Got me spooked.”

“Hang-up calls,” Brandt said, flat and skeptical. “You want to try again with something I might actually believe?”

Nessie closed her eyes and leaned against the kitchen counter. Marshal Corbin Brandt had been her lifeline when she’d fled LA, the one person who’d believed her when she’d said Alek would kill her if she stayed. He’d arranged her new identity, found her this town, kept tabs on her ex from a distance. He’d never once treated her like she was overreacting or paranoid.

Which meant he wouldn’t start now.

“Sheriff Goodwin came by the bakery yesterday asking questions,” she admitted. “About a murder victim they found on Ridge Road.”

“Bailee Cooper.” His voice was grim. “I heard. That’s why I’m calling. Is this something we need to be concerned about?”

Of course, he had heard. Brandt had ways of knowing things before the rest of the world caught on.

“No. Goodwin thinks one of Walker Nash’s guys did it. A new resident at Valor Ridge.”

Brandt growled. “If I’d known about that place, I never would’ve put you in Solace.”

“Walker Nash is a good man,” Nessie said quickly. “He’s doing a good thing with that ranch, helping people who need it.”

“And one of those people might be a killer.”

“He’s not.” The words came out sharper than she’d intended. “I met him, Corbin. He’s not a killer.”

Silence stretched across the line.

When Brandt finally spoke, his words were deadly quiet. “You. Met. Him.”