Page 22 of Texas (Route 69 #1)

Twenty-One

K ristin’s been pacing her office at the clinic since sunrise, lips moving as she runs through her speech again and again, one hand wrapped tightly around her phone like it’s the only anchor she’s got left.

Her hair’s up, but a few curls have already broken loose and there’s a flush high on her cheeks from adrenaline, fear, or maybe both.

I sit on the edge of the desk, watching her.

Her voice is steady, but I hear the tension at the edges.

I want to pull her in and tell her it’ll be fine, but I don’t.

This isn’t a fairytale, and I’m not here to rescue her.

I’m only here to make sure she gets to swing her own damn sword.

“You’re going to kill it,” I say, finally. My voice is calm, the way it always is before a fight. “You think those women out there came for Will? They came for you. You gave them something they never had in this town. Someone to stand up for them.”

Stopping, she looks at me. “What if nobody listens?”

I shrug. “Then we make them.” I hold up my phone. “We’re streaming this. Posting every damn soundbite. You’ll be everywhere before Will can even call his lawyer.”

She gives a shaky laugh, but there’s steel in it. “You make it sound easy.”

“It’s not,” I tell her. “But it’s necessary.”

With a nod, I see her shoulders set. There’s a storm coming and she’s decided she’s not running from it this time.

Good. I stand, squeeze her hand once, then slip out the back door for some air and a little privacy.

I need to work on the last piece of the plan.

While pacing the grass, I call Matt, and he picks up on the first ring.

“Holliday. You alive?”

“Still breathing. You got something for me?”

“Oh, yeah,” he says, all business now. “Cleveland’s dirtier than a latrine in Kandahar.

I dug into his LLCs, and he’s been laundering money through dummy companies for years.

Things like real estate “investments” that never break ground, but the money moves anyway.

He’s got a shell company out of Houston that’s been wiring funds to a city councilman’s wife.

I’ve got the records. And none of this covers the bribes we know he’s laying out. The guy’s the worst kind of scumbag.”

That’s enough to make me smile. “You got proof?”

“Enough,” he answers. “I’ve got a few PDFs, some wire transfers. A little looking, and I bet the feds can find lots of emails. I’m sending you a Dropbox link. You post this, you can start the wheels in motion to burn him to the ground.”

“Matt, you’re a fucking saint.”

“Careful who you call a saint,” he says with a snort. “Listen, Reggie. Guys like Cleveland? They don’t go down easy. He’ll come at you sideways. Be ready.”

“I’m always ready,” I say. “Thanks, Matt. You ever need anything…”

“Just don’t get dead. And if you do, at least make it interesting.”

I hang up, heart pounding, and scan the files as they come through.

Screenshots of the dirt. Enough to get a DA’s interest for sure.

I forward them to Kristin, then set up a backup on a burner email.

Just in case. I tuck the phone away, roll my shoulders, and head around the side of the clinic. The crowd’s already gathering.

It’s not huge. Maybe thirty people and a couple of reporters.

A few women I recognize from the waiting room, holding hands, faces set and grim.

Donna stands near the front, arms crossed, eyes sharp.

Hank leans on his cane at the edge of the sidewalk.

There are kids, a few old men, even a couple of teenagers with their phones out, no doubt ready to put whatever happens on social media, which is perfect.

Denise is stationed at the tripod holding Kristin’s phone.

Tasha’s got her arms folded, her body angled in front of Kristin like a bodyguard.

I hang back, my hands in my pockets. I’m here any case there is any trouble, not the spotlight.

My job is to watch the crowd, scan for Will’s dogs, and make damn sure Kristin doesn’t get blindsided.

In another moment, Kristin steps up to the makeshift podium.

It’s only a folding table with her notes, a bottle of water, and a mic Donna drummed up from the local community college.

First, she looks at the crowd, then right into the lens of the phone.

“My name is Kristin Lennox,” she says. Her voice is steady, but I see the tremor in her hands.

“I’m a nurse practitioner, the director of this clinic, and a woman who has spent her life serving this community. ”

She starts slow, but her voice builds. She tells them about the harassment.

About the cameras, the threats, and the legal bullshit Will’s been throwing at her.

She doesn’t cry, but stands there and tells the truth, plain and unvarnished.

“I have been threatened with eviction from my home. I have been told I am unfit to serve this clinic,” she continues.

“I have been called immoral, unstable, and dangerous, all for providing women with healthcare and choices. I am here to say I will not be silenced. I will not let this town’s power brokers decide who gets care and who gets punished.

I will not let a man who cannot control his own impulses control mine. ”

There’s a murmur through the crowd. Some people nod.

Some look away. But most are listening, really listening.

Donna’s face shines with pride. Kristin glances at her phone, then back at the crowd.

“If you have a story, if you have ever been threatened, or silenced, or made to feel small, know that you are not alone. And you don’t have to stay quiet anymore. ”

Taking a deep breath, she lets the words seep in.

I scan the street, and that’s when I see the Mercedes.

Will pulls up, silver paint flashing in the sun.

He gets out slowly, like he’s walking onto a stage.

The sheriff follows, hat in hand, eyes darting.

Will’s smile is pure TV preacher. He walks right through the crowd, cutting through like he owns the air.

He doesn’t look at Kristin as he steps in front of her, and instead smiles at the crowd, all smooth charm.

“Good morning, everyone. I want to assure you that my wife’s passion for this town is something we all admire. But I’m afraid she’s become confused. Distracted by the influence of outsiders who don’t understand our values.”

His eyes flick to me, then away. He gestures to the sheriff. “This gathering is unauthorized. It’s a public disturbance. Sheriff, I’d like you to disperse the crowd.”

The sheriff shifts, uncomfortable. “Will, I—”

Will’s voice sharpens. “Do your job.”

Kristin steps forward, voice cold. “This is a peaceful assembly, Sheriff. Protected by the Constitution. If you shut it down, you’re complicit in his abuse.”

There’s a ripple in the crowd. I see more phones being lifted, no doubt recording. Donna calls out, “Let her speak!”

Will’s mask slips for a second. He turns to Kristin, voice low and venomous. “You’re embarrassing yourself. You’re embarrassing me,” he grows. “You need help, Kristin. You need to stop before you ruin everything you’ve worked so hard to build.”

That’s my cue. I step out of the shade, up to the edge of the crowd, and raise my voice so everyone can hear.

“Actually, Will, I think you’re the one who needs help.

” My tone is level and clear. The voice I used to use when I called in air support.

“See, I’ve got proof showing you’ve been laundering money through dummy companies.

Plus, we all know you’ve been bribing officials, and paying off the cops to keep your dirty secrets. ”

Will’s face goes white, then red. “That’s slander.”

I shake my head. “No, Will. That’s evidence. I’ve already sent it to a few friends in the media. Check your inbox.”

“You’re making a huge mistake,” Will growls, taking a step in my direction.

With a grin, I nod to the teenagers, the reporters, the livestream. “Smile for the camera, Cleveland. You’re on a live stream. In fact, I bet you’re trending.”

For a second, the crowd is silent. Then Denise, bless her, starts clapping. Tasha joins in. Donna. Hank. Then others. The applause grows until it drowns out whatever Will tries to say next, his voice lost under the sound of people waking up.

The sheriff glances at Will, then at the crowd, then back at Will. “I think it’s best if we just… let folks be for now.”

Will sputters, tries to regain control, but it’s too late.

The mask is gone, and the town is watching.

He looks desperate, and exactly like the man Kristin’s been telling them he is.

I step back, arms crossed, watching him unravel in real time.

His only answer is to scramble into his Mercedes and speed away.

Kristin turns, finds me in the crowd, and our eyes meet.

There’s fear there, but underneath it there’s relief. I nod once. She nods back.

After another few minutes, when the show is over, women come up to Kristin, hugging her, and thanking her.

Reporters ask for quotes. Someone shoves a phone in my face, but I wave them off.

I’m not the story. Kristin is. The livestream’s already racking up shares and comments.

Someone tags an Austin news station. The tide is turning.

Once the crowd finally disperses, we slip back into the clinic, hearts still pounding. Kristin leans against the wall, eyes closed and lets out a shaky breath. “Was that enough?” she asks.

“It’s a start,” I say. “But we’re not done. I’m pretty sure Will Cleveland won’t take this lying down.”

Kristin nods, a grim smile on her face. “I imagine he won’t,” she agrees. “But we will be ready.”