The slight hope I’d felt started to fade again. If Carter and Delilah had alibis, we were back to nothing. Back to zero leads. Frustration bloomed, and tears pricked my eyes.
“But how can we be sure Carter was really in Tulare and not just his phone?” Beckett asked. “He and Delilah could be working together, right? Or he could have had his assistant take the phone out of town to ensure it pinged elsewhere.”
Wylee stroked his beard. “You’re not wrong, but all we can do is follow the leads one step at a time. I can’t lock him in a cell just because you suspect he might be behind this.”
My frustration finally leaked out of me, and I threw my hands up. “So what? We just allow them to keep coming at us while we wait? While more people I love get hurt?!”
“I understand how you’re both feeling—”
“No. I don’t think you do, Sheriff,” Beckett bit out. “If this were Lydia, would you only be taking these careful, measured steps, or would you be burning the fucking town down to make sure she was protected? That the person who attacked her was behind bars?”
The sheriff’s face darkened. “Don’t use my wife against me, son. We’re doing what we can, within the law, so we can put this bastard away for good when we finally arrest him. If it were Lydia, I’d want the same thing. I’d want the asshole locked up with no loophole allowing him to escape. So yes, I’d still be doing things by the book, but I’d also make sure I didn’t let her out of my sight.”
The men glared at each other for a long moment before Wylee’s face softened, and he sighed. “Between you, Parker’s team, and my men, we have Maisey covered. Cleaver is on his way here as we speak. He’s hardly slept since this all started.”
I hated this. Hated every second of this. The burden I was to the people around me. The threat hovering over all my loved ones. The guilt dragging me down into the abyss.
“Forgive me if I don’t want to put Maisey’s life in the hands of Carter’s cousin.” The sarcasm and doubt in Beckett’s voice pushed Wylee right back over the edge.
“Now, you listen. Josh Cleaver is a good man and good deputy—”
As the voices raised, Vader barked, easing up next to Beckett with the hair on his nape rising. And all that pain I’d been holding back tried to slam back into me.
“Stop!” I shouted, instantly regretting it. Quieter and calmer, I repeated, “Please stop.”
Remorse instantly washed over Beckett’s face, and he squeezed me to him tighter, but his guilt only ended up adding to mine.
The sheriff ran a hand over his white beard, and when he spoke, he was once again calmer. “I’m not taking any of this lightly, Beckett. It’s been difficult for me to find any department nearby willing to send officers to help us out due to the holiday, but Cooper is on his way, and the Steeles have sent more folks from their Vegas security team. We’ve got Sweeney and his friends at your house, and I’ve been told the renters at the Helmers will be leaving this morning, so we can put someone there too.”
I frowned. “Has anyone even really been staying at the Helmers’? We haven’t seen any cars all week.”
Wylee flipped through his phone. “Yeah, it was rented by some movie production company that goes by the name Lost Acres Productions. Supposedly, the CEO and his girlfriend are here, but I worked out a deal with Fallon for a future stay at the resort if they agreed to cut their vacation short to help us out by leaving early.”
My stomach bottomed out as his words rang through my mind.
A movie production company.
A chill ran up my spine.
A man and his girlfriend.
No. No. It couldn’t be.
My voice shook as I asked, “What…what was the company name again?”
“Lost Acres.”
“Oh God…” I felt all the blood leave my face, and the barn spun around me. I didn’t want it to be true. I could believe she’d leave childish notes… I could believe that much, but to actually attack me? Drug Dad? She wouldn’t have…
“Maise.” Beckett’s worry sifted through me.
The unknown number that had been bugging me seemed to swim before my eyes, and with a shaking hand, I pulled my phone out of my pocket, scrolling backward to the awful text she’d sent the day Beckett’s door had been painted. When I found it, bile curled up my throat. The number was only a few digits off the one that had sent Dad and me messages. Easily part of a batch of burners.
The trembling in my hand grew until it consumed my body. Until it shook loose the numbness I’d kept close since yesterday, ripping it completely aside. Hot fury filled in behind it.
Beckett saw my reaction, and he reached for me. “Maisey?”
Thousands of memories flooded me. The disgust in her tone. The cold words. The toxic gaslighting I’d wanted to believe was actually caring and worry.