Cooper pulled a pair of handcuffs from his back.
“Chelsea Campbell, you’re under arrest for the assault and kidnapping of a police officer, the attempted murder of Lewis Campbell, assault and attempted murder of Maisey Campbell…” he continued the list and moved on to her Miranda rights.
It wasn’t enough. Her arrest wasn’t nearly enough for what she’d done to my girl. The years of gaslighting. The years of trauma she’d wrought. For the pain she’d caused Maisey this week.
Maisey.
Maisey was all that mattered.
I spun around to see her leaning up against a golf cart. As I started toward her, my dog bounded out of the barn and straight for her, colliding with her legs. As she put her hand on top of his head, she whispered something to him I couldn’t hear.
I jogged over, scanning every inch of her. My heart thudded, fear racing over the rage as I grabbed her hand and realized it was bleeding. Goddamn it. She was covered in blood from her chin down. It was all over her. Not enough for her to be in danger of bleeding out, but the whip had left its mark in multiple places.
That bitch. That fucking bitch.
I started to turn, started to head back to Chelsea and Cooper, but Maisey twined her fingers with mine and jerked me to a halt.
“Beckett.”
That’s all it took to draw me back to her, and the sadness and pain I saw etched over her face had me swearing all over again.
I put one hand on the back of her head—uncertain if it was to steady her or steady me—as I leaned in and took her mouth with mine. I kissed her with an abundance of stored-up terror and worry and anger. I kissed her violently for going off on her own after she’d promised she wouldn’t. I kissed her furiously for almost dying. I kissed her because we were both alive to do just that.
When I pulled back ever so slightly, she touched my cheek tenderly before catching sight of someone over my shoulder. I turned to see Cleaver holding an ice pack to his head and rocking on his heels.
“The sheriff!” Maisey said. “Chelsea said they locked him in his trunk and left the car somewhere.”
“Cooper handled it,” Cleaver said, nodding in the direction of the man reading Chelsea her rights. “He showed up at the station with the surveillance videos, and when no one could find the sheriff, Cooper had theoffice track the GPS on his rig. Did your sister actually think no one would find him?”
“I don’t think she cared,” Maisey said, looking over to where Kasey had started working on her sister with a med kit from the rig. Cooper stood watch, with his arms crossed over his chest and a dark scowl on his face.
Chelsea was still writhing in pain from the burns up her legs and the gunshot wound, but I didn’t feel an ounce of empathy. She’d earned that pain and much more.
Parker sprinted out of the darkness, sliding to a stop next to us. He was out of breath, and his clothes were in disarray, even his shirt was on backward. He and Fallon had been noticeably absent from the firework show, and it was clear the ranch’s fire alarms had drawn him from the alternate activities in which they’d been engaged.
“Fuck,” he breathed, taking in Maisey’s cuts and the smolder still emanating from the barn. He jerked his phone out and texted out a message as he said, “Fallon stayed with the kids.”
“Stayed, or you tied her up and forced her to stay?” Maisey said, and when her lips turned upward ever so slightly, the heaviness in my chest eased slightly.
“She stayed. Just until Lauren could get over to the house,” he replied. He took in the scene again before settling his glare on Cleaver. “I thought you weren’t letting Maisey out of your sight. You promised that was your only job.”
“And I thought you had people and cameras searching for Chelsea,” I grunted out. “And yet she still got in. Got her hands on Maisey.”
“Stop!” Maisey yelled, and the three of us went silent, anger and frustration and regret spreading in the air between us. “It isn’t Parker or his team’s fault. Chelsea was wearing a mask.”
“A mask?” Cleaver repeated.
“Yeah, it’s somewhere in that mess,” Maisey said, nodding toward the barn.
“Shit. With her acting career, we should have expected that,” Parker swore, remorse clear in his tone, his face grim.
“What’s your excuse?” I demanded of Cleaver.
“Wylee texted me. Said he’d apprehended a suspect in the barn and Sweeney would be watching Maisey so I could assist. I’d barely gotten into my car when I got hit from behind.” He shuffled the ice pack around and then grimaced. “Idiots didn’t take my key when they handcuffed me though. Once I woke up, I got here as fast as I could.”
Irritation bled through me. Everyone had fallen right into Chelsea’s hands.
“I shouldn’t have left the grandstands.” Maisey’s voice drew my eyes to her. To the cuts that still hadn’t been treated. To the sadness that still hadn’t faded from her face. “I knew better, Beckett. I knew the texts yesterday were faked. Every part of me was telling me it wasn’t you who’d messaged me, but I couldn’t find you anywhere…and I thought maybe they had you…that they were actually using your phone, and that they’d drugged you like they had Dad…that you might die…”