CHAPTER 29
Dottie’s footsteps echoed through the hall. Weston stared at him grimly. “Why don’t you start with Lawson you dumbass? Did you ever look at the dossier I gave you?”
Motherfucker.
Shamefaced, Travis shook his head.
Weston pushed open his office door. “How the hell you became police chief when you’re so stubborn and hard-headed is beyond me.” A moment later he came back with a folder. “Open it.”
Travis shook his head. “Elaine first. I want to know everything.”
Weston eyed him critically. “Are you sure? I don’t want you using this shit against her.”
Weston might as well have kicked him in the balls for the pain that burst through him at his accusation. A tendril of fear curled through him. He wanted to know. Wanted to believe her. At the same time, confirmation that he’d been played would break him.
“Well? What’s it gonna be?”
He clenched his jaw so hard his molars squeaked.
Weston’s voice softened a fraction. “The truth will set you free, man. You’ll know for sure, and you can figure out how to move forward.”
He scrubbed a hand over his face. “Fine, fine. Make the call.” Weston was right. If he knew definitively, he could deal with the fallout. He wanted to puke.
“Mac, I need a favor.” Weston’s voice bounced off the wall as he walked down the hall.
Travis walked into his office and sat down, tossing the folder back on his desk. He propped his head in his hands, trying to control his churning stomach. If Dottie and Weston were both right and he was wrong, that made him the biggest asshole outside of the US Navy. And if he’d been wrong about Elaine, did that mean he’d been wrong about Colton too? Dottie sure as hell thought so. Had he been too hard on his little brother? His stomach gave a growling answer to the question. A weight pressed down on him. He’d always looked out for his team. How could he have failed his brother? He’d let the rigor of his training spill over into his personal life, and it hadn’t mixed well with a seventeen-year-old trying to find his way. Fuck him.
Footsteps sounded at the door, and Weston’s polished boots came into view. “Check your phone.”
Travis raised his head. He hadn’t seen Weston’s face that taut since… he shuddered. Not for a very long time. “I really don’t wanna know what connections you have, do I?”
Weston shrugged, mouth a rigid line. “Probably not.”
Travis’s phone beeped. He pulled up the email from what he presumed was a dummy account. Elaine’s mug shot flashed on the screen and then a summary. He skimmed through the bullet points. A runaway at fourteen, juvenile detention, repeated failed attempts at fostering, a group home, underage drinking, pot possession. A baby at seventeen, likely father a known criminal five years her senior, who died in a prison gang riot when she was nineteen.
His stomach churned. Good riddance. No wonder she’d turned to cutting at some point. Guilt stabbed through him as everything he’d learned about dealing with self-harm came slamming back to him. Weston was right, what kind of a hack cop was he? He continued scrolling through the summary.
After Dax was born, a string of low wage jobs but no criminal activity – until the night she was arrested in a drug sweep at Naughty Nellie’s. According to the document, she’d submitted a request for a hearing to have her probation reduced. Hearing set for the day after tomorrow. He raked a hand through his hair. “I’ve really fucked this up, haven’t I? With Elaine?”
Weston frowned and leaned in the doorway. “Elaine’s a good woman, Travis. You know that. You have to fix this. This is all Lawson’s doing. You want someone to pay? Make it him. Elaine’s paid enough.”
He reached for the file and opened it. Lawson’s formal police chief photo smiled back at him. His hand twitched. God, he needed a heavy bag. But he wasn’t going to drive all the way home just to release the energy stuck inside him.
Everything Weston had hinted at was there, right on the page in black and white. And the farther down the page he read, the hotter he grew, blood pounding in his ears.
Lawson was shady. The kind of cop you heard rumors about but didn’t quite believe could be true. Or that they only happened in big cities like Chicago and New York. The man had questionable connections with drug dealers and prostitution rings, but no one could ever seem to pin anything on him. Twice, he was accused of assaulting a female suspect in holding, but nothing was ever proven.
He flicked a glance at Weston. “You knew this? And you’ve been sitting on it?”
Weston raised his hands. “I tried to tell you, but you were more concerned with doing things by the book. Honorable trait in a police chief.”
For all the good it did him. He glanced through the last page, eyes catching on the words Naughty Nellie’s. “Did you see this?” He quickly scanned the last paragraphs, heart racing. “Lawson was the arresting officer at Naughty Nellie’s the night Elaine was arrested.”
Weston’s eyebrows shot up. “Huh.”
“Did you know this?”
Weston shook his head. “Nah. There was enough on the first page to convince me the guy’s scum.”
Travis’s mind raced. He was missing something. And then the missing link dropped into place. The abject fear on Elaine’s face when he’d seen Lawson talking to her after the 4th of July parade. The look that had made him spontaneously decide to jump in the race for sheriff. He slammed a hand on his desk and stood. “Holy shit, Wes, Lawson knows her. He knows Elaine.”
“How do you know?”
“I just know,” he growled. “And I’m going to get to the bottom of this once and for all.” He tossed the folder on his chair and brushed past Weston.
“If you’re going to confront Lawson, be careful,” Weston called after him.
Adrenaline pumped through him, narrowing his focus. All he could see as he slipped into his vehicle was Elaine’s terrified face. The entire drive over to Marion he replayed every encounter with the man, honing his anger. He took the police station steps two at a time and smiled politely at the gray-haired front office lady just inside the door. “Lawson in?”
He walked silently down the hall, pausing just outside the open door. Lawson’s voice drifted out. He was on the phone with someone. A quick glance around the corner showed an office similar to his, with the desk facing sideways into the room. Lawson was behind it with his feet up on the desk, at an angle to the door.
Travis slipped into the office and silently shut the door, turning the lock. As Lawson turned, he ripped the phone out of the bastard’s hands and slammed it on the receiver.
“Whaa?”
Before Lawson could say more, he’d pulled the man out of his chair and shoved him against the wall. “Right now, you sonofabitch,” he bellowed. “This stops right now. Tell me how you know Elaine.”
Recognition bloomed on Lawson’s face, and he sneered. “So you finally figured out the bitch was playing you?”
Travis punched him in the gut. He’d start with the soft spots first.
Lawson wheezed and squirmed, but he had six inches on the guy and rage fueling him. Lawson was going nowhere. “You’ll pay for that, Kincaid,” he choked. “Once this gets out,” he gasped, “Your career is over.”
Travis punched him again. Harder. It felt entirely too good. “I don’t give a shit you asswipe. You’re scum. What did she ever do to you?”
Lawson’s eyes lit fanatically, full of hatred.
Of course. The locked door. “Wait. She turned you down didn’t she? You wanted a piece and she told you to get lost. So you tried–”
“She’s nothing but a whore,” Lawson spit.
Red hazed his vision and he came unleashed. This time, hitting higher. “Don’t.” A fist to the ribs and an accompanying crack. “You.” Another fist to the ribs. Upward, punctuating each word with a blow. “Ever. Call. My. Future. Wife. A. Whore. Do. I. Make. Myself. Clear?” He took aim and slammed his fist into Lawson’s nose with a sickening crunch.
Lawson gave a strangled cry and went limp, sliding down the wall and collapsing in a heap when Travis let go. He stood a moment, letting the shaking in his body dissipate, then flexed his hand and silently left the office closing the door quietly behind him.
Calm settled over Travis. All his years in the SEALs, he’d saved his fighting for the battlefield. But he’d learned an important lesson today. There was something deeply, viscerally satisfying about delivering cowboy justice to an asshole. He parked his vehicle back at the station and gave the roof a pat as he shut the door. Keeping his pace measured, almost leisurely, he climbed the stairs and pushed open the glass door. Acknowledging Jeanine with a wave, he didn’t stop until he reached Weston’s desk. “Congratulations, you just earned yourself a promotion.” He tossed his badge on the pile of papers scattered in front of him.
Weston swiveled around, eyes moving back and forth between his bruised knuckles and his face. “I should see the other guy, huh?”
He nodded once, not trusting his voice.
“What next?”
He took a deep breath, releasing it slowly. “I find Elaine and beg her to forgive me.”
“Prepare to grovel.”
“Yep.”
“Lots of groveling, Travis.”
He nodded again.
“Unprecedented groveling.”
“I get the picture,” he growled. Leaving Weston with a two-fingered salute, he hit the locker room for the last time. He hung his vest and stowed his weapon in the lock box. He pulled on his Wranglers and slipped into his boots, buttoned up his favorite flannel plaid and secured his belt buckle. He gave a last look around the bare room and tossed his uniform in the laundry.
He stopped at Jeanine’s desk. “I probably haven’t told you as much as I should’ve, what an asset you are to us. I’m sorry about that.”
Jeanine tilted her head giving him a funny look. “Aww you’re sweet, Travis. See you tomorrow for the party?”
The party. Weston had organized a watch party at the ranch. There would be no victory for him now. But it would be sad to waste Mike McAllister’s victory brew he’d created just for tomorrow night. “Yeah. See you tomorrow.”
Travis crawled into his SUV, tossed his phone on the passenger seat and sat, hands on the wheel. If he breathed deeply, he could still detect the faint residue of Elaine’s perfume. He couldn’t bring himself to start the vehicle. He’d never been a full-fledged civilian. He’d gone right from the military to the police academy, and from there, straight home to Prairie. Apprehension fluttered at the edge of his conscious. His new life started the second he pulled out of the parking space. The cell phone taunted him from the middle of the seat. Thoughts spun in his head like they were on a wash cycle.
Don’t be a chickenshit.
Letting his head fall back, he shut his eyes, mustering the courage to pick up the phone. “Fuck it.” He reached for the phone before he could psych himself out, or come up with a million reasons why what he was about to do was a bad idea. He scrolled through his contacts, thumb twitching when he reached the name. His pulse raced, sounding like a drum in the small space. He hit the call button, stomach tightening with each ring.
And voicemail.
Clearing his throat, he waited for the brief greeting to end. “Colt. Travis. Look… I know this is long overdue, and I’ve been an ass.” He laughed harshly. “Hell, worse than an ass… I’d like to properly apologize. Call me?”
He clicked off and stared at his brother’s contact information. The lost years, the countless missed opportunities hung before him like a banner. His throat closed, remorse washing over him. He took a shuddering breath. He’d made a start, and it might not come to anything, but it was a start. He started the engine. One down, one to go.