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Hayley
Hayley’s duties often involved protective custody, so awareness was second nature to her. Being attuned to her surroundings could mean the difference between life and death, success and failure.
That awareness was now playing havoc with her sensibilities.
She’d first noticed the high-end SUV with the tinted windows parked down the block when Daryl showed up at Martha’s. She knew it was Matt. Being in his sights felt like stepping outside right before a summer thunderstorm—when the charge in the air ghosted over her skin and made it tingle.
Those feelings she’d been burying for years pushed tenaciously toward the surface, craving freedom. Matt Winston was and always would be her first love, and no amount of time or circumstance would change that.
Not acknowledging him had been an effort, but talking with Daryl on Martha’s front porch had been neither the appropriate time nor place for a reunion. She had a job to do, and that included laying some necessary groundwork. Plus, she would prefer her first face-to-face encounter with Matt after fifteen years to be private.
That was why, instead of rushing out into the street after Daryl left, she had gone back inside the house. Hayley spent the next hour skillfully dodging the ladies’ questions and guiding the topic back to Sumneyville. In those instances when she had to provide some answers, she stuck as closely to the truth as possible.
By the time the impromptu luncheon had finally ended, Matt’s SUV was gone, and Hayley’s head had been filled with opinions and observations that wouldn’t appear in any official report. Sorting through it would take some time, but Hayley had no doubt that critical information had unknowingly been relayed under the guise of hearsay.
It was all part of her plan. Hayley didn’t believe for one moment that the members of the Ladies Auxiliary were either directly involved with or had knowledge of the true extent of the crimes being committed in their town. What they did have were useful insights into everyone and everything in town, and Hayley believed that would be what ultimately broke the case.
The next step in Hayley’s plan was meeting up with Daryl, away from prying eyes and curious ears. For that, there was no place better than the Freed homestead even though she dreaded going out there and confronting the ghosts of her past again.
She had several hours before then, so she returned to the second floor, pulled out her laptop, and started stalking.
Everything the ladies had said about the resort tragedy was easily corroborated. The devastating fire had destroyed a substantial part of the main building and taken the lives of the founding family and one staff member who’d been in the kitchen at the time of the blaze. The articles mentioned that the place had been closed for annual maintenance and renovations, or things would have been far worse.
“Not for Matt,” she whispered.
Her heart broke as she stared at the grainy images of Matt, standing among the graves of his family, surrounded by people and yet more alone than she’d ever seen anyone. The Winstons had been a loving, caring, close-knit family. She couldn’t imagine the crushing grief he must have felt at losing all of them at once.
If only she’d known. If only she hadn’t left. If only she could have been there for him, the way he’d been there for her so many times.
The weight of those if-onlys were heavy upon her shoulders, more so upon her heart.
She read everything she could about the fire, her thoughts growing darker the more she read. There were too many holes. Too many things that didn’t make sense.
Determination welled up within her. Determination and the desire to do something. There was no way to go back into the past and change things, but she could do something now.
She walked to Franco’s and placed a takeout order, happy to see that nothing much had changed. Carmella was a little grayer and a little rounder but still the warm, welcoming woman she’d always been.
“I heard you were back.” Carmella beamed, wrapping Hayley in a hug. “Staying at Martha’s, huh?”
“Word gets around fast,” Hayley replied, returning the embrace, taking in the familiar, comforting scents of garlic and rosemary. She wasn’t much of a hugger, but there was no denying the woman who’d given her a job and ensured she always had a warm meal waiting for her at the end of her shift.
Carmella laughed. “You know it does, and you are big news. You’re staying for a while, right?”
“For a while,” Hayley agreed.
“Good. You know Rico’s going to want to make all your favorites for you.”
“I’m looking forward to it,” Hayley said on a laugh.
“Have you seen Matt yet?” Carmella asked softly.
“No. I didn’t know, Carmella. About the fire. About ...”
Carmella nodded. “It’s never too late, you know.”
“I hope you’re right.”
“I am. Trust me,” Carmella said confidently. Her eyes suggested she knew more than she could say at the moment. When a family came in behind them, waiting to be seated, Carmella laid her hand on Hayley’s arm and said quietly, “I’m always here if you want to talk, okay?”
“Thanks,” Hayley said sincerely, knowing she probably wouldn’t take Carmella up on the offer. Confiding in others, talking about her problems, was not something she did.
Her childhood home didn’t look quite as menacing in broad daylight as it had earlier in the predawn hours. Bright beams of light sprawled across the grass, broken up by the lengthening shadows of trees as the sun began its descent behind the mountain.
The heavy wooden front door was open, but the screen door was latched, forcing her to knock. Daryl’s vehicle was in the driveway, but he didn’t answer the door immediately. Hayley had expected as much. It was part of the game. She’d made him wait, so he would do the same.
She sat on the front porch, put her feet up on the railing, and played on her phone, as if she had nowhere else to be.
Eventually, Daryl opened the door and invited her inside. The place was cleaner than she remembered. Not clean, but cleaner. Less cluttered. No overflowing ashtrays or piles of bottles and cans or stacks of dirty dishes lying about.
Hayley brushed past him and put the takeout bag on the kitchen table.
“What are you doing here, Hayley?”
“Bringing dinner.” She held up the bag. “Did you forget?”
“You know what I mean. Not a word for fifteen years, and then you just happen to show up out of the blue?”
She gave him the same vague, brief story she’d given the ladies about returning to her roots, knowing full well that Mona had called and filled him in the moment she left Martha’s and returned to her quasi-job at the township building. She took great pride in being a perpetual font of information to the local powers that be.
He snorted derisively. “Don’t try to pull that shit with me. I know better. What are you up to?”
He might think he knew her, but he had no idea of the monster he’d created.
“How about getting us some plates?” she suggested instead of answering. “I’d rather eat while the food is warm. Some cold beer would pair well too, I think.”
He scowled but did as she’d asked. She studied his body language, his expression. He was wary but no more than he would be under any similar circumstance.
Hayley had no way of knowing what, if anything, Daryl knew about her, but she was betting that he was just as arrogant and self-absorbed as always. Never in his wildest dreams would he imagine that she’d become a US deputy marshal or that she could ever pose a serious threat to him.
Only once they were seated and she took a hefty pull from her bottle did she speak again. “The place looks better than I remember. Smells better, too, without all the trash hanging around. I’m guessing you put a stop to that after the old man died. After all, the chief of police has to have some modicum of respectability, right?”
Daryl grunted.
“Youngest chief of police in Sumneyville history, according to Mona.” When he glanced at her questioningly, she continued, “Yeah, she told me all about it. Mitch Feeney suddenly dropping dead like that just months after I left. Sucks for him but good for you, huh?” She chuckled. “I wish I could’ve seen the old man’s reaction when he heard that. A Freed, chief of police. And Mitch Feeney was always a thorn in his side, wasn’t he?”
Daryl’s expression darkened. “Cut the shit, Hayley. What do you want?”
She put down her fork, grabbed her beer, and sat back. She allowed several seconds to tick by in tense silence before she exhaled. She chose her next words carefully, speaking them as if it were an effort to do so. “I need a place to lie low for a while, and there’s no better place to do that than Sumneyville.”
His eyebrows shot up. Clearly, he hadn’t expected that. “Why?” he asked suspiciously. “What did you do?”
“I got shot. Twice.” She took another long pull of her beer for effect. “I was just doing my job, you know? Trying to help someone who needed help, and in doing so, I ended up between a shooter and his target.”
She let him put the pieces together based on the information he knew—or thought he knew. When she’d left, it had been with the intention of going into behavioral sciences. He’d called it psychobabble and said it was a complete waste of time.
His eyes narrowed. “You look fine to me.”
“Thanks to six months of rehab.”
“Where?”
“Where what?”
“Where did you get shot?”
She scowled. “In the back.”
“Show me.”
Daryl had always been overly suspicious and paranoid, which was one of the reasons the DOJ hadn’t been able to nail him on anything. Yet.
“Don’t you believe me, Daryl?”
When he continued to glare at her, she sighed heavily, and then she stood and turned her back to him. She pulled the back of her cotton top up to mid–shoulder blade level, far enough to show him the two angry, puckered scars.
She looked over her shoulder. “Satisfied?”
She didn’t wait for an answer before sliding back into her chair. She could see his mind working. She obviously wasn’t lying about getting shot, but he was still trying to figure out her angle.
“What about the shooter?”
She shrugged. “A rich, pampered psycho, remitted to an institution for evaluation, lawyered up on his daddy’s money. It’ll take years before he sees the inside of a courtroom, if it even goes to trial.” All true. “My medical leave is up, but I’m not sure I want to go back. So, I tacked on a shit-ton of accumulated personal leave, and here I am, trying to get my shit together.” She laughed softly. “Hell of a thing, isn’t it? Coming here to find answers.”
“That’s what your fancy degree’s all about, right?” he said with a cruel tilt to his lips. “Psychoanalyzing and looking for explanations in the past, so you can blame someone else for your problems.”
“Yeah, well, not everyone was raised in the same loving, supportive environment we were,” she said, her voice dripping with sarcasm. “Hell, with an old man like ours, it’s a wonder we haven’t completely snapped.” She paused and lifted the bottle to her lips. “How is my dear nephew, by the way? I hear he’s killing time down in Philly these days.”
Daryl’s face hardened; his knuckles turned white as he gripped his beer.
“What did he do that you couldn’t get him out of?” Hayley pressed. “The ladies were a little vague on that. Something about trespassing?” She shook her head. “I don’t buy it. The punishment doesn’t seem to fit the crime.”
“That’s fucking Winston’s fault,” Daryl snarled.
“Still harboring a grudge after all these years?” Hayley commented casually, shaking her head. “That’s not healthy. You’ve got to let it go.”
“Never. The Winstons will always be a black mark on this town. They cheated us out of everything.”
She’d heard the stories a hundred times, and she still thought Matt’s granddaddy had done them a favor by calling the EPA. “So, Grandpa Freed didn’t get to turn half the mountain into a toxic waste dump for mobsters. Boohoo. Get over it. You’ve still got the hunting lands, don’t you? Winona said you turned it into a survivalist club or something.”
“Yeah, and thank God I did. We need to be able to defend ourselves.”
“Against what exactly?” She smirked. “Do you think international terrorists have their sights set on Sumneyville?”
Daryl’s eye ticced at the phrase international terrorists. “I couldn’t give a flying fuck about international terrorism. The threat we face is a lot closer to home.”
“You think Matt Winston is a threat to you? Why? From what I understand, it’s just Matt now, and he wants nothing to do with Sumneyville politics. Unlike his father, he’s not interested in being the town watchdog.”
“What do you know about it?”
“Nothing really”—she shrugged—“except what I heard today. The Winston family died in a tragic fire years ago. The prodigal son returned and decided to turn what was left of his family’s legacy into a place for vets. According to Martha, he’s keeping to himself, and he hasn’t expressed any interest whatsoever in local bullshit. What’s the big deal?”
“The big deal is, Winston is building a compound up there in those mountains,” Daryl said darkly. “A compound filled with psycho military types who still think they’re active duty and don’t answer to anyone but Winston.”
Hayley processed that, putting together a few pieces of her own. Daryl was concerned, recognizing Matt as the only viable threat to whatever dirty schemes he was running. After the fire and prior to Matt’s return, Daryl had had free reign and didn’t want to see that end. “So, that’s what Dwayne was doing up there? Skulking around, scouting for the common good?”
Daryl didn’t answer, but he didn’t have to. His scowl told her enough.
“Maybe I’m oversimplifying here, but if you want to know what they’re up to, why don’t you just go up there and look around? You are the police chief, aren’t you?”
“I don’t have to go up there to know what they’re up to. Others have. Contractors, inspectors, delivery drivers. Not for a while though. Winston’s got everything locked up tight now, like it’s a matter of national security. No one gets in or out unless he okays it.”
Daryl narrowed his eyes again. “You’re not thinking about heading up there, are you?”
She shrugged. “Maybe. I don’t know. I should probably pay my respects even if they are more than a decade overdue.”
“Don’t,” he warned.
“Or what? Are you going to break out the rape kit?” She laughed mirthlessly and shook her head. “You can’t hurt me anymore, Daryl. There’s nothing I care about enough to give you that kind of leverage. You and Darius saw to that. It was a hard lesson to learn but a necessary one. After all, I am a Freed.”
Daryl’s eyes were as cold as she’d ever seen them. Black and hard like the anthracite the region had once been known for. Any hopes she might have had that he’d developed a sliver of conscience over the years died a quick death. He might not have inherited Darius’s depravity, but he was still a horrible human being.
She stood to go. “Well, this has been fun, but I think that’s enough for one day, don’t you? Don’t want to wear out my welcome. Speaking of, you’re welcome for the dinner, by the way. No need to reciprocate. I’ll see myself out.”
“Stay away from Sanctuary, Hayley.”
“Fuck you, Daryl.”