Beneath Blackwater River by Leslie Wolfe (love story books to read txt) 📕

The day before, she’d been itching to talk to Nicole, but by the time she got the case assigned, Scott had already finished his shift. Had she known he’d spend all evening at the bar, she wouldn’t have put Nicole through the ordeal of having to live through another night with that bastard.

But that morning, Scott was supposed to report for duty at eight. If she hurried, she could talk with Nicole before heading out to the morgue for the ten o’clock appointment with Bill Caldwell.

She set the coffee cup on the table and stood, eager to leave. “Can you give me a ride? I left my car at the bar.”

Like a bona fide drunk.

22Offender

About 100 yards south of the Scott residence, a crew of workers were fixing a leak in the water main. Several trucks were parked nearby, and an excavator dug through the nearly frozen ground to get to the pipe responsible, overflowing onto the asphalt in rivulets of brownish mud.

Kay pulled her SUV between two of the trucks, then flashed her badge quickly at a curious worker who was headed her way.

“I’ll leave this here for a little while,” she said.

He nodded and promptly turned back, minding his business.

Walking on the opposite side of the road, she checked to see if anyone could notice her approaching the Scott residence. She crossed quickly, then trotted on her toes up the driveway and rang the bell.

The door opened a few inches, and a woman looked at her with suspicion.

“Yes?”

Kay showed her badge discreetly. “Nicole Scott? SSA Strickland with the San Francisco FBI sent me to talk with you. I’m Dr. Sharp. May I come in?”

Nodding quickly, she shot a couple of worried looks left and right, then opened the door. “Make it quick,” she said, looking away.

Her left eye had almost healed, but a few days ago must’ve been bruised black and swollen shut. Her lip was cracked and inflamed, that injury more recent. Her right eyebrow had a small hiatus, along the line where her supraorbital had been cracked, the broken skin having required at least three sutures sometime in the past.

Ashamed, she cowered under Kay’s inquisitive glance and walked away. “You can sit there.” She pointed at the sofa covered with a weathered throw. “Make it fast, please; he could come back any minute.”

“He’s at work today,” Kay replied in a reassuring tone.

“How would you know?”

Kay reached out and grabbed Nicole’s hand. “I’ve been a special agent with the FBI for eight years, and I have been assigned your case. I’m also a detective here, in Mount Chester—”

Nicole whimpered and withdrew, turning her back to Kay. “No… He swore to me.”

“And he’s keeping his word, Nicole. I promise you that. I have no relationships here; I just started my job a week ago.” She waited, but Nicole still sobbed, her back turned to Kay, her face buried in her hands. “I’m on your side, I swear.”

She didn’t press Nicole; she gave her time to process her emotions and decide whether to trust her or not. While she waited, memories of her mother, crouched to the ground, struggling to escape her father’s relentless fists invaded her mind, swelling her chest with an anger like never before, burning her eyes with tears that had been held hostage ever since she was twelve.

They say all happy families are happy the same, but all miserable ones are miserable each in their own unique way. It might’ve been true, but all abusive men were the same, leaving a trail of pain and suffering behind them that never ended, and getting away with it for much too long.

When Nicole turned around, she sniffled and wiped her eyes with her sleeve, while her other hand landed protectively on her belly. Kay’s heart skipped a beat.

“Are you pregnant?” she asked, forcing her worry out of her voice.

Nicole nodded. “Almost four months.”

“Does he know?”

A fresh tear rolled down her cheek, but she wiped it away with her fingers. “He doesn’t care.”

Where could a woman in Nicole’s situation go? If she were in San Francisco, she could’ve sent her to one of the several organizations that helped battered women escape abuse, while building a new life for themselves and their children. But here, in Mount Chester, population 3,824 including herself, where could she go? Any moment spent with her husband could prove to be fatal.

“Tell me, who have you talked to at the sheriff’s office?”

Nicole looked out the window from behind the sheers, worried; every sound startling her as it would a deer grazing in a clearing, waiting to be preyed upon.

“At first, I wrote a letter and took it there myself; I left it with reception in a sealed envelope. It was addressed to Sheriff Logan himself.” A shudder rattled her and caught her breath. “It was a year ago, I think,” she added, wrapping her thin arms around her body as if the room had turned unbearably cold. “That afternoon, when Herb came back, he had the letter with him.” She choked with her own tears. “You can’t imagine,” she whimpered. “At the hospital, he claimed I took a fall down the basement stairs, to explain the broken ribs and this,” she added, peeling up the sleeve of her sweater and showing Kay a long scar across her forearm.

Kay listened, carefully collecting all the details that could help her identify who the other person was, the one who’d ratted Nicole out to her husband. There would come a day, not soon enough, when she would gladly slap a pair of handcuffs on that sorry bastard.

“That kept me quiet for a while,” she continued, her voice sounding tired, exhausted, each word taking its toll. “Going to the hospital scared him a little, and it got better.” She paused for a beat. “He always apologized, always told me he loved me, and I believed him. Sometimes it was my fault.”