Page 127 of Ruthless Regret

I force a smile and gesture for him to come inside. “Please, come in. Would you like something to drink? Coffee? Tea?” That was Bishop’s suggestion. A way to get him into the kitchen without argument.

I lead him along the hall and turn to face him, hating that he’s behind me, and I can’t see him.

McFadden’s eyes move over the files on the table, his gaze lingering on the knife while he answers me.

“Coffee would be nice, thank you.” His voice is smooth.

He doesn’t sit down right away, his eyes scanning the files before finally resting on me.

“Where’s Zain?”

“He’s upstairs. I’ll go get him.”

I hate leaving him in the room alone, especially with the knife there, but this is what Rook said to do.

Leave him alone with all the evidence. Let him see it without eyes on him. Let him process what’s in front of him.

I’ve rehearsed this moment over and over in my mind, but now that it’s happening, everything feels too real, too dangerous.

When I reach Zain’s room, he’s already awake, sitting on the edge of the bed, wincing as he pulls on his shirt. His eyes meet mine.

“He's here?”

“Yes. Are you ready?”

“As ready as I’ll ever be.” His voice is rough. The pain meds are wearing off, but he refused to take more, saying he wanted to be clear-headed for this face-off with McFadden.

He stands, pressing a hand to his side as he walks toward me. “Let’s finish this.”

We walk downstairs together, our footsteps echoing through the quiet house. When we enter the kitchen, McFadden is already seated at the table, notebook open in front of him. He stands up, his attention fully focused on the man beside me.

“Zain,” McFadden says, nodding. “Good to see you’re on your feet. Wasn’t sure you’d make it when I last saw you.”

Zain doesn’t respond. He moves to the chair opposite McFadden, sitting down with a wince. His eyes flick to the case files on the table before locking onto McFadden’s. McFadden’s smile tightens, before he sits back down, and flips open his notebook.

“Okay, so tell me what you remember.”

Zain takes a deep breath, his gaze never leaving the sheriff’s face. “I was in the kitchen with Ashley when I heard something behind me. I turned just as he came at me with a knife. We fought. I’m told that Bishop and Rook heard the commotion when they got here. Their presence sent the guy running.”

McFadden scribbles something in his notebook. “And you didn’t recognize the attacker?”

“No,” Zain says. “He was masked. Fought him off as best as I could, but I was bleeding out pretty quickly by the time Bishop and Rook showed up.”

McFadden scribbles a few more notes.

“Don’t you think it’s strange?” Zain’s voice is soft.

The sheriff’s head lifts slightly at his words, but he keeps writing in his notebook.

“Fourteen years, and as soon as I get out of prison, Ashley gets attacked, the house where Jason and Louisa were murdered has an arson attempt, and then someone tries to kill me.”

McFadden’s pen pauses mid-scribble.

“It’s almost as though my release sent the message that the real killer wasn’t as safe as he thought he was.”

The sheriff looks at the files again, then back at Zain.

“You’ve been the sheriff here for what … five years? You were a police captain, weren’t you? Before you came here, I mean. Why would you give that up for a sheriff’s position in a small town? You didn’t grow up here. It’s quiet. Nothing ever happens here.”

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