Page 6 of Quietly Falling
It’d taken years to get her justice and the blink of an eye for it to be snatched away. Daryl Jeffers hadn’t served long enough for taking her life, and if I’m the only one invested to see justice served then so be it because I won’t rest until every child is safe from that man.
And I’ll tell my story again and again until someone listens.
Until someone hears me—someone that can actuallydosomething.
I barely notice when the Bronco pulls into the parking lot of Vetted Paws, the animal shelter that Sorren owns and runs in Clementine Creek. They don’t need to tell me to get out as the SUV is slammed into park.
“Talk,” Sorren demands when we’ve all stepped out onto the gravel, and my heart pounds in my chest as the beginnings of a migraine take hold.
Fuck.
“I have to go back to New Hampshire.” To the place I swore I’d never step foot in again.
“And?” Sorren asks, annoyed.
“Our foster sister was killed and now the man responsible is getting a second trial.”
But it’s more than that.
It’s so much more.
And they both know it.
“You can talk to us, or you can talk to my wife,” Hank replies, his arms crossed over his barrel chest. It’s not much of an option; Hank’s wife is scary as hell. We’d met her when we interviewed for the posting Case and Otto put up when we came to Blackstone Falls. She’d run a background check and raked us over the coals like the landscaping gig was a matter of national security.
But I couldn’t fault her.
Not when she was trying to protect her family.
“Too late,” Sorren mutters as a sleek white SUV pulls in and parks behind the Bronco. Isla Thayer is definitely in the driver’s seat, but I can’t tell who the passenger is.
“Evening, boys,” Isla purrs as she steps elegantly onto the gravel and makes her way over to Hank, placing a hand on his chest and a kiss on his lips that has me looking away.
“Hey, Tom,” Sorren greets as he nods at the man walking toward us.
Tom.
Tom Oakden.
The man who Isla had called when Hank’s past came back to haunt him before Mason and I landed in Blackstone Falls.
The one Sorren called when his did too—we’d been here for that and had watched the whole damn thing unfold in this very spot.
And now, the man with silver streaks in his hair and adon’t fuck with meexpression has me fighting to stay still as his gaze locks on mine.
“Bodhi,” Isla starts, her tone full of authority in a way that makes my heart beat faster, “this is Tom Oakden, private security for Andrews International and currently on retainer in our little slice of Tennessee heaven.” She smirks. “Tom, this is Bodhi Maxwell. It’s his foster father that’s been granted a new trial in the death of Audrey Lane, the twelve-year-old girl in his care. Bodhi thinks he needs to shoulder this on his own.”
Sorren coughs into his fist and I can see the hint of a smile. Tom’s lips are twitching too, but there’s nothing funny about any of this.
“This isn’t a game,” I snarl, my hackles rising as I stare at them.
Four against one.
“It’s not,” Isla says sharply. “And you thinking you can handle the state’s case by yourself is a waste of time we don’t have. Tom will be read into the prosecutor’s investigation despite the initial reluctance. A call from the governor of Tennessee on the way over seemed to help.”
“How is your godfather?” Hank asks her as I rub the spot between my eyes.
“He’s good. Said he has a couple of days coming up and he wants to come down and see the kids.”
