Page 50 of Deceit & Desire

The door slammed shut behind him, the sound reverberating through the small room. I exhaled slowly, letting the tension bleed out just enough to keep my head clear. This wasn’t over. Not by a long shot.

When he returned, he wasn’t empty-handed. The file he carried was thicker this time, its contents spilling slightly from the edges. He slapped it down on the table with a force that made the papers jump.

“Let’s discuss Twisted Creek Ranch. Ten years is a long time to cover up a murder.”

I kept my expression neutral, waiting for him to continue.

Barton flipped open the file, pulling out a photograph. He slid it across the table toward me. “Recognize her? Missy Carter. Found in your father-in-law’s barn. Quite the scandal.”

The photo was grainy, its edges slightly curled from being handled too many times. Missy’s body lay sprawled on the barn floor, her lifeless eyes staring into the void. But it wasn’t just the image that haunted me—it was the smell of the hay, damp from a late summer storm, and the way Zoe’s voice had echoed off the barn walls during that second fight.

She’d been hurt. Furious, even. But not a killer.

I glanced at the photo, then back at Barton. Just that one glimpse was enough to send a cold weight settling into my chest. Missy’s lifeless eyes stared out from the glossy print, her face pale against the straw of the barn floor. The photograph was black-and-white, but I didn’t need color to imagine the dark bruises staining her neck around the marks the rope had left.

God, why did he have to bring this up now?

The memory came rushing back before I could stop it—the barn’s heavy air, damp with the lingering humidity of a storm that had rolled through earlier that day. Missy and Zoe’s voices had carried through the rafters, sharp as knives. I hadn’t meant to eavesdrop, but there was no avoiding it. Zoe’s anger, her pain—it had been so raw, so real.

Zoe had stormed out, her face flushed, her fists clenched at her sides. I’d followed her, my heart in my throat, thinking maybe I could calm her down. Maybe I could finally say what I’d been holding back for so long.

Instead, I’d poured my heart out and gotten it shattered in return.

I blinked, shoving the memory aside, but it stuck to the edges of my mind like tar.

“What’s your point?” I asked, my voice steady despite the turmoil churning inside.

“My point is,” Barton said, leaning forward, “your wife had a massive public argument with Missy at Twisted Creek Ranch on the day she died, in front of several witnesses. Now, ten years later, we have a firebombing at the evidence repository just a few days after Zoe flies back in from Miami. Quite the coincidence, wouldn’t you say? Lucky for me, I got curious and already had these files in my possession when it was bombed.”

I took a deep breath, forcing myself to keep my composure. “Zoe had nothing to do with Missy’s death or the firebombing. You’re grasping at straws, trying to connect dots that aren’t there.”

Barton’s eyes glinted with a mix of triumph and challenge. “We’ll see what dots connect when Zoe gets here with Deputy Blackwell. But tell me, Roman, if Zoe didn’t have anything to do with the firebombing, maybe you did. You’re so desperate to keep her close, maybe you firebombed it to protect her. So you can keep her out of jail and have her all to yourself.”

I could tell him everything—the second fight, Zoe’s pain, her decision to leave for Miami—but what good would it do?Barton wasn’t looking for the truth. He was looking for a target, and he didn’t care how many lies he had to stack to make a case.If I gave him even a sliver of what I knew, he’d twist it, spin it, and bury Zoe with it.

“That’s a ridiculous accusation,” I said, keeping my voice even. “I would never put her at risk, and you know it. You’re grasping at straws, Barton.”

God, I hoped no one else had witnessed their second argument. If someone had, we were in deep shit. But I’d made a promise to Zoe, and I wasn’t about to break it.

I’ll never betray her trust.

Barton leaned back, a smirk creeping back onto his face. “You know, my Uncle Mo, the former sheriff, kept this whole thing quiet as a favor to Zoe’s father… the potential of it being a murder instead of a suicide like they initially thought. A shameful secret, swept under the rug for years. But I’m not like him. I won’t let personal favors or family loyalty stand in the way of justice. I’m going to make this right for Michael.”

As he spoke, I could see the conviction etched into his features, the fire of someone determined to right what he saw as a decade-old wrong. His voice lowered, but the intensity sharpened. “Michael lost his little sister, Roman. That’s blood. Family. I grew up hearing stories about Missy, about the hole her death left behind. My uncle… he buried his conscience for your wife’s family. But I don’t owe the Brandt name a damn thing.”

Barton’s face twisted with a mix of anger and something else—grief, maybe. I didn’t need him to spell it out to know this was more than just a job to him. Michael Carter had lost his little sister and a piece of himself with her, and Barton had grown up in the shadow of that tragedy. I could see it in the way his jaw clenched when he mentioned her name, in the bitterness that edged his every word.

This wasn’t just about justice; this was personal. He wanted someone to pay, and he didn’t care who it was as long as he could bring them down.

“So that’s it,” I said calmly. “You’re playing judge and jury for a case that was never yours to begin with.”

Barton leaned forward, his smirk gone, replaced by something colder. “Someone’s got to. And if I have to break you to get to her, I will. For Michael. For Missy. For justice.”

His words hung in the air, heavy and sharp. I met his glare, refusing to flinch.

You won’t get to her, Barton. Not through me.

“Then you’d better start digging, Deputy. Because all you’ll find is the truth. Zoe had nothing to do with what happened to Missy, and no amount of twisting the past is going to change that.”

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