Page 41 of Montana Justice

I didn’t want to leave this place and quit a job that I was already falling in love with. But I didn’t have any options.

When I was sure Lark was absorbed in her office work—I could see her through the window, surrounded by stacks of papers and chewing on what looked like a red licorice rope—I pulled out the burner phone.

My hands shook as I dialed, leaving smears of dirt on the keys. The phone felt heavier each time I used it, weighted with accumulated betrayals.

“About time you checked in.” Ray’s voice slithered through the speaker like oil.

“I’m at work. I couldn’t call sooner.”

“Work.” The word sounded foreign coming from Ray, which wasn’t surprising. He’d spent way more effort conning people and cheating the system to make sure he never had to work than he ever would have in a job itself. “At the police station like we talked about?”

“I tried to suggest the sheriff’s office, but Lachlan said…there weren’t any jobs for me at the moment.” I definitely wasn’t going to bring up to Ray my terror about not having Caleb with me twenty-four seven. He’d just use it as ammunition.

“That’s very disappointing, Piper.”

My heart threw itself against my chest. That tone, so calm and almost pleasant. But I knew it meant something awful was coming.

“Ray, just give me a chance. I need a little more time. He has me working at some animal place called Pawsitive Connections. I just need a chance to figure out a job at the station. I will, I promise. I?—”

“Pawsitive Connections? That’s an animal shelter place, right? A farm just outside of town?”

“Yeah, they raise and train animals. Emotional support, service, and security animals. Stuff like that.”

“How big is it? What types of animals?”

I had no idea why he wanted this information. “I don’t know. A couple different barns. Multiple horses, dogs, cats, and other animals. A llama.”

Ray was quiet. I could picture him in whatever cheap motel he was holed up in, probably with a cigarette dangling from his lips despite the no-smoking signs. Despite the fact that it might hurt those around him—he didn’t care about that at all, and it made me sick to think about.

The silence stretched until my nerves screamed.

“Actually,” he finally said, calculation dripping from every syllable, “this might work out better than I thought. Rural location, lots of traffic in and out with those therapy sessions. Delivery trucks coming and going for feed and supplies. A perfect front for us to run drugs through.”

Ice flooded my veins, a cold so sharp it made my teeth ache. “Ray, no. These are good people. They help veterans and?—”

“Did I ask for your opinion?” His voice cracked like a whip. “You do what you’re told, when you’re told. That’s how this works.”

“Please. Not here. Not these people.”

“Getting attached already? That’s your problem, Piper. You always were too soft. Too much like your mother.” He paused, and I could practically see his cruel smile, the one that made himlook like a skull. “Speaking of soft, how’s the good sheriff? You warming his bed yet?”

Heat flooded my cheeks, shame and anger warring in my chest. “No.”

“Why not? You spread your legs for him once before. Should be easy enough to do it again.”

The casual cruelty made me want to throw the phone, to scream, to claw at something until this feeling went away. That night with Lachlan had been so special to me. Trust Ray to try to soil it with his poison.

“He’s been respectful,” I managed through gritted teeth.

“Respectful.” Ray’s laugh sounded like breaking bones. “Men like him are only respectful until they get what they want. Mark my words, sweetheart. Soon enough, he’ll be expecting payment for all this generosity. They always do.”

“Lachlan’s not like that.”

“They’re all like that. You’re just too naive to see it.” His voice dropped lower, the tone that used to send me hiding under my bed as a child. “Now, about that computer access. You get his log-in yet?”

My throat constricted. I still couldn’t believe Lachlan had given me his password without hesitation. Such a simple gesture of trust. The memory of it—him holding Caleb while rattling off the numbers, with no consideration that I might abuse that access—lodged like broken glass in my chest.

“Still working on it,” I lied.

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