Page 34 of Dust and Desire
For the next twenty minutes, Sheriff Webb documented everything with the thoroughness of someone who actually cared about his job. He photographed the broken window, dusted for prints, and took detailed notes about what was missing.
“You’re sure it was just the journal?” he asked, pen poised over his notepad.
“Far as I can tell. Everything else is accounted for.”
“Any idea why someone would want it specifically?”
I glanced at Logan and Dakota, both watching me with expressions I couldn’t read. “I’m not really sure,” I replied. “It’s got a lot of personal stuff in it, but I don’t know why…”
There was a long pause.
“Logan? Dakota?” the sheriff asked, glancing back at the others. “Would you mind runnin’ up to the main house and checkin’ to see if any strange vehicles came through here today?”
The pair of them exchanged a look but nodded and headed back toward the house on foot.
“Now,” the sheriff said, turning back to me. “What aren’t you tellin’ me?”
I stared at the sheriff, my heart hammering against my ribs. There was something about his demeanor that told me he wasn’t going to let this go easily. His green eyes were sharp, assessing, but not unkind.
“I...” I started, then stopped. How much should I tell him? How much could I trust him with?
“Son,” Sheriff Webb said gently, “I’ve been doing this job for fifteen years. I can tell when someone’s holding back. If you want me to catch whoever did this, I need the whole truth.”
I took a deep breath, weighing my options. The journal contained details about my past, about the places I’d been, the people I’d left behind. Things I’d never told anyone at Baker Ranch. Things that could put me in danger if they fell into the wrong hands.
“There might be someone,” I said finally. “Someone from my past who’s been... looking for me.”
The sheriff’s expression didn’t change, but I saw his grip tighten on his pen. “What kind of someone?”
“An ex.” The words felt like sandpaper in my throat. “Keith Bordeaux. We were together at a farm down in Louisiana about three years back. Things ended badly.”
“How badly?”
I ran a hand through my hair, memories I’d tried to bury surfacing like oil on water. “He was... possessive. Controlling. When I tried to leave, he made it clear he didn’t want me to go. Said he’d find me wherever I went.”
“Did he threaten you?”
“Not in so many words. But he made it clear that he considered me his property.” I met the sheriff’s eyes. “I left in the middle of the night. Took only what I could carry and never looked back.”
Sheriff Webb nodded, making notes. “You think he might have tracked you here?”
“I hoped not. I’ve been careful, never stayed anywhere too long,never got too familiar with people.” I paused. “There have been a few times I thought he was on my tail, so I left as fast as I could. Always been ahead of him until now.” I paused for a moment. “And the journal... it has details about everywhere I’ve been, everyone I’ve met. If he’s taken it… well, he’s gonna learn a lot of things about me that he’s not gonna like. Including everyone I’ve had relations with over the past three years.”
“Do you think that could drive him to violence?” the sheriff asked grimly.
I hesitated, remembering Keith’s rage the night I’d told him I was leaving. The way his handsome face had contorted, how quickly his charm had morphed into something dark and dangerous.
“Yeah,” I said quietly. “I think it could.”
Sheriff Webb’s expression remained professional, but I caught a flicker of concern in his eyes. “Have you noticed anything unusual lately? Someone watching you, unfamiliar vehicles around the ranch, hang-up calls?”
“No, nothing like that.” I glanced around the ransacked apartment. “This is the first sign I’ve had that he might be nearby. Hell, I don’t even know if this break-in was him.”
The sheriff nodded, making another note. “What kind of vehicle does he drive? Anything distinctive about his appearance I should be looking for?”
“Last I knew, he had a red Ford F-150. Older model, probably seven years old by now. Custom exhaust that makes it louder than it should be.” I swallowed hard. “As for Keith himself... he’s tall, maybe six-two, lean build. Dark hair that he keeps longer than most men last time I saw. Green eyes. And he’s got this way of dressing... always looks put together, even when he’s just in jeans and a t-shirt.”
“Louisiana accent?”
