Page 31 of Outlaw Ridge: Jesse
“Here we go,” Lauren muttered, clicking on a link. “Arrest record. Looks like Reardon was telling the truth. As a juvie, Reggie had multiple arrests for fights, theft, and shoplifting.”
Jesse leaned in, scanning the screen over her shoulder. “What about anything bigger?”
Lauren scrolled down. “Served a year in juvie for stealing a car at sixteen.”
Jesse huffed. “So, a career screw-up. If he hadn’t died, he probably would’ve graduated to worse.”
“Yeah,” Lauren murmured. “And if he’d gotten away with what he did to me—” She cut herself off, her grip tightening on the mouse.
Jesse rested a hand on her shoulder, grounding her. “But he didn’t. You managed to escape.”
She gave a small nod, her focus still on the screen. “He disappears from the records completely sixteen years ago.”
“The same time he took you.” Jesse folded his arms. “No credit history, no traffic tickets, nothing?”
“Nothing.” Lauren sat back, staring at the screen like it might suddenly give her the answers. “Belinda really did bury him.”
Jesse studied her profile. He could see the tension in her jaw, the weight of this moment pressing down on her. He wished he could take some of it off her shoulders, but this was her past—one she was finally getting answers to, piece by piece.
Lauren’s fingers tapped at the keyboard again, her mind obviously locked onto the search she was doing. “Let me see if I can find anything personal on Reggie,” she muttered. “Maybe some archived social media stuff. They say nothing is ever deleted off the internet…”
Her words trailed off as the search results loaded.
There were a handful of old news articles that popped up, most about Reggie’s arrests, but one obviously caught her attention because she clicked on it.
“What is it?” he muttered.
She made a soft groan. “Reggie was part of a juvie counseling and rehabilitation program back when he was a teenager. And Reardon was his mentor.”
Jesse’s entire body went still. His gaze locked on the screen, reading the words she’d just seen:
Local youth mentorship program pairs troubled teens with community leaders. County Sheriff Tim Reardon, a longtime advocate for juvenile rehabilitation, mentors at-risk teens, including sixteen-year-old Reggie Lincoln.
Reardon definitely hadn’t mentioned that.
So, what else hadn’t he told them? And just how much influence had Reardon had over Reggie?
Maybe a lot.
Of course, Reardon might have written Reggie off, too, deciding he wasn’t capable of rehabilitation.
Jesse thought of the camo pants Reardon had been wearing when they’d visited him at his house. Then, he glanced at the ones Reggie had on in the photo.
“Anything in that article about the military?” Jesse asked.
Surprise flashed through her eyes when she glanced up at him. “You think…” But she stopped and continued reading the article. “Nothing here,” she said and did another search. She clicked on the first hit.
Bingo.
Jesse’s pulse quickened as he stared at the screen. The newspaper article was from seventeen years ago, and there was no mistaking what he was looking at.
Reardon stood front and center in the photo, wearing military camo pants and a matching shirt, his arms crossed likehe was some kind of authority on saving lost souls. But it wasn’t Reardon Jesse was focused on.
It was the man in the background.
Reggie Lincoln.
He was dressed just like Reardon, his stance eerily mirroring the older man’s. The resemblance was unmistakable—same posture, same smirk, as if he were trying to mold himself in Reardon’s image.
