CHAPTER SIXTY-FOUR
ASHLEY
I can’t sit still. Zain is upstairs, resting before the sheriff arrives. He insists that he’ll be ready when the time comes, but the exhaustion and pain etched into his face tells a different story. The stitches on his side aren’t even fully healed, yet he’s preparing for a confrontation that could turn dangerous at any second.
Bishop is with him, and Rook is outside. They’ve both assured me everything is under control, that we’re not in any danger, that they have everything covered.
I wish I could believe them.
At their instruction, I’m in the kitchen, waiting for McFadden to show up. The room looks almost ordinary, sunlight streaming through the windows, countertops gleaming. The blood has all gone. The broken plates and chairs have been replaced. But I can’t forget what happened here, no matter how many times I’ve scrubbed the floor or tried to convince myself it’s just another room.
The case files are spread out across the table. I don’t know where they came from, and I didn’t ask. Old newspaper clippings, police reports, witness statements—pieces of evidence McFadden buried after taking over as sheriff. And in the center sits the murder weapon. Still in the bag they put it in when they collected evidence from the scene.
Rook’s words to Zain when he produced the murder weapon come back to me. “Barlowe claimed he’d got rid of it, but a well placed bullet to the shoulder soon changed his tune.”
Everything is there, carefully positioned like bait in a trap.
My fingers twist together in my lap. This has to work.
The sound of a car pulling up outside sends my pulse racing. Bishop appears in the doorway.
“He’s here.”
I stand up. My legs are shaking, and there’s a second where I’m not sure I can move.
“Ashley?” Bishop’s voice breaks through the fear holding me in place, and I give him a nod.
“I’m okay.” I walk to the reception hall and wait. The sound of the car door closing, the crunch of McFadden’s boots on the gravel reaches me. My stomach twists and my heart beats faster.
I can do this.
There’s a knock on the front door. I count to ten, then open it. McFadden’s face is a mask of professionalism, but there’s something in his eyes—something dark and calculating—that makes my skin crawl.
“Ashley. I’m glad to see you’re doing well.”
I force a smile and gesture for him to come inside. “Please, come in. Would you like something to drink? Coffee? Tea?” That was Bishop’s suggestion. A way to get him into the kitchen without argument.
I lead him along the hall and turn to face him, hating that he’s behind me, and I can’t see him.
McFadden’s eyes move over the files on the table, his gaze lingering on the knife while he answers me.
“Coffee would be nice, thank you.” His voice is smooth.
He doesn’t sit down right away, his eyes scanning the files before finally resting on me.
“Where’s Zain?”
“He’s upstairs. I’ll go get him.”
I hate leaving him in the room alone, especially with the knife there, but this is what Rook said to do.
Leave him alone with all the evidence. Let him see it without eyes on him. Let him process what’s in front of him.
I’ve rehearsed this moment over and over in my mind, but now that it’s happening, everything feels too real, too dangerous.
When I reach Zain’s room, he’s already awake, sitting on the edge of the bed, wincing as he pulls on his shirt. His eyes meet mine.
“He's here?”
“Yes. Are you ready?”
“As ready as I’ll ever be.” His voice is rough. The pain meds are wearing off, but he refused to take more, saying he wanted to be clear-headed for this face-off with McFadden.
He stands, pressing a hand to his side as he walks toward me. “Let’s finish this.”
We walk downstairs together, our footsteps echoing through the quiet house. When we enter the kitchen, McFadden is already seated at the table, notebook open in front of him. He stands up, his attention fully focused on the man beside me.
“Zain,” McFadden says, nodding. “Good to see you’re on your feet. Wasn’t sure you’d make it when I last saw you.”
Zain doesn’t respond. He moves to the chair opposite McFadden, sitting down with a wince. His eyes flick to the case files on the table before locking onto McFadden’s. McFadden’s smile tightens, before he sits back down, and flips open his notebook.
“Okay, so tell me what you remember.”
Zain takes a deep breath, his gaze never leaving the sheriff’s face. “I was in the kitchen with Ashley when I heard something behind me. I turned just as he came at me with a knife. We fought. I’m told that Bishop and Rook heard the commotion when they got here. Their presence sent the guy running.”
McFadden scribbles something in his notebook. “And you didn’t recognize the attacker?”
“No,” Zain says. “He was masked. Fought him off as best as I could, but I was bleeding out pretty quickly by the time Bishop and Rook showed up.”
McFadden scribbles a few more notes.
“Don’t you think it’s strange?” Zain’s voice is soft.
The sheriff’s head lifts slightly at his words, but he keeps writing in his notebook.
“Fourteen years, and as soon as I get out of prison, Ashley gets attacked, the house where Jason and Louisa were murdered has an arson attempt, and then someone tries to kill me.”
McFadden’s pen pauses mid-scribble.
“It’s almost as though my release sent the message that the real killer wasn’t as safe as he thought he was.”
The sheriff looks at the files again, then back at Zain.
“You’ve been the sheriff here for what … five years? You were a police captain, weren’t you? Before you came here, I mean. Why would you give that up for a sheriff’s position in a small town? You didn’t grow up here. It’s quiet. Nothing ever happens here.”
McFadden frowns. He places his pen onto the table.
“I wanted a change of pace. City living was wearing me down.”
“Are you sure that’s the reason?”
“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
“Don’t you? Why don’t we start with the way you had Jason murdered because of your obsession with Louisa. You couldn’t stand that she was with him.”
McFadden’s expression doesn’t change.
“Those pain meds you’re taking must be messing with your mind. Maybe you should go back to the hospital.”
“I don’t think so.” Zain’s voice is steady. “You couldn’t have her, so you got rid of Jason. But Louisa walked in, didn’t she? She wasn’t supposed to die, but she did. Somehow Ramsey knew it was you, and you pressured him to bury it.”
McFadden’s jaw tightens. “Be careful, Zain. You’re making a very serious accusation.”
“Am I?”
“What sent you over the edge? Louisa telling you she wasn’t interested, or the fact she was carrying Jason’s baby?”
McFadden’s face turns red, and he stands, his chair tipping over with the force of the movement.
“You have no idea what you’re talking about,” he snarls.
The polite mask is gone, replaced by something much darker. His eyes are blazing as his hand moves toward his belt.
“Don’t.” Bishop’s voice comes from near the doorway.
McFadden’s hand freezes near his holster.
Zain slowly rises to his feet. “You couldn’t let her go. Couldn’t handle the fact she was happy with Jason. So you had him killed, had her killed.”
McFadden’s face twists with fury, and then everything seems to happen in slow motion.