Only a dream, he told himself, the same, mind-numbing nightmare he’d had every night since Jane’s murder.
Would he ever find peace? Would he ever be free of the guilt? Did he deserve such mercy?
Dragging the back of his hand across his mouth, he lowered his head back to the pillow and shut his eyes.
The sounds in the room slowly separated from one another, each one becoming distinct and specific. The rhythmic tick of a clock. The slap of a shutter banging against a brick wall. A lone coyote howling for its lost mate.
Hunter hauled in another pull of air. The scent of clean linens stood in stark contrast to the usual stench of the state prison. Memories of the past week surged. Once he’d been released he’d traveled north as quickly as possible, stopping only long enough to earn the money necessary to make the journey to Mattie’s brothel and beyond.
It was the beyond part that had him sitting up and rubbing at his eyes. The gray dawn light had spread its fingers of gloom into every corner of the room. Long shadows danced sinisterly along the walls, shivering across the white plaster like dark secrets woven inside whispers.
Whispers. Secrets. Lies.
The events of the previous evening slammed through his mind. Mattie Silks and her exposure of Maria’s duplicity. Annabeth’s unexpected arrival. The shocking reality of meeting again the girl he remembered better than he should, all grown up, her exotic beauty and soft nature enough to make a man stop and evaluate every wrong choice he’d ever made.
By all appearances, Annabeth was sweet and innocent, yet full of backbone. Fiercely loyal, too. During their brief encounter, she’d made Hunter’s heart ache for something...more. Something he could never have. Stability was the best he could hope for now.
Or so he told himself. Annabeth Silks had surprised him. She’d made him feel things he’d thought long dead, things he had no right feeling.
Leave it alone, Hunter.
Solid advice. But he couldn’t seem to shove the mesmerizing Annabeth Silks out of his mind. He wanted to know her more. Wanted to know where she’d been these past eight years. Was she at Charity House solely because of Sarah? Or had something else driven her to the orphanage?
Too many unanswered questions. Too many uncertainties.
The fact that Annabeth was heavily involved in his daughter’s life might make matters complicated.
Hunter was used to complicated.
Frowning, he tossed off the covers and made his way to the window overlooking the street below. Hands flat on the glass, he squinted into the colorless morning mist. He could just make out the shapes of vendors setting up their wares for the day. A pair of dogs darted between the carts, probably scanning for fallen scraps of food.
He turned his back on the scene, his mind moving to more important matters. Today marked his first step toward making a new life for himself, because today he would meet his daughter.
His daughter.
Pleasure surged from the bottom of his soul, adding just enough force to pound ruthlessly behind his ears. He still had hours before he could make the trek across town to Charity House. He knew exactly how he would fill the time.
Once he’d washed, shaved and was sufficiently fed, Hunter stood directly across the street from his destination. He studied the unassuming brick building with growing unease. Even from this distance he was able to read the words embossed on the plaque nailed to the door. Sheriff’s Office and Jailhouse.
He’d come full circle. But this time he had nothing to hide, and no sin to atone for. He’d served his time.
Yet he still felt as if he was being watched, hunted by some dark force. He checked his perimeter, rolled his shoulders and glanced to the heavens.
The sun had fully risen in the sky, shining so bright Hunter’s eyes watered, and his head throbbed. Even his throat ached as he swallowed the foul stench of Denver’s underbelly that wafted on the cool, March breeze.
Nothing had changed on this side of town. A depressing discovery. He jammed his hat on his head, then froze at the sound of familiar footsteps approaching from behind.
Instinct had him reaching for the gun at his hip, the gun he hadn’t worn in years. Forcing his fingers to relax, Hunter let out a slow hiss of air and reminded himself he had nothing to hide, nothing to defend. His outlaw days were over.
“Looking for me?”
At the sound of that low, amused drawl, Hunter spun around to face the man he’d come to see. Trey Scott. Smiling that half smile of his. On any other man, the gesture would have softened his face. Not Trey. There was nothing soft about the seasoned lawman. His hair was still black as midnight, his eyes nearly as dark beneath the brim of his hat, his presence as menacing as ever.
Hunter remained motionless, refusing to give an inch of ground, or to show any sign of weakness. Trey did the same.
This was a ritual of theirs, this stare down. Welcoming the familiarity of the routine, Hunter settled in, keeping his mind on his goal—pay off the debt he owed this man. Not in money. But in words.
Money would have been easier, cleaner.
Shifting his weight to the balls of his feet, Hunter flexed his fingers. “Sheriff,” he said in a bland tone. “Been a while.”
“Too long, by my estimation.”
Hunter didn’t disagree.
He hadn’t seen Trey since the other man had handed him over to the U.S. marshal assigned to escort him to the Colorado State Prison in Canon City. In the weeks leading up to his trial, Trey had shown Hunter what it looked like to live as a man of integrity, what it meant to show mercy where it wasn’t deserved. To understand God’s forgiveness in all its infinite wonder.
The irony that Trey had made such an impact on his life wasn’t lost on Hunter. Logan, Hunter’s estranged brother, looked up to this man, as well. They’d served together as U.S. Marshals for years, with Trey teaching Logan everything he knew about law enforcement. On principle alone, Trey should have been Hunter’s enemy. Instead, the sheriff had turned into his greatest ally during the trial and his confidant in the endless hours of waiting for a verdict.
Hunter owed the man his life.
He’d never be able to repay him, not in worldly measures. Nevertheless, he was here to try. But first...
“I have something of yours I need to return.”
Trey nodded solemnly, showing no surprise at this. “Come with me.”
The other man stepped off the sidewalk into the busy street. Hunter kept easy pace with the sheriff as they wove through the morning traffic. At the threshold of the jailhouse, Trey swung open the door, then stepped back, indicating Hunter should proceed ahead of him.
He paused a fraction of a beat, then entered the building first. His gaze darted around the room, taking in the stark interior. Cold, bleak memories took hold. He’d spent a lot of time in this jailhouse, specifically the cell on the far left.
Like always, a fire crackled and spit in the black stove on his right. The air beyond the fire’s reach shimmered with cold, all the way into the dank, empty cells.
“Slow week?”
“Blessedly slow.” Trey shifted around him.
Rubbing his palms together, Hunter moved deeper in the room, too, then dropped a cursory glance at the desk cluttered with unruly piles of paper. “Still ignoring your reports?”
Trey let out a low laugh. “What can I say? Got an image to uphold.”
Brow arched, Hunter cut his friend a speaking glance. They both knew Trey’s legendary reputation had nothing to do with filing late reports.
Trey