landed him on death row. But he couldn’t be too excited to rejoin this small community. Regardless of what the jury said, he was guilty in the minds of all those who lived around here.
Sadie frowned as her eyes traced the graffiti that was still on the house. Someone had spray-painted the word murderer on the wood siding above the porch, in letters large enough to be read from the highway a quarter mile away. That Dawson hadn’t scrubbed it off first thing said something about him, didn’t it? But what? Was he too beleaguered after his long ordeal to care what folks thought? Too busy with items he felt should be handled first? Or was leaving it there his way of flipping off the many concerned citizens of Silver Springs?
He could be taunting his detractors because he’d wound up inheriting the property despite what they thought...
The alarm she’d set on her phone sounded, startling her so much she whacked her hand on the steering wheel. “Ow!” she complained as she grabbed her cell and turned off the noise. If she planned to be on time for this interview, she had only three minutes to walk the length of the dirt drive leading to the front door. And yet she wasn’t completely convinced she should keep the appointment, couldn’t even say what kind of job it would be. Although Dawson had advertised for a housekeeper/caregiver, he lived alone. Why couldn’t he take care of himself?
Not many healthy adults had a housekeeper in Silver Springs. That sort of freaked her out right there, before she even got to the fact that it was dangerous to meet a man out here, alone, who might’ve hacked his adoptive parents to death with a hatchet.
She shuddered at the bloody image that crept into her mind. The gruesome details of the Reed killings had been reported in the papers and on the evening news with great regularity. Any murder in these parts would be shocking. LA was only ninety minutes to the south. Such a crime wouldn’t be so unheard of there. But this was a peaceful artist and farming community with mission-style adobe buildings and beautiful murals. The worst thing that’d ever happened, before the Reed murders—at least in recent memory—was when the Mueller girl ran away and was kidnapped. Even that was twenty years ago, and she went to Hollywood, so she was kidnapped there.
Pressing the button that would bring up her display, Sadie checked the time on her phone—the clock in the car was broken, along with everything else that didn’t directly contribute to the drivability of the vehicle. Two minutes. Dared she go? Or should she take off while she still could?
Sly, her domineering, soon-to-be ex-husband, would warn her to keep her distance from Dawson. He’d already put in his two cents. They’d argued about it for over an hour last night. “You don’t want to work for that bastard. What kind of guy kills two old people in their sleep—the couple who took him in when no one else would? Fed him? Clothed him? Treated him as their biological child? They were so proud of him! And you wouldn’t believe what he did to those people. Talk about the ultimate betrayal.”
When Sadie had pointed out that no one knew for sure whether Dawson had killed his adoptive parents, that there hadn’t been enough evidence for a conviction, he’d alluded to having some insider knowledge to suggest Dawson was as guilty as the infamous O.J. had been. “Trust me. You don’t know everything,” he’d said.
He knew everything, though—always had. She was tired of that, tired of him. He’d been playing games with her since before the murders ever occurred, drawing out the divorce proceedings, hiding any extra income he earned working security at various functions so it wouldn’t be included in his child support calculation, threatening to fight her for custody of their five-year-old son if she didn’t accept the pittance he offered. Since she’d been the one to move out, he was living alone in a three-bedroom, while she and Jayden were squeezed into a tiny one-bedroom guesthouse. But having the better living situation wasn’t enough for him. He was trying to keep her destitute so she’d have to come back if she wanted to be able to feed and clothe their child—and eat herself.
She let her gaze range over the farm and the fields that stretched on either side. The place didn’t look inviting. Several windows had been broken, an outbuilding had been burned and a pile of cast-off furniture and other rubbish from God knew where had been dumped in the yard. Even more notable, the closest neighbor had to be a mile away...
He’s a nut job. That was what Sly had said just before he hung up. As a Silver Springs police officer, he spoke with more than a little arrogance and authority. But in recent years, he’d related so many stories that made the hair on the back of her neck stand up—stories about breaking up a high school drinking party but not reporting the kids so long as they gave up all their beer, or picking up a prostitute but not arresting her if she “baked the force some cookies.” Although Sadie had a feeling there was a lot more involved than cookies—she’d once heard Sly make a crude joke about it—he denied any wrongdoing when she questioned him. Said he was only kidding. But if he thought he could get away with using his badge to gain some advantage in a situation, even if it was just to scare people or make someone scramble out of the way, he’d do it. And, especially toward the end of their marriage, he’d started throwing his weight around with her, too. Although he’d never seriously hurt her, he’d come close.
As far as she was concerned, he was a “nut job” himself. So why would she let him make her decision for her? She couldn’t trust him. At least, as far as trust went, Dawson was still a question mark.
With only a minute left, she got out of the car. Dawson was offering full-time employment doing...something she hoped she was capable of, and he was promising to pay much more than she was making waiting tables at Lolita’s Country Kitchen. If she wanted to escape her ex-husband for good, this was her chance. It wasn’t as if she could get anything else, not with Sly using his influence to sabotage her in every way possible. No one dared get on his bad side—he’d make life too difficult—so whenever she applied for a job, she was told she didn’t qualify, or a better candidate had been selected. The only reason she had her job at Lolita’s was because she’d been working there since before she left him.
Dawson didn’t have any reason to harm her. That was what she had to remember. If he killed Mr. and Mrs. Reed, he did it because he wanted their farm—not that that was any small thing.
As she drew closer to the house, she could see storm damage to the roof, peeling paint and bird droppings on the railing of the porch. These physical details added to her overall apprehension, but she didn’t get truly chilled until a curtain moved in the window. The idea that Dawson was looking out at her, watching her approach, almost made her turn back. She stopped, but before she could do anything, the front door opened and her prospective employer strode out.
“You must be Sadie Harris.”
Silver Springs had only about 5,000 residents. The town wasn’t large by any stretch of the imagination, and yet they’d never met. Not only was he two years older—she knew his age because of the many newspaper reports and the trial that’d revealed so much about his life—they’d gone to different high schools. She’d attended the public high school; he’d attended New Horizons, a boarding school exclusive to boys. Troubled boys.
So...how troubled was he? Troubled enough to murder the couple who’d taken him in? Troubled enough to lure a woman out to his farm with the false promise of employment?
She hoped not.
“Yes. I—” she cleared her throat as she shoved that last thought away “—I’m Sadie.”
“And I’m Dawson.”
As if he needed to identify himself. Close to six feet, he’d been out of jail long enough to have seen several days of sun. His sandy-colored hair, cut in a military style typical of county jail inmates, blended well with the golden
