I know fear when I see it. Spent fifteen years in the military, saw it on the faces of soldiers before their first firefight, on civilians caught in war zones, on people who knew that danger was coming and had nowhere to run.
Claire Donovan has that look. Not the fresh fear of someone facing immediate danger, but the worn-down fear of someone who's been living with it for so long it's become part of her. The kind that makes you check over your shoulder, flinch at sudden movements, weigh every word before you speak.
Someone hurt her. Someone she's running from.
And she's got a four-year-old kid who thinks this is all an adventure.
I start the car and pull out of the parking lot, heading back toward town. The sky has gone full gray now, those rain clouds finally making good on their promise. The first drops hit my windshield as I turn onto Main Street.
The scars pull tight, reminding me of the explosion that should have killed me. Would have killed me, if Sergeant Davis hadn't pulled me out of the rubble. He died three months later in a different explosion, in a different country, and I wasn't there to return the favor.
The things that stay with you. The debts you can never repay.
I park outside the station and sit there for a moment, rain drumming on the roof. I should go inside, finish up the paperwork, check in with Deputy Williams, make sure everything's running smoothly.
Instead, I pull out my phone and dial a number I haven't called in months.
"Tom Harris." Murphy's voice is warm with surprise. "Calling me? To what do I owe the pleasure?"
"Need a favor."
"Name it."
"Woman came into town today. Claire Donovan. She's staying at the motel for now, but she's going to need a job. Something flexible, if you've got it. She has a four-year-old son."
Murphy's quiet for a moment. "You vouching for her?"
"I am."
"That's good enough for me, but Tom, I just hired someone last week. Kid named Danny, fresh out of high school. Good worker, needs the money." He pauses. "Tell you what, tell her to come by tomorrow afternoon anyway. I've been thinking about taking some time off. Maybe it's time I actually use those vacation days my daughter keeps nagging me about. If Claire works out, she can cover some of my shifts."
"Thanks, Murphy."
"You okay, Tom? You sound... I don't know. Off."
"Fine. Just been a long day."
"If you say so. Come by for dinner this week. Real dinner, not just a quick burger at the counter like today."
"I'll try."
I hang up before he can push harder. Murphy's a good friend, but he's also perceptive as hell, and I don't want to explain why I'm calling in favors for a woman I met two hours ago.
The truth is, I don't understand it myself.
I head inside, wave at Williams who's manning the front desk, and shut myself in my office. The paperwork takes longer than it should because I can't focus. Keep thinking about the way Claire looked at me, like she wanted to trust me but didn't know how. Like she'd learned the hard way that trust gets you hurt.
And the kid. Jackson. Dark hair and brown eyes and a stuffed dinosaur named Rex. Four years old, small for his age, completely unaware that his mother is terrified.
I know what it's like to grow up scared. My old man had a temper and a drinking problem, and my mother spent most of my childhood walking on eggshells, trying to keep the peace. It didn't work. Nothing ever worked. I got out the day I turned eighteen, joined the military, never looked back.
Some kids don't get out.
By the time I finish the paperwork and lock up the office, it's past eight. The rain is coming down harder now, a steady downpour that turns the streets slick and reflective. I drive home on autopilot, park in my usual spot, and sit in the driveway staring at my house.
Small. Quiet. Empty.
I should eat something. Should put on some music, crack open a book, pour a glass of whiskey and let the day drain away. Should do all the things I normally do when I'm home alone.
