Page 178 of Property of Bob

“Then why search my RV?”

“I thought you’d copied the records.”

“I did.”

His face went pale.

Bob made a low sound beside me.

I held up my hand. “I don’t have them anymore.”

Wade stared at me. “You don’t?”

“No.”

That wasn’t entirely true.

I’d deleted what I’d copied after I’d left Iowa because I hadn’t known what the hell I was going to do with it and having it had started to feel like carrying around a target. I’d never sent it anywhere. Never reported him.

I’d just wanted out.

Wade rubbed his hands over his face. “Jesus Christ.”

“You could’ve asked me.”

“I tried,” he sighed.

“No. You followed me.”

“I know.”

“You messed with my tire.”

“I know.”

“You went through my home.”

“I know,” he stressed.

I glared at him. “Also saying ‘I know’ like that’s going to fix it.”

He nodded.

Bob stepped closer to me. “What happens if she reports you?”

Wade looked at him. “I don’t know.”

“Bullshit.”

“I could lose the campground. Could go to jail. Depends what they charge me with.”

“And your daughter?”

Wade’s face tightened. “Her mom would take care of her.”

“But?”

His jaw worked. “But I’m her dad.”