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Her chest was rising and falling like she was riding the edge of hysteria. “No,” she said. “He would find me.”

We walked Liz back to Grant House. I cleaned her up and checked her over more thoroughly. She had fading bruises on her left arm in the shape of a handprint. Probably from a week or so ago. A healing cut on her neck. One of Doug’s fishhook sutures? She must have been pretty desperate to let him sew her up in such a sensitive area without lidocaine. But going to an urgent care would mean questions and a paper trail.

I didn’t even need to see one to know what an X-ray would show me. Healed fractures. Bones set wrong or not at all because she was afraid to go to the ER—or Jake was. He wouldn’t want there to be evidence.

I gave her some Advil and we put her in the living room with some ice packs for her knees. Then we went to make her some tea.

As soon as we were alone in the kitchen, Daniel wiped a hand down his mouth. “We need to call the police.”

“Are there cameras on that street corner?” I whispered. “Does Jake wear a body cam?”

He shook his head. “No…”

I pressed my lips into a line. “She’s not going to be a willing participant, Daniel. You call the police and you know what she’s going to tell them? That she fell. That he never touched her. It’ll be our word against hers.”

I could see by his defeated expression that he knew I was right. He shook his head. “He’s going to kill her. This shit’s been going on for years. It’s only getting worse. She won’t let us help her, she won’t go to the police. She fucking defends him, like she deserves it,” he whispered. “Why the hell is she like this?”

“She has battered women’s syndrome. It’s a cycle of abuse, and it’s going to be very hard for her to break, especially with her circumstances. Jake has all the power,” I said quietly. “He’s made sure of it. She doesn’t have a car or anywhere to go. He probably keeps all the money. She may think the police won’t do anything because he’s a sheriff. And she might even be right about that.”

I looked him in the eye. “Believe me when I tell you that there’s nothing you can say to her to make her leave if she’s not ready. If you force her into going, she’ll only come back, and when she comes back, it’ll be worse. And if he catches her leaving…” I shook my head. “The most dangerous time in an abusive relationship is when you leave, because when you do, the abuser has lost control.”

He studied me. “What do we do?” he asked.

“Give her a way to escape. Money, a car, a place to go. So when she’s ready to leave, she can really leave.”

He nodded. “Okay. Okay, I can do that.”

“We need to get her a cell phone. One Jake doesn’t know she has, so she can Google resources, look for an apartment or a lawyer. She can keep it in the safe at work. He cannot know we’re helping her. If he thinks anyone else is involved, he’ll make her cut ties. He might make her quit her job so he can further isolate her, alienate her from her friends. We can help her, Daniel. We can set her up and give her all the tools. But we can’t save her unless she’s ready to save herself.”

But I could tell from the look in his eyes that she wasn’t.

And he didn’t know if she ever would be.

I drove Liz home. Neither of us wanted to take her, but when we refused to drive her, she started to walk, and she was in pain. I got the sense she needed to talk and would be more open with me than Daniel, so I didn’t let him come.

Liz and I pulled up in front of her tiny house. The lights were off, and the cruiser wasn’t in the driveway. She said Jake worked until midnight, so we weren’t expecting him.

“Can we just park for a second?” she asked. “I’m not ready to go in there. I just need a few more minutes.”

She was calmer now. She’d cleaned up her face and stopped crying, but she was still visibly shaken. “I need to smoke.”

We went outside and sat on the curb.

I knew Jake wasn’t coming, and he’d likely maintain his good guy façade in front of me even if he did, but I kept checking the street for police lights anyway. It was the first time in my life I was actually scared of seeing them.

Liz pulled out a smashed-in pack of Marlboros from her jacket pocket. She must have fallen on it. When she opened it, loose tobacco spilled out. She picked through it until she found the least damaged cigarette, put it to her lips, and lit it with shaking hands. “I don’t normally smoke,” she said. “Carl left them on the bar. Now I can’t stop.”

Picking up unhealthy habits to cope with abuse wasn’t unusual. I’d done it myself. I did it every time I woke up before Neil to put makeup on. I couldn’t even imagine what else I would have done to escape my reality if I hadn’t escaped it in person.

Liz stared out into the night. “He dragged me out of the VFW parking lot,” she said.

“What happened?”

She blew smoke, holding her elbow by the hand. “It was dumb. It’s always dumb.” She sniffed. “It was about Brian.”

“Brian?”

“He just…he has this thing with Brian. It’s this stupid thing, and he can’t let it go.”