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“No.”
“Why?”
“I’ll take care of it.”
“What do you mean you’ll take care of it?”
“I’ll find Jesse.”
“Aren’t you on probation?”
“Probation doesn’t mean that I can’t look for someone.”
“It feels reckless.”
“You have absolutely no idea about recklessness, Miss Stone, and how it can completely destroy someone’s life.Thisis not reckless.”
I realize then that I am speaking to a man driven by vengeance. Rhett doesn’t care if he goes back to jail. His entire purpose in life is finding and killing the man who framed him. The man whose reckless actions destroyed his life. I am not dealing with a normal, sane person, I remind myself. Far from it.
“How are you going to get to these caves?” I ask. “You don’t have a car, right? Where is the vehicle you drove before you went to jail?”
“My truck was repossessed shortly after I went in.”
“What about your house?”
“Same.”
“What about friends or siblings or parents?” I ask.
“None, none, and dead.”
I blink. The man has absolutely nothing. Literally, nothing. No means of transportation, no shelter, no home base, nothing. No wonder why he doesn't care about his future.
“You don’t have any friends?” I press.
“Not since I went in.”
“Surely—”
“No, Sylvia. Not many people want to be associated with a convicted murderer.”
“When did your parents die?”
“Years ago.” He drains the rest of his coffee, stands. “Thank you for showing me the letters, and for the coffee.”
I quickly push back from the table, almost knocking over my chair. Shirley leaps off the microwave and chases after me.
“Rhett, how are you going to…?” I am speaking to his back as he strolls out my front door. “Isn’t there a halfway house you can go to? What about your probation officer? Can’t they help?”
He says nothing, just strides down the driveway like he’s late for some big appointment.
I catch up to him. “Where are you going?”
“I’m going to find Jesse Taylor and start there.”
I plant my feet, my mind racing as I watch him walk down the driveway. My heart is roaring in my chest.
“Rhett.” I blurt before I can talk myself out of it, and lunge forward. “You need help. Whether you admit it or not. And I can help you. I can take you to get some new clothes and we can figure out a car.” As the words tumble out of my mouth, I doubt every single one of them. Yet I keep going, keep pressing, despite my swirling stomach. “You need food, rest, I’m sure…”
