CHAPTER TWENTY THREE

The steel door clanged shut behind Rachel Blackwood, the echo bouncing off the stark concrete walls of the prison corridor. A guard, face as impassive as the grey slabs surrounding them, motioned her forward. Each step was deliberate, her boots thudding against the dull sheen of the floor, a rhythm that matched the pounding of her heart. She knew these visits were never easy, never without risk.

Rachel entered the interview area, a room barren but for the table and chairs bolted to the ground. Cold fluorescent light washed over everything, casting hard shadows that seemed to slice the space into sharp segments. The air was stale, heavy with the burden of countless desperate conversations that had previously hung in this very room.

Across from her, Joseph White Cloud sat cuffed to the table. Anger etched deep lines around his mouth, his eyes narrow slits that fixed on Rachel with unbridled fury. His jaw was clenched so tight, it looked as if it might snap.

"Ranger Blackwood," he spat out her title like venom. His voice, a low growl, filled the room with its menace.

"Joseph," Rachel acknowledged, her tone even. She took measured steps toward the opposite chair, the sound of her movements sharp in the charged silence.

She pulled out the cold metal chair, the screech it made against the floor a harsh interruption to the tense quiet. Sitting down, Rachel placed her hands flat on the table, her posture straight, eyes locked onto his.

Joseph's breath came in short, controlled bursts, his nostrils flaring slightly with each inhalation. Despite the handcuffs, he radiated danger, a palpable force that seemed to press against the walls of the room, seeking escape.

"Let's talk," Rachel said, her voice a clear command, devoid of any tremor that might suggest fear.

Joseph White Cloud’s hair was shorn close to the scalp, revealing more skin than stubble, a canvas that drew the eye to the ink that crawled over his skull. The giant arrowhead tattoo started at the crown and tapered down to his nape, its edges sharp and unforgiving, a stark black against the pallor of his prison complexion.

"Your badge," he sneered, "might as well be a target."

His accusation hung in the air, heavy with blame. He leaned forward, the muscles in his arms bulging against the restraints. With each word, the arrowhead seemed to pulse as if it were alive with Joseph's rage.

"Because of you, my brother is dead."

Rachel remained still, unflinching. Her gaze did not waver from the hate-filled eyes that bore into hers.

"Your brother made his choice," Rachel said. "Just like you did."

Joseph's lips curled back, a snarl suppressed behind bared teeth. His hands clenched, the chains rattled—a caged animal's frustration.

Joseph's jaw clenched. His nostrils flared. "When I get out, Ranger," he growled, the title spat out like venom, "you'll regret ever crossing me."

"Get in line," Rachel's voice was an iron bar, cold and hard. "Threats don't phase me."

She wasn’t here for his threats.

She needed answers.

Her voice was low, every syllable deliberate. "Why my aunt?"

Joseph's eyes flitted away for a fraction of a second before they locked onto hers again. His lips curled into a sneer. "Almost got her, too," he said, his tone laced with a twisted pride.

"Almost," Rachel echoed.

"Close enough to watch her bleed," Joseph added, a glint of something dark and cruel in his eyes.

Rachel's fingers curled into fists at her sides. She took a measured breath, keeping control. "Why her?" she pressed, each word a demand for the truth that seemed to slide like oil over Joseph's skin, never penetrating.

He leaned forward; the chains around his wrists clinked, a sound that echoed off the walls. "Because we could," he said, voice as cold and hard as the concrete beneath their feet.

"Could isn't why."

"Isn't it?" He leaned back, the grin never leaving his face.

"Tell me."

But Joseph just shook his head, that smirk still plastered across his face, as if sharing a private joke with the grimy prison walls.

"Give me a reason," she demanded. "Why go after her?"

Joseph shrugged an indifferent gesture that belied the gravity of the conversation. He glanced around the room, his eyes briefly studying the grey walls before settling back on her. "Your aunt," he said, his voice flat, "she messed up everything."

"Everything like what?" Rachel pushed, feeling the weight of unspoken history pressing down on them.

He just shrugged.

“You killed my parents,” she said simply. It wasn’t a question.

She watched closely, gauging his reaction.

But he just snorted, shaking his head.

"Like I said, law lady," he replied, contempt dripping from his words. "Your aunt got in the way."

Rachel's mind raced. What was she missing? Why was Joseph so fixated on her aunt? She willed her features to remain impassive, her mind turning over possibilities like a thief sifting through a stolen haul.

"This is about the heist," she said finally. Anger and understanding mingled within her, but she held her composure. "The money."

Joseph’s silence affirmed her assertions more than any words could have. He sat back in his chair, his expression cold and unreadable, the chains rattling softly against the metal table.

"You took a shot at my aunt because of the money?" Rachel asked. Her voice was low and steady. The room was silent except for the hum of the florescent light overhead.

Joseph looked at her, his eyes narrowed to slits. He shrugged again, an infuriatingly ambiguous motion that sent a spark of anger through Rachel.

She felt as if she were circling something important.

Something critical.

But she couldn’t quite say what.

"Tell me, Joseph," she demanded, her voice remaining steady. "What does my aunt have to do with the money?"

Joseph leaned back in his chair, his lips pulling into a twisted smirk. "She's the one who started all this," he said, his voice a low murmur. He chuckled darkly, then fell silent, leaving Rachel with more questions than answers.

She watched him closely, her gaze never wavering from his face. Her mind raced as she tried to piece together what he was insinuating.

"Started all this?" Her tone was calm but insistent. She wanted clarity and he was giving her riddles. She felt a strange chill crawling up her spine though.

A strange, curdling fear settled over her.

"Your aunt," he replied slowly, drawing out each word as if savoring them. "She killed your mother."

Rachel felt as though she'd been punched in the gut. Her fingers dug into the edges of the table as she absorbed Joseph's words. She stared at him, searching his face for signs of deceit, but found only a cruel satisfaction in his gaze.

He was grinning at her, evidently pleased with her shock.

The rage building within her was like a storm ready to break. But she held it in check.

Her mother...her aunt...

"You're lying," she snapped finally, breaking the silence that had swallowed the room.

Joseph shrugged once more, nonchalant despite the gravity of his claim. "Believe what you want, law lady," he said dismissively.

This wasn't a game. She needed facts, not cryptic accusations and mockery.

"I need proof," Rachel insisted through gritted teeth. "Not your word."

His grin widened at her demand.

"She had it coming," Joseph said, grinning as if he'd just revealed a punchline. "She wanted all the money.”

She couldn’t tell if he was referencing her mother or aunt, and right now, she didn’t care, still reeling.

Rachel's heart thudded heavily against her ribcage, his words echoing in the chilly emptiness of the room. The cold, hard table felt like ice under her trembling hands.

Her world tilted on its axis. She looked at Joseph, her eyes wide with shock and disbelief.

"No," she said, shaking her head, "that's not true."

Joseph's grin only widened, his teeth stark white in the pale fluorescent light. "You should ask her yourself," he said simply.

The icy room seemed to close around Rachel, threatening to pull her under in its unforgiving depths. Her breathing shuddered in her chest, her hands clenched so hard her knuckles turned white.

“Bullshit,” she said.

“Nah. It’s true. Your aunt stole the haul. Killed your momma. Your old man got in the way. We went after her to get the haul back. She scampered. Took us some time to reach her. What with that asshole, Dawes guarding her.”

Dawes, the reservation sheriff, had always been close to Rachel’s aunt, and she’d never quite known why.

But she didn’t believe any of this.

It was a farce. She couldn’t believe it. Aunt Sarah?

Joseph's words felt like a punch to the gut, but Rachel pushed back against the pain. "You're manipulating me," she spat, her voice echoing off the grey walls of the room.

Joseph chuckled, a low and guttural sound that resonated in the sterile environment. "Am I?" he asked, mocking her with his eyes.

Rachel sat back in her chair, her mind spinning. The room around her seemed to teeter on the edge of reality as she grappled with his words. It was all too surreal, too grotesque. Yet, in the depths of her heart, something twisted dangerously.

She had to control the situation. She had to regain her footing. "I'm not buying it," she said finally, her voice steadier than before. Her gaze locked onto Joseph's familiar, cruel grin. "You're trying to confuse me."

He just shrugged again, a nonchalant yet dangerous gesture that made Rachel's blood boil.

The room felt colder than ever before - a hollowed space. The fluorescent light overhead flickered, casting long shadows over Joseph's face.

"Let's say you're telling the truth," Rachel said, giving voice to a possibility that sent shivers down her spine. Her palms were sweaty on the cool metal table.

"Doesn't change the fact that you killed my parents."

Joseph met her gaze with an unnerving stillness, his icy eyes devoid of any remorse or humanity.

"I didn't kill anybody," he said, his voice devoid of any emotion. His words were cold and precise - a contrast to the heat burning in Rachel.

"No," she repeated, the denial of a life-preserver that she clung to against the rush of icy dread that threatened to pull her under. "No. I don't...I won't believe you."

The irate flush on his face was almost satisfying. His chains echoed as he moved, his usual smug smirk replaced with a scowl. "Why would I lie?" he spat, his voice bitter and full of venom.

Rachel's mind reeled, thoughts racing as if propelled by a tornado. The distrustful part of her wanted to dismiss his claims outright, but a small, insidious whisper nagged at her, gnawing at her resolve. Was there some truth in Joseph's words? Could Aunt Sarah...

"No!" she said again, more forcefully this time, trying to drown out the doubts plaguing her. She glared at the man across from her, hating how his words had shaken her.

Joseph leaned back in his chair, his gaze holding hers as if challenging her to refute him again. "She fooled us all," he muttered darkly, shaking his head with what might have been regret. Or was it simply another sick game he was playing?

Rachel pushed herself up from the table abruptly; the chair scraped loudly across the concrete floor, echoing in the hollow silence around them.

"Enough!" Her voice cracked with unbearable tension. She turned towards the exit, wanting nothing more than to escape this stifling room and Joseph’s poisonous words.

“Your aunt isn’t who you think!” Joseph called out after her, his voice booming against the cold stone walls. “Ask her! Ask her about momma’s death!"

But Rachel was already striding out of the room, her heart pounding against her ribcage like a wild thing. His words echoed in her ears, a cruel haunting that she couldn't shake.

Outside the prison walls, the Texas night was cool and quiet, a stark contrast to the turmoil brewing inside Rachel. She quickly climbed into her car, slamming the door shut behind her. The silence inside was deafening. She sat there for a moment, gripping the steering wheel tightly as she fought to regain control over her spiraling thoughts.

She started the car, its engine breaking through the quiet with a low growl. But as she drove away from the prison, she couldn't help but look back at it - a looming silhouette against the starlit sky.

The drive back to town was a blur of empty roads and flickering streetlights. Her mind was preoccupied with Joseph's accusations.

Her hands were shaking slightly as she picked up the phone on her desk and dialed her aunt's number. The line rang once... twice... Rachel's heart pounded in time with each ring.

No answer.

She tried Dawes.

No answer.

She tried again.

Still nothing.

“Dammit!” she cursed, flinging her phone against her windshield.

It struck and

bounced back into the passenger seat. She pulled over, her heart pounding in her chest. She hunched over the steering wheel, her mind running a marathon. The allegations made by Joseph brought forth a barrage of emotions she couldn't decipher.

She knew deep down that she should dismiss Joseph's words as merely an attempt to destabilize her, but she found herself unable to shake off the uncanny feeling they provoked.

She picked up the phone again, staring at it for a few seconds before dialing Aunt Sarah's number once more.

No answer.

Rachel tossed the phone onto the passenger seat, frustration seeping into her veins. Her hands clenched around the steering wheel until her knuckles turned white. Her eyes hardened as she restarted her car and made a U-turn.

If Aunt Sarah wouldn't answer her calls, then Rachel would pay her a personal visit.

She drove through the quiet Texas night, her headlights slicing through the darkness and illuminating the long stretch of empty road that lay ahead. The wind whistled past her car as she sped down the highway.