Chapter 17

Ashley

I did not expect to be here.

Boy, does that statement ring true. I didn't expect to be sitting next to Ford in a borrowed vehicle, going incognito to Cassie's house so we can have a chat with Cam Fellows. Ford doesn't chat with cops. Ford barely has a civil nod for most of them. But no one has to tell me that Cam and Troy are cut from different cloth than most. It's not the power trip for them that it is for some of them. They're the original good guys.

"You sure about this?" I ask him.

"Fuck, no," he says, the words hissing out between clenched teeth. Every muscle is tense, locked up. "I'm not sure about a goddamn thing … well, one thing. He can't have you running scared your whole life. You deserve better than that."

My heart feels like it's going to beat right out of my chest. "Don't do this for me, Chevy. Don't risk this for me. I'm not worth it."

"The hell you're not. Don't let him poison your mind anymore, Ash. He's had you believing for way too long that no matter what you do, you're always going to be nothing but an extension of him. The only one who sees it that way is Doogie himself … but he's so goddamn hung up on himself, he thinks everybody sees the world the same way he does."

God, I want to believe that. I want to believe that being free from Doogie and his schemes and his manipulations is as easy as just walking away from it. But I can't. Because when you deal with that shit daily, it changes you. It twists things up inside you and makes the whole world ugly. "You're a good guy, Ford. A stand‐up guy. People might not see it, but they're the ones missing out."

The back door opens and Cam slides into the passenger side of the vehicle. It's full dark outside now. "What gives? Is all this cloak‐and‐dagger bullshit really necessary?"

I glance over my shoulder. "How much do you really hate my dad, Cam?"

"That fucker could be on fire right in front of me, Ash, and I wouldn't piss on him … Is that what this is about? Doogie?"

I look over at Ford. His jaw is like rock, clenched so tight it's a wonder it doesn't just snap. I know he's worried that this is going to come back on him. I am too. "Cam, my dad is into a lot of illegal shit. A lot of it. And I spent years helping him cover it up—not because I wanted to, but because I had to."

"Fuck, I know that, Ashley. Everyone in town knows that. When you quit working for that son of a bitch, we all breathed a collective sigh of relief."

"He thought he could get by without me," I explain. "And now he's figured out that he can't and he's trying to force me to come back to work for him."

Cam's eyes narrow. "Force you how?"

"Threats, mostly. Bullying. Coercion. He says he'll hang me out to dry for cooking his books. I don't think he can. Not without exposing his own dirty dealings."

"And Ford is here for moral support?"

That's when Ford turns to face him. "No. I'm here to offer you another way to get his ass … but before that happens, I need your word that Ashley will be okay. And me too. I can't go down for this. My kid needs me. She can't have both her parents in jail."

"I can't make that promise. All I can do is tell you that I will have your back and vouch for you. I know you're doing what you can to keep on the straight and narrow."

Ford is silent for a long moment beside me. I reach across the seat and take his hand in mine, squeezing it. It's a gesture of reassurance between friends. That's what I tell myself. It doesn't stop my heart from skipping a beat or my mind to instantly recall what it felt like to have his hands on me.

He takes a deep breath, and then lets it rush out. "I do some side jobs out of the shop. Stuff that people need to not be reported to their insurance companies or their spouses. Maybe they had a little fender bender that would raise their rates too much. Maybe they were somewhere they shouldn't have been when it happened. It's not illegal, but it's not really on the up and up either."

"Everybody in town knows about that, Ford. We let it go because it's a piddling offense unless the vehicle in question was involved in a crime. Is that what Doogie did? Brought in his car to cover up a crime?" Cam asks.

"I don't know. He said it was a hit and run, but what he hit … fuck if I know," Ford says.

"Paint chips?" There's something in Cam's voice. He's onto something.

"Blue. And not like what you'd see on a car. I thought maybe he hit a mailbox," Ford admits.

Cam shakes his head. "He hit someone, Ford. And I know who … Taylor Hinkley was bicycling on Route 12. Someone hit her, knocked her into a ditch and then left her for dead."

"Jesus," I mutter. "When did that happen?"

"Two days ago," Ford says. "That's when he brought the car in."

Cam nods in confirmation. "It's been all over the news."

"No TV," I reply. "And I've been off work so not hearing the local gossip from customers."

"We just watch DVDs. No cable," Ford says. "I clued in that it would be something big because Doogie is in a hurry for the vehicle. And he's threatening to hang Ashley out to dry if I don't come through."

"Is there enough evidence on the car?"

Ford shakes his head. "They scrubbed it down pretty good before they brought it in. I found a few paint chips, but any good lawyer would argue that was planted. You'll have to get a confession. And that's not fucking likely."

"So what are you proposing, Ford? You wouldn't be here if you didn't want something."

"I'll get him to talk. I'll get him to tell the truth. I just need you to hear it when he does. I guess, Officer Fellows, I'm turning into a narc."

"No," Cam says. "Not a narc. A man. A man who does what's right, even when it ain't easy. That takes a lot of guts."

I'm sitting here in this seat, next to this amazing man, and I'm being nothing but a fucking coward. Not even sure what the hell to say to him, and definitely not willing to fumble through it with Cam present, I keep my mouth shut. It's not the time. Not yet.