Chapter 8

EIGHT

Gulf Shores, Alabama

Tuesday, September 17

9:49 a.m.

She just needed a name.

Elyse slinked into the office chair and hefted her husband's laptop lid open as quietly as possible. His passwords were all the same. Some variation of her name. Two attempts and she was in. It wasn't like she was breaking any rules in their marriage using his device, but her phone had been destroyed and she'd made a conscious effort to leave her work laptop back in Clarksburg during this vacation. But Wesley wouldn't understand, nor would he approve of knowing she'd been to the house where she'd been attacked. That she'd found her phone and buried it there in the sand to prove she hadn't just tumbled on her run yesterday morning. He'd try to stop her from looking into what'd happened, let the police do their job.

She would. Just as soon as she figured out who she needed to point Detective Moore to.

Elyse kept part of her awareness on the door. Listening for any signs of Wesley or Ava. Then again, it was only ten in the morning. Her daughter wouldn't be up for another couple of hours. Not until her stomach told her it was time to eat. She navigated to the internet browser and tapped it open. "Property records Gulf Shores."

She'd always muttered to herself aloud when it mattered. Her abnormal psychology professor back in her undergrad had told her that wasn't normal. That she could have mild symptoms of mental health disorder, but it'd never bothered her, and it'd never hurt anyone. Though if she didn't want Wesley or her daughter to learn about what she was doing, she probably shouldn't announce it.

The search listed over twenty million results, the first being Baldwin County records. The website belonged to revenue commission. Property tax collection. She scrolled through the menu and selected personal property, but a list of forms filled the page. She could hear a future defense attorney in the back of her mind now. Let me get this straight, you intended to stalk the man you believed attacked you and you've filled out government forms to leave a paper trail. You idiot. She clicked off the page. She'd have to remember to clear the search history when she finished her fishing expedition. Next, she asked the internet, "How to access property records?"

She didn't trust the sponsored results at the top of the search. Further down, she had her answer: inquire at the county recorder's office in person. Again, the defense attorney's voice was in her head. Just… laughing.

Why had she convinced herself this would be easy? Wasn't everything supposed to be on the internet these days? Employees were fired for decades-old posts, candidates' social media profiles were scanned before offers were made, revenge porn circulated for years. And here she was, not even capable of finding out a homeowner's name.

Elyse leaned back in the desk chair. She'd never liked this office. Despite the fact both she and Wesley worked full-time—sometimes from home when she got behind on paperwork—he'd claimed the space as his. Like her job didn't really matter. Her career didn't matter. Her contribution to the family didn't matter. And why the hell did he need an office in their vacation house? The entire reason for a vacation was to take a break from work, for crying out loud. She scanned the paperwork strewn across the oversized and ridiculously pompous oak desk, so out of place with the lighter color palette they'd chosen when they'd first bought this place. Mail, bank statements, handwritten notes. He could at least clean up in here.

She grabbed for a stack of mail addressed to their Clarksburg home. Her husband had actually brought the mail with them? They were going to have to have a talk about boundaries. How were they expected to teach Ava the meaning of "no" when they couldn't live by it themselves?

She read Wesley's name through the small, plastic window on the first piece of mail. There was a way she could find out the name of the homeowner of that property without leaving a paper trail behind.

Heavy footsteps echoed down the hall and registered a dull thud through the floorboards. Right before her husband caught sight of her at his desk. "Hey, what are you doing here? I thought you'd gone for a walk."

"I did. Now I'm back." She shut down the browser window. No time to clear the history cache. She'd have to come back and do it later. Acid surged up her throat. They weren't that couple. The one that kept secrets from each other and lied to cover their tracks. Well, they didn't used to be. She guessed that had changed with the affair. Elyse forced herself out of the chair. Her shoulder gave out halfway up, but she managed to recover. "I saw a baby alligator on the trail. I thought it was going to eat me."

"You went back on the trail?" Wesley closed the distance between them, smoothing his hands down her arms. "Did you remember anything else from yesterday morning?"

Tension played at the back of her neck. She could tell him. That she'd gone to that house. That she'd found her phone in the sand. They could figure this out together. Like they used to when faced with a rough patch. They'd had the practice over their eighteen years. Living paycheck to paycheck due to dead-end office jobs and no money management skills at the start of their marriage. Maxing out credit cards every chance they got for stupid material items and eating out and movies instead of living on a budget. Having a baby when they themselves had still felt like babies. Then living on zero sleep, dependent on her in-laws for a room in their basement, diapers, and formula for Ava. Sure, there'd been arguments, like any couple trying to figure life out. It'd taken them a while to feel solid. Reliable. They'd never given up.

Until the cancer.

Except the chemotherapy treatments hadn't been the worst part. That came later. After they'd lost their second daughter, and Elyse had learned he'd been cheating on her with a woman from his office. It'd been a stupid mistake. That was what he'd told her. He was grieving. Upset about losing the baby and facing the possibility of losing his wife. Turned out, that possibility hadn't been enough to convince him to be there for her when she'd needed him the most.

She could still feel the rupture of mistrust just beneath her skin as she looked up at him. The sad truth was, her career didn't mean as much as his. At least not financially. If she'd left four years ago, she and Ava would've struggled despite child support. The medical bills for cancer treatments alone would've bankrupted her. Didn't matter that she was a medical professional. There were no discounts. And so she'd forgiven her husband, believed him when he said it would never happen again. But she would always wonder. If he'd found someone else. If he was lying to her. If the affair had been a mistake as he'd claimed or if the mistake had been getting caught. "No. I didn't remember anything else."

"Okay. Well, the doctor said to take it easy. Don't push yourself." He'd added a Band-Aid to the scratch along the back of his right ear. "Were you using my laptop?"

"Yeah. I was scouring the Food Network website for something to make for dinner." Lie. And not a very good one. Because Wesley was smart enough to check the browser history, but she was smart enough to divert his attention elsewhere. "What happened to your ear? I noticed it at the hospital yesterday. You were bleeding."

"That damn nail sticking out of the pylon got me again when I took out the trash yesterday morning. It was after you'd gone for your run. Didn't even realize how bad it was until last night." Wesley took a seat behind his desk, seemingly at home as he centered his laptop in front of him. "One of these days I just need to rip the bastard out."

"Let me know if you develop a headache. Could be the start of a tetanus infection. Better to catch it as soon as possible." Nervous energy skittered down her spine as her husband directed his full attention to the screen in front of him. "I'm going to grab a few things from the store for dinner. Do you need anything while I'm there?"

"No. Thanks though." Seconds passed. Then a minute. There were no questions about property records. Only the tap of the laptop keyboard. Elyse would let him disappear into his obsession as long as possible. Because she intended to do the same. She tried to keep her steps light as she passed Ava's closed bedroom door. Her daughter wouldn't be up for a while, but Elyse didn't mind Ava squandering the day away in bed and staying out too late with friends. That was the point of vacation. Elyse set her hand against the bedroom door, tempted to check in. They warned you about not waking a sleeping baby. No one had said anything about the deadly consequences of waking a sleeping teenager. She'd learned that one the hard way.

She managed to avoid unwanted attention down the stairs and into the entryway. Grabbing for the SUV keys, she automatically slipped her purse over her injured shoulder then quickly relocated it to the other side as a stab of pain ricocheted down her arm. The house itself wouldn't be accessible by car, but it was the fastest way to get to the trail. She'd have to park at the trailhead. Further, if there was no available parking.

Within minutes, Elyse pulled into the Branyon Backcountry Trail parking lot. It was full this time of day. She maneuvered through the lot, then out the other side, swinging back around as a spot opened up. Shoving the SUV into Park, she stared out the windshield. A full parking lot meant a lot of visitors. Visitors who could place her in the vicinity of the man she was trying to stalk.

Maybe she should've called that detective, the one who'd interviewed her in the hospital yesterday. Wesley had left Detective Moore's card in the center console near the shifter. Would Gulf Shores PD have reason to question a homeowner based on what she'd reported? Hello, Detective Moore, I'm the woman you questioned about an assault that may or may not have happened yesterday morning. I was wondering if you could make a house call to this address. I'm pretty sure that's where I was attacked. No, I don't have proof. It's just a gut feeling. Oh, you're busy trying to solve a missing teenager case? Okay, thanks anyway.

Elyse buried her purse beneath the front seat, taking the key with her, and shoved out of the SUV. Mid-morning Alabama heat nearly soaked her straight through, but it was nothing compared to the feeling every person on the trail could read her mind and tried to memorize her face in case the police questioned them later on.

She was too in her head. Seeing threats that weren't really there.

It was just a walk on the trail. To commit a federal crime.

She followed the route she ran every morning, careful to keep her sunglasses on and her head down. The trail started to curve and exposed the dunes up ahead. Two bikers came up behind her with a warning call from her left then surged on ahead around the bend. Leaving this section of trail empty. Elyse picked up her pace and broke free from the path. Divots outlined her earlier trek toward the house.

Only this time a car had been parked beneath the house.

"Shit." How was she supposed to grab a piece of mail from the mailbox without being seen when the entire house seemed to be made of glass? She checked back over her shoulder, did some stretches while looking out at the ocean in case anyone caught sight of her.

Movement at the back stairs leading up to the main deck pulled at her attention. A man—dressed in a T-shirt and jeans—shuddered down the stairs and disappeared around the rear of the truck. Too fast for her to compare him to the memory stuck on repeat in her head. In her next breath, the truck's reverse lights lit up, and the driver backed away from the house.

It was now or never.

Elyse scanned the trail for potential tattletales and retraced her steps from this morning. Air lodged in her throat as she neared the mailbox at the back of the house. She just had to do it. Pulling the metal tab down, she reached inside.

And grabbed on to a rectangular envelope to read the intended receiver.

The tightness in her chest dissipated the longer she stared at the name and tried to make it fit with leftover broken memories. "Hello, Samuel Thornton."