“It wasn’t shy. I’ve got some time, right?”

“You’re clear for the next hour.”

“I’m going to take a walk.”

He walked straight to the police station. Of course, straight in the small-town South meant stopping half a dozen times over the three-block walk when someone called out to him, having conversations about the weather—hot and humid—how Emily was doing, how he liked living up in the fancy house.

When he finally got there, he found a couple of officers, including his brother-in-law, working at their desks, the dispatcher at her station.

More conversations, thankfully brief.

“I was hoping for a few minutes with Lee. Is the chief in?”

“Yep, in his office,” Silas told him. “Go right on back.”

He found Lee at his desk, scowling at his computer screen. The scowl cleared when Lee looked up. “A distraction, just what I need. Budget—pain in my ass. Come on in.”

The office suited Lee—small, spare but for a few family photos. It held a couple of creaky visitor chairs, a bulletin board, a whiteboard—both covered—a coffee maker holding dregs, and a stack of files on the desk.

Though Lee’s door was rarely closed, Zane closed it behind him.

Lee lifted his eyebrows. “Problem?”

“I don’t know. I just turned away a client. Clint Draper.”

“Ah.” Nodding, Lee gestured to a chair, leaned back in his. “Boundary line. Doesn’t matter how wrong he is, how many ways he’s told he’s wrong, he won’t let it go. I guess he wants to sue Sam McConnell.”

“On the strength of a survey he and his brother conducted themselves. He didn’t like being told it wouldn’t wash.”

“Are you worried he’ll take a swing at you?”

“Should I be?”

Lee puffed out his cheeks. “I wouldn’t think he’d come at you. You’re young and fit and he’s a coward under it. We did answer a call a few weeks back. Mary Lou—Sam’s wife—called nine-one-one when Draper started a pissing match with Sam over the line, tried hacking at the hedges. But then Sam’s older than me, and not what you’d call robust. Those properties are just inside my jurisdiction. The rest of the Drapers belong to county, and I can’t say I’m sorry about that.”

“Maureen said you’ve had him here, as your guest, a couple times.”

“Drunk and disorderlies, pushy-shovies.”

“Have you ever been called out to his place for anything other than the border business?”

Once again, Lee lifted his eyebrows. “Such as?”

“He brought his wife—Traci—with him. I know the look, Lee, the attitude, the signals. I know when I’m looking at abuser and abused.”

Now Lee let out a sigh. “We’ve never had a domestic disturbance call out there. I’m going to say despite the border bullshit, the houses aren’t within spitting distance. And Clint’s brother Jed, who he runs with, is on the other side. Old man Draper’s land’s behind Clint’s place.”

Zane nodded slowly. “So, she’s surrounded.”

“You could look at it that way. I know about a month after they got married, Traci took a fall, had a miscarriage. They both say she felt light-headed, tripped, and fell down the stairs. Her mother came to me, swore he’d done it somehow, but Traci stuck to the story, and there wasn’t a sign that’s not what happened.”

“But it’s not what you think happened.”

“I know the signs, the attitude, the look, too. But she never budged from the story. I pushed it as far as I could, even slipped her Britt’s card.”

“All right. I wanted to see if my instincts on this hit the mark. Thanks, Lee.”

“Nothing you can do,” Lee said as Zane rose. “Nothing the law can do unless she changes her story, unless she comes to us for help.”

“I know. I hope she does, because you could and would help her.”

Maybe, Zane thought as he walked back to his office, she needed to hear that from someone who knew the fear, the helplessness.

He kept it to himself, but two days later, Zane drove out to the disputed property line. He took a casual walk along it, and up to the Draper house. He knew, because he’d asked around, the family had built the little two-story place.

He could see the windows sparkled, and someone had tried to spruce it up with a small, struggling flower bed. He could see a clothesline, a vegetable garden in the back—and Traci hoeing weeds.

When he wandered back, he knew, knew, by the look of alarm on her face he’d been right about her life here.

“Miz Draper.” He gave her an easy smile, kept his distance. She wore a straw hat and a long cotton dress with the sleeves rolled to just below the elbows.

She had to be roasting.

And though he knew the answer, had made certain of it, asked, “Is Mr. Draper home?”

“He’s at work. He’s working with his brother at the feed and grain outside Asheville. You have to come back after four-thirty if you want words with him.”

“Oh, that’s all right. I just thought I’d come take a look at the line, maybe give y’all the name of a surveyor.”

“He doesn’t need a surveyor. He and his brother did it themselves. I need to get my weeding done.”

“You’ve got some nice tomatoes going there. Pretty land.”

It wasn’t, but he could see she tried to make it so. “That foot-wide strip won’t make any difference to you.”

She kept her eyes down, wouldn’t meet his. Her hands gripped the hoe like a weapon. “Clint wants what’s his.”

“Pretty sure he’s got what’s his. Miz Draper—Traci—I’ve been where you are.”

Her eyes wheeled up, then down again. “I don’t know what you mean. I need to get back to work now.”

“I think you do know. Your sister was only a couple years ahead of me in school. She’d have heard the story. I was afraid, too. Afraid to tell anybody. Afraid he’d hurt me worse if I tried, or that no one would believe me. We can help you.”

“You need to go. Clint doesn’t like people coming by when he’s not here.”

“So he can keep you isolated, cut off. Under his thumb, with his family close and yours not. You can trust Chief Keller. You can trust me and my sister. All you have to do is ask for help, and you’ll get it. He’ll never hurt you again.”

“My husband doesn’t hurt me. Now you best leave.”

“If you ever need help, you call.” He took a card out of his case, laid it on the stump he imagined they used to chop wood. “It’s all you have to do.”

Almost certain she wouldn’t call, Zane left her, walked the line back, then cut over to the McConnell home—a study in contrasts.

Though it might’ve started out about the size of the Drapers’, they’d added on nearly that much again, with large windows, wide porches.

And now that he knew how to recognize it, some very nice landscaping.

Like Traci, he found both the McConnells in their back garden. The woman, sturdy in knee-length shorts and floppy-brimmed hat, straightened, pressed a hand to her lower back.

“Well, look here, Sam. It’s the young Walker boy. Come on back here, Zane. You won’t remember me. I taught at the middle school, but I never had you. Had your sister one year, though.”

“It’s nice to see you.” He shook hands with both of them. “That’s a garden and a half.”

“Always plant too much.” Sam, a bandanna covering his balding head, knobby knees jutting out from his shorts, shook his head. “The grandkids put up a roadside stand to sell some of it, and we still give bags away.”

“It’s time for a breather,” Mary Lou declared. “How about we sit in the shade of the porch, have some lemonade?”

“I wouldn’t say no.”

He walked back with them, took a seat with Sam while Mary Lou went inside.

“A lawyer now, aren’t you?”

“Yes, sir.”

Sam pulled out another bandanna, wiped his sweaty face. “That Draper boy hire you?”

“He tried. He hasn’t got a case, Mr. McConnell, and I told him as much. I expect, considering, you’ve been to your own lawyer and been told the same.”

“We have. And that if he keeps on at us, we can sue him for harassment. I’d rather avoid that kind of thing.”

“I don’t blame you.” Zane got up to take the tray of lemonade from Mrs. McConnell.

“I heard enough to know you’ve got the good sense not to take a fool and bully on for a client,” she said, pouring the lemonade over ice.

“Yes, ma’am, I do. The boundary issue isn’t why I’m here. It’s an excuse. I wanted to ask, and I know it’s not my business, but I need to ask if either of you know of any trouble next door. Between Clint and Traci.”

He noted the quick exchanged look. “We stay out of their way,” Sam began. “As much as we can. They aren’t what you’d call friendly.”

“She won’t say boo,” Mary Lou continued. “I had her in school, two years. She had a good brain, did well, had friends. Was a little shy, but not timid. I took them over a cake when they moved in. She took it politely enough, but wouldn’t ask me inside. Even said she didn’t remember my classes, though I could see she did. I tried again when that poor girl lost her baby. He wouldn’t let me in, though he took the casserole I took over quick enough. Never returned the dish.”