would need to do before leaving: clear her desk, transfer her calls to the switchboard, and divide up her workload between two of the file clerks in her department.
In a few hours she could be on her way to Pine Bluff to do what had to be done.
Clint Austin would not be free for long.
CHAPTER TWO
Jackson County
11:18 a.m.
Clint took in the familiar passing landscape like a starving man introduced to an all-you-can-eat buffet for the first time. A hell of a lot had changed in ten years, but the closer they got to Pine Bluff the more things looked the same, as if the hole-in-the-wall that was his hometown had been frozen in time. Equal parts dread and anticipation coagulated low in his belly.
"You listening to me, Clint?"
Clint aimed one of those cold stares that had backed down more trouble than he cared to recall at the driver. "Yeah, sure."
Three hours on the road and Chief of Police Ray Hale had tried initiating a conversation several times, but Clint had no desire to talk or even to make the effort. The idea that Ray was likely the only friend Clint had should have but didn't arouse the necessary motivation.
He and Ray hadn't actually ever been friends, just acquaintances. Ray had graduated from high school the year before Clint. He'd been a green recruit on the Pine Bluff police force a decade ago, but now he was the chief and, truth told, he was probably the main reason Clint was free.
He was free.
He inhaled deeply. Even the air smelled different outside those damned prison walls. Gone was the heavy stench of days-old sweat and perpetual fear. A shudder rocked through him before he could stop it. He was never going back there.
"I know it isn't fair, Clint," Ray went on in spite of the lack of interest from his captive audience, "but the folks around here are going to expect a man filled with remorse and humility. Do you think you can handle that for a little while?"
Like Clint gave one shit what people in this damned town expected. Ray should give it a rest. No way was he going to make Clint feel what he wanted him to feel.... Ray couldn't make Clint say what he wanted him to say.
"Mr. Higgins is offering you a job at his repair shop, and your mama's place is ready to move into."
Guilt broadsided Clint and he flinched. His mama was dead. Six years now. His request to attend her funeral had been denied by the warden. Clint's fingers fisted into tight balls of contempt. That was one son of a bitch if given the opportunity Clint was pretty sure he could kill and never feel the slightest guilt.
But he couldn't let anger rule him. He'd done that at first and he'd paid the price. Prison wasn't the place to go with a chip on your shoulder, especially if you didn't possess the necessary skills to back it up. What the hell did a nineteen-year-old kid who'd thought he was a tough guy back home know about surviving prison life with hard-core criminals?
Not a damned thing.
"Everything's pretty much set," Ray went on, determined not to let the one-sided conversation lull. "Be sure to keep in mind that a job is one of the conditions of your parole."
Clint surprised himself and said, "I'll talk to Higgins about the job." His voice sounded rough and unfamiliar, even to his own ears, but then there hadn't been a lot of need to talk where he'd been.
Ray made the final turn that would take Clint home. The house, weathered barn, and plot of land his mama had owned sat five or so miles outside Pine Bluff proper, surrounded by nothing but woods and mountains and dusty dirt roads going nowhere.
"You've paid your debt to society," Ray added, as if he hadn't said enough already. "Start clean from here, Clint. Don't be looking back." His gaze shifted to Clint's as he came to a stop in the driveway. "Looking back will only create problems you'll regret."
The naive police chief had no idea. Regret was something Clint had learned not to feel, along with a host of other emotions. As if to contradict him,
In a few hours she could be on her way to Pine Bluff to do what had to be done.
Clint Austin would not be free for long.
CHAPTER TWO
Jackson County
11:18 a.m.
Clint took in the familiar passing landscape like a starving man introduced to an all-you-can-eat buffet for the first time. A hell of a lot had changed in ten years, but the closer they got to Pine Bluff the more things looked the same, as if the hole-in-the-wall that was his hometown had been frozen in time. Equal parts dread and anticipation coagulated low in his belly.
"You listening to me, Clint?"
Clint aimed one of those cold stares that had backed down more trouble than he cared to recall at the driver. "Yeah, sure."
Three hours on the road and Chief of Police Ray Hale had tried initiating a conversation several times, but Clint had no desire to talk or even to make the effort. The idea that Ray was likely the only friend Clint had should have but didn't arouse the necessary motivation.
He and Ray hadn't actually ever been friends, just acquaintances. Ray had graduated from high school the year before Clint. He'd been a green recruit on the Pine Bluff police force a decade ago, but now he was the chief and, truth told, he was probably the main reason Clint was free.
He was free.
He inhaled deeply. Even the air smelled different outside those damned prison walls. Gone was the heavy stench of days-old sweat and perpetual fear. A shudder rocked through him before he could stop it. He was never going back there.
"I know it isn't fair, Clint," Ray went on in spite of the lack of interest from his captive audience, "but the folks around here are going to expect a man filled with remorse and humility. Do you think you can handle that for a little while?"
Like Clint gave one shit what people in this damned town expected. Ray should give it a rest. No way was he going to make Clint feel what he wanted him to feel.... Ray couldn't make Clint say what he wanted him to say.
"Mr. Higgins is offering you a job at his repair shop, and your mama's place is ready to move into."
Guilt broadsided Clint and he flinched. His mama was dead. Six years now. His request to attend her funeral had been denied by the warden. Clint's fingers fisted into tight balls of contempt. That was one son of a bitch if given the opportunity Clint was pretty sure he could kill and never feel the slightest guilt.
But he couldn't let anger rule him. He'd done that at first and he'd paid the price. Prison wasn't the place to go with a chip on your shoulder, especially if you didn't possess the necessary skills to back it up. What the hell did a nineteen-year-old kid who'd thought he was a tough guy back home know about surviving prison life with hard-core criminals?
Not a damned thing.
"Everything's pretty much set," Ray went on, determined not to let the one-sided conversation lull. "Be sure to keep in mind that a job is one of the conditions of your parole."
Clint surprised himself and said, "I'll talk to Higgins about the job." His voice sounded rough and unfamiliar, even to his own ears, but then there hadn't been a lot of need to talk where he'd been.
Ray made the final turn that would take Clint home. The house, weathered barn, and plot of land his mama had owned sat five or so miles outside Pine Bluff proper, surrounded by nothing but woods and mountains and dusty dirt roads going nowhere.
"You've paid your debt to society," Ray added, as if he hadn't said enough already. "Start clean from here, Clint. Don't be looking back." His gaze shifted to Clint's as he came to a stop in the driveway. "Looking back will only create problems you'll regret."
The naive police chief had no idea. Regret was something Clint had learned not to feel, along with a host of other emotions. As if to contradict him,
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