Yardleyâs assistance. The dog was now kenneled in a back room, to protect the enforcers of the law.
The sheriff grunted. âMaybe Stokes is lucky you came along when you did.â
Kye didnât reply. His heart had just stopped slamming in his chest.
At first, he hadnât been able to accept what he was seeing in his brights as he came up the drive. Rain was sheeting down his windshield so fast the wipers were almost useless. But there, in the twin cones of his headlights, were two figures wrestling in the mud. A flash of lightning confirmed that the figure on the bottom was Yard.
Despite what movie-choreographed brawls portrayed, being on the bottom in a fight was a position only the most highly skilled fighters ever reversed. Sheâd needed help. Or a weapon.
His mind did a quick flashback to the hammer sheâd raised just as heâd reached them. She might have made that first strike count. It didnât bear thinking about what Stokes might have done to her if sheâd missed, or only slightly injured him. And he hadnât been there for backup.
âYou havenât said what brought you out here today.â
Kye looked back, surprised that the sheriff was still talking to him. âIâm visiting. As a friend of the family,â he added as the manâs gaze turned speculative. âI trained with her father, Bronson Battise. Her brother Lauray Battise and I served together in Afghanistan. K-9 military police.â He pulled out his business card for the second time that day. âIn case you need me to make a formal statement or anything.â
Sheriff Wiley nodded. âWeâre just about done here.â
Yardley straightened from her slump when she noticed Sheriff Wiley and Kye coming toward her. Kye had hardly taken his eyes off her. He came toward her now like some vengeful totem, his face a mask of controlled anger as he stared down at her.
She didnât need his tight expression to tell her she looked like hell. Beneath the swaddling of an EMT Mylar blanket, she was soaked to the bone. There was a muddy puddle around her shoes of water that had dripped from her clothing and boots. She could feel bruises beginning to set in different parts of her body. Somewhere in the struggle sheâd bitten her tongue.
The sheriff spoke first. âWe got your attacker locked up tight, Ms. Summers. You can rest easy on that. With the holiday weekend, he wonât be able to post bail until Monday morning.â He glanced at the EMT who nodded before saying, âWeâre going to send you to the emergency room to be checked out. And then weâre done for tonight.â
Yardley shook her head. âI donât need medical attention.â
âItâs not really an option, Ms. Summers. We need a medical opinion, and photos, of your injuries for our report. Plus DNA evidence from your clothing and under your fingernails. You donât want us to overlook any detail that might set him free.â
Yardley set her mouth but nodded. Sheâd been debating whether or not to mention it. But the thought that Stokes might weasel out of the charges, because she had not actually been raped, made her decide.
She pulled the red envelope out from under her blanket. âThis came last night. Left on the doorstep. I didnât think it was important. But nowâ¦â
Sheriff Wiley slipped the picture out then looked back at Yardley, his expression carefully blank. âYou should have called me right after you opened it.â
âI thought it was just a prank.â
âLet me see that.â Kye leaned in as the sheriff turned it his way. The look on his face said everything the lawmanâs hadnât. âSon of a bitch!â
âEasy, son.â Sheriff Wiley continued to watch Yardley, his face still void of expression. âThis kind of thing happen before, Ms. Summers?â
âNo. Oh, I get angry letters, once a year or so. All
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