She realized she still had her phone. Her hand ached from her crushing hold around it. Blood ran down her arm, but she had no idea why.

Her body shook as she hit the SOS button.

Chapter Thirty-Four
Jessa

Jessa watched her life implode in real time. She mentally jumped back and forth between crying and throwing things. She’d slammed her laptop against the kitchen counter, welcoming the satisfying crack. Now it didn’t turn on.

On the second full day of hiding, she lost it. She’d spent every hour of every day secluded in Faith’s small apartment, obsessively reading news about the Bartholomews that framed her as an out-of-control, man-hating, incompetent fraud. She hadn’t answered her phone, but she did listen to messages, which consisted of misogynist screeds, seething with hate and talking about how she deserved to be raped and killed, and of reporters asking for quotes. Two people specifically asked about rumors of a “problem” in law school.

She deleted her social media accounts.

Reporters digging into her background blew through the last of her control. She grabbed her bag and a baseball cap and jumped on the bus. She needed to hoard all the money she had, so a taxi was out of the question. She picked the bus, thinking it might be easier to hide there than on the Metro.

She curled into her seat and stared at the floor. A change and fifteen minutes that felt like hours later, she stood outside the gate in front of Retta’s house. She leaned on the buzzer, but no one answered. She did it a second time, and a man appeared on the other side of the ornate metal bars. Broad shoulders and a familiar military buzz cut. The same man from the last time she was here.

“Judge Swain isn’t home. I’ll tell her you were here.” He turned back toward the house.

“No, please.” She reached out, but the gate stopped her from getting far. “I need to come in.”

“You can’t.”

“Trent, it’s fine. I’ll handle this.” Earl, Retta’s husband, patted the other man on the shoulder and stepped in front of Jessa. “What are you doing here?”

His voice sounded soft and soothing. No accusations or anger, but not exactly welcoming either. Jessa didn’t know why he was home in the middle of the day or what the magic words were to get him to open his home, but she tried anyway.

“I need to speak with Retta . . . I mean, the judge.” The pleading in her voice sounded thick and near tears. “Please.”