Chapter 15
CHAPTER
FIFTEEN
The overnight bag sat on the bed like it didn’t belong to her, as if packing it made all of this—Brian’s order, the man’s sudden appearance, the look in his eyes—too real.
She folded the essentials without thinking: jeans, sweater, toothbrush.
The motion was mechanical, something to fill the minutes until Brian came back from checking the truck.
She’d worked trauma long enough to know the edge of a situation before it tipped. This one was swaying.
When she came out to the living room, he was by the door, keys in hand. “Ready?”
She nodded.
They didn’t talk much on the drive. The cottage lights disappeared behind the curve of the lane, the pines swallowing them.
He kept checking the rearview, his profile sharp in the fading light.
She wanted to ask if he thought the man would follow.
She wanted to ask what “end it” meant in Brian’s head.
Instead, she asked, “Where are we going?”
“Friend’s place,” he said. “Private road. Locked gate. No one gets near without permission.”
They reached it twenty minutes later—a small house tucked into the bluff, porch light spilling onto gravel. A broad-shouldered man answered the door, greeted Brian with a clasp of hands, and showed them inside without question.
The guest room was small but warm, the bed neatly made. Brian set her bag on the chair. “You’ll be safe here.”
She sat on the edge of the bed. “You think he’ll come back to the cottage.”
“I think people who watch that long don’t just walk away.” He leaned against the wall, arms folded. “And I’m not letting him get another opportunity.”
The words should have made her more anxious. Instead, they steadied her, anchored something in the hollow that had been running on adrenaline since Chicago.
She looked down at her hands. “I left my job because of someone like him.”
Brian didn’t move. “You want to tell me?”
She nodded, surprised at herself. “It wasn’t just the surgeries.
It was… everything after. Families who couldn’t let go.
A man who thought I didn’t try hard enough to save his brother.
He followed me for months. Notes on my windshield.
Calls to my apartment at night. He stopped when the police got involved, but I kept waiting for him to start again.
I thought moving here meant I could stop looking over my shoulder. ”
His eyes didn’t waver. “And now it’s back.”
She swallowed. “Now it’s back. But it's not the same man.”
He pushed off the wall, crossed the room, and crouched so they were eye level. “Then we deal with it. Tonight.”
Her pulse jumped. “What does that mean?”
“It means I’ve already called a friend on the force. He’s putting out the word to pick this guy up. And if he shows at the cottage before they get to him…” He didn’t finish the sentence. He didn’t need to.
They stayed there for a long moment, his arms resting on her knees. She realized then that the thing she’d been fighting since she arrived wasn’t just fear. It was the weight of carrying it alone.
“You don’t have to do this by yourself anymore,” he said quietly.
She nodded, not trusting her voice.
Hours later, the phone rang. Brian stepped into the hall to answer. When he came back, his mouth was set in that steady line she’d started to recognize as good news.
“They’ve got him,” he said. “Picked him up two blocks from the pier. He’s in custody, and they’ll be in touch if they need statements.”
She let out a breath. Relief left her shaky. “It’s over?”
“For now,” he said. “But I'll stay on this until we know for sure.”
Something warm and certain settled between them. She didn’t need to ask if he meant just for tonight. She hugged him to her; the feel of his body against hers felt like a balm. The steady breathing and the pine scent of him seeped into her and comforted her.
"Can we go home?"
"Yes. We can go home."