Chapter 18
Chapter Eighteen
Colby held one end of the tape measure while Sabrina squinted at the numbers, her brow furrowed in concentration beneath the late morning sun.
A strand of dark hair had escaped her ponytail and fallen across her cheek, and she brushed it away impatiently with the back of her wrist, pencil still clutched in her fingers.
"Forty-two and a half," she said, her voice carrying that particular blend of determination and hope that had become as familiar to him as the sound of his own heartbeat. "If we center the window here, the bed's not crowded, and nobody has to climb over anyone to get out."
"Forty-two and a half it is." He watched her make a quick pencil line on the stud, tongue caught between her teeth, the way it always did when she focused. The gesture did something complicated to his chest, a warmth that spread outward from his ribs and settled somewhere permanent. "Mark it."
She did, the graphite leaving a sure gray line against the raw wood.
Around them, the skeleton of the cabin rose toward a sky the color of faded denim, the framing now solid enough to cast proper shadows across the plywood subfloor.
The smell of fresh lumber mingled with salt air drifting up from the water, and somewhere in the distance a gull cried out, its voice sharp and clean above the whisper of wind through the trees.
He loved that look more than he should probably admit out loud.
An engine rumbled up the access road, the sound carrying through the morning stillness like a stone dropped into a quiet pond. Sabrina's hand went still on the stud, her shoulders tensing almost imperceptibly.
"That's Diaz's car," she said.
"Yeah." He let the tape retract with a soft metallic whisper. "Right on time."
Diaz's SUV rolled to a stop next to the trailer, gravel crunching beneath the tires.
She climbed out with a folder tucked under one arm, wearing her Copper Moon PD hoodie over jeans and sturdy boots, her dark hair pulled back tight in a bun.
The same solid presence she always carried, but there was something different in her expression today, a thin thread of satisfaction that Colby hadn't seen before.
It looked like the face of someone who had finally cornered a problem they'd been chasing for weeks.
"Morning," she called, lifting a hand in greeting as she crossed the uneven ground toward them.
Sabrina wiped her hands on her leggings and came down the trailer’s steps, her sneakers finding the packed dirt with a soft thud. "You have that look."
"What look?" Diaz asked, though the corner of her mouth twitched upward.
"The one you get when you've pinned something to the wall and now you're going after it with both hands," Sabrina said. "Like a cat that's cornered a very large mouse."
Diaz's mouth tipped into something that was almost a smile. "You're not wrong." She nodded toward the plywood stack leaning against the trailer. "You two want to hear this out here, or back at your place?"
"Here," Sabrina said quickly, the word carrying an edge of steel beneath the softness. "If it's about him and Seaside, I want to hear it on my land. Standing on the ground they tried to take from me."
Something fierce moved through Colby's chest at that.
He moved closer, close enough that his knuckles brushed the back of Sabrina's hand.
She hooked a finger through his belt loop without looking, anchoring herself to him the way she'd started doing lately, as if his presence was a fixed point she could steady herself against.
"Hit us," he said.
Diaz set the folder on the makeshift table they'd rigged from sawhorses and a sheet of plywood, flipping it open to reveal a stack of papers covered in highlighted passages and handwritten notes.
"Short version: the district attorney filed formal charges this morning.
Felony arson for Norman House. Attempted arson for this cabin.
Trespass. Criminal damage to property. A couple of lesser counts for flavor. "
Sabrina's breath came out on a shudder, her whole body seeming to release tension it had been holding for weeks. "So it's official. They're calling it arson. Not a maybe. Not a 'we'll see what the evidence says.' Arson."
"Arson," Diaz confirmed, her voice carrying the weight of that single word.
"The lab reports matched the accelerant from Norman House to what we found here on your property.
Same chemical signature. Same method of application.
On top of that, our guy decided to chat while in holding.
Turns out he liked hearing himself talk more than he liked listening to his lawyer. "
Colby could practically feel Sabrina lock her knees, bracing herself against whatever was coming next.
"What did he say?" she asked, her voice steady despite the tremor in her fingers where they hooked through his belt loop.
"That he was hired as a 'consultant' to clear obstacles for a development group," Diaz said, letting the air quotes hang in the air between them.
"His words, not mine. Fire was just one of his tools.
Fear was another. He talked about it like a job description.
Very matter-of-fact. Very professional. The kind of calm that made me want to throw up, frankly. "
"Seaside," Sabrina said quietly, the name tasting like ash in her mouth.
"Seaside Development and a set of related companies," Diaz said.
"The attorney general's office traced the payments.
They ran through a consulting firm that just happens to share officers with Seaside's parent company.
On paper, they're three steps removed. Nice and clean.
In reality, they were writing his checks and giving him targets. "
Colby let out a low breath, feeling the pieces click into place like tumblers in a lock. "So the development scheme's out in the open now."
"About as out in the open as it gets," Diaz said. "Local news picked it up this morning. A state outlet, too. People are saying their name a lot more often than they'd like, and not in the glowing terms they’d hoped for. I imagine their PR team is having a rough day."
Sabrina stared at the open field beyond the cabin, her gaze tracking the line where the trees met the sky.
Morning light filtered through the branches, dappling the ground in patterns of gold and shadow.
"Were they ever actually able to take this?
" She swept a hand toward the land, encompassing the cabin frame, the trailer, the stretch of shoreline that had belonged to her family for generations.
"Legally. Condemn it, grab it, whatever.
Or was I just scaring myself with that part? "
Diaz shook her head, her expression softening.
"You own this land outright, Sabrina. Your title is clean.
The deed's been in your family for over half a century.
They had no legal path to yank it away from you unless you agreed to something first. Signed something.
Accepted a deal. What they were doing was pressure.
Pure and simple. Burn you out on the shoreline, hope you felt trapped, make staying feel so impossible that a buyout check started to look like a lifeline instead of a surrender. "
"So my land was never really in danger," Sabrina said slowly, testing the words like someone probing a wound to see if it still hurt. "I was."
"Exactly." Diaz met her gaze, unflinching. "Your safety, your peace of mind, your finances, your sense of home. That's where they aimed. They wanted you tired, scared, and ready to sign. The deeds and permits? Those were yours as long as you held on."
Sabrina closed her eyes for a moment, her chest rising and falling with a breath that seemed to come from somewhere deep.
When she opened them again, her gaze was sharp, clear, burning with something that looked like resolve forged in fire.
"Then let's make this clear. I'm not selling.
Not now, not ten years from now when someone else shows up with glossy brochures and promises about 'unlocking potential.
' They don't get this. They don't get any of it. "
Diaz's expression warmed into something that might have been respect, might have been admiration, might have been both. "I'll enjoy picturing some boardroom hearing that."
Sabrina hesitated, her fingers tightening against Colby's belt loop. Then she drew in a breath, squaring her shoulders like someone preparing to step into a fight they'd been avoiding. "What about Gavin?"
Colby felt that name like grit in his teeth, sharp and unwelcome.
Sabrina went on, her voice steady despite the tension radiating through her frame.
"You said the arsonist was hired. Seaside used layers of people to hide their tracks.
But Gavin knew about the offers. He told me I was foolish for turning them down years ago when someone first called.
He kept saying I was clinging to a dead investment, that Norman House was dragging me under.
" She paused, swallowing hard. "Does he show up anywhere in that mess? Emails. Payments. Calls. Anything."
Diaz's face settled into something more careful, the look of someone navigating terrain that could shift without warning.
"Right now, we've got a clear line between Seaside's money and our firebug.
That connection is solid. We're still working on who, exactly, at Seaside gave the orders.
Which boardroom approved the strategy." She tapped the folder with one finger, a soft rhythmic sound.
"As for Gavin, I haven't seen his name on anything yet.
That doesn't mean he's clean. It just means I don't have proof either way. "
"So he's still a suspect," Sabrina said, the words coming out flat and tired.