Chapter 13
Quinn
T he radio beeps at us as Troy adjusts the frequency, his jaw set tight with the same frustration that's been eating at me for the past six hours.
We're staying off the regular channels as much as possible, and we've gone back to the way of the pioneers with these manual ones.
We've been combing through every inch of Bellehaven, turning over rocks and checking abandoned buildings, but Evan Salyers has vanished into the night.
The son of a bitch walked away from his work release program, and now he's somewhere in my town. My jurisdiction. My responsibility.
"Nothing on the south side," Troy mutters, running a hand through his hair. "It's like the bastard just evaporated."
I keep my eyes on the road ahead, but my mind keeps drifting to the same dark place it's been circling since I got the call.
Evan Salyers isn't just some random escapee.
He's the piece of shit who threatened my wife—legally still my wife, whether she likes it or not—and it was Cecily that put him behind bars in the first place.
"Quinn, you hearing me?" Troy's voice cuts through my thoughts.
"Yeah, sorry. What?"
"I said maybe we should head back to the station and regroup. We've got every unit in the county looking for this asshole. Someone's bound to spot him."
I want to argue, want to keep driving these streets until I find Evan myself, but Troy's right.
We've been at this for hours, and we're no closer to finding him than we were when we started.
The smart thing would be to go back, coordinate with the other units, maybe catch some food and caffeine before we head out again.
"Alright," I say, making a U-turn on Main Street. "But we're back out here in an hour."
Troy nods, understanding the weight behind my words. He knows about Cecily, knows about our history, knows that this isn't just another case for me. It's personal as hell.
The drive back to the station takes us through the older part of town, past the house where Cecily and I used to meet when we were teenagers. It's the same house she now owns and the one I've been staying at. In that damn guest room, trying to figure out how to fix what I broke.
"You think he's in town?" Troy asks, breaking the silence.
"He's here," I say, and I mean it. "Guys like Evan, they don't run far. They stick around, especially when they've got unfinished business."
"Unfinished business with your wife, you mean."
The words hang heavy in the air between us.
"Yeah," I say, my voice rougher than I intended. "Unfinished business with my wife."
The truth is, I've been carrying this weight since I heard Evan had walked away from his work detail.
A few hours of freedom, and who knows what the hell he's been planning.
He's had plenty of time sitting in the jail cell to fantasize about what he could do once he got out.
I think about how scared Cecily must have been when she'd decided to speak out against him.
The bastard had been seeking drugs and was a danger to society when she'd had the guts to do something about it.
Unfortunately for Evan, she also had a husband who'd been trained by the United States Army to kill people in ways that would make grown men weep.
My phone buzzes in my pocket, and I fish it out without looking at the screen. "Bellehaven PD, this is Carter."
"Quinn?" Cecily's voice is small, scared in a way that makes every muscle in my body tense. "Quinn, I think... I think someone's trying to get in the house."
I'm already hitting the brakes, Troy grabbing the dashboard as I pull a sharp turn. "Where are you?"
"I'm in the bedroom. I locked the door. I heard something outside, like someone walking around the house, and now I think they're trying the back door."
"Stay where you are," I tell her, my training kicking in even as my heart pounds against my ribs. "Don't open that door for anyone but me, you understand?"
"I think it's him, Quinn. I think it's Evan."
The line goes quiet for a second, and in that silence, I can hear something in the background.
A sound that makes my blood turn to ice.
The distinct creak of old wood, the kind of sound that particular back door makes when someone's putting pressure on it.
The first night, I laid there and listened to the sounds of that house, and I heard that noise when the cat next door had tried to get in.
"Cecily?"
"He's inside," she whispers, and then the line goes dead.
"Fuck!" I slam my foot on the accelerator, the SUV surging forward as I take the corner onto Cedar Street doing forty in a twenty-five zone. "Troy, call for backup. Now."
"What's going on?" he questions, his tone showcasing his worry.
"Evan's at the house. He's got Cecily."
Troy's already on the radio, his voice steady and professional even as I'm driving like a man possessed. "Dispatch, this is unit seven. We need immediate backup at 1247 Cedar Street. Suspect is armed and dangerous, civilian in immediate danger."
The dispatcher's voice crackles back, but I'm not listening. All I can think about is Cecily, locked in that bedroom while Evan Salyers—a man who's already proven he's willing to hurt her—is somewhere in that house. The same house where we used to feel safe, where we used to hide from the world.
I've been in combat zones, I've seen things that would give most people nightmares, but nothing has ever scared me the way that dead phone line just did. The silence where Cecily's voice should be.
"Two minutes out," Troy says, checking his weapon. "Backup's en route."
"Not fast enough," I mutter, taking another corner too fast. The house comes into view, and everything looks normal from the outside.
Cecily's car in the driveway, the front porch light on like a beacon in the dark night.
But I know better. I know that sometimes the most dangerous situations look completely ordinary from the outside.
I park the SUV and I'm out before Troy can say anything about waiting for backup.
My service weapon is in my hand, safety off, as I approach the front door.
The training kicks in, all those years of clearing buildings and moving through hostile territory, but this is different.
This isn't some faceless enemy in a foreign country.
This is my wife, in our house, with a man who's already proven he wants to hurt her.
The front door is locked, but I have a key. Cecily gave it to me when I moved in, and right now I'm grateful for every awkward conversation we had about boundaries and expectations. I slip the key in quietly, turn it slow, and ease the door open.
The house is dark except for the light coming from the kitchen, and I can hear voices. Evan's voice, low and threatening, and Cecily's, higher pitched with fear. They're not in the bedroom anymore. He got her out of there somehow.
"Quinn, wait for backup," Troy whispers behind me, but I'm already moving.
I've spent years learning how to move through buildings without making a sound, how to assess threats and neutralize them before they know you're there. But this isn't just about neutralizing a threat. This is about getting to Cecily before Evan does something that can't be undone.
The kitchen is at the back of the house, and as I move down the hallway, I can hear Evan's voice more clearly.
"You think you're so smart, don't you? Think you can just destroy someone's life and walk away?"
"Evan, please." Cecily's voice is shaky and terrified. "I was just doing my job. I didn't want to hurt you."
"Your job?" He laughs, but there's no humor in it. "Your job was to keep your mouth shut."
I'm at the kitchen doorway now, and I can see them. Evan's got his back to me, and Cecily's pressed against the counter, her face pale with fear. He's not holding a weapon that I can see, but that doesn't mean shit. A man Evan's size could hurt her plenty with just his hands.
"Bellehaven PD," I say, my voice carrying every bit of authority I've ever used. "Step the fuck away from her, Evan."
He spins around, and I can see the surprise in his eyes. He wasn't expecting me to be here this fast. Good. Surprise is an advantage I can use.
"Well, well," he says, but I can see the calculation in his eyes. "If it isn't the war hero himself. Come to save your wife?"
"Last warning, Evan. Step the fuck away from her."
"Or what? You'll shoot me? In front of her?" He glances back at Cecily, and I see her flinch. "I don't think so, Quinn. I think you care too much about what she thinks of you to do something like that."
He's wrong. Dead wrong. I'd put a bullet in him right now if I thought it was the only way to keep Cecily safe. But he's also right about one thing—I do care what she thinks of me. I care more than I should, more than I've been willing to admit.
"Cecily," I say, keeping my eyes on Evan but talking to her. "Are you hurt?"
"No," she says, her voice barely above a whisper. "I'm okay."
"Good. Now I need you to slowly move toward the door. Can you do that?"
Evan takes a step sideways, blocking her path. "I don't think so. See, Cecily and I were just having a conversation about consequences. About what happens when you cross the wrong person."
"The only person who's about to face consequences is you," I tell him, and I mean every word. "You walked away from a work release program, you're trespassing, and you're threatening a civilian. That's three felonies before we even get to whatever the hell you were planning to do here."
"What I was planning?" He laughs again, that same black sound. "What I was planning was to have a conversation with the woman who destroyed my life. But now that you're here, maybe we can make this interesting."
The kitchen feels smaller than it should, like the walls are closing in. Troy's somewhere behind me, probably calling for that backup we're going to need, but right now it's just me, Evan, and Cecily in this room that holds too many memories. Too many weapons, too.
"It doesn't have to be like this," I say, trying to keep my voice calm, reasonable. "You walk out of here right now, turn yourself in, and maybe we can work something out."
"Work something out?" Evan's voice rises, and I see Cecily flinch again. "You think this is a negotiation? You think I'm going to just walk away and pretend none of this happened?"
"I think you're going to walk away because if you don't, I'm going to make sure you never walk anywhere again."
The words come out harder than I intended, carrying all the weight of my training, all the things I've done, all the people I've killed in service to my country. Evan must hear something in my voice, because his eyes widen slightly.
"There he is," he says, but now he sounds less sure of himself. "There's the killer I heard about. The one who came back from the war all fucked up."
"Evan." Cecily's voice cuts through the tension. "Please. Just leave. This doesn't have to get worse."
"Worse?" He turns to look at her, and in that moment, I see my opportunity. "Sweetheart, it's about to get a whole lot worse."
That's when I move.