Chapter 4 #2
Carson set Nora up at a small hotel on the outskirts of town—the kind of place that took cash and didn’t ask questions. Room 214. Second floor, away from the main entrance, with a view of the parking lot so she could see anyone coming.
“Lock the deadbolt,” he instructed, standing in the doorway. “Don’t open it for anyone except me. I’ll call before I come by. If anyone knocks and you’re not expecting them, call 911 first, then me.”
Nora nodded, looking small in the middle of the generic hotel room. “How long do I have to stay here?”
“Until we catch whoever’s doing this.”
“And if you don’t catch them?”
The fear in her voice made his chest ache. “I will. I promise you, Nora. I’ll find them.”
He shouldn’t make promises he couldn’t guarantee. But looking at her face, seeing the desperate need for reassurance, he couldn’t help himself.
She stepped closer, and Carson caught the scent of her shampoo—something floral and clean. “Why are you doing this? Going above and beyond like this. Most cops would’ve just filed a report and moved on.”
Because his sister had disappeared and no one had been able to save her. Because he knew what it felt like to be helpless. Because every victim he helped was another chance to make up for the one he’d failed to protect.
Because looking at Nora Bell made him want to be the kind of man who didn’t let bad things happen to good people.
“It’s my job,” he said instead.
“No.” She shook her head. “It’s more than that. I can tell.”
Too perceptive. Too willing to see past the walls he’d built.
“Get some rest,” Carson said, stepping back before he could do something stupid, like tell her the truth. “I’ll be in touch tomorrow.”
He left before she could ask more questions. Before he could admit that she was right—this was more than just a job.
This was becoming personal in ways he couldn’t afford.
***
Captain Holloway was waiting in his office when Carson got back to the station at nearly ten PM. Not a good sign.
“Close the door,” Holloway said.
Carson obeyed, bracing himself for whatever lecture was coming.
“The Bell case,” Holloway started. “You put her in a hotel.”
“For her safety. Someone’s escalating. They were in her apartment today, sent her a threatening text—”
“I know. I read your report.” Holloway leaned back in his chair. “I also know you’re getting personally involved. Again.”
“I’m doing my job.”
“You’re doing more than your job, Carson. You’ve spent two days on a case that hasn’t even been officially opened. You’re paying for her hotel out of pocket—don’t look at me like that, I checked. And you’re making promises you might not be able to keep.”
Heat flooded Carson’s face. “Someone has to help her. Everyone else dismissed her as paranoid.”
“Maybe because there’s not much evidence yet. A turned picture frame? Things moved around? That could be anything.”
“The text—”
“From an untraceable burner phone. Yes, I know. It’s concerning. But it’s not enough to justify the resources you’re pouring into this.”
Carson’s hands clenched into fists. “So what, I should just tell her to deal with it? Wait until she gets hurt before we take it seriously?”
“I’m saying you need to be careful. You have a pattern of getting too invested in cases. Of crossing lines you shouldn’t cross.” Holloway’s expression softened slightly. “I know why you do it. I understand. But you can’t save everyone, son. And you can’t let every victim become Lily.”
The name hung in the air between them. The wound that never healed. The reason Carson became a cop in the first place.
“This isn’t about Lily,” Carson said, even though they both knew it was a lie.
“Isn’t it? Young woman in danger. No one else helping her. You riding in like a white knight.” Holloway shook his head. “I’m not saying don’t investigate. I’m saying keep it professional. Don’t make promises. Don’t get emotionally involved. Do your job, but stay objective.”
“I am objective.”
“Then why did you pay for her hotel room out of your own pocket instead of going through victim services?”
Carson looked at the floor. He had no good answer for that. Because going through victim services would have taken time. Would have required paperwork and approvals and waiting. And Nora had needed somewhere safe immediately.
But Holloway was right. That wasn’t objective. That was personal.
“I’ll keep it professional,” Carson said finally.
“See that you do.” Holloway pulled out another file. “And, Carson? If this case goes sideways, if you bend too many rules, I can’t protect you. You understand that?”
A muscle in his jaw flexed. “Yes, sir.”
Carson left the office feeling like he’d been reprimanded and warned and seen through all at once. Holloway was right about everything. He was getting too involved. Making it personal. Seeing Nora as someone to save instead of a victim in a case.
But knowing that didn’t change anything.
He’d still protect her. Still catch whoever was threatening her. Still do whatever it took to keep her safe.
Even if it cost him his badge.
***
At midnight, Carson sat in his car outside Nora’s building, watching.
He’d told himself he was just doing a drive-by. Making sure everything looked secure. Standard procedure.
But he’d been sitting here for forty-five minutes, unable to make himself leave.
Eugene’s shift had started at eleven. Carson had watched him enter the building, settling into his post at the security desk. Acting normal. Professional.
But Carson’s instincts screamed that something was wrong with Eugene Morrison. The fake name. The deleted security footage. The access to every apartment in the building.
His phone buzzed. Text from an unknown number: Stop.
Carson’s pulse spiked. He stared at the message, adrenaline flooding his system.
Another text came through: You can’t protect her. Leave it alone.
The number was different from the one that had texted Nora. Another burner phone. But the message was clear—whoever was stalking Nora knew Carson was investigating.
And they were watching him too.
Carson took a screenshot and forwarded it to Patterson with instructions to trace the number. Then he typed back: Come near her again and I’ll make sure you spend the rest of your life in prison.
No response.
Carson sat there in the dark, watching the building, watching Eugene through the glass doors, feeling the weight of the threat settle over him.
This was bigger than he’d thought. More dangerous. More calculated.
And Nora Bell was caught in the middle of it.
He pulled out of the parking lot and drove to the hotel where Nora was staying. Parked where he could see her window. The lights were off. She was probably sleeping, hopefully feeling safe enough to rest.
Carson settled into his seat, knowing he wouldn’t sleep tonight. Knowing he’d sit here until dawn, watching over her, making sure no one came near her.
Holloway would say this was crossing the line. That this was too personal, too involved, too much.
But Carson had failed to protect his sister.
He wouldn’t fail to protect Nora.
Not this time.
Not ever.