Chapter 14
The clerk glanced at the screen, then at Rowan.
Rowan turned, putting her shoulder to the television, her pulse ticking faster.
Finally, the clerk looked back down at the counter.
Rowan let out a careful breath and headed toward the door, stepping back into the morning air before Naomi finished.
She positioned herself to one side of the entrance, away from the window, and focused on keeping her expression neutral.
A minute later, Naomi stepped out, bag in hand and Grace still content against her chest. Based on her expression, she hadn’t seen the news report on TV.
Good. Rowan needed to keep it that way a little longer—at least until she figured out a plan.
“Listen, there’s a place down the street,” Naomi told her. “The Grind House. It’s got really good coffee. We don’t have to go if you’d rather head back, but I’d love to grab a cup with you.”
“I would sell my soul for real coffee right now.” Rowan smiled and fell into step beside her before Naomi could suggest going back inside for any reason. “Lead the way.”
The Grind House sat between a bookstore and a hardware store, its door propped open just enough to let the smell drift out—roasted beans and something with cinnamon that hit Rowan before she’d even crossed the threshold.
Inside, dark wood counters ran along one wall, a chalkboard menu filled the space above them, and mismatched chairs were pulled up to small tables beneath local artwork hung on exposed brick. Large windows looked out onto Main Street.
Naomi followed as Rowan found a seat near the back.
A few minutes later they were settled with their mugs—hand-thrown pottery, the kind that held heat well—and Grace had fallen asleep against Naomi’s chest.
For a few minutes they sat quietly sipping on their drinks. The low murmur of other conversations filled the space around them, and Rowan felt something inside her loosen as she absorbed the simplicity of it. Warm coffee. Her sister across the table. A sleeping baby.
It was almost enough to quiet the headline still running on a loop in the back of her mind.
Almost.
Then Naomi wrapped both hands around her mug and looked across the table. “So . . . do you want to tell me why you’re really here? Don’t get me wrong—I’m thrilled to have you. But I can’t help but feel like there’s something you’re not saying.”
Rowan looked down at her coffee.
The words were right there—all of them. Vince. Thayer. Everything she’d been carrying since she’d stood in that dark hallway and watched a man die.
She wanted to say them aloud. They pressed against the back of her throat.
But Vince wasn’t a man who let loose ends stay loose. The less Naomi knew, the less leverage anyone had over her.
Rowan didn’t want to lie to her sister. But she couldn’t tell her the truth.
Not yet. Not until she knew what telling the truth would cost the people she loved the most.
She looked up and met Naomi’s eyes. “I just needed to come home.”
Naomi studied her a long moment.
Then, with the quiet grace that had always been her way, she simply nodded and let it go.
For now.
Wes finished tightening the mount on one of the cameras when he heard a truck pull up.
Sheriff Sutherland.
He pushed to his feet. He’d been working his way around the perimeter since he got back—checking each existing camera, documenting dead zones, marking the spots where new hardware would close the gaps.
It was methodical work, the kind that kept his hands busy while his mind stayed on the toothpicks in his jacket pocket and the figure that may or may not have been standing in those trees.
Remington fell into step beside him as he headed toward the house.
Sheriff Sutherland was already out of the truck and talking to Caleb near the porch steps by the time Wes came around the corner.
“Wes.” Sheriff Sutherland nodded as he approached. “Good. Saves me repeating myself.”
Caleb glanced over. “He’s got something on the helicopter.”
Wes stopped at the edge of the steps and waited.
“Registration came back to a charter company out of Roanoke,” Sheriff Sutherland started.
“They have a clean record and are a legitimate operation on paper. But when I dug further into the ownership it got layered. The company has a parent company, then there’s a holding company above that, and above that there’s another LLC with a registered agent address in Delaware. ”
“That’s the kind of structure you build when you don’t want someone following the trail back to a name,” Wes muttered.
“Exactly,” Sheriff Sutherland said.
Caleb’s jaw tightened. “Which means it’s someone with resources.”
“And someone who knows how to use them.” Sheriff Sutherland glanced between them. “Could be connected to the fire. Could be something else entirely. I’ve got a contact looking further into it, but it’ll take a few days.”
Wes reached into his jacket pocket and produced the evidence bag. “Speaking of the fire . . . I found these at the site this morning. I took pictures of them before retrieving them.”
He handed it to the sheriff.
“Rowan mentioned Travis Henderson had a toothpick in his mouth when she stopped at his property yesterday,” Wes continued. “She also noticed the smell of gasoline there when she got out of her car.”
Sheriff Sutherland studied the bag without touching the contents. His expression didn’t change, but something behind his eyes did. “That’s good to know. Thanks for sharing. If you could send me the photos, I’d appreciate it. In the meantime, I’ll get these to the lab.”
“Maybe something will pop up,” Wes said.
“Let’s hope.” The sheriff shifted, his gaze darkening. He hesitated before turning toward Caleb and asking, “Have you been on your phone this morning or have you watched the news?”
“Only a little.” Caleb frowned. “Why?”
“Because I saw a headline I couldn’t ignore.” Sheriff Sutherland kept his voice even, almost apologetic. “It was about Rowan.”