Chapter 9
Chapter
Nine
SCARLETT
The drive home from the airport is too quiet. The road stretches out ahead of us, a thin strip of black in a sea of towering pines. It should feel familiar. Comforting.
But somehow, it doesn’t.
I keep my eyes on the window, watching the landscape shift from highway to small town, from noise to stillness.
From Vegas chaos… to something that should feel like safety.
Donovan doesn’t push. He drives like he does everything else—steady, focused, like the world could fall apart around him and he’d still keep the wheel straight.
I wish I knew what that felt like.
“You want to tell me what happened back there?” he asks finally.
I don’t look at him. “No.”
He side-eyes me, his Adam’s apple working.
“Alright.”
The strong silent type. I counted on him not to ask too many questions, not to care. But now every warm look my direction tugs at my heart, and the quiet tension between us is worse than any single question.
I cross my arms tightly over my chest. There are words. So many words in my head, but they’re all a jumble. I don’t know where to start sorting them to make him understand.
Cedarville comes into view. One long Main Street stacked on either side with familiar buildings interspersed with small cedars and larger pines.
Katie’s Bakery, Cedarville Auto Repair, The Hidden Nook Bookstore, Cedarville Mercantile and Gas on the corner.
All closed storefronts, except the last, as dusk approaches.
Everything is exactly where it should be. Exactly the same.
And yet, my stomach tightens. I shift uneasily in the passenger seat.
Donovan whistles long and low, the first sound I’ve heard from him in a while. “This place really rolls up the sidewalks come sunset. Even more so than Hollister.”
I nod, shoulders relaxing. I smile thinly. “Hollister’s downright metropolitan compared to this place.”
Donovan side-eyes me. “You grew up here?”
My pulse jumps. It would be an easy question for anybody else. But I hate lying.
I shake my head instead.
“Would love to hear the story of how you ended up here… later.”
I shift in the seat next to him, admitting, “It’s a part of everything.”
He nods once like he gets it. I look away, breath coming faster now.
“Something wrong?” he finally asks.
“No.” It comes out almost automatic and too cold. I hate it.
But he doesn’t call me on it. Instead, his eyes fix on me. Like he’s reading me and weighing out my thoughts.
Good luck.
I can’t even sort them out right now.
The car slows as we turn onto my street, and my pulse picks up. I don’t know why.
“Which one?” he asks.
“The third on the left.”
My voice sounds steady. But it’s not.
He pulls up to the curb and kills the engine. For a second, neither of us moves.
I stare straight ahead.
“You gonna invite me in?” he asks lightly.
I don’t answer right away because something’s not sitting right. I don’t know what. I can’t name it. But it’s there… under my skin.
A warning I don’t understand.
“You alright?” he asks again, softer this time.
I blink. Then, force a sharp inhale. “It’s nothing,” I say.
It’s always nothing. Until it isn’t.
I reach for the door handle and then pause. Just for a second.
“Don’t you dare,” he says, moving fast around the front of his truck to open the door for me. His gaze is steady as he offers a big, warm hand.
Another memory flickers… just for long enough to put heat in my body.
His big, rough hands sliding over my flesh. Twisting me tight, then uncoiling me slowly as he learned my body for the first time.
I can barely think… or breathe.
I step out into the long shadows of twilight, but the air feels different here. Almost too still if that’s possible.
Donovan follows me, keys in hand, eyes already scanning without making it obvious. He notices everything.
I climb the steps slowly, each step heavier than the last. The welcome mat is where I left it. The railing still chipped. The paint still peeling in the same corner.
I pull my keys from my bag. They jingle too loudly in the quiet. I step up to the door and slide the key into the lock.
Then, I stop.
Don’t be stupid. You’re tired. You’re jumpy. You’re—
“Scarlett.” Donovan’s voice is low behind me.
I nod, even though he can’t see it.
“I’ve got it,” I say.
My hand tightens around the key. I turn it, and the lock clicks. At the same moment, something deep in my gut twists hard. Because I know—before I even open the door—that something’s off.
Everything looks… normal. But the air feels wrong. I take another step. Then another. And that’s when I see it.
The hallway. My bedroom door hangs wide open. I didn’t leave it that way. I never do.
My pulse spikes.
“Donovan,” I whisper. He moves past me, focused and dangerous.
I follow despite myself, covering my mouth with my hand. Drawers are dumped onto the floor. Clothes are ripped from hangers. My dresser is pulled halfway out like someone was trying to tear it apart.
The mattress is shifted, sheets twisted and shredded. Someone tore through my life looking for something they didn’t find.
But who? There’s only one answer.
Like the private investigator warned. Him.
He couldn’t have found much. I know better than to leave anything of importance here. Anything that could speak to my past or give away who I am in the present.
But this violence is a total violation of all that I have left—my privacy and my safety.
My breath leaves me all at once. “No…”
Donovan’s entire posture shifts. Like a wall of muscle locking into place. A shield against whatever this is.
“Stay here,” he says.
I don’t argue because I can’t. Instead, I watch him move through the space quickly and efficiently. He checks corners, rooms, closets… any place someone could hide. And each time he comes up empty-handed, I breathe again.
Each step is controlled. Each movement deliberate. Like he’s done this before… second nature.
I freeze, pressing my back against the wall, arms wrapped around myself as I listen to his footsteps, doors opening and closing, the rustling of fabric.
Then, nothing.
He comes back into the living room. “Clear,” he says. “We need to call Sheriff McLeod.” He pulls his cell phone from his pocket like he’s ready to do it for me.
“Wait.” It comes out too frantic, too breathy. Not local authorities. This isn’t their jurisdiction. This is bigger than that. I have to speak to the people who placed me here, the U.S. Marshals.
“Wait for what?” he asks, eyes simmering like a stormy ocean.
A voice calls from outside.
“Scarlett?”
I freeze. My stomach drops.
Donovan’s head turns instantly toward the door, protective and alert.
I step out onto the porch before he can stop me.
Mrs. Evergreen from next door is standing at the edge of her driveway, arms crossed tight over her chest. She wears a robe, her face bare of makeup, her hair tied up in a towel. “I thought that was you,” she says, relief flashing across her face. “I heard something last night. Around midnight.”
While we were in Las Vegas.
“Thought it was kids at first, but…” Her eyes flick to the open door behind me. “…then I saw someone.”
My pulse spikes. “What do you mean… someone?”
“Tall,” she says slowly. “Hood up. Didn’t get a good look. But they were going in and out of your place like they owned it.”
My throat tightens.
“I almost called the police,” she adds. “Didn’t know if I should—”
“I’ll handle it,” I say.
Her gaze sharpens. “Thought that’s what you’d say.” Then, her eyes drop to my hand and Donovan’s.
To the matching ink circling our fingers.
Her brows lift, and my cheeks burn. “Well,” she says, a cheeks glowing now. “You’ve had quite a night.”
I let out a hollow laugh. “You wouldn’t believe me if I told you.”
“Try me,” she says. One of the town gossips. I’d sooner cut off my arm.
Mrs. Evergreen is like a ferret when she smells something she doesn’t know. And right now? My wrecked house, the cowboy fireman at my back. This is exactly the kind of story she’d sink her teeth into.
“Maybe another day. But—” I ask, something not settled right in my stomach, “—why didn’t you call the police if someone was coming through like that? So suspicious?”
Her eyebrow arches. “Because I know about you.” That’s it. Her face goes hard and then she turns, walking away and closing her door.
“Know about you?” Donovan asks, stepping forward. His fingers find mine, just brushing them, reminding me I’m not alone.
“I guess this is the part where I’m supposed to tell you everything, huh?”
His eyes narrow, jaw tightening. “We need to call the sheriff first. Get this mess reported.”
“No,” I repeat, mind spinning. “That’s not how this works… for me.”
His Adam’s apple bobs, eyebrows furrowing. But he doesn’t say anything. Instead, he senses I need privacy, placing his hand in the small of my back and guiding me back inside. He closes the door behind me, turning and crossing his arms over his chest.
My hands are shaking, realization coursing through me. He thinks he’s going to get answers. Maybe he even thinks he can get me to stay. But not after this.
My eyes survey the room, fate locking into place again. Harsh and cold. Because I know this isn’t random, and it isn’t by chance.
I’ve been found, and this time I don’t think running is going to save me.
“I need to make a call,” I say.
His jaw tightens. “Then make it.”
“I will.” Just… not yet. I drag in a breath. “I just—” I shake my head. “I can’t do it here.”
His gaze softens slightly. “Then we go somewhere else.”
“No, you’ve done enough.” The words come out too soft, my eyes scanning the ruin of my life again.
“You’re not staying here,” he says again.
This time, I don’t argue. Because now, I can’t.
I nod once. “Okay.” The word feels like surrender. “Where?”
He doesn’t ask if I trust him. He assumes I will. And he isn’t wrong even though I’m all out of trusting anybody right now.
“My place.” He says it without hesitation or doubt, like there was never another option.
“Your place?” Panic rushes through me. And relief.
“Well, we are married,” he observes drily, flexing a muscle in his jaw.
I stare down at the ring of fire on my skin. I should turn him down. Say I’ll go wait things out at Mrs. Evergreen’s.
But I don’t.
And I don’t know why.
Instead, I nod, inhaling slowly.
I’d rather do that than think about the past or the future. Or all the things I’m still running from.
Because I know exactly who I’m supposed to call. And I know what happens when I do.
My life will be uprooted and re-routed in a flash. It’s the only way to stay safe.
But after last night, I want more than one word. I want my life back.
There isn’t a more dangerous thought for a person like me.