Chapter 6
Past Echoes
Logan’s POV
Frustration Boiling Over
She won’t tell me. After everything, after the threats, the break-in, the fear in her eyes—Julia still won’t tell me the damn truth.
I stand in the middle of her living room, hands clenched into fists at my sides, fighting the urge to put a hole in her wall out of pure frustration.
My jaw aches from grinding my teeth, my pulse pounds against my skull.
I told myself walking in here that I wouldn’t lose my temper, but I also told myself that tonight, she was finally going to talk.
And yet, she stands in front of me, arms wrapped around herself, lips pressed into a tight line, shaking her head. No answers.
“Julia,” I bite out, voice sharp, edged with impatience. “This isn’t a game. Someone is coming after you. After Lily. Do you get that?”
She flinches slightly at the sound of her daughter’s name, but she stays silent. Still protecting her secrets.
I let out a harsh breath and scrub a hand through my hair. “Damn it, Julia! I can’t help you if you won’t let me!”
She finally looks up, those blue eyes shining with something between guilt and defiance. “I don’t need your help, Logan.”
I bark out a bitter laugh. “That so? Because from where I’m standing, you’re in deep, and you know it.” I take a step closer, voice dropping to something low and dangerous. “Who is it? Who’s after you?”
Her throat works, but she doesn’t speak.
That’s my answer.
I shake my head. “Fine. You don’t want to tell me? I’ll find out myself.”
And with that, I storm out, slamming the door behind me.
Uncovering the Past
Fingers flying over the keyboard, I pull up records from Julia’s time in the city. At first, nothing stands out—low-level disturbances, minor break-ins, things that could be coincidence. But then, buried in an old bulletin, a name jumps out at me.
Marcus “Mac” Bennington.
I swear under my breath. I know that name.
Mac was bad news even when we were younger. Always had money to burn, always had people afraid to cross him. And now? His rap sheet is longer than my arm— extortion, drugs, money laundering. The kind of man who doesn’t forgive debts. Who doesn’t let people just walk away.
Digging deeper, I find a pattern —one that chills me.
Julia lived in three different neighborhoods over the last few years.
Each time, shortly before she moved, there was a surge of suspicious activity: unexplained fires, missing persons cases, assaults with no suspect.
The incidents were spaced apart, too sporadic for a clear connection — unless you were looking for it.
Then, I find something worse.
A bar in Chicago, owned by one of Mac’s associates, burned down two years ago. Official cause? Electrical fire. But one of the bartenders, a woman named Vanessa Cole, disappeared that same night. Her last known contact? Julia Thompson.
My gut twists. Is that why she ran? Was she there that night? Did she see something she shouldn’t have?
Then I find the most damning piece yet—a police report filed in New York under a false name. It was a complaint about stalking, harassment, and threats. The handwriting is shaky, but I recognize it.
Julia’s.
I grip the edge of my desk, anger boiling inside me. She’s been running. She’s been terrified. And she never told me.
And now, Mac has finally found her.
I print out the files and grab my keys. If there’s one man I trust to help me sort this out, it’s Frank.
The Investigation Deepens
Frank answers the door, chewing on a sandwich, his expression shifting the second he sees me.
“Sheriff,” he greets, swallowing his bite. “This serious, or are you just lonely?”
I push past him into his kitchen. “I need a favor.”
Frank sighs, dropping his sandwich onto a napkin. “Yeah, yeah. What am I looking at?”
I slap a printout of Mac Bennington’s record onto the counter. “Ever seen him around town?”
Frank’s frown deepens as he scans the sheet. “Not that I know of. But if he’s here, he’s keeping his head down. This is tied to the threats against Julia?”
I nod. “She left the city, and now someone’s trying to drive her out of here. That’s not a coincidence.”
Frank exhales sharply. “Damn. Mac Bennington. I’ve heard stories.”
Frank leans against the counter. “Few years back, the county
When patrol got wind of an underground fight ring—one of Mac’s businesses. One fighter backed out before a major match. Few days later? He vanished. No body, no evidence, but everyone knew Mac made an example of him.”
Logan’s jaw tightens. “So we’re dealing with someone who doesn’t just threaten. He follows through.”
Frank pauses, flipping through the printed reports. His brow furrows. “You know, there’s another pattern here,” he says. “Look at these reports—each time Mac’s crew moves into a new place, they don’t just threaten people. They erase them.”
I lean in, scanning where he’s pointing. “Disappearances.”
“Exactly,” Frank mutters. “Three different cities in the last five years, all of them places Mac’s businesses operated in. Each time, people go missing —witnesses, informants, anyone who could tie him to something bigger.”
I exhale sharply. “And Julia was in the middle of one of those cities.”
Frank nods. “If she saw something, she’s not just in danger —she’s their next target.”
I push off the counter, tension running hot through my veins. “We need to find out who Mac sent here. He wouldn’t come himself, not yet, but he’ll have someone watching. Someone close.”
Frank picks up his phone. “I’ll check rental logs, see if any of Mac’s men are in town.”
“Good. Do it fast.” Logan is already heading for the door. “I’m checking out her studio.”
The Dance Studio Vandalized
The moment I pull up to Julia’s dance studio, I know something’s wrong.
The front door is ajar.
A ripple of fury rolls through me as I step out of my cruiser, my boots crunching against the pavement.
Someone’s been here.
And they didn’t bother hiding it.
I push the door open, reaching for my gun out of instinct. The interior is quiet. Too quiet.
Then I see it.
The mirrors.
Every single one of them is smashed, the cracks spreading like veins, distorting reflections in jagged, chaotic patterns. The wooden floor is littered with shards of glass, crunching under my boots as I step inside.
The ballet barres are snapped, one hanging loosely from the wall, the other splintered into two jagged pieces across the floor. The stereo system is gutted, wires yanked out and flung in a chaotic mess.
And across the largest mirror, scrawled in thick, red paint—
LEAVE, JULIA. OR ELSE.
Then, I notice it—something far worse than the destruction.
A single ballet slipper, small enough to belong to a child, placed dead center in the room.
Lily’s.
My stomach clenches. This isn’t just intimidation. This is personal. And whoever did this is escalating.
I pull out my phone and dial Frank. “You get anything yet?”
“Still digging, but I found something interesting. One of Mac’s known associates rented a cabin just outside Seaside Bluff last month.”
Damn it.
Frank’s voice lowers. “You think he’s doing this himself, or sending someone in his place?”
“I don’t know yet,” I admit. “But I just found something that confirms we’re not dealing with some random intimidation tactic.”
Frank swears. “I’ll send someone to the area—”
“Good.” My voice is sharp. “I need you looking at that rental. I’m heading to Julia’s.”
Julia’s House
The moment I pull up to Julia’s house, my gut tightens.
The front light is on, casting a dim glow against the porch. But something feels off.
I park and step out, scanning the area. The wind shifts, carrying the scent of salt and pine. The streets are quiet— too quiet.
I rap my knuckles against the door. “Julia?”
A few seconds later, the door swings open, and there she is.
Her blue eyes are wide, her lips slightly parted. She’s clutching a sweater over her shoulders like she’s cold, even though the night air is warm.
The second she sees me, her face pales.
“What happened?” she asks, voice sharp with worry.
I step inside, shutting the door behind me. “Your studio was hit tonight.”
Her breath hitches. “Hit?”
I nod, my jaw tight. “Smashed mirrors. A threat left in blood.”
Her fingers press against her lips as she staggers back. “Blood?”
“Fresh,” I say, watching her closely. “Whoever did it was probably still nearby when I got there.”
Her eyes snap to mine, full of raw, undeniable fear.
That’s my answer.
Her breathing quickens. She glances toward the staircase, and I know exactly what she’s thinking.
Lily.
“Is she asleep?” I ask, keeping my voice steady.
Julia nods. “She doesn’t know anything about this.”
I let out a breath, my stance relaxing slightly, but the tension in my chest remains. “Good.”
She moves toward the couch, running a hand over her face. “Logan, this…this is getting worse.”
“I know.” I take a step closer. “And that’s why you need to tell me everything, Julia. No more secrets.”
She hesitates, arms wrapped around herself like she’s holding herself together. “It’s not that simple.”
“It is,” I counter, my voice firm. “If Mac Bennington has anything to do with this, I need to know exactly what you’re running from.”
Her head snaps up, eyes flashing. “You think I don’t want to tell you? That I don’t wake up every day wishing I could erase all of it?”
I don’t respond right away. The frustration in her voice is real, but so is the fear beneath it.
“I can’t protect you if you don’t trust me,” I say, softer this time.
Julia looks away. “It’s not just me, Logan. I have someone else to think about.”
Lily.
I exhale slowly. “Then let me help you protect her too.”
Before she can answer, a floorboard creaks outside the window.
Julia’s eyes widen. My hand moves to my gun.
I step closer to the window, my pulse a steady drum against my ribs. The night outside is pitch-black, but something feels off. A shift in the air, a presence just beyond sight.
Then, another sound—a quiet but deliberate scrape against the siding of the house.
Julia grips my arm, her breath shallow. “Logan—”
I press a finger to my lips, signaling her to stay quiet. With slow, precise movements, I inch toward the door and reach for the knob, ready to yank it open and confront whoever is lurking outside.
Then—
Silence.
For a moment, there’s nothing. Just the wind rattling the trees, the distant crash of waves against the shore.
And then —
A shadow moves across the porch.
My grip tightens on my gun as I throw the door open, stepping outside in one swift motion.
The porch is empty.
But the air is charged, thick with the presence of someone who was just there.
I scan the yard, my jaw clenched. Whoever was here is gone—but not far.
I step back inside and lock the door behind me. Julia is standing exactly where I left her, her arms wrapped tightly around herself.
Her voice is barely a whisper. “They’re not going to stop, are they?”
I meet her gaze. “No. Not until we stop them first.”
And I damn well will.
Whoever came after her? They’re already too damn close.