CHAPTER 19
Torn in Two
Julia
“Sheriff Carter,” the taller fed says coldly. “You need to come with us.”
Logan steps forward without flinching. His fingers brush mine behind his back—brief, reassuring.
Don’t panic.
Don’t fight.
I want to scream. To shove them away. But Lily’s tiny hand is in mine, her body pressed close, trembling.
“What’s going on?” I demand, voice cracking. “He just saved lives—he nearly died for this town.”
The agent ignores me, and tells Frank, “You’ll be briefed shortly. He’s being detained for questioning in connection with a federal investigation. Obstruction. Collusion. Possible abuse of power.”
“You’re out of your damn minds,” Frank growls. “You know Logan. He’s not—”
“Stand down, Deputy.”
“Don’t worry Logan I got you”
Logan glances back. His eyes meet mine—calm, resolute. “Stay with Lily,” he says quietly. He’s trying to protect me even in handcuffs. My heart aches.
I reach for him, but they’re already turning him toward the hallway. Cold steel glints at his wrists.
Handcuffs.
It hits me like a slap.
They think he’s the enemy.
That I was the bait.
Lily’s sobbing by the time the door slams shut behind him.
“Mommy, why are they taking Daddy? Did he do something bad?”
I crouch down and hold her tight, even as my insides twist into knots. “No, baby. He didn’t do anything wrong.”
Frank’s hand briefly touches my shoulder. “I’ll look into this, Julia. I swear it.”
I nod, but I can barely breathe.
Logan once told me Frank Grady was the only man in the department, he’d trust to clear a room behind him. Not just because of skill—but because of loyalty. Unshakable, quiet, old-school loyalty. He doesn’t talk much, doesn’t make speeches—but when Frank says he’ll find the truth, he means it.
And right now, that promise is the only thing holding me together.
Carla’s already running through the emergency room doors. “I came as soon as I heard. Oh God, I saw the cars— are you okay? Is she okay?”
I nod numbly. “They just… they just took him.”
“Come on,” she says gently. “Let’s get Lily out of here. You need rest. We’ll figure this out.”
I glance back once. The corridor is empty. The warmth of Logan’s touch is already fading from my skin.
Carla’s guest room smells like lavender and old books. Lily’s curled up in bed beside me, clutching her favorite stuffed bunny, the one Logan won for her at the fair.
She cried herself to sleep.
I didn’t.
I stare at the ceiling for hours, replaying every second — Logan’s eyes when they put the cuffs on him. The way Frank went pale. The look on that agent’s face—cold, smug, rehearsed.
Like he already knew what the story was.
Like it had been written long before Logan ever walked into that room.
I can’t shut my mind off.
Can’t stop the spiral.
Did they plan this before Mac even died?
Is this the price of Logan loving me?
Is this Jameson’s final card?
My phone buzzes on the nightstand. It’s Tonya.
TONYA: I saw the news alert. You okay?
ME: Barely. They arrested him. IA showed up with warrants. They’re saying he helped me cover stuff up.
TONYA: That’s bullshit. This stinks like political garbage. You think Jameson’s still got strings to pull?
ME: Yeah. I think he’s still pulling them.
TONYA: We’ll figure it out.
ME: I don’t know how to protect him anymore.
TONYA: You don’t have to do it alone this time.
Tears sting my eyes. I stare at Lily’s peaceful face and swallow the scream building in my throat.
The next afternoon, Carla brings me coffee and sits beside me on the porch. “I figured you two would sleep late.” Before I can say anything.
Frank pulls up in front of the house and gets out, hat in hand, tension in his shoulders.
“Didn’t want to call,” he says. “Thought it’d be better to say this face to face.”
“Did you find something?”
He nods once, serious. “Yeah. I’ve been making calls all damn morning. Reached out to a guy I know in Portland—works with a legal team tied to Internal Affairs. He pulled some strings, got me a name off the arrest warrant that was pushed through this morning.”
Frank looks at both of us before continuing. “Richard Cane.”
Carla frowns. “That supposed to mean something?”
Frank crosses his arms. “IA investigator. Has a reputation for being clean, but behind the scenes? There are whispers.
Ties to old political players. He’s been climbing the ladder fast—real fast.
And there’s been talk lately of him targeting departments under the banner of rooting out corruption.”
My stomach knots. “And Logan’s department ended up on that list?”
Frank nods grimly. “Right at the top. They’re painting him as someone who covered for you. And now that Mac’s dead and Jameson’s name is getting whispered in the wrong places? Someone’s looking to scrub the whole thing clean.”
“Jesus,” Carla mutters. “You think this Cane guy is working for Jameson?”
“Not on paper,” Frank says. “But Jameson’s still got powerful friends. Big donors. Political reach. If Mac went rogue and Jameson knew? This could be him pulling strings to protect himself—at Logan’s expense.”
“And Logan’s the sacrifice,” I whisper.
Frank doesn’t argue.
And I don’t need him to.
I look at Carla. “Can you watch Lily today?”
She nods instantly. “Whatever you need.”
I rise. “I’m going to the station.”
They won’t let me see him.
Not even Frank can sneak me through this time. The front desk is stone-faced. The halls are crawling with IA suits, the kind who measure their steps and speak like they’re reading from cue cards.
I pace outside, heart pounding.
My phone buzzes.
FRANK: Meet me at the diner. Ten minutes.
Frank slides a flash drive across the table like we’re in some cheap spy movie.
“Don’t look so surprised,” he says. “I’ve been on this department long enough to know when the brass stinks.”
“What’s on it?” I ask.
“Cane’s travel records. Financials. He met with one of Jameson’s former aides three weeks ago. Off the books. At a ‘closed fundraiser.’”
I grip the drive so hard my fingers ache. “That’s it, isn’t it? They’re setting Logan up to save their own asses.”
“Yep. Problem is, it’s all circumstantial unless we catch them in the act. But I’m working on it. You’re not alone, Julia.”
I nod, biting back tears. “Thanks, Frank.”
“Also,” he adds, lowering his voice, “Logan wouldn’t talk to them. Wouldn’t flip on you, wouldn’t sign anything. He’s protecting you. Again.”
I close my eyes. “I never deserved him.”
Frank huffs. “Yeah, well. He seems to think otherwise.”
“I’m not losing him. Not like this.”
I’m back at Carla’s that evening when it happens.
A message.
Blocked number.
One image.
Logan, in a holding cell. Bruised. Lip split.
Eyes on fire.
Then the message:
“Drop it, or he stays buried. You’ve got 24 hours to back off.”
– Cane
I stare at the screen, hands shaking.
The name isn’t signed, but I know. I know.
Tonya steps into the room, leaning against the doorway. “Bad news?”
I hold the phone up.
Her lips thin into a hard line. “That son of a bitch.”
“He’s not even pretending anymore,” I whisper. “He wants me to disappear. Wants Logan to take the fall.”
She walks over and sits beside me. “So, what are you going to do?”
I lift my head.
“I’m going to find everything Cane buried. Every lie. Every dollar. Every signature. And I’m going to burn his world down.”
Tonya grins slowly. “There she is.”
And just like that, the fear is gone.
He wants to take Logan Carter down?
Game on, asshole. I send Frank a screenshot of the message.
Inside, I check on Lily again. She’s in the guest bed, surrounded by her usual pile of stuffed animals, but she’s not sleeping.
She turns her head when I step in. “Mommy?”
I sit beside her, smoothing her curls away from her forehead. “Yeah, baby. I’m here.”
“Is Daddy still in trouble?”
My throat tightens. “He is, sweet girl. But we’re going to help him, okay?”
She nods slowly, eyes huge in the dark. “They shouldn’t take daddies who save people.”
“No,” I whisper, kissing her forehead. “They really shouldn’t.”
She curls against me, her little hand wrapping around my pinky finger.
And there it is—guilt, sharp and brutal.
I brought this here.
It’s not just about my past anymore. It’s about our future.
Once Lily is finally asleep, I sit in Carla’s kitchen and stare at my phone. No new messages. No calls from Frank. Nothing from the station.
I tap the screen, heart pounding.
ME: You awake?
TONYA: Barely. You okay?
ME: Not even close. I can’t sit here and do nothing.
TONYA: Then don’t.
I pause.
ME: What do you mean?
TONYA: I mean, if Cane’s working with Jameson, he left a trail somewhere. You know what Mac used to say — “The messiest people are the ones who look the cleanest on paper.”
I stare at the message, heart speeding up.
ME: You think I should dig into Cane?
TONYA: I think you know how to find the rot. You’ve survived men like this. You see them.
She’s right.
Cane’s not the type who’d get his hands dirty. But men like him always leave a back door open. A favor owed. A transaction no one was supposed to notice.
I glance at the flash drive Frank left.
Then at my laptop.
It’s time to go hunting.
Half an hour later, I’m cross-referencing donor databases, campaign contribution logs, and PAC filings—all the sleazy political breadcrumbs most people wouldn’t bother with.
And there it is.
A shell donation in Cane’s name. Just under the reporting limit. Paid into a PAC that helped fund Jameson’s re-election campaign two years ago.
Legally, it’s nothing.
But ethically?
It stinks.
Especially when I match the date to a private conference Cane attended—one hosted by a lobbying group Jameson’s former aide now works for.
It’s not a smoking gun.
But it’s a trail.
I copy everything into a folder. Name it: “CANE COVER-UP.”
And then I email it to Frank.
My phone buzzes twenty minutes later.
FRANK: This is a damn good start. I’ll push it to my contact in the DA’s office. They’ve had their eye on Cane for a while.
ME: What do we do now?
FRANK: Now? You hold the line. Keep Lily safe. Let me do the rest.
I stare at the message, then turn the screen off.
It would be so easy to say yes.
To wait this out and hope the system works.
But if I’ve learned anything since coming back to Seaside Bluff, it’s that hope without action is just surrender in slow motion.
I look at Lily again, sleeping soundly.
Then I grab my phone and call Tonya.
She answers on the second ring. “Tell me you’ve got something.”
“I do,” I say, my voice hard. “But I’m not just handing it off. I want to face him. I want Cane to see exactly who he underestimated.”
She’s silent for a beat.
Then: “Good. Because I already dug up a conference call Cane has scheduled with Jameson’s aide tomorrow. Frank can’t move on it, but I know someone who can get a recorder inside.”
My pulse spikes. “Who?”
“Old friend of mine. Ex-DEA. She owes me a favor.”
I smile for the first time in what feels like days.
“Let’s bring the bastard down,” I whisper.
The next morning, I’m up before the sun.
Lily is still asleep, tangled in a tangle of blankets and stuffed animals. Carla walks into the kitchen just as I’m pouring coffee.
“You look like hell,” she says softly.
“Thanks.”
“Find something?”
“Yeah. A reason not to give up.”
She studies me for a second. “He’d be proud of you, you know.”
I nod, swallowing past the lump in my throat. “He better be. Because I’m not stopping until Logan Carter is free… and Richard Cane is in handcuffs.”