Chapter 6 No One Comes
In
Bishop
Three knocks.
I'm already moving.
The deputy is young. Late twenties, maybe.
Clean uniform, hat straight, the particular posture of someone who takes their job seriously in a town where the job is usually noise complaints and lost kayaks. He's got a notepad out before I even open the door all the way.
I keep my body in the frame. Old habit. Control the entry point, control the conversation.
"Morning." I lean one shoulder against the doorframe. Relaxed. Unhurried. The kind of man with nothing to hide because nothing is happening here. "Help you?"
"Deputy Hale, Lakeshore County." He holds up his badge. "Sorry to bother you early. We're doing wellness checks in the area."
"Wellness checks."
"Yes, sir. There's been a report of a missing woman." He glances down at his notepad. "Delilah Hart. Twenty-seven. She was last seen yesterday evening near the lakefront shuttle stops."
He looks up. "You heard anything about that?"
I let a beat pass. Just long enough to look like I'm thinking.
"Can't say I have." I scratch the back of my neck.
"Holiday weekend, though. Half the county came through here yesterday. Hard to keep track."
"Right." He nods, pen moving. "You manage this property?"
"Marina and the house both. Bishop Morgan."
He writes that down. I watch him do it and keep my face easy. I've been in rooms with men far more dangerous than this deputy, men who could read a lie the way other people read weather. This kid is thorough. He's not a threat.
Not yet.
"Anyone else on the property last night?"
"Just me." I nod toward the dock. "Had a couple late rentals come in around nine. They were gone by ten-thirty. Holiday crowd."
"Anyone come by after that?"
"Quiet after that." I pull the door a fraction closer behind me. Just enough to be casual about it. "What kind of missing are we talking? She runs off, or" "her family reported her missing."
He keeps his voice neutral, professional. "She left a scheduled event yesterday afternoon and hasn't been in contact since."
A scheduled event.
That's one way to say it.
"That's concerning." I make my voice match his. Neutral. Helpful. The kind of neighbor who wants to cooperate. "Where are you checking? Just the marina or."
"Working our way down the lake road. Checking with property owners." He glances past my shoulder. Just a flick of the eyes. Automatic. "You mind if I take a look around?"
There it is.
I don't move.
"You got a warrant?"
He blinks. "No, sir. Just asking if you'd"
"Then I'd rather you didn't." I keep my tone easy. No edge, no aggression. Just a man who knows his rights stated simply. "Nothing personal. I just don't love strangers walking through my house before I've had my second cup of coffee."
He studies me for a second. I let him look. I've got nothing on my face worth reading.
"Of course." He clicks his pen. "If you do see or hear anything, I'd appreciate a call." He holds out a card.
I take it. "Absolutely."
"The family's pretty worried." He tries one more time. Soft. Sympathetic. "If she did come through here if she asked for help, maybe we just want to know she's safe."
"I understand that." I look him straight in the eye. "I haven't seen her. But I'll keep a look out."
He holds my gaze for one beat too long. Then he nods, touches the brim of his hat, and turns back toward the patrol car idling in the lot.
I stay in the doorframe until he pulls out onto the lake road and disappears around the bend.
Then I close the door.
Lock it.
Stand there with my hand flat against the wood and breathe out slow.
Four months ago, I bought this property because nobody knew me here. Because the marina job was honest work that kept my hands busy and my head quiet. Because I thought the worst thing that could find me out here was a leaky engine and a slow season.
Now I've got Club Eidolon running drive-byes and a county deputy with a notepad and a missing bride in my hallway.
I hear her before I see her. Soft footsteps on the hardwood, then she's beside me. Still in my shirt. Still holding her coffee mug. Her face is pale but her jaw is set and she's watching the door like she expects it to open again.
"He's gone," I say.
"I heard." Her voice is steady. "You lied to a law enforcement officer."
"I redirected him toward the lake crowds."
"Bishop."
"You're not missing." I turn to face her. "You're an adult who left voluntarily. There's no crime here."
She absorbs that. I watch her work through it the logic of it, the legal reality of it, the part where it doesn't make her feel any safer.
"He had a notepad with my name on it," she says.
"He had a report filed by your family. That's different from an investigation." I move back toward the kitchen. "Come away from the door."
She follows. Sets her mug on the counter. Crosses her arms.
"Graham filed it." She says it like she already knows. "Or my parents. Graham would've called in every favor he had the second I didn't show up at the reception."
"Probably."
"He has connections." Her eyes cut to mine. "He mentioned city contacts once. I didn't ask what he meant."
I file that. City contacts in a town like this could mean nothing. Could mean something. With Club Eidolon already circling, I'd rather not find out the hard way.
"How long before they send someone else?" she asks. "Depends on how hard he's pushing." I lean against the counter. "Deputy Hale looked like he was running a standard check, not executing a targeted search. But if someone with pull calls the department directly"
"They'll come back."
"They might."
She's quiet for a moment. I can see her running through scenarios the same way I am. She's smarter than she looks or smarter than she's been allowed to look, which isn't the same thing.
"I should call Cole," she says. "Before someone else does."
"Not yet."
"Bishop"
"Not yet." I keep my voice even. "Right now, Cole doesn't know where you are. That protects him. The second he knows, he becomes a loose end and you become a location."
Her jaw tightens. She doesn't like it. She's not supposed to like it.
"This is insane," she says quietly. Not angry. Just. Honest.
"Yeah."
"I left a wedding. That's all I did. I left a wedding and now there's a deputy and your" She stops. Waves a hand. "Whatever that SUV was last night."
"Those are two separate problems."
"They're happening in the same house."
She's not wrong.
I look at her across the kitchen. Morning light coming through the window behind her. My shirt. Her hair still half down from last night. The mug she's been carrying around like an anchor.
She came here because she trusted me. Because Cole trusted me once before I chose the club over showing up, before I missed every birthday and funeral and phone call that mattered, before I became someone, he checks in on out of obligation instead of want. She showed up barefoot on the worst night of her life and put herself in my hands and I have no business feeling anything about that.
I feel things about it anyway. Have for longer than I'm going to admit in the daylight.
"You're not going back," I say.
Her eyes come to mine.
"Not today. Not like this." I hold her gaze. "You left on your terms. You go back if you go back on your terms. Not because Graham Weller made a phone call and embarrassed himself in front of a county deputy."
Something shifts in her face. Not relief. More like the particular exhale of someone who's been holding their breath and finally remembered they don't have to.
She nods. Once. Small.
I turn back to the window and check the lot. Empty. The lake road quiet. Just the marina waking up in the distance, the creak of boats and the smell of water and diesel.
Normal. For now.
My phone buzzes on the counter. Unknown number. I let it go to voicemail.
It buzzes again immediately.
I pick it up.
"Morgan." The voice on the other end is one I recognize. Low. Unhurried. The kind of calm that comes from never needing to raise your voice because the consequences speak for themselves. "We need to talk about your living arrangements."
I hang up.
Set the phone face down.
Delilah is watching me from across the kitchen. She read my face in the second it took to hang up. She's good at reading faces. Another thing she's not supposed to be.
"Who was that?" she asks.
I don't answer.
She takes a step toward me. Her voice drops.
"They're going to take me back."
I look at her.
"No," I say. "They're not."