80. Chapter 80
Cate
Present
The backseat of the cruiser smelled like vinyl and stale air.
Marshal didn’t cuff me. He didn’t touch me at all, not unless I counted the way his hand hovered near the door as I slid in, steady but careful, like he didn’t want to startle me.
He didn’t close it.
The door remained open beside me, wide enough for air, for escape - technically.
Still, my lungs didn’t understand the difference right away. My breath came shallow, too fast, like my body was waiting for the next command.
Marshal leaned in through the open door. His face was calm, but his eyes were sharp, present, watching me the way you watch someone standing too close to the edge of a roof.
“Do you need medical?” he asked quietly.
I shook my head. “No.”
“Okay.” He nodded once, filing it away. “I’m going to ask you a few questions before we move.”
I swallowed, throat dry. “Okay.”
He glanced toward the porch. Seth stood near the bottom step, hands loose at his sides, trying to look neutral and failing. He wasn’t looking at Trevor. He was looking at me.
Marshal followed my gaze and softened his voice. “He’s staying right there.”
A small relief loosened something in my ribs.
Marshal’s eyes returned to mine. “You said you don’t feel safe.”
“That's right.”
“And you said you found something.”
I didn’t answer right away. The word ring felt too loud to say. Like naming it might summon Trevor’s hand from the doorway, might make him appear in the glass like a reflection.
Marshal didn’t rush me.
That was the thing about him, he didn’t fill silence with pressure. He let it sit long enough to become honest.
I took a breath. “I found something that belonged to John.”
His expression didn’t change, but I saw the shift in his attention. A tightening. A narrowing.
“What was it?” he asked.
I slid my hand into my pocket.
The ring was heavier than it should’ve been. Cold metal, familiar weight. It felt wrong that something so small could split a life clean in half.
I held it up where he could see it.
Marshal stared, too long to be casual. Then he nodded, slow.
“That’s… significant,” he said carefully.
“It’s his,” I whispered. “There’s no way it’s not.”
Marshal’s eyes flicked briefly toward the house again, then back to me. “Where did you find it?”
The question hit my chest like a shove.
In his desk.
In his drawer.
In a place he kept things that mattered.
But I couldn’t make myself say it yet, because saying it made it real in a different way. It made it evidence, made it a line crossed, made it something that couldn’t be walked back with apologies and a warm dinner and a hand at the small of my back.
“I need to know something,” I said instead, voice thin. “Is… is it possible he had it for some other reason?”
Marshal didn’t answer immediately, and that pause was worse than an outright no.
He leaned closer, just enough that I had to focus on him, not the porch, not the shadow of Trevor just beyond.
“Cate,” he said, using my name like an anchor, “I’m going to be direct. That ring should not be in your husband’s possession. There is no innocent explanation that makes sense with what we know.”
My stomach turned. “What you know,” I echoed, and it came out bitter.
Marshal held my gaze. “We know John was killed the week he disappeared. We know his identity was swapped. We know the original file was closed in a way it shouldn’t have been. We know someone had the means to make that happen.”
I heard Seth’s voice in my head. Power… help cleaning it up… someone close.
Marshal’s face didn’t harden, but his tone did. “And now we have an item from John’s body in your home.”
A cold wave passed over my skin.
My home.
I looked past him again.
I could still see the front door. Trevor stood just inside it, framed by the warm light like a portrait.
Not panicked.
Not frantic.
Not fleeing.
Watching.
His posture was loose, almost relaxed, like he was waiting for the right moment to resume the conversation.
His eyes met mine, and for a second, I saw it so clearly, I almost laughed…
He still believed he could talk his way back into control.
Marshal followed my gaze. “Don’t look at him.”
The softness in his voice startled me.
I blinked, then looked back at Marshal.
“You’re doing great,” he said, and I hated how familiar that sounded. Hated how much it echoed Trevor.
As if reading it on my face, Marshal added, immediate and firm, “Not like that. Not to manage you. To remind you you’re not alone.”
My throat burned.
“Listen,” he continued, “I need to get you somewhere safe. Tonight.”
“What about Seth?” I asked.
Marshal nodded toward the porch. “He can come with us, or we can place an officer with him. But you…” his eyes returned to mine, unwavering, “You are not going back in that house.”
I opened my mouth to argue out of habit.
To say I could handle it.
To say Trevor wouldn’t…
But the memory of his voice cut through me, calm and certain, You’re not going anywhere.
Not shouted.
Assumed.
I swallowed the argument down.
Marshal held out his hand, palm up, not demanding. “May I?”
My fingers trembled as I placed the ring into his palm.
He closed his hand around it gently, like it was fragile, then he looked at me again. “Did your husband see you with it?”
The question landed like a trapdoor.
I shook my head. “No.”
Marshal’s exhale was slow. Controlled. But something flashed behind his eyes - relief, maybe.
“Okay,” he said quietly. “That gives us a little time.”
Time. Trevor had been calculating time all evening, and now the police were too.
Marshal straightened and nodded toward the driver’s seat. “We’re going to move. I’m going to have an officer take you to a safe location. I’ll follow. Seth will come separately.”
I gripped the edge of the seat. “He can’t come with me?”
Marshal’s gaze softened. “I know you want someone you trust right beside you. But we keep you separated for a reason.”
“For what reason?”
Marshal didn’t answer right away.
Then he said, carefully, “Because if Trevor makes a move, he’ll make it for you.”
The words turned my stomach to ice.
I glanced back toward the house again before I could stop myself.
Trevor was no longer framed in the doorway.
He’d moved.
And the absence felt worse than his presence.
My pulse spiked. “Where is he?”
Marshal’s head turned, sharp.
The porch light caught the edges of the curtains and nothing else.
Marshal straightened fully now. His voice stayed calm, but the air around him changed - something tighter, more alert.
He spoke into his radio, quick and precise. “Unit Two, eyes on Reeder. Confirm location.”
Static.
A pause.
Then, “Unit Two - copy. He’s inside. Moving toward the back of the house.”
Marshal’s jaw flexed.
He looked at me, and for the first time since he’d arrived, his face echoed the urgency of the situation. “Cate,” he said, voice low, “I need you to do exactly what I say.”
My chest constricted.
I nodded once and he shut the cruiser door gently, like gentleness could keep my fear from leaking out.
Then he moved fast, toward Seth, toward the porch, toward the thing that had just shifted from contained to unpredictable.
Through the window, the house looked the same.
Neat.
Bright.
Curated.
But I could feel it now, the pressure changing inside it, like a storm rolling in behind glass.
And in my lap, my hands shook so badly I had to clasp them together to keep them from flying apart.
Because somewhere in that house, Trevor had stopped waiting.
And started planning.