Chapter 18
Sawyer
I'm sitting in my truck in my driveway, engine off, but I haven't gotten out yet. My mind keeps going back to the library. To Lance Carlston. To the way Alice went rigid when she saw him.
The whole thing felt off. You don’t drive thirty minutes to a random library event in a town you don’t live in. And you definitely don’t know details about your ex’s current living situation over a year after you break up. Not unless you’re keeping tabs on them.
Pulling out my phone, I scroll to Chris’s number.
“You better be calling because you’re buying the first round,” Chris answers.
“Hey, I need a favor. Can you run a name for me tomorrow? Off the books.”
“Yeah, you know I got you. Who is it?”
“Guy named Lance Carlston. Lives in Creeksprings, probably in his late twenties.”
“Want to tell me what this is about?”
“Just run the name first. I’ll fill you in tomorrow.”
“Alright. But you owe me.”
Hanging up, I finally get out of the truck. Inside, the house feels too quiet. I grab a beer from the fridge and sit at the kitchen table with my sergeant exam materials.
Can't focus. All I see is Alice's face when Lance mentioned her grandmother's house.
Study, Sawyer. The promotion won’t happen by itself. But even as I flip through the pages, my mind keeps wandering. That wasn’t just awkwardness about running into an ex. That was fear.
My phone buzzes with a text from Alice:
Alice: Thanks for tonight. Sorry it got awkward.
Sawyer: Nothing to apologize for. The deal with the coffee still stands?
Alice: Definitely. :)
That smiley face does something to my chest. She's trying to be normal. Trying to pretend she's fine.
But I know better now.
I set the phone down and open one of the study guides, but the words blur together. Instead, I keep thinking about Lance’s smile when he said he was sticking around Pine Hollows. Like he had plans.
Focus on what you can control—your career, your promotion. Stop trying to save everyone. But even as I tell myself this, I know I’m lying. This isn’t about everyone. This is about Alice.
Giving up on studying, I head to bed. But I lie there staring at the ceiling, running through the conversation at the library. The way Lance assumed I was Alice’s boyfriend. The casual mention of her house. The comment about “getting to know the community.”
None of it adds up to innocent coincidence.
Eventually I fall asleep because my alarm goes off at six-thirty, and I feel like I got maybe four hours. Coffee helps, but not much.
By the time I get to the station, I'm already thinking about what Chris might find.
“You look like hell,” Chris says when I walk into the break room.
“Thanks. Have you run that name yet?”
“Jesus, Sawyer, it’s seven in the morning. Give me a chance to get some coffee first.” He pours himself a cup and leans against the counter. “But yeah, I ran it. Lance Carlston, twenty-eight, lives in Creeksprings. Clean record, mostly.”
“Mostly?”
“Three domestic disturbance calls over the past two years. No charges filed. Same address each time, same complainant.
My stomach drops. I know what "no charges filed" usually means in domestic cases.
Chris pulls out a small notebook and flips through it. "Complainant listed as A.C. Just initials. Neighbors reported screaming and arguing.”
My coffee suddenly tastes bitter. “A.C.?”
“Yeah, that’s how they signed the reports. It doesn’t look like he faced any real charges or penalties. The person must’ve dropped the charges pretty much immediately.”
Three domestic disturbance calls. Neighbors hearing screaming.
My hands tighten around my coffee cup. No charges filed usually means the victim was too scared to follow through. Or he convinced her she was overreacting. That it was her fault.
Three calls means a pattern.
A.C. Alice…what? I don't even know her last name.
But the timeline fits. Calls over the past two years. They broke up over a year ago. Some of those calls happened while they were still together.
“Anything else?”
“Works for his family’s real estate business. Carlston Properties. They’re a pretty big deal in the Creeksprings area.” Chris closes the notebook. “Now you want to tell me what this is about?”
Leaning against the wall, I tell him about last night. Lance showing up at the library, knowing about Alice’s house, his comment about sticking around town. Chris listens without interrupting.
“So you think he’s following her?”
“I think he’s not here by coincidence.” I drain my coffee. “And those domestic calls don’t make me feel better about it.”
“What’s Alice say?”
“That it ended badly and he shouldn’t be here. But not much else.”
Chris nods knowingly. “Victims often downplay, especially if the abuser is good at manipulation. They get used to making excuses.”
The radio crackles with a call about a minor fender-bender on Main Street, and Chris grabs his keys. “Want some advice?”
“Sure.”
“Keep an eye on her, but don’t be pushy about it. She’ll tell you when she’s ready. If there’s anything to tell.” He pauses at the door. “You can’t solve everyone’s problems. No matter how badly you want to.”
He heads out, leaving me alone with the knowledge that Alice’s ex-boyfriend has a history of police calls and is now in Pine Hollows for no apparent reason.
The morning passes on routine patrol, but my mind keeps drifting to Alice at the bank, probably trying to act normal while wondering if Lance is going to show up again. By noon, I've made three passes by Pine Hollows Community Bank. Not stopping, just making sure everything looks normal.
The third time, I catch myself and force myself to keep driving. This is exactly what Chris warned me about. I can’t hover over her like some kind of bodyguard. But I can’t shake the feeling that Lance showing up last night was just the beginning.
My radio crackles with another call, and I respond, pushing thoughts of Alice and Lance to the back of my mind. But they don’t stay there long.
Three domestic disturbance calls. A.C. as the complainant.
Alice C-something. Has to be. The timeline fits—calls over the past two years, they broke up over a year ago. Which means some of those calls happened while they were still together.
Those weren't just arguments.
I need to know her last name. I need to know if those calls were about her.
But looking at this objectively—a man with a history of domestic disturbance calls shows up in his ex's new town, knowing details about her life he shouldn't know.
This isn't about being a hero.
Alice is in real danger.
And he's not going to get near her again.
Not while I'm around.