Chapter 12
Jackson County Sheriff’s Office — Morning
Rain streaked the windows in thin, steady lines. The sheriff’s office hummed with the low rhythm of phones and printers.
Tessa set a folder on Burke’s desk and closed the door most of the way. Inside were a photo and a handwritten note, both pulled from Sara Parker’s apartment.
“I found these,” she said. “The photo was framed. The note was tucked under her pillow.”
Burke studied them. The photo showed Sara and Scout at a summer cookout, laughing, his arm slung casually across the back of her chair. The note was brief but personal—Sara’s handwriting, mentioning someone she trusted, someone she couldn’t stop thinking about.
Burke looked up. “Sara had a crush on Scout. Everyone knew that.”
Tessa didn’t interrupt. She let the silence sit for a beat—long enough to make Burke look at her again.
“There was something else,” she said carefully.
Burke’s eyes narrowed. “What.”
Tessa slid the map copy from Sara’s apartment out of the folder. The sticky note was still stuck to the corner in Sara’s block letters:
PREGNANT?
Burke went still.
For a second, the office felt smaller.
“That’s not mine,” Tessa said. “It was on her map. I don’t know if she meant herself or Lauren. But if Sara suspected it—or if she was…” She let the sentence trail off.
Burke dragged a hand down his face. “Sara never said a word to me.”
“Would she?” Tessa asked quietly.
His jaw worked once. “She would’ve told Caitlin. Or Mary Lou. Somebody.”
Burke’s gaze dropped to the note again. His voice came out lower. Rougher. “Jesus.”
Tessa didn’t press. She didn’t have to. The idea hung there on its own—heavy, ugly, impossible to ignore.
Then she said, “If there’s even a chance Scout was involved—” Burke’s head snapped up.
“No,” he said flatly.
Tessa held his stare. “I’m not accusing him. I’m doing protocol.”
Burke leaned forward, one hand braced on the desk. “Scout Wilson would not touch Sara Parker. Not like that. Not ever.”
The protectiveness in his voice wasn’t just for Scout.
It was for Sara.
Tessa nodded once. “I hope you’re right.”
Burke’s eyes stayed hard. “I know I’m right.”
Tessa hesitated, then added, “At the tree lighting last month, Parker gave me a look—jealous, almost. Figured it was one-sided. But this—” She tapped the note.
“—it’s harder to ignore.”Burke shook his head once.
“Scout never crossed that line. He trained her. He was her mentor. That’s not who he is. ”
“I hope you’re right,” Tessa said. “But it’s my job to ask.”
Burke exhaled, controlled. “Make it quick.”
He paused, then added, voice low.
“And Quinn?”
Tessa looked up.
“Don’t let the bullpen smell blood.”
Tessa gave a single nod. “Understood.”
The door stood open a few inches.
Deputy Reardon passed by, eyes forward—catching just enough: Scout’s name, the word interview.
He slowed, leaning against a filing cabinet like he belonged there. “You don’t think he was—”
Jenkins snorted from his desk. “Come on. Parker had eyes for him from day one.”
Jack Baker’s voice cut in sharp. “Enough.”
The room went quiet.
“We’ve got a deputy missing—probably taken—and this is where your heads are?” Baker said, low but carrying. “I don’t care who Agent Quinn questions or why. We do not turn on each other. We work the problem. We find Parker. Understood?”
Reardon shifted, caught out.
Jenkins looked away.
“Yes, sir,” Reardon muttered.
Baker nodded once. “Then get back to work.”
Across the room, Scout marked grid squares on a map, unaware of the conversation that had just died behind him.
Burke opened his office door. “Wilson. My office.”
Scout set the marker down and walked in without a word.
Scout remained standing.
Tessa sat across from him, notebook closed, pen clipped neatly to the spine. Burke stayed near the window, arms folded, the rain turning the glass into moving gray.
“This is routine,” Tessa said. “A photo and a personal note were found in Deputy Parker’s apartment referencing you without naming you. I need context.”
Scout’s eyes didn’t flicker. “Ask.”
She slid the photocopy across the desk. “This?”
“Cookout last summer,” he said. “She brought granola bars nobody wanted.”
“Were you involved with her?”
“No.”
“She ever indicate she wanted more than a professional relationship?”
“She respected me,” Scout said. “Might’ve had feelings. I didn’t encourage them.”
“Any calls or meetings that could be read as personal?”
“Work only. Training. Schedules.”
Tessa nodded. “Your last contact.”
“She was running radar off Seventy-Three. Same spot she always parked. I was headed home—blinked my lights. She keyed her mic, asked if I was done for the night.” His mouth tightened, something like warmth flickering for half a second. “Told me not to speed.”
The faintest trace of a smile crossed his face—then vanished.
“And after that?” Tessa asked.
“She called later. Two forty-seven. I missed it. Found it when dispatch woke me.”
His voice roughened, not with anger—with fatigue.
“Haven’t slept since.”
Burke said nothing.
Tessa kept her tone even. “Anyone who might’ve known she admired you—used that to draw her out?”
Scout’s eyes went distant for a beat, like he was replaying every moment he’d ever stood too close to her, every second he’d ever failed to notice something.
“Somebody patient,” he said finally. “Somebody who watches people.”
Tessa wrote it down.
When she looked up, Scout was already buttoning his jacket.
“If there’s nothing else,” he said, “I’ll be back on the mountain.”
“That’s all,” she replied. “Thank you, Deputy.”
Scout didn’t look at either of them as he left.
The door shut softly behind him.
She should’ve said something yesterday—something human.
Instead, she’d let him drive two hours in silence and called it professionalism.
Burke stared at the closed door for a long moment.
“Did you get what you needed?” he asked.
“I did,” Tessa said.
Burke nodded once, then stepped out into the bullpen like he was bracing himself for impact.
No one moved.
Tessa looked again at the photo—Sara’s open joy, Scout’s easy grin. Relief cut through her, sharp and guilty.
Get it together, Quinn.
She slipped the photo back into the file and reached for her jacket.
When she stepped into the bullpen, conversation stalled. Eyes followed her.
You don’t question one of us.
It reminded her of her first posting—the weight in the room when she’d reported misconduct against a hometown favorite. Back then, her hands had shaken.
Now, they were steady.
Near the command board, Luke Hale glanced up and gave a small, deliberate nod.
It helped more than she expected.
Miller’s Ridge—Afternoon
Mist crawled low across the field where search crews regrouped. Floodlights glowed dull against the gray. Fatigue weighed on every movement—on every shoulder, every step, every set of eyes that refused to stop scanning the tree line.
As Tessa stepped from her SUV, the chatter dipped.
“That’s her,” someone muttered.
She ignored it.
Burke stood over the map with the fire chief, finger tracking grid lines like they were veins. Scout checked his radio nearby, shoulders tight, gaze fixed toward the mountain like he could will the fog to lift.
The air between them was thick but controlled.
Luke Hale shifted closer. “Ma’am—update from the south grid?”
Jenkins muttered something under his breath.
Scout turned his head, measured and sharp. “If you want to help,” he said evenly, “then help. Otherwise let her do her job.”
Silence.
The men who’d been half-smirking a minute ago suddenly found reasons to look at their boots.
When the group dispersed, Scout remained by the truck, hands braced on the tailgate like he was holding himself in place.
“You didn’t have to do that,” Tessa said quietly.
“Yeah,” he replied. “I did.”
A beat.
“You’d have done the same.”
His sleeve brushed hers when he turned.
Neither of them stepped back.
For a fraction of a second, the noise of the search fell away.
He looked at her like he was about to say something.
He didn’t.
“Maybe,” she said.
Their eyes met—brief, steady—something passing between them that neither of them had time to name.
Then the radio crackled.
“Team Two’s found something off the north slope,” Burke called. “Move.”
Scout grabbed his jacket. “Looks like we’re up.”
Tessa nodded once. “Let’s go.”
They headed for the trucks, engines rising into the fog.
For one fleeting moment, Tessa let the worst thought surface—
Then shut it down.
Duty first.
Dread later.