Chapter 14
Cloud Gap — Late Evening
The road wound higher through fog and wintry mix, the kind of cold that turned the pavement to glass. By the time Scout reached the cabin, his wipers scraped against ice and the porch light glowed amber through the trees.
Tessa opened the door before he could knock. “You found it.”
He tipped his hat, flicking rain off the brim. “Hard to miss the only place with lights this far up.”
Her eyes dropped to the folder tucked under his arm. “Burke wanted you to have this tonight.”
Tessa took the folder, thumb already sliding under the clasp. “What is it?”
“Sara’s phone update,” Scout said. “We got into it.”
Tessa’s face tightened. “And?”
“Text messages,” he said. “The day she disappeared. Warnings.”
Tessa flipped the first page, eyes scanning fast. “Back off the Pierce case.”
Scout nodded once. “Yeah.”
“So she knew.”
“She knew,” Scout said. “And she kept digging anyway.”
He nodded toward the folder. “New statements too. College thread. Lauren Pierce’s roommate finally sat down with Burke—gave more than she wanted to. And a couple women from the department.”
Tessa looked up, eyes sharp. Then she stepped back. “Come in before you freeze.”
The place was nicer than he expected for a rental. Tidy, lived-in enough to feel real. The stone fireplace dominated the room, cold and waiting for a match.
She turned toward the windows, where ice pellets traced silver lines down the glass. “I keep thinking about her—out there in this weather. I hope she’s warm.”
“She hated the cold,” he said softly. “Always layered up like we were headed to Alaska.”
A small smile ghosted across her face. “You really knew her.”
“Yeah,” he said. “We all did.”
Silence settled, heavy but not uncomfortable.
“I wanted to thank you,” she said finally. “For today.”
His brows drew together. “For what?”
“For speaking up after the briefing. Some of the deputies didn’t like me questioning you—they took it personal.”
“They were out of line,” he said. “You asked what needed asking.”
Her mouth curved. “Still. It means something.”
A soft meow broke the quiet. A yellow tabby padded in, tail sky-high.
“Who’s this?”
“Tallulah. My cat. She stays with a friend when I’m out on long cases, but she’s mine.”
Scout crouched, scratching behind the cat’s ears. “She’s got taste.”
Tallulah purred, then climbed right into his lap like she’d known him forever.
Tessa laughed. “She doesn’t do that for anyone. Guess she likes you.”
He looked up, eyes glinting green in the lamplight. “Can’t blame her.”
It was the first time she’d seen him smile like that—unguarded, easy—and it did something low in her chest she refused to name.
A small Bluetooth speaker kicked on, Sam Cooke’s Bring It On Home to Me humming through the room.
Scout cocked his head. “Didn’t peg you for old-school soul.”
“My dad’s records,” she replied. “Couldn’t sleep without them as a kid.”
“Good man,” he said softly.
The music wove through the cabin. He nodded toward the stone hearth. “You should get a fire going. They’re saying snow by morning.”
“I was just thinking about that. My place in Asheville has a gas fireplace—push a button, instant warmth. This one’s only for show.”
He laughed.“No, it’s not for show.” He rose, brushing off his hands. “You’ve got wood on the porch?”
“Yes. There’s a stack out there.”
Before she could protest, he slipped out onto the deck.
Inside, she watched him cross the deck—broad-shouldered and sure-footed, all rugged competence she felt far too aware of right now.
When he returned, ice dusted his jacket and hair. He stacked wood at her feet, hand brushing hers—rough, cold. The touch lingered a moment too long.
She should have joked, made it an accident. But all she could do was memorize the feel—cold calluses, contained strength.
He nodded toward the hearth. “Ever build a proper fire?”
“I push a button, remember?”
He grinned. “Lesson time.”
She crouched beside him, following his motion as he laid the kindling just so. Their shoulders nearly brushed; she felt the heat of him long before the flames.
For a moment, neither moved.
The air did more than hum—it tightened, like the cabin itself had pulled in a breath.
“Small pieces first,” he said. “Let the air do half the work. Don’t rush it.”
She smiled faintly. “You sound like Burke.”
“Patience saves you every time.”
When the flame caught, he eased on the logs, steady as a craftsman. She watched the room come alive.
He sat back on his heels, satisfied. “There. Old-fashioned heat.”
She looked around, surprised by the change. “Amazing what a fire does. Whole cabin feels alive again.”
“Nothing beats it,” he said. “You can fake a lot, but not warmth.”
Scout’s gaze lifted—slow, unavoidable—and landed on her.
Not the agent with the clipped voice and sharp questions.
Just Tessa.
Tall even sitting on the rug, legs folded beneath her, long brown hair falling loose over one shoulder with a hint of auburn catching in the firelight. The flames picked up the pale gray-blue of her eyes, made them look almost silver against the dark sweep of her brows.
Strong. Lean. Beautiful without trying to be.
He’d worked beside her for weeks during Caitlin’s case.
Search grids collapsing. Tempers fraying. Hope thinning.
He’d watched her take command when the ridge started to fracture.
Voice level. Eyes steady. No wasted words.
When she gave an order, people moved.
He’d known then she wasn’t just sharp.
She was steel.
But tonight, in firelight, she wasn’t the woman who held a mountain together.
She was just a woman sitting on the rug with her hair loose and her guard down.
And for a split second, he forgot the case.
Forgot the weather.
Forgot everything but the fact that she was right there, warm and real, and looking at him like she felt it too.
Tallulah stretched, chirped once, and curled in front of the hearth—nose to tail, content—like the cat had decided someone in this cabin needed to keep their head.
Scout cleared his throat. “You got a poker?”
“Uh—yeah.” Tessa reached for the tool set too quickly, her fingers clumsy. She handed it to him.
He nudged the logs, sparks snapping up. Warmth rolled across the rug.
Tessa sat back, sleeves over her hands—gray cotton: Tennessee Vols.
He eyed it, deadpan. “Tell me that’s not yours.”
“Grad school,” she grinned. “Go Vols.”
“You’re in North Carolina, Agent. Enemy territory.”
“It’s comfortable,” she teased.
“Traitor,” he mock-grumbled, but there was still a grin behind it.
Scout laughed—a deep, real sound that lit the cabin.
Tessa shook her head. “I owe you a beer for that fire. And for saving me from hypothermia.”
He fixed her with a look in the firelight. “I won’t say no.”
She brought two bottles from the fridge. Their fingers brushed—a quick, charged jolt.
“To Sara,” she said, barely above a whisper.
“To Sara,” he echoed.
They drank. The fire popped, punctuating the moment neither of them dared speak.
Sleet softened into snow—big, lazy flakes drifting past the windows.
Scout shifted on the hearth, settling onto the warm stone ledge.
Tessa slipped down from the couch to the rug in front of the fire, sleeves tugged over her hands.
Tallulah paced once between them, then curled into a perfect crescent, her tail flicking over Tessa’s knee as if claiming the space.
The three of them sat in a loose triangle—Scout on the hearth, Tessa on the rug, the cat between them. The fire’s glow haloed everything.
Tessa reached down absently, fingers brushing Tallulah’s soft fur. She let her hand rest there for a moment.
Then she lifted her eyes.
She’d meant to look at Scout.
Instead, she looked straight at his mouth—the curve of it, the way the firelight softened the line of his lower lip.
Heat shot through her, quick and unwelcome.
Scout seemed to freeze.
His gaze dropped—slowly, unmistakably—to her mouth.
No hesitation.
No question.
Only that same pull from before—only this time, it wasn’t gentle.
For one suspended moment, neither of them breathed.
Then he moved.
Not rash, not reckless—a man answering something bone-deep and overdue. He leaned forward from the hearth, one hand braced on the stone, the other hovering as if making sure she could stop him.
She didn’t.
Their mouths met hard.
Like he’d been holding it back too long.
It wasn’t soft or tentative. It was need and heat, the kind of kiss that startles a sound out of a person.
Tessa’s fingers curled into his jacket without thinking, pulling him closer.
Scout answered instantly, deepening it, the warmth of him overtaking the cold that had lived in her chest for months.
He tasted like beer and winter and something steadier than she’d expected.
Her breath caught—wild, startled, alive in a way she couldn’t remember.
And under it came the wrongness of it—because Sara was still out there and this was the last thing she’d meant to let herself want. Maybe that was why it scared her more than the dark roads and empty ridges—wanting anything that wasn’t the job while another woman was depending on her.
When Scout finally pulled back, he stayed close enough that she could feel the ghost of his warmth on her lips. His forehead touched hers for half a second, the space between them charged and trembling.
“Tessa…” he whispered, like he wasn’t even sure he’d meant to say her name aloud.
She didn’t trust her voice—didn’t trust anything that might break the moment. She looked at him, stunned at the jolt he’d lit inside her—something she hadn’t felt in a very, very long time.
He was about to lean in again—
—and that’s when Burke’s voice cracked through the radio on Scout’s hip, shattering the moment.
“Wilson, you copy? Need you back at HQ.”
Scout closed his eyes. Then he reached for the mic.
“Copy. On my way.”
Tessa sat back on her heels, pulse still stumbling, lips still tender from the kiss. The fire popped again, loud in the quiet.
Scout rose, brushing his jacket. “Thanks for the beer,” he said softly. “And… for the fire.”
Her voice came out softer than she meant. “Anytime.”
At the door, snow blowing around him, he hesitated—long enough to tell her the kiss hadn’t been a mistake.
“Get some sleep, Tessa.”
She swallowed. “You too, Scout.”
She touched her lips once after he left. Then forced her hand down. Sara was still missing.
Scout — The Drive Back Down
Scout eased the cruiser down the narrow drive, mind spinning, hot and cold, in a way he hadn’t felt since rookie days. Snow started to stick, swirling in the headlights, turning the road into a narrow white tunnel.
He couldn’t shake it—Tessa by the fire: black leggings, that gray Tennessee Vols sweatshirt, bare feet tucked beneath her, hair loose over her shoulders, orange-painted toes. Not the field agent—warm, unguarded, devastating.
Guilt jabbed him. Sara was still out there.
He pressed a hand to his chest, as if he could shove the longing away.
What the hell was wrong with him? He was supposed to be tracking every lead.
Instead, he replayed the spark of Tessa’s laugh.
Whatever he’d lit with her would have to wait. Finding Sara came first.
He dragged a hand down his face. When the world went quiet, loneliness found the cracks.
He hit the main road; snow thickened. Scout fixed his eyes ahead. Not tonight. Not now. But the taste of the moment lingered—sweet, guilty, impossible to shake.
Jackson County Sheriff’s Office — Morning
By the time Tessa arrived, the office buzzed—phones ringing, deputies in and out.
She paused in the doorway as Scout came in from the lot, snow melting from his boots. He caught her gaze—a bare instant, enough for her pulse to jump—and shut it down behind a neutral expression.
“Morning, Agent,” he said, tone too even. He kept his hands busy so he wouldn’t reach for her. His voice didn’t match his eyes.
“Morning, Deputy,” she replied, voice thinner than she’d like. She could still smell woodsmoke—his secret on her skin.
Scout moved to the coffee, eyes on anything but her. Jenkins watched—a silent scowl.
Tessa ignored him, setting files on the table, but the words blurred. Her hands felt awkward.
Scout braced his palms on the briefing table, staring at a map too hard. The clock ticked loud. Every scrape of paper, every shuffle of boots, seemed extra sharp.
Burke strode in, face drawn. “You two ready?”
Scout and Tessa exchanged a glance, the charged kind that held overlong.
“All set,” Tessa said softly.
“Ready,” Scout echoed, tight smile betrayed by his eyes.
Burke caught their tension but let it go. “Let’s get to work.”
Shoulder to shoulder, Tessa’s sleeve brushed Scout’s arm.
The air between them was knife-thin—tight, cold, dangerous.