Chapter 29
Tessa Quinn — Cloud Gap
By the time Tessa pulled into Cloud Gap, silvery mist drifted low through the trees. Rain whispered against the windshield. The porch light glowed through the fog—steady. Familiar.
She unlocked the door softly.
“Tallulah?”
A small yellow blur darted from the kitchen, tail stiff with indignation. The cat batted at the paper bag in Tessa’s hand.
“Okay, spoiled girl.”
Tessa knelt and pulled out the toy duck from town. Tallulah pounced, skidding across the hardwood. The sight tugged a smile from her—her first real one all day.
She shrugged out of her coat, reached for the hook—
—and froze.
A potted violet sat on the table near the window. Fresh soil. A bead of water slid from one leaf and dropped silently onto the wood. Beside it lay a leather-bound journal.
The jolt hit hard enough to lock her in place.
Then she saw the real violation.
Her notepad. Gone.
The one filled with case notes—names, timelines, coordinates—everything they’d pieced together. The pen she’d been using lay diagonally across the bare space where the pad had been.
Training took over.
She eased her weapon from its holster and moved room to room, sweeping each corner.
“North Carolina SBI,” she called, low and steady. “If you’re inside, show yourself.”
Silence.
Then—
A soft creak from downstairs.
Her heart kicked once, hard. Grip tightening, she moved to the basement door and listened. No voices. No footsteps. Just the low hum of the heater.
She eased the door open with the barrel and swept the stairs—one step at a time, back to the wall, railing under her free hand. The air down there was colder, tinged with concrete and dust.
“North Carolina SBI,” she repeated. “Show yourself.”
Nothing.
She cleared the laundry room, checked behind the water heater, under the stairs.
Nothing.
Back upstairs, she swept the kitchen again. The living room. Closet. Bathroom. Every door. Every corner.
Clear.
Only then did she lower the weapon.
She nudged the basement door closed with her hip. The latch caught halfway, then slipped. The door rested against the frame but didn’t seat. She pressed the basement door closed harder this time. The latch clicked, but not convincingly.
She made a mental note.
Upstairs, the heater kicked on. Warm air pushed through the vents. The pressure shift made the loose latch give. The basement door eased open an inch, the hinge whispering thin and slow.
Houses breathed.
Her pulse refused to settle.
What if he’d waited in here for me?
What if he still is?
She forced the thought down. Holstered her weapon and picked up her phone.
“Dispatch, this is Agent Quinn. I’ve had a break-in at my rental in Cloud Gap. No forced entry. I need techs and crime scene.”
Scout
Scout was halfway home when the call came.
“Break-in at Agent Quinn’s cabin.”
He didn’t ask questions.
Rain hammered the windshield as he whipped the truck around, gravel spitting from the tires. The mountain curves blurred past in dark, slick ribbons.
Someone had been inside her place.
His shoulders went rigid.
Blue-white lights pulsed through the fog when he reached the ridge. He slammed the door and took the steps two at a time.
Tessa stood on the deck, coat pulled tight, the storm tangling in her hair.
“You all right?”
“I’m fine.” Steady voice. Her fingers trembled once before she buried them in her pockets.
He hesitated—like there was something else he wanted to say—but swallowed it.
“Techs are on their way.”
“What’ve we got?”
She motioned toward the window table. The violet. The journal. The empty space.
“He took them. My notes.”
Something in Scout went still. Cold.
“Then he knows exactly where we are.”
He stepped inside, careful of the floor. The heater hummed. The basement door sat slightly ajar.
He didn’t like that.
Using a pen, he nudged the journal open.
March 25, 2023
The walls are cream, trimmed in white. A desk with an old Royal typewriter sits beneath a single lamp. There’s a bookshelf, a quilt on the bed, and a clock that never stops ticking. It’s a beautiful prison.
— Lauren Pierce
God help me.
Tessa’s voice dropped. “That’s her. Same hand as the diary Sara pulled from evidence. She was writing about this room before she disappeared.”
Her eyes tracked the words again.
“He didn’t put her underground. He built her a room. If that’s where he kept Lauren…” She swallowed. “It’s probably where he’s got Sara now.”
Scout watched her in the lamplight—fury under control, something more fragile beneath it.
“He watched Lauren. He’s watching Sara.” His gaze shifted to the window. “Now he’s watching you.”
She nodded once. “He wanted me to find this. To know he walked right in.”
“No forced entry,” Scout said. “He used the keypad. Or he watched you long enough to learn it.”
A quiet chill moved between them.
Tallulah crept from under the sofa, tail puffed.
“He’s escalating,” Scout said. “Coming in here—it’s bold.”
“It’s personal,” she finished.
“I’m not running,” she said. “I’m not leaving.”
“Tessa—”
“If I leave tonight, he wins the first round.”
He held her gaze.
“Fine,” he said. “But you’re not alone up here.”
Not command. Not suggestion.
A line drawn.
He keyed his radio. “Sheriff, it’s Wilson. Cabin’s clear but compromised. Request Hensley for overnight perimeter.”
“Copy,” Burke replied.
Tessa’s phone buzzed.
Unknown number.
I told you to leave this alone.
Her grip tightened.
Scout’s hand flexed once at his side. Controlled. Contained.
“Show me.”
She angled the screen toward him. He stepped closer—close enough that she felt the heat of him through the cold room.
Fog pressed against the glass, erasing the world beyond the porch.
“It’s a message,” Scout said.
“Yeah.” Her voice barely shifted. “That he’s closer than we want to believe.”
The wind shifted.
The basement door eased open behind them—an inch. No more.
Neither moved.
Tessa kept her eyes on the empty space where her notes had been.
He’d stood in her house. Touched her table. Taken what he wanted.
Scout followed her line of sight, something in him settling into a colder resolve.
Somewhere out there, the man who had walked into her home was already planning his next move.
And somewhere in the dark, Sara Parker was still waiting.