Chapter 30
Operations Room — Morning
A large map of Jackson County covered the wall, pushpins marking every evidence point, every possible suspect.
On a yellow index card, Tessa wrote:
Burke gestured toward the map.
“Lauren heard a train twice a day while she was held. Ten in the morning. Seven at night. That narrows it. Sinclair and Keller could both hear it from their properties.”
He tapped one pushpin.
“Raines’s house sits right on the railroad.”
Tessa studied the pin marking Raines’s home.
Close enough to rattle the windows.
“He’d hear it loud,” Scout said.
“Clear enough to set a clock by,” Burke replied.
He handed off a file. “Scout, Tessa — take the college. We’ll talk to him at home next. Let me know if anything feels off.”
Drive to Jackson Valley University
Water streaked down the cruiser’s windows as Scout drove.
“You think Raines is our guy?” he asked.
Tessa shook her head. “Something about him is off — but so are the others. Still, a house that close to the tracks makes this worth a look.”
Silence settled.
“You get any sleep?” he asked.
“Not much.”
“It helped knowing someone would come if I needed them,” she said.
His hands tightened slightly on the wheel.
He didn’t answer.
Raines’s Office — Jackson Valley University
A knock on the frosted glass.
Raines — tall, sharp-eyed — greeted them with wary politeness. “Agents. Come in.”
They took seats across from his desk. Tessa opened her notebook.
“We’re reviewing the days before Lauren Pierce disappeared,” she said. “Anything unusual with her schedule? Her mood?”
“She kept to herself after the Benton fiasco,” Raines said. “Always professional.”
Professional. Rehearsed.
“What kind of relationship did you have with her — outside the department?” Tessa asked.
“None.” His tone stayed crisp. “Strictly business. Class schedules, grant forms, broken coffee machines. She was an assistant, not a friend.”
As he spoke, Scout drifted toward the corner, careful not to draw attention to the trench coat tossed over a hard case. He lifted the coat.
A hard-sided Royal typewriter case sat beneath it.
He popped the latches.
Empty.
Scout glanced at Tessa. She caught it in the small shift of his shoulders.
She pivoted slightly. “Where’s your typewriter, Professor?”
Raines’s brow furrowed. “It broke last fall. Keys jammed. I took it home.”
Tessa’s attention slid to the windowsill. Several plants crowded the light. One stood apart — a single violet, lush and out of season.
Her fingers tightened on her pen.
A memory flashed: her cabin door easing open. The stillness. That same color waiting on her table.
She rose slightly in her chair.
“Someone broke into my cabin last night,” she said evenly. “They left a violet on my table. One a lot like this. Any idea why that might be?”
Raines blinked — surprised, then recovering.
“You’re serious? You think I’d break into your cabin? If I wanted suspicion, I’d have left a signed confession.”
Scout’s voice stayed casual. “Maybe you like the game. Keeps things interesting between faculty meetings.”
Raines gave a short laugh.
“You’ve met Sinclair and Keller, right? If you want unstable personalities, start there.
Sinclair’s a control freak with a fly rod — pretends to be Hemingway but can’t write a line without sharpening his pencils first. And Keller — well.
Keller can’t keep his zipper closed long enough to finish a sentence. ”
He folded his hands.
“I like competence, Agent. Which means around here, I’m perpetually disappointed.”
Tessa closed her notebook.
“We’ll be in touch.”
“I’m not going anywhere,” Raines replied.
Out in the corridor, Scout exhaled slowly. “He’s hiding something. Even if it’s not what we think.”
Tessa kept her gaze on the door. “That violet,” she said quietly. “Either he’s unlucky — or he’s waiting for us to blink first.”
Raines’s Street — Drive-By
Instead of heading straight for the highway, Scout peeled off onto a side road.
Tessa glanced at the GPS, then at him. “Where are we going?”
“Raines’s place,” he said. “Figured we’d take a look.”
“Scout, you know we can’t just roll up there,” she said. “No warrant, no consent—”
“We’re not rolling up,” he cut in. “Just seeing what we’ve got from the street.”
A few turns later, he slowed. “That’s it. Number thirty-two.”
Raines’s house sat on a rise above the road — white siding, dark shutters, neat porch. Beyond the backyard fence, the railroad tracks cut a clean line through the trees, close enough that a whistle would rattle the windows.
“Close,” Scout murmured. “You’d hear every train that came through.”
Tessa’s gaze moved past the house. A detached garage sat off to the side, two bays with an upstairs window glowing faintly. A small security camera was mounted under the eaves, its dark eye angled toward the drive.
“Garage with a loft,” she said quietly. “He could work out there and still be home on paper.”
Farther back, half-hidden by bare limbs, a small shed crouched near the fence line. Both doors were chained and secured with a heavy padlock.
“There,” Scout said.
“I see it,” she replied. “But from the road is all we get. We step onto that property without a warrant, everything we find is poison.”
He blew out a breath. “Yeah. I know.”
He eased the cruiser forward, letting the house slip out of view in the side mirror.
“We’ll get Burke what he needs for a judge,” Tessa said. “Then we come back.”
“Soon,” Scout answered.
He turned them back toward town.
Drive Back to Sylva
The cab felt small.
Rain tapped steadily against the windshield as Scout eased the cruiser down the mountain road.
“And he didn’t volunteer that,” Tessa said, flipping back through her notes. “His house is right on the line, and he let us talk about the office instead.”
“No,” Scout said. “He didn’t.”
The quiet settled between them.
He rolled one shoulder, a small, restless adjustment. Then spoke.
“Those three professors hate each other,” he said after a moment. “Sinclair, Keller, Raines — every one of them trying to throw the others under the bus.”
“And it’s working,” she replied. “We’re looking sideways at everyone.”
“Raines never misses a chance to knife someone in the ribs,” Scout muttered.
She watched his profile. The set of his shoulders.
“Sara saw it,” she said softly. “Day one. Her notes were solid. She clocked the power shifts before anyone else did.”
“Yeah,” he said. “She did.”
Tessa adjusted the edge of her notebook in her lap.
“Scout — about last night,” she began carefully. “At Catch My Draft—”
His hands didn’t move on the wheel.
“We should stay with the case,” he said evenly.
She stared out the window. Tension knotting in her neck.
Scout’s gaze stayed on the road. He reached up, adjusted the vent — unnecessary.
Frustration prickled under her skin — not at the case, not at Kyle, but at how fast he’d boxed this up.
“Whatever’s going on between you and Denton,” Scout added quietly, “doesn’t change what we’ve got to do.”
Her head turned toward him. “There is nothing going on between me and Denton,” she said. Not sharp. “That’s what I’ve been trying to tell you.”
A pulse beat hard at the base of his throat before he nodded, still not looking at her.
“We’ll loop Burke in on Raines’s house when we get back,” he said.
The words landed flat. Final.
The cruiser rolled through a shallow curve. Rain thickened against the glass.
This is insane, she thought. Sara is missing. Her cabin was broken into. And I’m sitting here mad he won’t let me explain.
But it did matter.
Because what had happened between them in that snowbound cabin hadn’t felt like adrenaline or convenience. It had felt steady. Solid. Terrifyingly real.
The rest of the drive passed in strained quiet.
Rain.
Engine.
Wipers.
What aren’t we seeing?