Chapter 32
Black Bear Ridge — Night
Scout lingered on the porch, arms folded, watching as Tessa’s taillights snaked down the mountain and disappeared into the dark. Somewhere below, a coyote’s howl drifted up. He’d asked her to text when she got home. He trusted she would.
He leaned against the post, letting the cabin’s glow spill across the boards. Every part of him could still feel her: the press of her mouth, the heat of her hands, the way she’d looked at him when she finally let herself be honest.
With Kyle gone, relief settled in. Pretending Kyle hadn’t gotten under his skin—cocky, territorial, grabbing her like he owned her—had eaten at him more than he’d admit. Tonight, she chose him.
He couldn’t wrap his head around how she affected him. It hadn’t started at the storm cabin. Hell, it hadn’t even started with Caitlin’s case. It was the way Tessa worked—sharp mind, steady hands, no ego, no flinching. She walked into chaos and made order out of it. She shone.
And she’d come to him. Said what she came to say. Let him answer the only way he knew how.
Scout scrubbed a hand through his hair. Something good had started tonight. For the first time in years, he wanted to see where it went.
Inside, he set his phone on the table where he could see her message light up. The cabin felt different—warmer. Her scent lingered in the air.
He didn’t know what tomorrow would bring, but he didn’t dread it. He wanted it.
Cloud Gap Cabin — Night
Tessa drove home lighter than she’d felt in a long time. Something bright waited ahead—the chance they might find Sara alive, and maybe something with Scout. Being wanted—not competed with—felt like a tension she hadn’t realized she’d carried for years, finally easing.
She pulled into the drive and saw the patrol unit first—headlights dimmed, engine idling low.
Relief loosened something in her chest.
She cut the engine and pulled out her phone.
Home. All good.
The reply dots appeared—then vanished.
She grabbed her bag and stepped out into the damp mountain air as Deputy Hensley climbed from the cruiser.
“Evening, Agent Quinn,” he said. “All quiet since I got here. Just been parked about fifteen minutes.”
“Anything before that?” she asked.
“No, ma’am. Sheriff had the locks changed this afternoon. Here’s the new code.” He handed her a small folded card. “Perimeter’s been clear.”
“Thank you,” she said. “I appreciate it.”
She started toward the porch, then paused and looked back.
“Hey, Deputy.”
He turned.
“You’re free to go. I’ve got this.”
He hesitated just long enough to show he didn’t love it.
“Sheriff said—”
“I’ll call if I need anything,” she said, steady and certain. “I don’t want you freezing up here all night.”
A beat.
“Yes, ma’am.”
She watched his taillights disappear down the ridge.
Then she went inside.
Tallulah would be waiting. With Scout in her corner, tomorrow didn’t feel like something to survive anymore.
Inside, she hung her jacket and called, “Tallulah?”
Silence.
She rattled the dry-food tin. Nothing.
A faint unease whispered through her.
She turned on Sam Cooke, poured a splash of wine—ordinary, routine—and called again.
Her gaze caught on the basement door. Open, just an inch. A draft curled from the gap and brushed her ankles—cold, misplaced. She told herself it was the heater. Old hinges. A draft.
She stepped closer, voice taut. “Tallulah?”
A small, muffled yelp floated up from below.
Her pulse leapt. She hurried down the stairs, one hand skimming the wall until her fingers brushed the switch. Light flickered on—
And there was Tallulah, fluffed, crouched, eyes wide.
Relief washed through her. “What are you doing down here? You scared me.”
She scooped the cat into her arms and turned back toward the stairs.
A shadow moved on the wall. Wrong shape. Wrong place.
A faint, sharp tang threaded through the cool air—a scent she didn’t recognize.
Tessa reached for her sidearm—
Darkness surged from behind her.
Hands closed on her—hard—before she could do anything.