Chapter 37
Scout — Sheriff’s Office Parking Lot, Morning
Scout walked out of the building and didn’t even feel the cold. He hadn’t slept. He hadn’t eaten. Hadn’t done a thing except think about where Tessa.
The sun was out, too bright.
He headed for his Wrangler to grab his spare gloves.
Halfway there, he stopped.
A white envelope sat under his wiper blade.
Dead center. His personal vehicle. In the deputies’ lot.
Burke’s voice carried across the lot behind him. “Scout? You all right?”
Scout didn’t answer.
He walked toward the Wrangler slowly. The wind rattled the metal parking signs overhead.
Burke came up, saw the envelope. “What’s that?”
Scout pulled on gloves.
He lifted the envelope from beneath the wiper. The wind caught the edge and fluttered it once. He pinned it between his fingers.
The page inside unfolded cleanly.
A single sheet.
Scout read it.
Deputy Wilson,
Two women.
One journal.
Same heartbeat, different chapters.
Sara wrote you the prologue.
Tessa will write you the ending if she survives the climax.
Question is:
Which story do you want to live in?
Flip the page before I bind it shut.
Tick tock.
P.S. Deputy Wilson—
Two women, both in love with you…
how do you do it?
P.P.S. Don’t worry. She’s fine.
Save for the fire.
Scout didn’t move.
His pulse didn’t spike.
It slowed.
His eyes stayed on the page.
“Fire?”
Burke followed his gaze. Read it again. Slower this time.
“House fire,” Burke said at last. “Big case. Asheville. Four years ago.”
Scout answered without looking up.
“Right shoulder.” Scout had seen the scar.
Seen it. Touched it.
Burke nodded.
“Don’t fold it again,” Burke said. He was already reaching into his coat. “Let’s do this right.”
He pulled out an evidence bag, snapped it open with practiced hands, and held it out.
Scout kept the letter flat in his gloved fingers and slid it carefully into the plastic. Burke sealed the strip with his thumb.
Only then did Burke speak again.
“He knows things he shouldn’t,” Burke said. His voice was low, even, dangerous. “About her. About you.”
Scout didn’t take his eyes off the bag.
“Closer than we thought,” Burke said.
Scout’s voice was flat. Controlled. “He put this on my personal vehicle. He walked right up to it.”
Burke nodded once. “He knew exactly which car was yours.”
Scout’s eyes narrowed in calculation.
“This is personal now.”
Burke didn’t argue. “Let’s get this inside. Crime lab needs it immediately.”
They headed inside.
At the door, Scout paused for half a second—the only concession he allowed to how close and brazen this move had been.
Then he opened his eyes again.
Hard.
Clear.
Focused.
“No more courtesy,” Scout said. “We start squeezing them.”
Burke grabbed his radio. “Raines first. Then Margot Holt.”