Chapter 23
Jackson Moore
Summer
The coffee machine hisses like it’s mocking me, the burnt scent clawing at the back of my throat. I watch the plastic cup fill halfway before the liquid sputters, brown foam sloshing against flimsy edges. My hand shakes when I reach for it. I’m not sure if it’s grief, or adrenaline, or both.
Headlights slash across the polished floor-to-ceiling windows. A black SUV pulls into the space closest to the entrance. The engine cuts. Two doors open. Two people step out.
Not in uniforms. Not nurses. Not hurried visitors clutching flowers or takeout bags. No, these two are different. They move the way hunters do when the chase is over—steady, unhurried, certain the prey is theirs.
The first is tall, broad through the shoulders, his stubble catching the glow from the overhead lamps. His eyes cut like flint when they lift toward the building, cold and assessing. Even from here, even through the glass, I can feel the weight of them.
The second is a woman, smaller, her movements quieter but no less certain. Her hair is pulled tight at the nape of her neck, her coat fitted and neat. She glances at the man beside her once, the briefest flicker of communication, before they cross the lot in step.
My stomach knots. Something in me whispers: not right.
The automatic doors slide open as they get close to the entrance, the rush of night air pushing against my face.
They don’t hesitate when they enter, they don’t scan the signs for direction. The man walks ahead—he reaches the receptionist and flashes his badge, just long enough to confirm what I already suspect. Detectives.
My skin prickles. Detectives. Here. For him. For the man in ICU who isn’t Benny Harrow.
I force a sip of coffee, nearly gagging at the taste. My pulse won’t calm, won’t slow. I glance down the hall, searching for Jacob. He disappeared ten minutes ago to corner his deputy, his boots echoing into the distance. He should be here. He has to be here. Because suddenly, I feel exposed.
The detectives split the room with their presence. The man plants himself near the desk, leaning an elbow like he has every right to bend the space around him. The woman stays standing, scanning. Eyes solid, watchful. They’re not looking for trouble. They’re expecting it.
“Sheriff Darnell,” the male says, his voice gravel and smoke.
And my blood chills—because Jacob headed to make a phone call five minutes ago and hasn’t returned.
The receptionist stutters, eyes wide. “He’s… I can call him—”
“No need.” The reply doesn’t come from her. It comes from behind me.
Jacob.
His hand flexes once, twice, before his gaze locks on the detectives. His entire body is tension coiled tight, his jaw rigid enough to crack.
He plants himself next to the male detective without speaking another word.
The detective smirks faintly. “Convenient as ever, sir.”
The female detective steps forward, her voice calmer, precise. “We need to speak with you, Sheriff. In private.”
“Down the hall.” Jacob’s voice is the low thunder of a storm. “Second door on the left.”
They both nod and head toward the room.
Jacob comes to me. He holds out his hand. I take it immediately.
“What you hear in this room might not be pleasant, baby. You don’t have to come,” he says.
Constance and Adelaide both look in our direction, confused.
They’ve been sat reading magazines and drinking soda.
I thought they would have gone home by now, but then, I know they’d never leave me when my world is crumbling.
I also know part of them wants the truth about Benny.
As much as it hurts me that he’s lied about his identity, he’s lied to them too.
They were trying to help me. Trying to be there for me.
And in doing so, they’d crossed paths with… Benny.
They met him. They talked about my life with him. Part of me knows they feel just as blindsided as I do.
“No, I’m coming,” I say, cutting off whatever protest Jacob was about to make. I fall into step beside him as we head toward room, trailing after the detectives.
The woman’s gaze flicks to me first—not pitying, not cruel, just sudden and appraising, like she’s weighing exactly how much truth I already hold. I clutch the cup of coffee tighter, the heat biting into my palms, grounding me in the only way I can manage.
The male detective sighs, dragging a hand over the stubble on his jaw before extending it toward Jacob. “Sheriff.”
Jacob hesitates, then takes it, the handshake brief, strained.
“Maddox, Navarro,” Jacob says flatly, his tone clipped and cold. “What brings you here?”
Maddox’s eyes narrow slightly. “Sir, the girl. Is she—”
“She’s my fiancée. She stays,” Jacob cuts in, tone harsh and final.
For a second, I think I’ve misheard him. Fiancée?
The word slams into me, heavy and disorienting. My breath catches somewhere between my chest and throat. He says it like it’s fact, like it’s something that’s always been true.
I stare at him, but he doesn’t look my way. Doesn’t offer so much as a flicker of explanation. Just stands there—calm, commanding, completely unbothered—while I’m left reeling, trying to figure out when exactly I agreed to belong to him like that.
I’m snapped back to reality when Maddox clears his throat and continues.
“The patient upstairs, Sheriff—” he stops mid-sentence. His attention flicks to me. But Jacob doesn’t move. Doesn’t even blink. He just stands there—still as stone—like he’s been expecting this all along.
Navarro tilts her head, assessing. “Sheriff, we need to be clear about the importance of identifying the man upstairs.” Her gaze locks on me.
My knees weaken. The mug trembles in my hands, coffee spilling over the rim and scalding my skin, but I barely feel it.
Jacob shifts just enough for his arm to brush mine—a silent anchor, a warning, maybe both.
He doesn’t look at me. Doesn’t need to. His stare stays fixed on Maddox, jaw tight, unreadable.
And yet, both of them—Maddox and the Navarro—keep watching me like I’m something fragile and dangerous all at once. Like they know they’re about to startle me and can’t anticipate how I’ll react.
“Get to the point,” Jacob says, low. Dangerous.
Maddox doesn’t blink. “Sheriff, there’s been an incident handed over from Broadachre County.” His voice dips, grave. “Jackson Moore.”
My heart stops.
Navarro takes over, her tone softer, though the words hit like bullets. “Moore was transferred for an appeal hearing yesterday. On the return trip, the transport bus was ambushed. Officers killed. Prisoners injured. Moore was taken.”
No.
No.
My chest hollows, empties. I hear the words, but they don’t fit inside my head. Jackson Moore. Gone.
Navarro’s mouth presses tight. “We believe the man upstairs may be connected. Whether as an accomplice… or a witness. Which means we need to speak to him the moment he regains consciousness. All of the paperwork is on your desk, sir.”
I can’t breathe.
Moore, the man, the men. My parents’ deaths. It’s all too coincidental. The cup slips from my hand, coffee splattering across the tile.
Jacob’s arm snaps around my waist before I fall, his grip iron. His voice, when it comes, is low, lethal, vibrating against my spine.
“Why the fuck wasn’t I made aware of this yesterday?” Jacob snarls. His hands remain around me, I hear his heartbeat quicken in his chest, his breathing rate increasing.
“It was handed over to the department an hour ago. You weren’t in the office— "
“If Moore’s out,” Jacob interrupts, “He’s coming for her.”
And the way he says it—the way his voice coils around me like chains—makes me know he believes it. Every word.
The world tilts from the truth hanging in the air like smoke. Jackson Moore—escaped. He’s out there somewhere. Breathing the same night air as me.
“I want every man, woman and dog hunting that fucker down. I don’t give a fuck about budgets. Pull in every resource we have to get that son of a bitch.”
Maddox doesn’t blink. His presence is a slab of concrete, heavy and immovable.
“Sheriff, we have a dead driver, two dead prison guards. Broadachre County want in, too... Moore was in their jail, their jurisdiction, we’re involved because of his motives.
Because they think he’ll come back here…
And Sheriff, we need to consider that Moore was involved with the murders that occurred last night. ”
“They were my fucking parents,” I snap.
Maddox and Navarro both look to each other immediately.
“My apologies, Miss Miller.” Maddox says, sympathy radiating from his expression.
I nod my head, accepting his apology and wipe my nose on my sleeve. The tears have been flowing without me even realizing. I seem to have become accustomed to the sensation.
Navarro steps closer. Her voice is silk, meant to calm, but it cuts all the same. “We need your cooperation. The patient upstairs—” she glances at me before finishing, “—he might be the only thread we have to getting Moore.”
I swallow hard. My throat burns. “But he’s unconscious. He… he might not even survive.” My voice cracks at the memory of that machine forcing breath into his lungs. “How can he help? And what makes you think he’s linked to Jackson?” I ask
Navarro folds her arms, her expression a shade softer, though her words aren’t any easier.
“Men tied to Moore have a history of running under stolen names. It’s a pattern.
Fraudulent IDs, ghost addresses, burner phones.
He fits that pattern. And when Moore’s convoy got hit, every alias even remotely associated with that circle lit up on our radar. ”
Maddox’s mouth tightens into a grim line. “Doesn’t mean he was at the ambush. Doesn’t mean he pulled the trigger. But if he’s not who he says he is, and he’s moving in the same shadows as Moore, then yeah—there’s reason to believe there’s a connection.”
Jacob steps forward. Maddox’s jaw works.
“We’re doing everything we can to contain this, Sheriff.” His voice is flat, precise—police-speak meant to steady things.
Jacob closes the distance until there’s only centimetres between them. The smile that touches his mouth isn’t a smile. “No, Detective. That isn’t good enough.”
Navarro steps in, palms up like she’s holding the temperature down. Her eyes flick between Jacob and Maddox, even-toned.
“We’re on the same side, Sheriff. We’re doing our jobs. You know you can trust us— When have we ever let you down?” The words are professional, but there’s a softness there for him that I imagine she doesn’t use for anyone else.
The promise lands hollow. It’s the way they move around him—deferential, familiar—that makes my skin go cold. They’ll follow any order he gives them and never even stop to question it.
I can’t move. My pulse bangs behind my eyes and the name keeps coming—Jackson Moore—over and over, a drumbeat that won’t stop. He’s not supposed to be out. He’s supposed to be in a cell rotting.
“We can make arrangements for a safe house for you, Summer,” Navarro says, voice smooth as silk. “Somewhere out of sight. We’ll keep you safe.”
Jacob’s glare drops on them like a hammer—an animal warning. He’s not amused; he’s offended. “You think anyone can keep her safer than me, Navarro?”
Her eyes flick everywhere, searching for an exit. She swallows, the small human sound of someone who knows she’s poked a sleeping thing. “No, Sheriff. I just— I thought—”
“Listen to me,” Jacob says, each word a tightened wire against my ribs.
“And listen very fucking carefully—Summer does not leave my side until that son of a bitch is in cuffs, or under the ground. Got it?” His hand presses against my hip, a possession and a promise in the same motion.
“But mark my words: if I find him first….” He lets the sentence hang, slow and black.
Navarro goes still. Maddox’s jaw works but he doesn’t say a word.
The hospital lights buzz above us and for a second everything feels thin—like paper stretched over a bone. My breath comes shallow and fast. I don’t know whether to be comforted or terrified that the man who says he loves me is also the one threatening to burn a county to save me.
The silence presses in, deep enough that my breath comes shallow, like my lungs are refusing to expand. My throat burns. My full body shaking— a tremor I can’t stop.
“Jacob….” My voice is a whisper, barely there. “Jacob… I’m scared.”
His head snaps toward me like he’d forgotten I was standing here. His eyes burn into mine, dark and fierce. And for the first time, I see something behind the fury.
Fear.
Real, bone-deep fear.