Chapter 14
Blair – POV
The line didn't just go dead; it felt as if the entire world outside the farmhouse had been abruptly swallowed by the dark.
Blair stood in the hallway, the silent cell phone pressed against her ear, listening to the hollow hiss of a dropped connection.
She pulled the device away. The screen flickered once, showing zero reception bars, before the battery icon flashed a warning and died completely.
The April storm was no longer just a nuisance; it was actively severing them from the rest of the county.
She forced her breathing to remain slow, deliberate, and silent as she walked back into the kitchen.
Naomi was standing by the stove, holding a wooden spoon, but she had stopped stirring.
Jonah was frozen near the window, his head tilted toward the glass, his large shoulders tense beneath his flannel shirt.
They had lived in these mountains long enough to recognize when the atmosphere shifted from a heavy rain into something predatory.
“Blair?” Naomi asked softly, her voice trembling slightly. “What did Silas say?”
Before Blair could answer, a violent crack of thunder shook the entire structure.
The old glass panes in the windows rattled in their frames, and with a sharp, electric pop, the overhead light fixture went black.
The hum of the refrigerator died instantly.
The only light remaining in the kitchen was the fragile, orange glow of the embers inside the wood-burning stove, casting long, monstrous shadows across the pine table and the delicate cream wedding vows.
“The ridge line power grid must have gone down,” Jonah said, his voice dropping into a low, protective rumble.
He immediately reached into a drawer, pulling out a heavy metal flashlight and clicking it on.
The bright beam cut through the sudden gloom.
“I’m going to go out to the porch and check the breaker box. ”
“Jonah, wait,” Blair said, her voice cutting through the dark with absolute legal authority. She stepped into the beam of his light, her face pale but her eyes intensely focused. “Don't go outside.”
Jonah paused, the flashlight beam lowering slightly. “Blair, it’s just a blown fuse or a downed branch. I do this three times a summer.”
“It’s not a branch,” Blair said flatly. She closed the distance between them, her gaze shifting between the two of them.
“Silas called right before the reception dropped. Victor Hollister cut his tracking ankle monitor three minutes ago. He’s fled his estate, his security teams have liquidated, and he knows Marcus Elliot is in a cell.
Silas sent Deputy Miller to park at the base of your driveway to keep an eye on the house. ”
Naomi’s breath hitched, her hand flying to her mouth. “Miller is down there right now?”
“He’s supposed to be,” Blair whispered. She walked past Jonah toward the heavy curtains of the front window, gently parting the fabric by a mere fraction of an inch.
She pressed her face toward the cold glass, peering down the long, winding gravel driveway that cut through the thick pine woods toward the main valley road. On a normal rainy night, you could see the faint, reassuring amber flicker of a deputy’s parking lights through the trees.
There was nothing. Just an absolute, suffocating wall of black.
“Jonah,” Blair said, her voice dropping an octave, completely devoid of doubt. “Shine the light down the lane. Just for a second.”
Jonah moved up beside her, his jaw tight. He raised the heavy flashlight, pushing the beam straight through the glass and down the gravel path. The light sliced through the driving sheets of dark rain, illuminating the first fifty yards of the drive.
The gravel was empty. But as the beam tracked lower toward the bend, it caught the edge of a white municipal vehicle panel.
Deputy Miller’s cruiser hadn't moved. It was parked crookedly against the drainage ditch, its nose buried deep in the muddy embankment.
The driver-side door was swung wide open, catching the wind, vibrating violently as the relentless rain pelted the empty interior cabin.
The headlights were completely smashed, and the vehicle's electrical system was entirely dark.
Jonah killed the flashlight instantly, plunging the room back into the suffocating shadow of the woodstove.
The silence inside the house was so thick Blair could hear the frantic ticking of Naomi’s kitchen clock, competing with the heavy, uneven thud of her own heartbeat.
Miller hadn't called for backup. He hadn't fired a warning shot.
Whatever had taken the cruiser out had done it quickly, quietly, and with professional precision.
“He’s here,” Naomi whispered, her voice cracking as she reached blindly in the dark for Jonah’s hand. “Blair, if the power is out and the phones are dead... nobody knows we’re out here alone.”
“Silas knows,” Blair said, her jaw tightening as she felt the cold adrenaline flooding her veins, wiping away every ounce of the day's exhaustion.
She reached down to her waist, her fingers brushing the empty space where her state-issued notebook usually sat.
She didn't have a weapon. She was a prosecutor; her domain was words and legal precedents, not tactical defense.
But Jonah knew the terrain. He pulled his hand back from Naomi, his expression hardening into the look of a man who would tear the mountain apart before letting anyone touch his family.
“I have my grandfather's twelve-gauge in the hall closet,” Jonah whispered, his voice steadying the room. “Two rounds of buckshot in the side sleeve. Naomi, get into the pantry behind the kitchen. It has a deadbolt from the old root-cellar days. Don't make a sound until you hear my voice.”
“Jonah—”
“Go, Ney. Now,” he urged gently, pushing her toward the back of the kitchen.
Blair didn't move toward the pantry. She stepped closer to the window, her eyes adjusting to the absolute blackness outside.
Through the rhythmic thrashing of the pine branches in the storm, she heard it—the heavy, rhythmic crunch of tactical boots slowly moving across the wet gravel, heading straight toward the front porch.
Victor Hollister wasn't just running from the law. He was coming to eliminate the paper trail before he left the valley for good.