Chapter 30
Veil
Evan
Evan received a text from Paul: Stay on them. Find out all you can about her new life—and this sheriff. Enough to feed Jason and drag it out for more money.
Works for me, he thought.
He parked down the street from the cottage on the back road. It was dark, and Caitlin and Izzy were still at Catch My Draft with Burke.
He slipped to the back door. Locked. But sliding glass doors had never stopped him. A slim shim, a practiced twist, and the metallic click of the latch released under his hand.
He was inside.
With his pocket penlight, he moved quickly but thoroughly through the house. He placed the listening device on the mantel, taped beneath the back edge—small enough to go unnoticed, sensitive enough to catch everything in the open living room, dining room, and kitchen.
In the bedrooms, he found Izzy’s bags on the floor, open.
Folded clothes, neatly rolled, faint with the scent of expensive perfume—citrus and vanilla.
A cosmetic bag with lipsticks and mascara.
Tucked between sweaters was a thick manila folder.
He slid it out enough to glimpse legal documents—divorce papers.
A quick, thin grin flashed in the penlight. Jason was not going to like that.
Caitlin’s room was more careful. No photos, but a bill for the electric company sat on the dresser: Darcy Nolan, with an address and phone number. Another photo snapped.
On the nightstand sat paperbacks with creased spines, faintly perfumed—as though she’d fallen asleep with one in her hands. The sheets were crisp, still holding the faint trace of her. Details filed away.
The hush outside broke with the distant hum of an engine drawing near. A surge of adrenaline sharpened his focus. He slipped out the front door, doubled back into the trees, and crouched low.
Through the slider, he watched Caitlin and Izzy come inside—laughing, oblivious.
So close.
Caitlin
Caitlin set down her bag as she and Izzy entered, still chatting about Catch My Draft—the band, the locals, Izzy dancing half the night away, and her own relief that Burke wanted to keep seeing her. She hadn’t told him her secrets, but she knew she couldn’t walk away.
Then her breath caught. The front door stood ajar.
“Oh my gosh,” she gasped. “Izzy—look!”
Izzy’s eyes widened. “What?”
“The door—the door.”
Both went still. A jolt of anxiety surged through Caitlin as she reached into her purse, drawing her Glock, knuckles white on the grip. Together they searched the cottage—Caitlin in front, Izzy close behind. Room by room—empty.
As Caitlin reached for the front door, a figure appeared.
They screamed. Caitlin yanked the gun up.
“Jesus!” Burke muttered, hand flying to his revolver. “Put that down before you shoot me!”
Relief and mortification crashed over her. She lowered the weapon. “Burke—I... I didn’t know—”
He glanced from her pale face to the open door. “I was driving by, making sure you two got home safe. Saw the door open, came to check. Now—why do you have a gun in your hand?”
Caitlin stammered, but Izzy jumped in. “Sheriff, we left through the kitchen door earlier. We locked this one. When we got back, it was open. It scared us. So Caitlin grabbed her gun, and we searched the house. Someone was here.”
Burke dialed his phone. “Scout, get over here,” he said, voice low and firm.
Minutes later, Scout arrived, flashlight in hand. Burke gestured toward him.
“Izzy, this is Scout Wilson.”
Izzy’s eyes flicked over him, the corner of her mouth twitching. “So you’re the famous Deputy Wilson.”
Scout gave a polite nod. “Ma’am.”
Then he turned back to Burke, all business as they headed toward the yard.
Burke crouched near the porch. “Footprints,” he muttered. “Size eleven, headed toward the trees.”
Back inside, his voice was calm but firm. “Somebody was here. We’ve had a few break-ins lately—probably scared them off, likely teens. Check if anything’s missing.”
They looked around—nothing.
“Good,” Burke said, though his shoulders stayed tense. “Scout’s on duty all night, so is Parker. We’ll patrol the neighborhood. Lock your doors.”
He checked the windows, frowning at the screws fixed into the frames—a precaution most people never thought of. Why was she so scared? The screws, the gun...
Caitlin still shook, pale and unsteady. Burke drew her into his arms without hesitation. She stiffened, then melted, cheek pressed to his chest.
“You’re all right,” he murmured. “I’ve got you. Nothing’s going to happen on my watch.”
For a fleeting second, she wanted to believe him.
He tipped his hat when he left. “Lock up behind me. We’ll keep checking tonight. Whoever it was is gone—and after seeing blue lights, they won’t be back.”
The cottage fell silent again. Izzy bolted the door. Caitlin leaned against the wall, heart still pounding, the warmth of Burke’s embrace lingering.
Evan
Evan crouched in the dark, the glow of his cigarette briefly lighting his face before he ground it out. Through the listening device, every sound inside reached him—Caitlin’s trembling voice, Burke’s low murmur as he pulled her close.
It thrilled him. Fear made them weak.
He stared at the cottage—the blue paint, the neat shutters, the pretty porch. They thought it was safe. He knew better. It was a cage, and he had the keys.
Izzy’s laughter drifted faintly through the mic, Caitlin’s softer voice frayed with guilt. Evan’s grin returned, teeth flashing in the shadows.
They didn’t suspect a thing.
The mountain air was cold, but he hardly noticed. The women thought they’d survived a scare.
But Evan Cole knew the game had only begun.
And the more afraid they became, the easier it would be to break them.