Chapter 38 Pursuit
Pursuit
Scout
Scout watched the motel lights flicker across the hood of his Wrangler, Sara’s call still fresh in his ear. She had the tag—now it was his turn to dig.
The night around him was restless—neon buzzing faintly overhead, moths battering the sign, and the gentle spatter of summer rain beginning to fall.
Scout drummed his fingers on the steering wheel, nails tapping with a jittery impatience that made his knuckles ache.
A habit that came alive whenever his gut said the trail was heating up. His focus snapped sharp.
Back at his laptop, he ran the plate through the channels he knew better than the back of his hand—queried NCIC/NLETS and cross-checked the local systems. The hit came back fast—and the number on his screen told him enough.
Rental truck. Not through a national chain but a small, cash-friendly outfit near Asheville Regional.
The kind of lot that didn’t ask many questions, logged names by hand, and shredded receipts sooner than they should.
No paper trail. No cameras worth a damn.
If someone wanted to stay invisible, this was the way.
Scout muttered a curse. He’d seen these before—cheap rentals, ghost paperwork. The origin told him enough: this wasn’t a lost tourist. This was planned. Deliberate.
He rolled his shoulders, trying to shake the tautness across his traps. If the driver didn’t want to be found, fine—let them feel lucky.
He shut the laptop, though the answers rattled louder in his head than the vending machine outside. Sleep wouldn’t come easy tonight—not with dawn already pulling him back here, waiting to see who climbed behind that wheel.
He scrubbed a hand down his face, unease threading through his thoughts. Who the hell was watching these two women—and why? What could they possibly have that someone wanted this bad?
Whatever it was, he’d find out. Before it found them.
Darcy
Back on Oak Street, the kitchen was quiet.
Izzy sat with Caitlin at the table; Rosie curled at their feet, tail ticking at every sound outside.
Shadows stretched long across the counters from the single lamp.
The refrigerator’s low hum filled the space between their words—a thin soundtrack for two women used to small, anxious silences.
The wind rattled the shutters, uneasy against the still house.
Caitlin’s voice was low, tight. She steadied herself, the mug trembling faintly against the table. “When Rosie tore into the woods… Burke said she was tracking. Someone was out there. Oh, Iz—what if it’s him? What if Jason found me?”
Izzy reached across, steadying her hand. “Cait, if it were Jason, we wouldn’t be sitting here. Sheriff or no sheriff, he doesn’t wait. He’d already have come through that door.” Her voice wavered, but she reached for calm. “We’ll be careful, okay?”
Caitlin’s eyes lifted, searching hers. “Then what about Evan? You really don’t think he’s a threat?”
Izzy shook her head. “No, I truly don’t. We’ve run into him a few times. I think we’re letting that break-in get the better of us. But we’ll be careful, okay?”
Rosie shifted at their feet, ears twitching at every rattle of the shutters. The silence thickened, both women holding onto the fragile calm.
Later, when Izzy finally drifted into uneasy sleep, Caitlin lay wide awake beside her. The house seemed louder in the dark—the groan of timbers, the scrape of branches against the siding. Rosie stayed on alert at the foot of the bed, ears pricked, head lifting at every sound.
Caitlin kept her hand on the dog’s back, grounding herself in the steady rise and fall beneath her palm.
Paul
Paul’s phone buzzed on the table. Jason’s name lit the screen.
When Paul answered, Jason’s voice was sharp and impatient. “Anything yet? I’m tired of waiting.”
Paul leaned back, a thin ribbon of smoke rising from the cigarette between his fingers. His tone stayed smooth, unhurried. “As a matter of fact, I was just about to call you.”
“Yeah, right,” Jason snapped.
Paul smiled faintly. “Your Caitlin is preparing divorce papers. Izzy’s helping her push them through faster than you realize. I’ve got ears on the ground—you’ll be blindsided if you don’t act.”
Silence stretched. Then a low, dangerous sound escaped him.
“And that’s not all,” Paul added, letting his words drag. He sent the file across the line. “Take a look.”
Jason opened the photo. For a second, the room tunneled, vision closing down until all he saw was Caitlin’s hand in another man’s. Sunlight glinted off a badge clipped to the jacket.
“A cop?” His voice cut sharp.
Paul corrected him. “Not just a cop. Sheriff. Burke Scott.”
Jason sat back slowly, as if lowering himself into a leather chair at a board meeting. His fingers steepled, expression hardening. A sheriff. Small-town badge. Local power.
For the first time in years, Jason felt something like doubt—but it burned off fast, swallowed by pride. She wasn’t just with another man; she’d chosen one with a title, a protector, as if that meant something. As if some mountain sheriff could keep him from what was his.
His laugh came clipped, humorless. “Let him wear the badge. Let him think he matters.” He tapped the phone once, dismissive. “She’s mine. She carries my name. She doesn’t get to parade around with another man—least of all him.”
He didn’t ask Paul what to do. He didn’t need to. He set the terms himself.
“Evan takes care of Izzy. I’ll deal with Caitlin. And if the sheriff thinks he can stand in my way…” Jason’s smile spread, cold and certain. “He’ll learn fast what it costs to cross me.”
Paul let the silence stretch, feeding Jason’s certainty. He didn’t have to plant ideas anymore—Jason was already writing the script, rich with fury and convinced it was his design.
“Then the cabin,” Paul said, keeping it practical.
“Stock it,” Jason replied, voice crisp as a signed contract. “Neat. No loose ends. Friday morning.” He smiled as if he’d closed a market deal. “Make sure it’s ready.”
Paul ended the call with a pleased exhale.
Jason sat in the silence, the photo still burning on his screen. The calm he’d forced for Paul cracked the moment he was alone. His fist crashed against the table, splintering the control he’d feigned.
Rage poured hot and unfiltered, every restraint gone. She thinks a sheriff makes her untouchable? She thinks she can shame me?
For a fleeting second, Jason almost dialed one of the women he kept for nights like this—a distraction, an assurance—but the craving now wasn’t for comfort. It was for control, and reminding her, them, the whole damn town who was in charge.
Tomorrow, he’d make them remember.
The phone wobbled under his hand as he snatched it up again, knuckles white. “We’ll see,” he muttered, low and venomous. “We’ll damn well see.”