Chapter 43 Masquerade
Masquerade
Sheriff Burke Scott
Burke tore away from the cottage, siren keening through the valley. Headlights carved wide arcs through the trees. Panic clawed at him—Darcy was gone, and he didn’t know why.
Within minutes, the truck slid to a halt outside his great-aunt Emma’s house. The porch light blinked on as tires crunched the gravel. Rosie bounded out, nose to the ground, circling the rocking chairs. She knew. Darcy had been here.
Burke took the steps two at a time. Emma opened the door in her pajamas, gray hair loose, eyes wide.
“Burke Scott—you scared the daylights outta me,” she gasped, pressing a hand to her chest.
“I know.” His voice was tight as he squeezed her arm. Rosie nosed the doorway, keyed and urgent. Time was leaking away.
Emma’s gaze flicked from the blue lights to his face to Rosie. Her color drained. “What’s happened?”
“It’s Darcy. She’s gone. Left the cottage—disappeared. Rosie was locked in a bedroom.”
Emma’s mouth opened, then closed. She looked away.
Burke’s chest constricted. “Em. Please.”
She glanced down the hall as if checking for shadows, then lowered her voice. “Come in.”
Rosie padded ahead the moment they crossed the threshold, nails ticking against the old wood floors. At the kitchen table, she stopped—chest thrust forward, head high, body rigid in a classic alert. Here. Right here.
Burke’s throat tightened. Darcy sat here. Just hours ago.
The shepherd broke and circled once, then trotted into the living room. Nose to the rug, she halted at the couch, sat tall, ears pricked, tail stiff. Another alert—sure as a beacon.
“I know, girl. I know,” Burke murmured. Rosie was drawing her trail clear, every pause another mark of where Darcy had been.
Inside, Emma eased onto the worn couch, blanket wrapped around her shoulders. Burke stood, restless.
“If you know something, I’m begging you. We don’t have time. I think she’s been taken.”
Emma stared at the floor, hands trembling. “She trusted me. She asked me not to tell. I kept her secret.”
“What secret?”
Emma lifted her eyes, tears brimming. “Because she was running. From a man. Her husband.”
Time seemed to stop. “She’s… married?”
The word hit like a hammer.
Emma nodded slowly. “Was. Maybe still is. I don’t know the legalities. But the bond—” She broke off. “It was never love. It was prison. Jason West. A builder. Rich. Well-known out in Colorado. And cruel.”
Burke’s fists clenched. “He hurt her?”
“Yes.” Emma’s voice cracked. “Emotionally. Physically. She showed me the scars. She said if he ever found her again, he wouldn’t let her go.”
Memories slammed into him—Darcy’s flinches, the way she stiffened at raised voices.
“She was afraid,” he whispered.
“She was terrified,” Emma said. “But she was also starting to heal. She had met someone and was beginning to recover.”
Burke looked away, chest aching.
Emma hesitated, studying him. Then her eyes widened. He saw the realization hit. Her hand flew to her mouth. “Oh my goodness… it’s you. You’re the man she told me about—the one who made her feel safe. The new man in her life.”
Burke froze.
Emma’s voice trembled. “You love her.”
His chest cracked open, the weight of it nearly buckling him.
Emma drew a shuddering breath. “I was trying to protect her. But if she’s gone… if he found her again—this secret won’t keep her safe. Only you can.”
Burke stepped closer, voice low and firm. “What’s his name again?”
“Jason West. Cherry Creek, Colorado. He’s got money, lawyers, influence. But none of that makes him less dangerous.”
Burke nodded once. “Thank you, Em.”
“Bring her back,” she whispered. “Don’t let him win.”
Without another word, Burke ran, Rosie hot on his heels. The sirens flared as the truck peeled away, fire in his chest. Now he knew who she was. Now he knew what she’d been running from.
He was going to bring her home—no matter the cost.
He grabbed the radio, voice raw. “Dispatch—run a name: Jason West, Cherry Creek, Colorado. And Caitlin West, same address.”
The line crackled. “Copy that.”
Seconds dragged until dispatch came back. “Confirmed address. One prior 9-1-1 call for domestic violence—same residence. Officer on record, Jackson.”
“She walked away from everything because of him.”
“Patch me through to Officer Jackson in Denver, and then get North Carolina SBI on the line.”
A long click, then a gruff voice: “Jackson.”
“Officer Jackson, this is Sheriff Burke Scott, Jackson County, North Carolina. I need everything you can tell me about Jason West and Evan Cole.”
A pause. Then Jackson exhaled. “West—yeah, I know him. Real piece of work. Evan Cole doesn’t ring a bell. Why, you got a problem out there, Sheriff?”
“Yeah. Evan Cole pushed Izzy Moreno off a cliff today. She’s fighting for her life. And Darcy—Caitlin West—has been abducted.”
Jackson swore. “Figures. Money kept West out of the cells he should’ve rotted in.
First time I saw her, her eye was swollen shut.
Next time—bruises on her neck. Strangulation marks.
We picked him up once, but he was out before the ink on my report dried.
Mansions, luxury cars—it didn’t matter. She lived in hell. ”
His tone dropped. “Sheriff, understand something. Most wealthy folk act decent, but men like West think rules don’t apply. Lawyers. Favors. Influence. He’s got reach. He’s not a guy you cuff and move on. If he wants something, he bends the world. And usually wins.”
Burke shut his eyes, exhaling hard. She’s here now. New name. Thought she was safe. But he’s come for her.
Jackson swore again. “Moreno thought it was him who hit her condo, too. No evidence, no prints. And West wouldn’t dirty his own hands—he pays others to do it. Believe me, Sheriff—I wanted to haul him in myself. But you know how it goes.”
Burke let out a breath. “Yeah. All too well.”
Dispatch broke in again. “Sheriff, I’ve got SBI Asheville patched through. Go ahead.”
Another click, then a clear, professional voice: “Sheriff Scott? Special Agent Tessa Quinn, State Bureau of Investigation, Asheville Field Office. I understand you have a missing woman, possible domestic violence, and a suspect husband who may have crossed state lines?”
“Yes, ma’am. This is bigger than my office can handle. We’ve got a missing woman, a known violent offender, and an attempted homicide today. I need state resources—boots on the ground who know these mountains.”
There was a pause. “Sheriff, technically this may fall under FBI jurisdiction. I’ve notified the Asheville RA.”
“With respect, Agent Quinn, I don’t have time for turf wars. My deputy’s out there searching for the man who pushed a woman off a cliff, and now my woman is missing. The suspect is dangerous, resourceful, and he’s not afraid to hurt women. I need North Carolina people who know this land. Now.”
Silence. Then Quinn’s voice softened. “Understood. I’ll mobilize a response team and get there as soon as possible. Hold tight, Sheriff. We’re coming.”
Burke exhaled, shoulders trembling. Rosie leaned into him, nose against his sleeve. He rubbed her head, eyes burning.
What else didn’t I know?
He remembered a half-heard whisper in the night, a name murmured in Darcy’s sleep. His blood ran cold. She’d been scared the whole time—and he’d had no idea it was this bad.
Rosie shifted in the passenger seat, nails tapping softly against the console as she circled once before settling. Her ears flicked, nose working the air like she expected to catch Caitlin’s scent even through the glass.
Burke glanced at her once—steady, watchful. The only calm in him was knowing Rosie would never quit.
As Burke shifted into gear, Rosie’s eyes locked on the darkness ahead. They would not stop—they would bring her home.