Chapter 44 Hunted
Hunted
Sheriff Burke Scott
Burke drove through the dark with the sirens off, blue lights spinning low against the trees. The wheel was slick under his palms, though he hadn’t loosened his grip once. Fear hollowed him out—Caitlin. Not Darcy.
He repeated her real name as if saying it could tilt the world back into place—but it didn’t.
Every time, the syllables cut deeper. Darcy Nolan hadn’t been real.
The woman he’d kissed, the one who’d pulled the defenses from his heart, the one who’d slept in his arms—she’d been a creation.
A shield. A mask. Caitlin West was her name. Married. To a monster.
The road wound like a ribbon through the hollows, but Burke hardly noticed.
Emma’s words tumbled through his head like stones tumbling through floodwater—strangulation marks, bruises, scars he knew all too well from ER visits and incident reports.
And she had carried that alone. For months. Right here in his county.
A groan escaped him, low and raw. How many times had he seen her eyes dart at shadows, her hand hover like she wanted to confess but couldn’t? He’d chalked it up to nerves. Trauma, yes—but not a whole different name. Not a husband who hunted her.
Slammed his fist against the wheel. God help him, he respected her for vanishing—for finding a way to live again. He didn’t blame her. She’d done what so many victims wished they dared: walk away. Disappear. Reinvent.
He could still smell her shampoo on his shirt. Ordinary things—her coffee cup, the hair tie she’d left on his counter—had become evidence of a life he might never get back again.
But it still cut him—because it meant she’d lived every second with him in fear, carrying a truth so heavy it bent her to the bone.
The radio buzzed softly. His head throbbed. One thought circled like a wolf in his chest: What if I’m too late?
By the time the station’s floodlights came into view, his eyes burned, body wound so tight it felt like it might snap.
Scout was leaning against his cruiser out front, arms crossed, watching the road like he’d been waiting.
The second Burke pulled in, Scout straightened.
One look at Burke’s face and he knew—something was wrong.
Burke killed the engine and climbed out, movements sharp, shoulders heavy.
Rosie leapt down beside him, pacing close, ears high.
Rosie’s ears flicked at every curve, reading the world as he wished he could—without fear or doubt.
Scout noted the grim determination in Burke’s face, the faint shake in his hands.
“Talk to me,” Scout said, voice low, steady.
Burke didn’t answer. He tipped his head toward the office door. Scout followed.
Inside the station, Burke shut his office door, dropped into his chair like a man aged ten years in an hour. Scout leaned against the wall, arms crossed.
Burke dragged a hand down his face. “She’s not Darcy Nolan.”
Scout frowned. “What?”
Burke’s eyes lifted, raw. “Her real name is Caitlin West. Married. Ran from him. Changed her name. Emma knew. She’s been hiding the whole time.”
The words hung between them, sharp as barbed wire. Scout blinked, then exhaled. Married. A fake name. Hunted. Beneath the shock, admiration flickered.
“Jesus…” Scout muttered. “No wonder she jumped at shadows. No wonder Rosie’s been on edge. She wasn’t nervous—she was hunted.”
Scout dragged a hand over his face, trying to process.
Burke’s eyes flashed, pain and fury tangled. “And I didn’t see it. I should’ve—”
“Stop,” Scout cut him off. “You don’t get to beat yourself up for her choosing to survive. Victims make choices we don’t always understand, but it doesn’t make them weak. How many times have we wished someone would pack up and leave before it was too late?”
Burke swallowed hard. “Plenty.”
“And she did.” Scout’s voice softened. “Bravest damn thing I’ve heard. New name, new life, whole new identity. That takes guts most don’t have.”
Burke leaned forward, elbows on his knees, head in his hands. His voice came rough. “But it changes everything. She’s been lying since day one—and it doesn’t change a damn thing about how I feel.”
Scout’s chest tightened. He’d known Burke his whole life, but never seen him this way—broken and blazing at once.
“Then don’t let it change it,” Scout said.
“She’s still her—the same woman who made you laugh when you thought you’d forgotten how.
The one Rosie glued herself to. Darcy… I mean, Caitlin—whatever name she had—she’s still the person you care for.
So what if the name was a mask? Masks come off.
You’ve got the real woman now. And she needs you. ”
Burke lifted his head, eyes rimmed red but hard as steel. And he has her—Jason West. Rich bastard with lawyers and a jet waiting. He’s got her.
“Then we stop him before he gets there.”
Silence filled the office.
Burke nodded once. “You’re right. Even if she were just another case, we’d fight like hell. That’s what we do.”
Scout clapped a hand to his shoulder. “Damn right.”
For the first time since Emma’s porch, Burke felt the weight ease.
The sun hadn’t yet burned the fog off the Blue Ridge when Burke stepped outside. A morning that should have promised peace carried only dread. Caitlin was gone. Jason West had her.
Headlights swept across the yard. A state-issued SUV rolled up.
Tessa Quinn stepped out, blazer crisp, badge glinting against her hip.
Her eyes were sharp. She scanned the misty lot like she’d already mapped each exit, every shadow.
When she shook Burke’s hand, her grip was steady—a small, practiced smile betraying nerves she refused to show.
Behind him, Tommy “Scout” Wilson shifted, leaning against his cruiser.
He studied her—her crisp edges, her Raleigh polish.
Gorgeous, sure, but what pricked at him wasn’t her looks.
Outsiders didn’t know these ridges, the back hollows, the way fog swallowed sound.
Pretty or not, she had to prove herself here.
“Glad Raleigh sent you,” Burke said, shaking her hand.
“Let’s get to work,” Tessa replied, setting a laptop on the SUV’s hood. Files filled her screen fast.
Her voice was crisp: “Jason West. Thirty-nine. Affluent developer out of Denver. Owner of West Custom Home Builders. Still legally married to Caitlin West. Multiple DV accusations, none substantiated.”
Tessa flipped screens. “Yesterday he flew into Asheville Regional. Used the company AmEx at Enterprise—black Chevy Tahoe. He hasn’t flown out. Jet’s still parked on the tarmac.”
Scout exhaled hard. “So he’s still here.”
Relief flickered across Burke’s face, sharp and fleeting. “Which means we still have a chance.”
Tessa nodded. “Exactly. We lock down every highway west, keep eyes on the airports, and push BOLOs on that Tahoe. He’s boxed in—for now.”
Before anyone could respond, the radio on Burke’s shoulder crackled: “Unit Five to base, I’ve got eyes on a silver Tacoma—eastbound, Highway 107, just passed Caney Fork. Vehicle’s weaving. High rate of speed.”
Scout straightened, keys in hand.
Burke snapped into the mic. “10-4, Unit Five. Maintain visual. All units roll. Signal 10-80 in progress.”
Engines fired across the lot. Tires threw mud. Blue lights cut through the fog.
Scout
His cruiser screamed down 107, engine roaring through mountain curves. Pines blurred, fog closing in. Ahead, the silver Tacoma fishtailed.
“Dispatch, Unit Two. I’m on the Tacoma,” Scout called, voice clipped.
“Copy, Unit Two. Sheriff Scott two minutes out.”
Burke’s SUV loomed steady in his rearview.
The Tacoma swerved into oncoming traffic, nearly clipping a minivan. Horns blared.
“Unit Five, suspect eastbound, Tuckasegee turnoff!”
Scout braked hard around the curve, tires squealing. The smell of burnt rubber flooded the cab as his cruiser fishtailed from the guardrail. The drop beyond vanished into fog.
“Son of a—” he hissed.
Burke’s voice came sharp. “Hold it together, Wilson. Don’t lose him.”
“10-4, Sheriff.”
The Tacoma gunned it, vanishing around another bend.
They weren’t chasing just a truck anymore—they were chasing ghosts through the Blue Ridge.
And somewhere ahead, through the fog and twisting roads, a monster was waiting.