Chapter 54
Boundaries
Caitlin West
The courthouse loomed in the dark, brick walls washed pale beneath the glow of streetlamps. The flag snapped in the cold mountain wind—a lonely sound against the hush of Main Street. Burke’s truck idled at the curb until Caitlin drew a steadying breath.
“Ready?” he asked softly.
She nodded. The building that once felt routine now looked foreign.
Burke unlocked the side door with his master key and pushed it open. The museum wing was dark and still. Shadows stretched across the old wood floors.
“I thought I was ready,” Caitlin whispered. Her voice carried too easily through the empty lobby.
Burke’s hand found the small of her back, warm and steady. “That’s why we came tonight. No people. No noise. Just us. Next time you’re here, it’ll be for sentencing. Different reason. Different ground.”
They walked slowly through the exhibit hall, footsteps echoing off glass and plaster. A draft slid down from the stairwell, brushing her neck like a phantom hand. She pulled her sweater tighter.
“Feels different now,” she said. “Like everything’s waiting for something to happen.”
Burke stopped at the base of the rotunda, meeting her eyes. “Cate, you’re safer here than anywhere else in this county. Cameras in every corridor, bailiffs at every door—and me, driving you in and out.”
Relief and fear twisted together. “You promise?”
“I don’t make promises I can’t keep,” he said. “This one I can.”
For the first time, she almost believed him.
He brushed a kiss against her forehead, lingering long enough for her to breathe.
“Let’s go home,” he murmured.
Back at the cottage, Rosie curled at Caitlin’s feet while she rinsed a mug in the sink. Her phone buzzed on the counter.
Unknown caller.
It buzzed again—longer this time—then stopped. The voicemail icon lit.
She stared at it, anticipation curling in her chest, then pressed play on speaker.
A man’s voice, smooth and composed, as if he were reading from a script only he believed:
“Caitlin, I forgive you. It’s time to come home and stop all this nonsense. You know we belong together—it’s time to start our family. Say the word, and I’ll have the plane waiting. I won’t hold any of this against you.”
His tone was deliberate—tender in the way a trap hides under leaves. No threats. No shouting. Just arrogance wrapped in false mercy.
The message ended. Silence thickened.
Her stomach turned; the mug slipped slightly in her damp hand.
Burke didn’t touch the phone. “Save it. Don’t respond.”
Scout stepped in from the porch, hat under his arm. “We’ll log the number and the time. Not much we can do for a call—the case against him’s dismissed—but if Rhea files anything later, this helps pattern it.”
Caitlin swallowed hard. He’s gone, she told herself, but he’s everywhere.
Rosie pressed her head to Caitlin’s leg and huffed.
“Block it for tonight. If he uses another number, we’ll add it to the list.”
She nodded and set the phone face-down, as if it might bite.
The house settled into quiet. Rosie stretched across the hall like a furry gate, ears twitching at every creak. Caitlin lay awake, watching the faint streetlight blink against the ceiling.
Her phone buzzed again. Unknown number.
She ignored it. Then it rang again—and this time, she answered.
A pause. Then his voice, smooth and sure:
“You can’t just erase me, Caitlin. You’ll see soon enough. People like you don’t stay happy long.”
Her stomach dropped. “Don’t call here again.”
The line went dead. She counted the seconds, praying it was over before it buzzed again.
A moment later, her screen lit—a text from another number:
You know you miss me. You can’t possibly be happy in that godforsaken place.
She stared until the words blurred, then turned the phone over, breath shaking.
From the couch down the hall, Burke’s voice came low. “Cate? You okay?”
“I’m fine,” she managed. “Just… another number.”
He appeared in the doorway, barefoot, face shadowed but calm. “Let me see.” He stared at the phone. “He’s escalating.”
Her eyes filled. “He’ll never stop, will he?”
Burke’s tone stayed even, but steel threaded through it. “He will. One way or another.”
He took the phone from her, blocked the number, set it on the dresser, then brushed a thumb beneath her chin until she met his eyes.
“You’re not fighting this alone anymore. Not while I’m breathing.”
Rosie’s tail thumped once against the floor.
“Try to sleep,” he said. “I’ve got it.”
Burke Scott
The porch boards creaked as Burke stepped into the cold. He stood at the railing, the chill biting his knuckles, thumb hovering over the call button. Then he scrolled to the latest number and hit Call Back.
Three rings. Then a click.
Jason’s voice, smug and sharp. “You shouldn’t be calling me, Sheriff. That’s interference.”
Burke’s voice dropped, low and measured. “You call her again, and you’ll find yourself under a harassment order by morning.”
Jason’s chuckle was a blade’s edge. “You think you scare me?”
Burke didn’t raise his voice. “Not trying to. I’m warning you. You cross that line again, and you’ll find out what happens when you push too far.”
Jason’s voice turned cold. “That sounds like a threat, Sheriff.”
Burke’s reply came slow, final. “Call it what you want. Just remember—you started this.”
He hung up before Jason could answer.
He stood beneath the cold mountain stars, breath misting in the dark. He’d seen men like Jason before—men who mistook control for love and possession for power—and he knew how they ended.
He turned, checked every lock, and sat where he could see the light under Caitlin’s door until it finally went out.
Jason West
Jason sat alone in his penthouse office, the city sprawled beneath him like a glittering trophy. The phone still hummed faintly in his hand.
He smiled—slow, satisfied.
Then he pressed Stop on the recorder app glowing at the bottom of his screen, ending the clip that captured every word the sheriff had said.
He admired his reflection in the window, city lights crowning his silhouette.
He saved the file, labeled it Scott_Call_Threat, and leaned back in his chair.
He would keep the recording for the day he needed it.
And that day, he knew, would come.