I’ve been in law enforcement long enough to know the difference between a tourist who parks in the same general area because they’re staying nearby and someone running surveillance. The pattern is too deliberate. Shifting positions every time. Never the same spot twice, but never far enough away to lose the angle.
I don’t stop or let them know I’ve noticed.
Back at the office, I pour the last of the cold coffee into Dale’s mug. I sat on years of gut instinct because I had no evidence. But Sarah Jenkins had been in that mine shaft the entire time.
I close my eyes and there it is again: the air changing temperature against my skin and the weight of the beam settling on that shoe. I was too late, and I would always be too late because the man I trusted had made sure of it.
I’m not doing that again.
I pull on my jacket and lock up the office. I tell myself I’m doing a standard evening loop, then turn onto Sophie’s block anyway
The rental car is gone.
I stop in front of her building. Second-floor lights are on. Third floor—her floor—is still dark. She’s not home yet, or she’s home and in a room facing the back.
I kill the engine and sit in the quiet cruiser, watching her windows like I have any right to.
The Valentine’s auction surfaces. It always does when I sit here alone.
Roz’s had been packed that night. Heart-shaped decorations, twinkling lights, pie-scented air. Nora ran the show like a pro.
I stood on the low riser in my uniform, holding that damn basket, feeling every eye in the room on me, especially hers. Sophie stood near the back with her arms crossed and chin up. For one long second, I thought she might bid.
I caught myself leaning forward. Sophie Wilde would finally claim me in front of the whole town.But… she didn’t.
The schoolteacher won for a hundred and eighty dollars. The hike was fine. Linda was nice. But the whole time I kept thinking about the woman who hadn’t bid. The one who turned away and mixed craft cocktails like she was trying to disappear inside her own skin.
I’ve been patient. Telling myself Sophie will get there in her own time.
The third-floor light finally comes on.
I don’t start the engine.
I’m not going anywhere tonight.
three
. . .
Sophie
On Wednesday morning,I find a photograph that’s been slid through the gap under the diner’s back door. The same gap exists in every old building in town. Nobody bothers to fix it because this is Lush Hollow and nothing bad happens here.
Except it does. I know that better than most.
The photo is printed on plain copy paper, slightly blurred, but clear enough. It’s me. Standing behind the counter after the lunch rush yesterday, laughing at Roz doing her ridiculous impression of the county health inspector. I look completely unguarded. Happy. Like a woman who doesn’t know she’s being watched.
Because I didn’t know.
That’s the part that twists my stomach. Not the photo itself. The fact that I let myself forget, even for a second.
I stand at the back door, cold air curling around my ankles, early morning silence pressing in. Then I fold the photo in half, slip it into my apron pocket, and go back to the espresso machine.
Growing up with three Wilde men taught me that when something goes wrong, you have two choices: fall apart or get moving. Falling apart is a luxury I can’t afford.
I make thirty-seven coffees, four hot chocolates, and enough plates of eggs to feed a small army. I smile at every table. I remember each order. I ask Mrs. Callahan about her hip and tell Dani her new haircut looks good. I talk Roz out of changing the soup special because that’s what people come in for on Wednesdays.
I’m good at this.
