“Of what’s coming.”
A pause.
She drew in a slow breath. “Scout… I need to talk to you about Kyle.”
He didn’t move. “There’s nothing to talk about.”
“Scout—”
“We were trapped. It happened. End of story.”
“There’s nothing to get in between,” she said.
His eyes finally met hers.
“It didn’t look like nothing.”
A beat.
“And I don’t do half-measures.”
Then he walked off.
Tessa let the moment burn, then forced her gaze back to the glass.
Lauren and Sara.
That was what mattered.
26
Station Lot — Morning
The blizzard was done, but winter still had the mountain in a chokehold.
Snowbanks—dirty and jagged from the plows—walled the edges of the lot.
Reporters clustered near the station steps in heavy coats and hats—local paper, radio, one stringer from Asheville. Camera lights blinked faintly through the gray.
Scout, Tessa, and Burke crossed the lot together, shoulders hunched against the wind.
That’s when they heard it.
Kyle Denton’s voice carried over the scrape of boots and the rustle of jackets.
“The Sheriff’s Office and SBI are coordinating efforts to recover critical evidence before weather conditions deteriorate,” he said, tone official—practiced. “We’re confident?—”
Renee Tate from the Jackson County Journal raised her mic.
“Agent Quinn—any comment on being snowed in two nights with Deputy Wilson?”
The younger brunette beside her snorted.
“Can’t blame her. I’d like to be snowed in with Scout Wilson for one night, much less two.”
Renee elbowed her. “Don’t print that,” she whispered—though her grin stayed.
Nobody in Sylva laughed. Not with Sara missing.
