A thread of unease pulled tight in Scout’s chest. He pulled out his own phone, thumb hovering.
You OK?
He watched the screen. No reply.
Burke came in from his office, coat half on. “What’s going on?”
“Tessa’s not here yet,” Scout said. “No answer to my text.”
Burke frowned, grabbed the phone from his desk. “She’s probably fine, but I’ll call.”
He dialed. Waited. Voicemail.
He hung up and tried again. Same thing.
Kyle shook his head, voice tight. “I’ve never known her to be late. Not once. Not in the two and a half years I’ve worked with her.”
Burke looked up, eyes hard now. “McHan, call Deputy Hensley—he was stationed near Cloud Gap last night, right?”
McHan nodded, already dialing. A moment later, he said, “Yeah. He says Agent Quinn dismissed him around nine-thirty. Told him she was fine and to head back.”
The words dropped heavy into the silence.
Scout was already moving. “I’m driving.”
Burke grabbed his radio. “Let’s roll. McHan, notify dispatch we’re heading to Cloud Gap Cabin. Possible 10-54. Get forensics on standby.”
Cloud Gap Cabin — Later That Morning
The narrow road was slick with dew, sunlight cutting between the trees as the convoy rounded the last turn. Scout hadn’t relaxed once the entire drive. Tessa’s SUV sat in the gravel drive, crusted with road salt.
“Her vehicle’s here,” McHan said quietly.
Scout killed the engine as Burke stepped out. “Alright, slow and steady. Scout, you’re on point. Kyle, back him up.”
Scout’s boots hit the porch hard. He tried the door—unlocked. Something cold settled low in his gut.
He looked at Burke. “Unlocked.”
Burke nodded once. “Announce.”
Scout raised his voice. “Sheriff’s Department! Agent Quinn!”
Silence.
He called again, louder. “Tessa! Sheriff’s Department!”
No answer.
They went in.
The cabin was still. A coffee mug sat half-full on the counter, cold. Her tote bag rested by the table, laptop open, a glass of wine nearby. The Bluetooth speaker blinked blue on standby. Sam Cooke’s playlist still sat open on the laptop, waiting.
“Place looks undisturbed,” McHan said.
Kyle’s voice was low, strained. “That’s her bag. Her files.”
Something small moved by the couch—Tallulah, her head poking out from behind a pillow, eyes wide. Scout crouched for half a second, murmuring, “Hey, sweetheart,” before the job slammed back into him.
