But it wasn’t until the storm that he’d understood how steady she was under pressure. How she moved through fear without letting it own her. The way she’d looked at him on that porch—like she’d already decided he was worth the risk.
Wanting her then—during the search for Sara—had filled him with a guilt he hadn’t known what to do with. Wanting something good while everything else was broken felt like a betrayal.
Now the cost of that hesitation sat heavy in his chest.
Sara—once sharp, laughing, unbreakable—now flinching at sounds.
Tessa gone. Taken.
And a town full of women locking their doors because someone decided fear was easier than strength.
His anger burned clean and bright.
Men who did this called it power.
It wasn’t.
It was fear dressed up as control.
Scout’s gaze went flint-cold.
God help whichever bastard had her?—
because if Burke didn’t get there first, Scout would.
37
Scout — Sheriff’s Office Parking Lot, Morning
Scout walked out of the building and didn’t even feel the cold. He hadn’t slept. He hadn’t eaten. Hadn’t done a thing except think about where Tessa.
The sun was out, too bright.
He headed for his Wrangler to grab his spare gloves.
Halfway there, he stopped.
A white envelope sat under his wiper blade.
Dead center. His personal vehicle. In the deputies’ lot.
Burke’s voice carried across the lot behind him. “Scout? You all right?”
Scout didn’t answer.
He walked toward the Wrangler slowly. The wind rattled the metal parking signs overhead.
Burke came up, saw the envelope. “What’s that?”
Scout pulled on gloves.
He lifted the envelope from beneath the wiper. The wind caught the edge and fluttered it once. He pinned it between his fingers.
The page inside unfolded cleanly.
A single sheet.
Scout read it.
