Not hostile.
Protective.
A woman stepped forward, leather folio tucked under one arm.
“Dr. Vivian Calder. Forensic psychology.”
Burke nodded once. “Doctor.”
Tucker glanced toward the building.
“Let’s get inside. I want the full timeline and every piece of physical evidence collected so far.”
It wasn’t rude.
It wasn’t aggressive.
It wasn’t a request.
A few deputies shifted—the instinctive reaction to a state-level command tone landing in their house.
Burke didn’t react.
He knew why they were here.
More manpower. More reach.
A better chance of bringing Tessa home.
He held Tucker’s gaze for a beat—steady, unthreatened.
“Follow me.”
Deputies stepped aside. Not hurried.
But the room shifted.
They all felt it.
And they all looked to Burke.
He didn’t waver.
That was enough.
Ops Room — Briefing
Whiteboards active. Maps posted. Evidence logged.
The letter sat sealed in an evidence bag at the center of the table.
Burke was mid-brief when Tucker lifted a hand.
Silence fell.
Tucker picked up the bag and read the final lines aloud.
“P.S. Deputy Wilson?—
