Sara turned her head slightly, eyes lifting down the hall.
No one stood there.
But the air felt… aware.
She looked back at the cubicle.
And in her mind, she saw Lauren Pierce sitting here, writing in that notebook between phone calls.
Trying to keep it together.
Trying to believe she could still have love.
Sara took a slow breath.
“Alright,” she murmured under her breath.
Then she stepped fully into Lauren’s space.
And the cold case, finally, started to thaw.
8
Jackson County Sheriff’s Department — Conference Room Sunday Early Morning
The conference room felt wrong without Sara Parker in it.
No wisecrack. No coffee run. No steady voice cutting through tension with something practical.
Nobody touched the donuts on the counter. Nobody joked about it.
Jack Baker crouched beside Ruger, murmuring low as the K-9 shifted restlessly at his feet. The dog’s ears stayed pinned, gaze darting to the door like he expected Sara to walk in and fix whatever was wrong in the air.
Scout Wilson reached into his pocket and found the dog treat he’d slipped there out of habit. Sara always carried them. She’d always been the one to make sure Ruger got a reward, even when everyone else forgot.
Scout set it beside her empty chair.
Deputy Jenkins sat with both hands wrapped around his mug,staring at a faded sticker on the side—a bent blue jay. He rubbed at the edge like he could peel the whole morning off and start over.
Luke Hale looked like he hadn’t slept.
Sheriff Burke Scott stood at the back of the room, arms folded, eyes locked on the map board like sheer focus could pull Sara back into it.
The door opened.
Special Agent Tessa Quinn stepped inside and took one look at the faces around the table.
“Thirty-six hours since anyone heard from Deputy Parker,” she said. “Here’s what we know.”
She pointed to the map. Two red circles. One black line between them.
“Location One: Highway Seventy-Three. Service road feeding the fire access trail toward Miller’s Ridge. Her cruiser was idling. Lights off. Radio dead. Her phone was found fifteen feet from the driver’s door—screen down, intact.”
She moved the marker tip a few inches.
“Ten yards past that, the grass was tamped toward the creek. No drag marks. No clear prints—ground was too wet and churned to hold a clean boot. No tire tracks.”
Jack spoke quietly. “Rosie and Ruger tracked her scent to the water. Gone after that.”
