Page 24 of The SEAL and the Sheriff

“When did you last hear from him?” Sarah asked.

“Four days ago. Before he left for the cabin.” Nora’s hands twisted in her lap. “He said two nights. Maybe three if the fish were good.”

Her mouth tried for a smile and missed. “He always says that. Then he comes home smelling like a campfire and won’t talk about how many fish he actually caught, which means none.”

Sarah’s pen didn’t move as she let the silence do its work. “Has he ever stayed longer without telling you?”

“No.” Lines around Nora’s eyes tightened. “He calls. Even when there’s no signal at the cabin, he drives up to the ridge for one bar and calls. Every single time.”

“He hasn’t called?”

Her eyes lifted, fear showing now. “No.”

The room went quiet. A log tumbled in the stove. A man who drove to a ridge for one bar of signal. Every time. Without fail. So the woman waiting at home wouldn’t have to wonder.

Hudson stared at the photograph of Cord and Nora. At the worry she’d been trying and failing to hide since they stepped through the door. The contradiction landed like a stone. Which version had come first?

“Was anything different before he left?”

Nora worried at the hem of her cardigan. “He wasn’t sleeping much.”

Sarah waited as Nora glanced toward the dark window over the sink.

“He kept checking outside.”

“Checking for what?”

Nora made a small helpless movement of her shoulders. “I don’t know.” The answer sounded honest. “Sometimes I’d wake up and he’d be standing at the window.” Her fingers picked at a loose thread. “I’d ask what he was looking at and he’d say nothing.”

Sarah exchanged a brief look with Hudson. “What else?”

“He’d started locking the door during the day. He wasn’t scared exactly.” She swallowed. “More like he was waiting for something.”

Hudson blew out a breath. Because he knew that feeling. Waiting was different from fear. Fear looked outward. Waiting looked over your shoulder.

“Can you tell us where the cabin is?”

“Sure.” Nora pushed herself upright and disappeared briefly into the kitchen.

When she came back she had a reporter’s notebook and a pen. The page tore unevenly because her hands trembled. She sketched quickly. Forest Service road. An unmarked turnoff. A creek. A cabin miles beyond where a vehicle could go.

“He loves it out there,” she said, handing the page across to Sarah. “Says it’s the only place he can hear himself think.” A brief smile touched her mouth. “I always thought that was a strange thing to want.” The smile faded. “To go somewhere that quiet when your own head is already following you around.”

Sarah studied the map, concentrating hard enough that a crease appeared between her brows.

Hudson wanted to smooth it away with a brush of his thumb, take some of the burden from her.

“Thank you.” Sarah folded the map and stood. “If he turns up or you hear anything—anything at all—you call me.” She set a card on the table. “Day or night. Doesn’t matter what time.”

“I will.”

“I mean it, Mrs. Mercer.”

“I know you do.” Nora’s hand covered the card but she didn’t pick it up. Her palm rested over it as if she needed to know it was within reach.

Nora walked them to the door. The cold came in around the edges as she opened it, but she didn’t step back. Her hand stayed flat against the frame.

“Thank you,” Sarah said. “For the directions. For talking to us.”