Page 85 of Knox

“What’s wrong?” she asked immediately.

“They searched Walter’s property. He’s not there. They haven’t found him yet.”

Her face went pale. “So he’s out there somewhere. Watching.”

“Hopefully he’s halfway to the state line by now.” I cringed, and she gave me a look, calling me out on my bullshit.

“You don’t want that.”

She was right.

“I want him caught, but I also want him as far away from you as possible.”

Sloane folded her arms and chewed her bottom lip. Fear flickered across her features a moment before she buried it. This woman had been through hell, and she was still standing here. Still fighting.

“FBI wants to interview you. Get your statement. They’ll swing by the house later. Are you up for that?”

She frowned. “Do I have a choice?”

“You always have a choice.”

She sighed. “Then yes. I’m up for it. The sooner they have everything they need, the sooner they can find Walter.” She looked toward the ranger station, where crime scene techs were still documenting every inch. “He left so much evidence here. He has to have made mistakes. Something that’ll lead them to him.”

“They’ll find him,” I said, pulling her into my arms. “Every law enforcement official in the state is looking. He can’t hide forever.”

But even as I said it, doubt crept in. Because Walter Lehman had been hunting for years. And he’d never been caught.

Silence settled between Sloane and me hours later, thick with everything we weren’t saying. Outside, evening shadows stretched long across the sound. Inside, tension hummed through my body. Partly from constant vigilance, partly from Sloane’s proximity, mostly from the growing certainty that I’d passed the point of pretending I wasn’t falling hard and fast for this woman. And rage that somewhere beyond these walls, a very dangerous man intended her harm.

Archer and Colton had set up a perimeter patrol rotation. Maggie had gone home after Nash assured her a protective detail wasn’t necessary. Walter’s obsession centered on his chosen targets, and Maggie hadn’t appeared in any of the surveillance photos. Nash had told her not to leave unless necessary, to stay with their parents as much as possible, and to check in regularly.

Colton had volunteered to swing by her place at the end of his shifts outside Sloane’s house, which had earned him a stern look from Nash and taunting laughter from Archer.

I’d left them to sort that out and taken Sloane home to process another day of awful discoveries.

We’d just settled into the living room with coffee when headlights swept across the windows. Sloane was on her feet with me in an instant.

“Stay here.”

“Knox—”

“Stay here,” I repeated, moving to the window. A black SUV pulled into the driveway. Federal plates. Two people emerged, both in dark suits, moving with the confident authority of law enforcement.

A woman in her forties with sharp eyes and graying hair pulled back in a severe bun. A younger man, maybe early thirties, with the kind of alert posture that screamed military background.

The doorbell rang.

The woman held up a badge as I approached the door, visible through the glass. “Special Agent Victoria Darvis, FBI. This is Special Agent Shawn Reid. We need to speak with Sloane Mercer regarding an ongoing federal investigation.”

I opened the door and stepped aside, revealing Sloane in the living room doorway.

“And you are?” Agent Darvis asked.

“Private security.”

Something flickered in her expression. “Major Knox Hawthorne. US Marine Corps. Twelve years with an impressive service history. Sheriff Sullivan speaks highly of you.” She tucked her badge away. “I’d say Ms. Mercer’s in good hands.” Her gaze moved from me to Sloane.

“Please, come in.” Sloane motioned toward the living room.