Flight: Kansas City to Charleston, arrived 9:23 AM today
Parole status: NOT ELIGIBLE - next hearing scheduled in 2 years
Current location: UNKNOWN
My gut sank like a stone in deep water.
Yesterday. He'd been released less than twenty-four hours ago, and by this morning he was on a plane to Charleston. Not back to Chicago where the murder happened. Not to wherever he'd lived before. Straight here. To Kiawah. To Hazel.
And he shouldn't have been released at all. Wasn't eligible for another two years.
The phone buzzed again.
Still searching for release authorization. No parole hearing on record. He wasn't due for review. Records show early release but no documentation of WHY. Something's off here. Give me more time.
I read the message three times, the dread in my chest spreading like ice water through my veins.
Someone had let him out early. Without proper procedure. Without the hearing he was supposed to have. And less than twelve hours later, he'd shown up at the one place Hazel had finally started to feel safe.
This wasn't about amends or reconciliation or whatever bullshit he'd tried to sell us over dinner.
This was deliberate.
I thought about the new backpack. The cheap clothes. The crumpled hundred-dollar bill. A man released from prison with just enough resources to get exactly where he needed to go.
I thought about the way he'd asked for the owner. The way he'd looked at Hazel like he'd been expecting to find her here.
Fuck.
I should have killed him when I had the chance. Should have dragged him into the marsh and held him under until the bubbles stopped. Should have done what I was trained to do—eliminate the threat before it could strike.
But I'd hesitated. I'd thought about Hazel's face, about Maude's shock, about the way violence stains a place and the people in it. I'd chosen restraint over action.
And now Sam Jarrow was out there, somewhere in the dark, and I had no idea what he was planning or who had let him out or how much danger Hazel was really in.
Everything had just changed.
The calm I'd felt this morning—measuring trim, kissing Hazel in the kitchen, talking about paint colors like we had all the time in the world—seemed like something from another life. A dream I'd been allowed to have for exactly long enough to make losing it hurt.
I looked back at the house. Light spilled warm from the windows. Inside, Hazel was still on the floor, still somewhere I couldn't reach her. Maude was still trying to coax her back with damp towels and soft words.
And I was out here on the porch, holding a phone full of information that made everything worse.
Another message came through.
Found something. Release wasn't standard procedure. Special paperwork pushed through administrative channels. Still trying to identify who authorized it. This doesn't feel right, Gideon. Be careful.
I stared at the words until they blurred.
Special paperwork.
Someone had wanted Sam Jarrow released. Had expedited it. Had put him on a plane to Charleston the same morning he walked out of prison.
Someone who knew about Hazel. About the inn. About where to find her.
The pieces started fitting together in my mind, but the picture they made had gaps I couldn't fill yet. Why now? Why him? Why here?
I didn't have answers. But I knew one thing with absolute certainty: this was far from over.
