Jason’s voice turned cold. “That sounds like a threat, Sheriff.”
Burke’s reply came slow, final. “Call it what you want. Just remember—you started this.”
He hung up before Jason could answer.
He stood beneath the cold mountain stars, breath misting in the dark. He’d seen men like Jason before—men who mistook control for love and possession for power—and he knew how they ended.
He turned, checked every lock, and sat where he could see the light under Caitlin’s door until it finally went out.
Jason West
Jason sat alone in his penthouse office, the city sprawled beneath him like a glittering trophy. The phone still hummed faintly in his hand.
He smiled—slow, satisfied.
Then he pressedStopon the recorder app glowing at the bottom of his screen, ending the clip that captured every word the sheriff had said.
He admired his reflection in the window, city lights crowning his silhouette.
He saved the file, labeled itScott_Call_Threat,and leaned back in his chair.
He would keep the recording for the day he needed it.
And that day, he knew, would come.
Chapter 55
Sentence
Caitlin West
Tension hung heavy over the courtroom. It was Wednesday before Thanksgiving, and morning light slanted through the tall windows. The gallery was full—townsfolk, deputies, reporters—all waiting for the hammer to fall on Evan.
She hadn’t slept much since the calls. The courthouse air felt too bright, too clean, as if it might scrub away the night before.
Izzy sat stiffly at the front, her arm secured in a sling, the soft fabric pressed against a shoulder still mottled with bruises. A faint bandage curved along her temple, and a yellowing mark traced her cheek—quiet reminders of the ledge and the fall. Still, her chin stayed lifted, though her good hand trembled in her lap.
Caitlin sat close, Rosie sprawled at her feet with a faint sigh, Burke behind them like a wall of granite. Scout flanked the other side, arms folded tight. She wasn’t the one speaking today—that weight belonged to Izzy—but she felt each word before it came.
The side doors opened quietly, drawing a few glances. Mary Lou from the Visitors Center slipped in, her scarf bright against the somber wood, Ned just behind her—steady as ever, one handresting lightly at her back. He nodded once toward Burke before they slid into the same bench as Caitlin and Izzy.
A moment later, Emma came in, clutching her purse like she might bolt if she stopped moving. “Sorry, excuse me,” she murmured, edging past knees and handbags until she reached Caitlin’s side. She settled with a quiet exhale and took Caitlin’s hand, thumb brushing over her knuckles. Then, without a word, she leaned forward and patted Izzy’s knee—a simple, instinctive gesture of motherly reassurance.
Willow from City Limits Café followed, her to-go cup trembling faintly in her hands, and Leigh from Cotton Leigh Bakery eased in beside them—dark hair pulled into a sleek twist, a trace of flour still on her cuff from the morning’s prep.
No one spoke, but their presence said enough. Mary Lou’s hand found Caitlin’s shoulder—warm, certain. Ned gave Izzy a single, silent nod. Leigh met Caitlin’s eyes and offered a quiet, steady smile—one woman to another. The air in the room shifted—less empty, less cold.
A moment later, the bailiff’s voice carried across the chamber. “All rise.”
Evan Cole was brought in, wrists chained, face pale but steady. He wore county-issue khakis, his hair combed flat. He didn’t look at Izzy.
“State of North Carolina versus Evan Cole,” Judge Harlan intoned, glasses perched low. “Defendant has withdrawn his not-guilty plea and entered a guilty plea to assault inflicting serious bodily injury under §14-32.4 and to accessory after the fact to felony assault. The Court has reviewed the plea arrangement. Do counsel wish to be heard?”
Rhea Lancaster rose, voice crisp and measured. “Your Honor, the State requests a sentence at the top of the presumptive range. This was a violent, deliberate act. Ms.Moreno was shoved from a ledge and left broken. She could have died. The people deserve assurance this will not be minimized.”
The defense offered its counterpoint—remorse, cooperation, no prior record. The words blurred together. No one in the gallery leaned forward until the judge nodded once and said, “Victim impact statement?”
Rhea touched Izzy’s hand. “You don’t have to,” she whispered.
