Izzy’s eyes hardened. “Because to them, that’s normal. Control, reputation, the perfect façade—that’s all that family knows. But we’re not playing along anymore.”
Caitlin’s hands trembled. “You don’t get it. He really will kill me. That’s what no one understands—this man means it. He will not accept a divorce.”
Izzy’s grip tightened. “Then we get a restraining order, Cate. Make it official—keep him away.”
Caitlin gave a small, broken laugh. “A restraining order? Against Jason West?” Her voice cracked. “He’d frame it, hang it in his office. He told me once—Paper can’t stop me. I’ll find you wherever you run.”
Caitlin saw the flicker of disbelief fade from Izzy’s face, replaced by something steely and certain.
“Then we make sure he never gets the chance.”
The café sounds dimmed around Caitlin until she could hear only their breathing. Izzy exhaled slowly and reached for the binder beside her. The rustle of pages sounded loud in Caitlin’s ears.
“I’ve been thinking about how we do this,” she said, tapping her pen once. “And I think I’ve come up with something that just might work.”
“A plan?”
Izzy nodded. “It’s not perfect, and it’s risky. But it’s the first real shot you’ve got at getting free—and staying that way.”
Caitlin swallowed hard. “Then we do it. Whatever it takes.”
Izzy closed the binder and rested her hand over it. “One step at a time,” she said. “And when it’s time to move, we move fast.”
“Whatever happens,” Izzy said quietly, “we’re getting you out.”
Caitlin didn’t answer. She only stared at the cooling coffee between them. She wanted to believe Izzy—wanted to—but fear drowned every promise.
Outside, sunlight flashed off glass; Jason’s voice echoed in her mind like a warning she couldn’t silence.
Chapter 8
Instincts
Sheriff Burke Scott
Sheriff Burke Scott stepped into his office just down from the visitor center, still thinking about the woman he’d met that morning—her cautious smile, the way she carried tension in her shoulders.
He dropped into his chair, dusty boots on the desk, and tried to shake her image loose.
The door swung open. In walked Tommy “Scout” Wilson—broad-shouldered, tall, and dark-haired, with a permanent stubble that gave him an edge. Scout’s keen green eyes missed nothing. He carried an unspoken authority that shifted crowds. Having grown up in the mountains, he knew every trail by heart. Locals said he could find lost folks quicker than any dog. His home sat high on Black Bear Ridge—perfect for a loner. Their bond was forged in high school, tempered through college, and sealed at the academy. Now, they were inseparable.
“What’s up?”
“Nothing much. You?”
“Just served Bart Johnson that warrant.”
“Oh yeah?” Burke sat forward. “Any trouble?”
“Nope.” Scout’s mouth twitched. “He was about to bolt—bag waiting at the door—caught him in time.”
That was Scout—a master at reading signs hidden to others.
“Seen Sara?” Burke asked, picturing the sharp, fiery young deputy.
“Writing tickets on the 107, best I know.”
Burke grinned. “She still hiding that crush on you?”
