“Same.”
Scout never changed—always eating, always watching, like he carried half the county’s secrets in his back pocket.
“You looking for someone,” Scout said, smirking, “or just hoping that pretty blonde from the other day shows up again?”
Burke shot him a look. “You’re full of it.”
Scout shrugged, popped another fry, and grinned. “Didn’t say it was a bad thing.”
The door swung open, and Scout’s grin widened. “Well, damn. Speak of the devil—look who just walked in.”
Darcy stepped inside, sunlight spilling in with her. She looked more at ease than before—her shoulders relaxed, her smile coming a little easier. Heat crept under Burke’s collar before he could stop it—a response he hadn’t felt in a long time, and one he wasn’t sure he trusted.
Scout muttered under his breath, “Cute thing,” before taking another bite.
Burke ignored the comment and called out, “Hi, Darcy. How are things going out at Moonshine?”
Her smile found him first, soft and genuine. “Oh, it’s beautiful. Peaceful.”
Scout cleared his throat theatrically. Burke caught himself and said, “Oh—Darcy, this is my buddy, Deputy Scout Wilson.”
Scout stood and wiped his hands on a napkin before extending one. “Pleasure to meet you, Darcy Nolan. Welcome to Sylva.”
She shook his hand. “Nice to meet you too, Deputy.”
Scout’s grip lingered just a beat too long—long enough for Burke’s mouth to flatten. Scout caught it, smirked, and released her hand with a look Burke knew all too well: pure mischief.
“Scout was just leaving,” Burke said, deadpan. “You don’t mind if Darcy takes that seat, do you?”
Scout shot him a look, shoved the last handful of fries into his mouth, and stood. “Wouldn’t dream of it, Sheriff.”
As Scout ambled toward the door, Willow emerged from the kitchen. “Oh, hi, Darcy!”
At Willow’s greeting, Darcy’s smile widened, her posture easing. She looked more at home than she had before as she took Scout’s empty stool.
Burke watched her settle, saw that flicker of calm touch her face, and wondered what she was thinking.
He knew what he was thinking.She’s beautiful.And just who the hell is Francisco Rossi?
Jason West
Later That Same Night—Denver.
It was close to midnight when Jason stepped into the house—too dark, too quiet. Only the faint hum of the refrigerator broke the silence.
He tossed his keys on the counter and rechecked the tracker app. The blinking dot hadn’t moved all day, her BMW parked at RiNo Arts Park.
“She knew I’d be home tonight,” he muttered. “Where the hell is she?”
He called her. Straight to voicemail.You’ve reached Caitlin West. I can’t take your call right now?—
He ended it before her voice finished.
Next, he called Izzy. Four rings. Voicemail.
His mouth went hard. “Figures.”
He’d just spent the weekend in Miami—golf, bourbon, Claudia—and assumed Caitlin would be waiting, the way she always was. But she wasn’t. The empty house felt like an insult.
