“She left the damn car. No phone, no cards, nothing.”
Mike let out a low whistle, clearly unsettled. “Are you sure she wasn’t abducted?”
“I’m positive. She left a note: ‘Don’t look for me. I’ll file once I’m settled.’”
Mike shook his head slowly. “Unbelievable, man.” He hesitated, then lowered his voice. “Look, I know a guy. Private investigator. Discreet. Gets results.”
Jason’s lips curved into something cold. “Give me his number.”
Mike scribbled it down and slid the card across Jason’s desk. “Don’t do anything stupid, Jase. You can’t muscle this one like you do a build in Boulder.”
Jason looked out over the manicured landscaping beyond the glass. “Reckless is letting them think they can walk away. Caitlin. Izzy. Anyone who crosses me.” He turned back, voice low and hard. “She thinks she can vanish? I’ll show her how that ends.”
The room chilled.
Mike stiffened in the doorway, muttered something about a meeting, and left.
Jason leaned back, eyes on the glass walls and the oblivious hum beyond. A smile touched his lips—thin, cold, a promise of retribution.
Chapter 14
Shadows
Caitlin
The shrill ring of her burner phone sliced through the quiet of her camper, making Caitlin jump. For a wild second, fear clawed at her—Jason? But when she spotted Izzy’s number, relief swept in, warm as sunlight.
She snatched up the phone. “Iz! Oh my gosh, it’s so good to hear your voice. I’ve missed you like crazy.”
Izzy’s laughter was familiar music. “You have no idea, Cait. My heart hurts without my partner in crime. How are you holding up?”
“Sometimes I think we’re both crazy—did we seriously pull this off? The fake IDs, the driving cross-country, the shooting lessons? It feels like some wild movie,” Caitlin said, her voice barely above a whisper.
Izzy sobered, the space between them brimming with concern. “A little over nine months since the night you caught Jason cheating, and every day since feels upside-down. I wish I’d hidden in your trunk and run away to Sylva too.”
Caitlin laughed softly. “You would’ve kept things interesting, that’s for sure.”
“I just want you safe,” Izzy said. “You sound braver than you used to—but I wish it didn’t take you being so far away.”
“Some days it doesn’t feel real,” Caitlin admitted. “Then I hear you and remember why we did this. I never could’ve left him without you.”
“Honey, you saved yourself. But if I could, I’d drag you back home and lock you in my apartment—just so I never had to miss you again.”
A bittersweet smile tugged at Caitlin’s lips. “But Sylva is… something else. The people here feel like they’ve stepped out of one of Grandma Rose’s stories. Ned runs the campground—gruff as a bear, but kind. Mary Lou works at the visitor center and can gossip for hours about everyone and their grandmothers. And Willow—she owns City Limits Café—bakes blueberry muffins that could cure heartbreak.”
Izzy chuckled. “If those muffins beat my brownies, I’m offended.”
Caitlin laughed, then her voice turned bright with wonder. “Iz, you’re never gonna believe this. I went to see Grandma Rose’s old house, and the woman who lives there now—Emma Thompson—knew her when they were girls. They went to school together, best friends. We sat on her porch drinking lemonade, talking about Rose like she might walk through the door any minute. For a little while, it felt like having her back.”
Izzy’s voice softened. “That’s incredible. I can hear it—you sound lighter. Maybe that little Southern town really is the magic recipe.”
Caitlin leaned back against the window, watching the line of trees beyond the campground. Fireflies winked in the dark, the air thick with honeysuckle and pine. Somewhere down the hill, someone strummed a guitar, a soft thread of sound drifting through the night.
“It’s strange,” she said quietly. “Even the dark here feels different—quiet, but alive. Like it’s keeping watch.”
“For the first time, I feel almost safe. Jason doesn’t know where to find me. Not even a hint.”
Izzy’s tone sharpened. “He’s losing it, you know. He cornered me at Tavernetta, demanded to know where you went. I played dumb. He left furious, which means he doesn’t have a clue.”
