“I can’t keep doing this,” she whispered. “Living like a ghost. Hiding, flinching every time headlights slow outside.”
Izzy reached for her hand, squeezing tight. “Then stop hiding.”
Darcy blinked at her. “Iz?—”
Izzy cut her off, pulling a thick manila envelope from her bag. “I brought them.”
“What is that?”
“Divorce papers,” Izzy said firmly. “All ready. We need to file.”
Darcy stared at the envelope. “If Jason finds out?—”
“He will,” Izzy said softly. “But this way it’s on your terms, not his.”
Darcy shook her head, emotions tumbling—worry, grief, and the faintest flicker of hope. “Filing means war.”
“Filing means freedom,” Izzy countered, her voice low but resolute. “We can scan everything here and send it to my lawyer in Denver. I’ll take the originals back with me. Cate, you don’t have to live in his shadow. This isn’t just ink on paper, Cate. This is the first step to taking your life back.”
The envelope sat on the table between them, heavier than stone. The light from the fire caught its edges, making it look like a weapon of paper and ink. Darcy’s hand hovered above it once, pulling back as trepidation surged. Then, trembling, she reached again.
Finally, her fingertips brushed the envelope. The paper crinkled softly, but it felt like thunder in her ears.
“Okay,” she whispered. “We file.”
Izzy let out the breath she’d been holding and leaned over, wrapping her arms around her best friend. “Then it’s settled. Tomorrow we scan them. And I’ll make sure they get to Denver.”
Darcy leaned into the embrace, eyes burning with tears she wouldn’t let fall.
Jason West still believed he had control.
But when the papers reached him, that illusion would shatter.
Outside, a gust of wind rattled the glass, and the two women flinched. Neither spoke of the storm pressing closer, but both felt it—silent and sharp, waiting beyond the light of the hearth.
Chapter 28
Threads
Deputy Sara Parker & Scout
Late-afternoon sun bled over the ridges as Sara Parker eased the cruiser up the dirt drive. Dust plumed behind the tires, curling into the trees and settling like smoke. The place was run-down—one of those mountain homesteads long past its best days. A sagging porch. Paint peeling in strips. Windows gray with neglect. Two hounds lunged against their chains, throaty barks shattering the stillness.
Cutting the engine, she gripped the wheel a beat longer than necessary. She’d served plenty of warrants, but the isolation and the man’s reputation kept her on alert.
“Doesn’t look friendly,” she muttered, flicking her eyes toward the porch.
Scout climbed out, unfolding his tall frame with an ease that made everything look less dangerous. He tipped his hat against the sun, a toothpick shifting in the corner of his mouth. “Never is when we’re serving paper.”
Sara stepped out. The warrant crinkled in her vest pocket—probation violation: petty theft, skipped meetings, a few bar fights. Nothing major, but enough to land the man back in jail.She squared her shoulders, tugged at her duty belt, and joined Scout at the gate.
“You ready?” he asked, voice low.
“Born ready,” she said, though her fingers twitched near her holster.If I flinch again, I’ll never hear the end of it.
They crossed the yard side by side. The chain snapped taut; metal rang through the yard. Sara flinched before she could stop herself. Heat crept up her neck—there it was, that crack in her armor. Scout edged closer, his shoulder shielding her for a breath. She bristled, hoping he couldn’t sense the mix of gratitude and frustration.
The front door creaked open. A man filled the frame, broad shoulders stretching a stained T-shirt, jaw shadowed with stubble, eyes bloodshot and mean. The sour smell of beer drifted across the porch. “What the hell do you want?”
