Two deputies surged in, wrenching Jason’s arms behind him and locking the cuffs tight.
“Move,” one ordered, hauling him upright.
Scout clamped a hand on Jason’s shoulder, shoving him toward the door.
Jason’s lip curled, blood dripping from his mouth. “That mutt should be put down.”
Scout’s voice was flat as a blade. “Quit whining. We could’ve let her take out your throat—and no jury here would’ve blamed her.”
He shoved him harder toward the waiting officers. “Count yourself lucky.”
Jason stumbled, fury burning in his eyes, but with his hands locked and deputies crowding him, it vanished into the blue-red strobe of the squad car. The door slammed.
Aftermath
Only then did Rosie whirl and bound to Caitlin. She pressed close, licking her hands before settling at her side—tense, watchful, ready.
Caitlin sagged against the wall, the room tilting and then stilling. Then boots rattled across the porch and paramedics poured in.
“BP ninety over sixty, skin clammy—she’s dehydrated,” one called. An IV slid into place, tape snug against her arm. A trauma blanket wrapped around her shoulders; an oxygen mask fogged with each shallow breath.
“Hang a liter wide open,” another said. “Keep her warm.”
Her knees buckled as they slid her onto the stretcher. She caught Burke’s hand, voice a thin thread.
“Did… did you get him?”
“He’s in cuffs,” Burke said.
“Izzy?”
“She’s alive. At the hospital. She’s going to be okay.”
Tears blurred the room. Her lips shapedI’m so sorry.
Burke touched a finger to her mouth. “You have nothing to be sorry for.” He brushed a strand of hair from her cheek. “I’m here. I’m not going anywhere.”
He said her name, steady and certain. “Caitlin.”
Something inside him finally unclenched. She was alive.
She exhaled, ragged and relieved, clung to his voice and his hand.
The stretcher wheels bumped over the threshold; air from outside hit her face, cold and clean. Rosie’s fur was warm against her palm—the only steady thing left in the world.
Chapter 49
Bail
Jackson County Courthouse
The Jackson County courthouse was packed—every bench full, townsfolk pressed shoulder to shoulder. Unease hung heavy in the air, thick enough to taste. Murmurs rippled when Jason West strode in.
His gaze swept the room, searching the benches. He’d expected her here—his wife. Caitlin. But her seat was empty. A flicker of irritation crossed his face before he masked it with a smirk.Still hiding behind her protectors.
Burke’s pulse kicked once when Jason’s eyes swept the crowd. That empty seat said everything—Caitlin was still fragile. Still his reason for being here.
Jason looked nothing like a man on trial. His suit was razor-pressed, his cufflinks winked under the lights, his shoes gleamed mirror-bright. His attorney had reassured him on the drive over:They’ve got nothing. You rented a cabin. You hired a PI to find your wife. You opened a bottle of wine and laid out cheese. That’s reconciliation, not kidnapping. Cole’s the one who pushed that girl, not you. They can’t touch you.
