Then Rosie’s sudden bark shattered the feed, static shrieking in his ears. Jason ripped the headphones off, fury boiling. The bug went dead in his hand. With a savage curse, he hurled thereceiver against the stone fireplace, shards scattering across the polished floor.
Losing control wasn’t in his nature, but Caitlin was the exception. In the black glass of the window, his own grin stared back—cold, deliberate, hungry.
Burke Scott
In the living room, Burke poured whiskey into mismatched glasses. He handed one to Scout without a word.
The house creaked, Rosie circling once before flopping down. For a while, the only sound was the clink of glass.
“This isn’t over,” Burke said finally.
Scout swirled his drink, amber catching lamplight. “Not until Jason pays. We’ll make sure justice sticks.”
Burke nodded, shoulders set. “We will.”
They drank in quiet understanding—a vow spoken in silence, stronger than words.
Later, Scout slipped back outside, settling into his cruiser. Minutes later, headlights swept across the yard—Sara Parker’s unit slowing as she spotted him. She rolled down her window, voice steady but tired.
“You holding the line out here?”
“All night,” he said, stretching. “Not leaving till the sun comes up.”
Her gaze flicked toward the house. “Feels like the whole county’s been holding its breath. I’ve worked DV calls, Scout—but this one? A nightmare.”
Scout leaned an elbow on her doorframe. “You don’t know the half of it. We patched her house, circled deputies, and it still feels like he’s standing in the shadows.”
Sara’s grip tightened on the wheel. “I heard her scream. Half the street did. I wanted to come up, but I knew you had it.”
“I did,” he said quietly. “But I’ve never wanted to put a bullet in a man so bad.”
Her eyes held his—calm, steady. “Justice will come. Maybe not fast, but it will.
Scout gave a short nod. “Thanks for swinging by.”
She smiled faintly. “You call, I come.”
Her headlights swept away, taillights fading into the dark.
Scout lingered in the driveway, shotgun beside him, watching the restless shadows give way to the first thin light. He’d hold the line, whatever it took.
Chapter 52
Counsel
Evan Cole
Evan Cole studied his reflection in the steel tabletop, trying not to see what everyone else saw—a man waiting for a sentence. The fluorescents hummed overhead. He kept his hands flat, as if the cuffs were still there.
A slot in the door clacked. A deputy leaned in. “Counsel,” he said, holding the door for a man in a charcoal suit that probably cost more than the squad’s radios.
The Denver attorney moved like a blade—sharp creases, slicked hair, cufflinks discreet but expensive. He didn’t introduce himself. He didn’t need to. He set a leather folio on the table, took the stool across from Evan, and offered no hand.
“Mr. Cole.” His voice was easy as a martini. “Let’s speak plainly.”
Evan watched the man’s eyes—polished, cold. “You’re West’s counsel,” he said.
“I’m an attorney,” the man corrected, voice smooth. “Here to discuss your… options.”
