Three complaints filed against Craig Burns in the past eight years. Two from women he dated before Gemma, one from acoworker. All three were eventually withdrawn, but the pattern is clear to anyone who knows how to read between the lines. Pressure. Intimidation. Whatever it took to make the problems disappear.
The restraining order is the worst of it. A woman filed for protection years before Craig met Gemma. The petition describes months of escalating behavior: unwanted contact, showing up at her workplace, threats made through third parties. She got the order, and six months later she moved. No forwarding address. No social media presence. She vanished because that was the only way to feel safe.
And then Craig found Gemma. A fresh target. Someone who didn't know his history, who couldn't have known what she was walking into.
The timeline makes me sick. He married Gemma after the woman disappeared. Found someone new to control before the ink was dry on the restraining order.
I flip to the final page of the report. Current status: Craig Burns is still employed at the same financial firm in Seattle. His performance reviews are excellent. His colleagues describe him as charming, professional, well-liked. The mask he wears in public is flawless.
But Tate's contact dug deeper. Recently, Craig rented a car and put enough miles on it for a round trip to Anchor Bay. The dates line up with when Gemma's flowers arrived. He was here. In Anchor Bay. Close enough to leave roses on her doorstep and disappear before anyone saw him.
He knows where she is. He's already made the trip once. And based on everything in this report, he's not the kind of man who gives up.
I fold the papers. My hands are shaking, and that's not something that happens to me. Not since the Army, not since theworst days after Sarah's diagnosis. The anger is a living thing, coiling in my chest, demanding an outlet I can't give it.
Cole is waiting for me inside. I need to tell him what I found. And then we need to figure out what the hell we're going to do about it.
The bar is empty at this hour, chairs still stacked on tables from last night's closing. Cole stands behind the bar, wiping down the counter with the kind of focused attention that means he's barely holding it together. He looks up when I come through the door, and whatever he sees in my face makes him set down the rag.
"That bad?"
"Worse." I pull out a stool and sit, spreading the report on the bar between us. "He's done this before. At least three times that we can document, probably more. There's a restraining order from a previous girlfriend. She filed before he met Gemma, and six months later she moved across the country to get away from him."
Cole reads through the pages in silence. His jaw tightens with every paragraph, and by the time he reaches the end, his grip on the bar has gone rigid.
"He was here." Cole's voice is barely controlled. "Two weeks ago. He drove here, left the flowers, and drove back."
"Yes."
"I'm going to kill him."
"No, you're not."
"Will." Cole looks up, and his eyes are wild. "He abused my sister for four years. He cut her off from everyone who loved her. He kept her from our parents' funeral. And now he's following her across state lines to terrorize her. Tell me one good reason I shouldn't drive to Seattle right now and put him in the ground."
"Because Gemma needs you here. Because if you go after him, you'll end up in prison, and then she'll have lost her brothertoo. Because he's not worth destroying your life over." I hold his gaze, keeping my voice steady even though my own rage is screaming for the same release. "And because if anyone's going to handle Craig Burns, it's going to be done smart. Not in a way that gives him power over this family for the rest of our lives."
Cole's hands curl into fists on the bar. For a long moment, I think he's going to ignore everything I just said and walk out the door anyway. Then his shoulders drop, and he slumps forward, pressing his palms against his eyes.
"I should have known." His voice cracks. "Four years, Will. She was married to that monster for four years, and I didn't see it. I made excuses for why she couldn't come home, why she missed the funeral, why she always sounded tired on the phone. I should have pushed harder. Should have gotten on a plane and dragged her out of there."
"You couldn't have known. He's good at this. It's what he does."
"That doesn't make it better."
"No. It doesn't."
We sit in silence for a while. The clock behind the bar ticks through the quiet, measuring out seconds that feel heavier than they should.
"What are our options?" Cole finally asks.
"Legal route: she files for divorce and a restraining order based on the text messages and his documented history. It won't stop him if he's determined, but it creates a paper trail. If he violates it, he goes to jail."
"If he violates it and gets caught."
"Yes." I don't sugarcoat it. "Restraining orders are only as good as the enforcement behind them. But it's a start."
"What else?"
