Nash nods once, grim as a grave. “For trespassing out by the river cabins. Gave me a fake name and ID. Said he was passing through. Claimed he got lost hiking.”
Hayes’s knuckles go white on the edge of the couch. Ford swears low and violent under his breath.
“So, he’s at the station now?” I gasp.
Nash nods, firm. “He’s in a cell. Locked up tight. Lying to law enforcement and trespassing out there gave me more than enough reason to hold him overnight.”
My lungs squeeze, too tight to pull air, until those words hit and loosen something deep inside me. He’s not out there. He’s not coming through another door.
Nash leans forward, trying to nail the truth down for me. “With what you’ve just told me, and those messages and photos, you’ve given us leverage. A hell of a lot stronger case than simple trespassing. This isn’t going away for him, Miss Marsh.”
Relief should come. But it doesn’t. My chest still feels like it’s going to split open.
Because I need more than the sheriff’s word. I need to see Dylan with my own eyes, behind those bars, not in shadows or photographs. I need proof.
“I want to see him,” I blurt. My own voice startles me, rough and sharp. “Take me to him.”
Nash blinks. “Lo?—”
“I need to,” I snap, louder now, more desperate. “I need to know it’s real. That he’s really there. That he can’t…” My throat cuts off, but I force the words out anyway. “That he can’t get to me.”
Beck steps forward, arms crossed like a wall. “She’s not going without us.”
“Not a chance,” Ford growls.
Hayes doesn’t move from his place beside me, just slides his hand over mine and adds, calm but deadly, “We all want to see this man.”
For a second, I think Nash is going to fight us. His jaw works, the pen in his hand clicking open and shut. Then he exhales like he’s swallowing glass.
“You can see him,” he says finally. His gaze pins each of them in turn. “But you do it my way. You don’t touch him, you don’t speak unless I say so, and you don’t cause trouble in my station. Am I clear?”
Ford’s lip curls. Beck’s growl vibrates the walls. Hayes’s grip tightens on my fingers.
I lift my chin, though my heart is thrashing. “Clear.”
Nash studies me for another long second, then nods once, sharp. “Fine. But if any of you so much as breathe wrong, the deal’s off. Understand?”
The men all nod back, tight and reluctant.
Nash tucks his notepad into his jacket and straightens. “Let’s go.”
My stomach flips, fear and fury twisting together, but I stand anyway. Because I have to. Because hiding has never worked. Because this time, I’m going to look Dylan Carr in the eye.
The station smells like bleach and old coffee. Too bright, too sterile, like a place where nightmares shouldn’t exist. But they do anyway.
My sneakers squeak against the linoleum as Nash leads us down the hallway. Every step feels heavier, my body screaming to turn back, but I don’t. Not this time.
Beck shadows me on one side, Hayes on the other, Ford trailing behind like a storm cloud ready to strike. We move as one, a wall of tension and fury.
Nash stops at a reinforced door and turns to us. “Last chance. You don’t want this, you say the word now.”
“I want it,” I whisper. My voice shakes, but it’s real. “I need it.”
He studies me, then unlocks the door. The metallic clang echoes through me like a warning.
We step into the holding area. Rows of barred cells line the wall, most empty. But not the one at the end.
Dylan.
