No.
My chest hollows, empties. I hear the words, but they don’t fit inside my head. Jackson Moore. Gone.
Navarro’s mouth presses tight. “We believe the man upstairs may be connected. Whether as an accomplice… or a witness. Which means we need to speak to him the moment he regains consciousness. All of the paperwork is on your desk, sir.”
I can’t breathe.
Moore, the man, the men. My parents’ deaths. It’s all too coincidental.The cup slips from my hand, coffee splattering across the tile.
Jacob’s arm snaps around my waist before I fall, his grip iron. His voice, when it comes, is low, lethal, vibrating against my spine.
“Why the fuck wasn’t I made aware of this yesterday?” Jacob snarls. His hands remain around me, I hear his heartbeat quicken in his chest, his breathing rate increasing.
“It was handed over to the department an hour ago. You weren’t in the office?— "
“If Moore’s out,” Jacob interrupts, “He’s coming for her.”
And the way he says it—the way his voice coils around me like chains—makes me know he believes it. Every word.
The world tilts from the truth hanging in the air like smoke. Jackson Moore—escaped. He’s out there somewhere. Breathing the same night air as me.
“I want every man, woman and dog hunting that fucker down. I don’t give a fuck about budgets. Pull in every resource we have to get that son of a bitch.”
Maddox doesn’t blink. His presence is a slab of concrete, heavy and immovable. “Sheriff, we have a dead driver, two dead prison guards. Broadachre County want in, too... Moore was in their jail, their jurisdiction, we’re involved because of his motives. Because they think he’ll come back here… And Sheriff, we need to consider that Moore was involved with the murders that occurred last night.”
“They were my fucking parents,” I snap.
Maddox and Navarro both look to each other immediately.
“My apologies, Miss Miller.” Maddox says, sympathy radiating from his expression.
I nod my head, accepting his apology and wipe my nose on my sleeve. The tears have been flowing without me even realizing. I seem to have become accustomed to the sensation.
Navarro steps closer. Her voice is silk, meant to calm, but it cuts all the same. “We need your cooperation. The patient upstairs—” she glances at me before finishing, “—he might be the only thread we have to getting Moore.”
I swallow hard. My throat burns. “But he’s unconscious. He… he might not even survive.” My voice cracks at the memory of that machine forcing breath into his lungs. “How can he help? And what makes you think he’s linked to Jackson?” I ask
Navarro folds her arms, her expression a shade softer, though her words aren’t any easier. “Men tied to Moore have a history of running under stolen names. It’s a pattern. Fraudulent IDs, ghost addresses, burner phones. He fits that pattern. And when Moore’s convoy got hit, every alias even remotely associated with that circle lit up on our radar.”
Maddox’s mouth tightens into a grim line. “Doesn’t mean he was at the ambush. Doesn’t mean he pulled the trigger. But if he’s not who he says he is, and he’s moving in the same shadows as Moore, then yeah—there’s reason to believe there’s a connection.”
Jacob steps forward. Maddox’s jaw works.
“We’re doing everything we can to contain this, Sheriff.” His voice is flat, precise—police-speak meant to steady things.
Jacob closes the distance until there’s only centimetres between them. The smile that touches his mouth isn’t a smile. “No, Detective. That isn’t good enough.”
Navarro steps in, palms up like she’s holding the temperature down. Her eyes flick between Jacob and Maddox, even-toned.
“We’re on the same side, Sheriff. We’re doing our jobs. You know you can trust us— When have we ever let you down?” The words are professional, but there’s a softness there for him that I imagine she doesn’t use for anyone else.
The promise lands hollow. It’s the way they move around him—deferential, familiar—that makes my skin go cold. They’ll follow any order he gives them and never even stop to question it.
I can’t move. My pulse bangs behind my eyes and the name keeps coming—Jackson Moore—over and over, a drumbeat that won’t stop. He’s not supposed to be out. He’s supposed to be in a cell rotting.
“We can make arrangements for a safe house for you, Summer,” Navarro says, voice smooth as silk. “Somewhere out of sight. We’ll keep you safe.”
Jacob’s glare drops on them like a hammer—an animal warning.He’s not amused; he’s offended. “You think anyone can keep her safer than me, Navarro?”
