“I don’t know,” I say. “But I’m heading back to the lake house.”
“I’m turning around. I’ll run hot.”
Another call. Sheriff Dawson.
He picks up with a weary exhale. “Let me guess—whatever tripped that bank alarm wasn’t Mother Nature having a mood swing.”
“Sheriff, I need you at the lake house. Lucky Vale’s place,” I say. “Now. This is about the Sheifer case. Look it up—seven years ago. Breaking and entering, escalating behavior. He made parole lastweek but skipped his mandated check-in three days ago. Last ping I had says he was headed east, hitched a lift on a rig.”
There's a sharp pause, then keys clacking in the background. “Sheifer… Jesus. The stalker?”
“Lucky’s stalker,” I confirm. “And I think he engineered the bank alarm to pull me off-site. My truck’s been tampered with. He’s here, Dawson. He’s here to finish what he started.”
“Who the hell is tracking him?” Dawson asks, voice low. “Because that’s… not parole-level monitoring.”
I hesitate. “Someone I used to work with.”
Silence. Then a muttered curse. “Ethan, if you're gearing up for something off-book, I can’t be party to it.”
“I’m not asking you to be,” I say. “I’m asking you to help keep Lucky alive. And I don’t believe Sheifer’s background is civilian. Everything points to him being trained intel. His official file was full of redactions; someone’s hiding his history. I need you to see what youcanlegally pull—anything about his skill set, his movements, known associates.”
Dawson blows out a breath. “I don’t have federal clearance for his unredacted file. Small-town sheriff, remember? But…” He pauses. “I can call in a favor. State fusion center owes me one. If they can’t send the file outright, they can at least brief me on what’s not classified.”
“Good enough.”
“I’m en route,” he says. “ETA ten. Keep your phone on and don’t do anything heroic before I get there.”
I end the call.
And then I run.
Boots pounding dirt. Breath burning. The tree line blurs. Every instinct I have screamsmove.Get to her.Get to her now.
Halfway up the trail, I pull out my phone again. Dial.
Lucky doesn’t answer.
“Come on, darling…” I mutter, dialing again.
Ring. Ring.
No answer.
A cold slice of fear cuts straight through me.
I break into a sprint.
And I don’t stop.
Chapter 32
Lucky
Ihearitfirstas a shift in the floorboards, subtle, almost polite. My heart jumps to my throat before my brain can even catch up.
Not Ethan. Not anyone I know.
I freeze, the coffee mug still in my hand, the steam rising between me and… the door.
