A few seconds later he slides into the car and drives away.
I photograph the plate before the headlights disappear down the road.
Then the door opens again.
Weaver steps outside.
Phone pressed to his ear.
Laughing.
Actually laughing.
Not the nervous kind.
The relaxed kind.
The kind of laugh that comes from a man who thinks he’s already won.
I watch him pace the porch for a moment.
He doesn’t look over his shoulder.
Doesn’t scan the road.
Doesn’t check the dark tree line surrounding his property.
He isn’t worried.
Not about the town.
Not about Saint.
Not about me.
That’s when the realization settles in.
“They don’t think we can touch them,” I whisper.
And when powerful people believe they’re untouchable…
That’s when they start making mistakes.
49
Laney
The baby finally sleeps.
Not the fragile, might-wake-up-any-second kind.
The real kind.
Deep.
Peaceful.
The kind that makes the entire cabin feel quieter.
