Donovan’s already left for the station. He said he’d check in with Sheriff McLeod, too, make sure things from last night are in order.
The house is quiet when I dial, my finger hovering over the call button. I pace once across the kitchen, then back again, the echo of last night still lingering in the walls.
Then I hit it. It rings twice. Three times…
“Deputy Marshal Carter speaking.” Her voice is familiar—flat and efficient.
My chest tightens at the name. Even now… even after everything.
“This is—” I stop myself. Reset. “This is Marielle Scarlett Ocasta.”
“Ms. Ocasta,” a firm female voice repeats.
“I need to report a breach,” I say. My voice doesn’t shake. This isn’t about running anymore. It’s about staying.
“Location?”
I give it.
There’s a pause on the other end.
“We’re aware.”
The words land wrong. My grip tightens on the phone. “You’re aware,” I repeat.
“Yes.”
“That’s it?”
“We’ve been tracking movement tied to your original case. There’s been activity for the last few weeks. And then the call from the sheriff last night.”
My stomach drops, still stuck on the first half of her admission. “And you didn’t think to tell me?”
“We didn’t want to compromise your location.”
A sharp breath leaves me. “You mean the location that was just torn apart?” I ask, remembering the man who walked into it like he already owned me.
Silence greets me on the other end of the line. No excuses or apologies. It’s so much worse.
“I don’t understand how he found me. How any of this happened.”
“Your former witness subject made contact with known associates after a temporary release hearing.”
Cold spreads through my chest. “Temporary… what?”
“He was released,” Carter says. “There was movement… enough for us to intervene.”
Intervene.
I close my eyes. “Please tell me clearly what happened.”
There’s a long pause. “He’s back in federal custody.”
Typical. No explanation. No assurances.
“And that’s it? That’s all I get to know?”
“He’s back in federal custody,” she repeats like she’s slamming a metal door for good.
