Outside the window, the afternoon sun painted Main Street in shades of gold. Tourists wandered past with their shopping bags and ice cream cones, oblivious to the drama unfolding inside the motorcycle shop. Life went on, the way it always did.
But somewhere out there, a man with dark hair and cold eyes was watching. Waiting. Planning his next move.
Brian intended to be ready for it.
Chapter Seventeen
The call came at 4:47 in the afternoon.
Tessa was sitting on the deck of the motorcycle shop, a cup of Bree's coffee cooling in her hands, watching the light change over the harbor. It had been two days since the confrontation on Main Street, two days of waiting and watching and jumping at shadows. Two days of Brian sleeping with one eye open and his phone within arm's reach.
When her phone buzzed, she almost didn't answer. She'd been getting calls from Julia, her hospital administrator, and from a number she didn't recognize that turned out to be a reporter from the Chicago Tribune who'd somehow gotten wind of the story. But the name on the screen made her heart stutter.
Sergeant Diaz.
"Hello?"
"Dr. Callahan." Diaz's voice was calm, professional, but there was something underneath it. Something that sounded almost like satisfaction. "I wanted you to hear this from me before it hits the news. We picked up Marcus Webb twenty minutes ago, two blocks from the pier."
Tessa's breath caught. "You arrested him?"
"Federal marshals made the arrest. The FBI moved faster than I expected once they saw the file. Interstate stalking, violation of a protective order, and they're looking at charges related to his previous victims in other states. He's not getting out anytime soon."
The coffee cup slipped from Tessa's fingers. She heard it shatter on the deck, felt the splash of lukewarm liquid against her ankle, but none of it seemed real. Nothing seemed real except Diaz's voice in her ear, saying the words she'd been afraid to hope for.
"He's in custody," she repeated, needing to hear herself say it.
"In custody and on his way to the federal detention center in Charleston. There'll be a hearing within seventy-two hours, but given his history and the flight risk, I don't expect him to make bail."
The door behind her opened, and Brian stepped out onto the deck. He took one look at her face, at the broken cup and the phone pressed to her ear, and his expression shifted from concern to something sharper.
"Tessa?"
She looked up at him, and the tears she'd been holding back for days, weeks, months, finally broke free. "They got him. Brian, they got him."
He crossed the deck in two strides and pulled her into his arms. The phone was still pressed between them, Diaz's voice a distant murmur asking if she was all right, if she needed anything, if she had questions. But Tessa couldn't speak. She could only hold on to Brian and cry, her whole body shaking with the release of the tension she'd been carrying.
"I'm going to let you go," Diaz said gently. "But I'll need you both to come to the station tomorrow to give formal statements. Take tonight. Breathe. This is good news, Dr. Callahan. Let yourself feel it."
The call ended, and Tessa let the phone drop onto the deck beside the broken pieces of her coffee cup. Brian's arms tightened around her, his chin resting on top of her head, his heartbeat steady against her cheek.
"It's over," she whispered. "It's really over."
"Yeah." His voice was rough. "It is."
They stood like that for a long time, wrapped around each other on the deck while the afternoon light softened into evening gold. Inside the shop, Tessa could hear voices: Hank, Colby, and Bree, but they didn't come out. They gave her this moment, this space to fall apart and put herself back together.
When she finally pulled back, Brian's shirt was wet with her tears, and her face felt swollen and raw. But something had shifted inside her. A weight she'd been carrying for so long she'd forgotten what it felt like to stand without it.
"I want to go home," she said. "To the cottage. I want to sit on our deck and watch the sunset and not be afraid of what's in the shadows."
Our deck. The word slipped out without thought, but Brian's eyes warmed at it, crinkling at the corners.
"Then let's go home."
---
The cottage looked different in the evening light. Or maybe it was Tessa who was different, seeing it through eyes that weren't scanning for threats, weren't cataloguing escape routes, weren't bracing for the next awful thing.
