This wasn't a robbery. This was something else.
He found Tessa in the kitchen, her face pale, her arms wrapped around herself. She was staring at the open cabinets like they might tell her something if she looked long enough.
"Anything missing?" she asked.
"No. Not that I can tell."
"That doesn't make sense." Her voice was thin, controlled in a way he recognized. The clinical detachment of someone trained to function under pressure. "Why break in and not take anything?"
"They weren't looking for things to steal." Brian pulled out his phone. "They were looking for something specific. Or sending a message."
"Webb's in federal custody." Tessa's voice cracked on his name. "He's been in custody for days. He couldn't have done this."
"No." Brian scrolled to Diaz's number. "He couldn't have."
The implication hung between them, heavy and sharp. If Webb didn't do this, someone else did. Someone connected to him. Someone still out there.
Diaz answered on the second ring. "Knight. It's late. This better be good."
"Someone broke into the cottage while we were out."
Silence. Then: "I'm on my way. Don't touch anything."
The line went dead. Brian pocketed his phone and looked at Tessa. She was still standing in the same spot, arms wrapped tight, eyes fixed on something he couldn't see.
"Hey." He crossed to her and took her face in his hands, tilting it up so she had to meet his eyes. "We're okay. You're okay."
"Am I?" The question was barely a whisper. "Because it feels like it's never going to end. I came here to get away from this. To heal. And it just keeps following me."
"It's not following you." He pulled her against his chest, wrapping his arms around her. She was shaking, fine tremors running through her body. "Whoever did this, they're going to regret it. Diaz is on her way. We'll figure out who it was. And then we'll deal with it."
"What if it's connected to Webb?"
"Then we deal with that too."
She pulled back enough to look at him. Her eyes were wet, but the steel was still there, beneath the fear. The strength that had carried her through seven years of trauma surgery, a stalker, and a cross-country move to escape it all.
"I'm tired of running," she said.
"I know."
"I'm tired of being scared."
"I know that too."
"So we don't run." Her voice hardened into something fierce. "Whoever this is, whatever they want, we don't run. We stay, and we fight."
Brian kissed her forehead. "That's my girl."
They waited on the porch for Diaz, sitting side by side on the steps like they had that first night, back when Tessa was just a stranger with a door code and a suitcase. The night air was cool, thick with salt and the distant sound of waves. The copper moon hung low over the bay, painting everything in that amber light that had become so familiar.
Brian's mind was running through possibilities, cataloging what he knew and what he didn't. Webb was in custody. That was confirmed. The break-in showed no signs of forced entry, which meant either the locks were picked or someone had a key. Nothing was taken, which suggested the intruder was looking for something specific or, worse, just wanted them to know they'd been there.
A message. That's what this felt like. A message that said: You're not safe. We can reach you whenever we want.
Headlights appeared at the end of the lane, and a moment later, Diaz's unmarked sedan pulled into the drive. She got out with a flashlight in one hand and a notepad in the other, her face set in the grim expression of a cop who'd seen too much to be surprised by anything.
"Walk me through it," she said.
