Brian wanted to argue. This was his home. His and Tessa's. Running felt like letting whoever did this win.
But he looked at Tessa, at the dark circles under her eyes and the set of her jaw, and he knew Hank was right. Tonight wasn't about pride. Tonight was about keeping her safe.
"Okay," he said. "Let me grab a few things."
He went inside and packed a bag with the essentials, carefully avoiding the areas the tech was still processing. Tessa's clothes. His own. Toothbrushes. Her laptop and his phone charger.
When he came back out, Tessa was hugging Sabrina, the two women holding onto each other like they'd known each other for years instead of weeks.
"We've got you," Sabrina was saying. "Copper Moon looks out for its own."
Brian met Hank's eyes over their heads. Something passed between them, an understanding that didn't need words. They'd faced worse together. They'd get through this, too.
"Let's go," Brian said. "We can figure out the rest tomorrow."
Hank, Bree, and the Landons hopped into Hank's truck. Brian helped Tessa into his truck, then left the cottage behind with its police tape, its violated spaces, and its unanswered questions. The copper moon watched them go, hanging low and full over the bay.
Tomorrow, Brian would call Chief Dawson. Tomorrow, he'd figure out how to protect the woman he loved from a threat they couldn't see. Tomorrow, he'd start rebuilding the sense of safety that had been shattered tonight.
But tonight, surrounded by the people who had become his family, he let himself believe that everything would be okay.
Chapter Twenty-One
Tessa woke to the smell of coffee and the sound of voices downstairs.
For a moment, she didn't know where she was. The ceiling was wrong, the light coming from the wrong direction, the mattress softer than she was used to. Then the previous night came flooding back, and she closed her eyes against it. The open cabinets. The notebook. Page after page of her movements, recorded in that precise, clinical handwriting.
She turned her head. Brian's side of the bed was empty, the sheets cool. He'd been up for a while.
Hank and Bree's guest room was painted a soft sage green, with white curtains that let in the early morning light. It was peaceful in a way that felt almost cruel, given the circumstances. She lay there for another minute, gathering herself, then pushed back the covers and got up.
She found her clothes where she'd left them on the chair, pulled them on, and ran her fingers through her hair. Good enough. She wasn't trying to impress anyone.
The stairs creaked under her feet as she descended. The voices grew clearer: Brian's low rumble, Hank's quieter responses, and a third voice she recognized after a moment. Diaz.
They were gathered in the kitchen, mugs in hand. Bree stood at the stove, flipping pancakes with the easy competence of someone who'd done it a thousand times. She looked up when Tessa appeared in the doorway and offered a warm smile.
"There's coffee," Bree said. "And pancakes in about two minutes. You look like you could use both."
"Thank you." Tessa's voice came out rougher than she intended. She cleared her throat and crossed to the counter where the coffee pot sat. Brian caught her eye and reached out to squeeze her hand as she passed. The contact was brief but grounding.
"Dr. Callahan." Diaz nodded at her. The sergeant looked tired, dark circles under her eyes suggesting she hadn't slept much either. "I was just filling everyone in on what we've found."
"And?" Tessa wrapped her hands around the warm mug, letting the heat seep into her fingers.
Diaz set down her own coffee and pulled out her phone, scrolling to something. "The notebook we found was helpful. The handwriting didn't match Webb's. Different person entirely. We ran it through our databases and got a hit."
Tessa's stomach clenched. "Who?"
"Her name is Carla Reeves." Diaz turned the phone to show a photograph. A woman in her forties, brown hair pulled back, sharp features, eyes that looked flat even in a professional headshot. "She was a nurse at Chicago Memorial. Same hospital where you worked."
The name hit Tessa like a punch to the chest. She knew that face. She knew that name.
"Carla," she breathed. "She was on the trauma team. She was there the night..." She couldn't finish the sentence.
"The night Daniel Webb died," Diaz finished for her. "Marcus Webb's brother. The patient whose death started all of this."
Brian moved closer, his hand coming to rest on the small of her back. "You knew her?"
