Chapter Twenty-Two
Eight hours on the road and Fallon had slept through seven of them.
Isaac had watched the highway unravel in front of them while she curled against the passenger door with his jacket balled under her cheek. Her body was collecting on everything the chase had cost it—the sprint, the gap between the fence and the wall, joints that had been asked to perform again before they’d finished healing from the last time. She’d been asleep before they crossed the county line, and the shallow pull of her breathing hadn’t changed since.
He’d had a lot of time to think.
The thinking hadn’t helped.
The gravel drive now wound through a stand of pine and opened onto the property just as the late afternoon light was going amber across the water. Isaac pulled to a stop and killed the engine. The lake stretched out below the house, still and flat, the dock extending from the shore like a finger pointing at nothing.
Fallon stirred. Her eyes opened, unfocused, and she sat up slowly with the careful deliberation of someone cataloging damage before committing to movement.
She went still.
The house sat on a gentle slope above the water. Cedar and stone, two stories, a wall of windows across the lake-facing side that caught the late light and threw it back in sheets of gold. A wraparound porch with Adirondack chairs. A boathouse at the water’s edge. The kind of place that belonged in a magazine spread about mountain retreats where the prices weren’t listed because if you had to ask, you couldn’t afford it.
Fallon looked at the house. Looked at Isaac.
“This is your fishing cabin?”
“I mean, it’s got a dock with some poles. And there are fish in the lake.”
“Isaac, this place has more square footage than my last three apartments combined.”
He got out of the car. “Let’s get you inside.”
She opened her door and eased herself out, one hand braced on the frame. He came around and offered his arm. She took it, and they walked toward the front steps at the pace her knee would allow.
“I’m just saying,” she said, “when someone tells you fishing cabin, you picture logs and a woodstove and maybe a suspicious stain on the floor. You don’t picture floor-to-ceiling windows and a private dock.”
“There’s a woodstove inside.”
She laughed. “That does not make this a cabin. Where are we?”
He was just glad to see some sort of smile on her face. “Table Rock Lake, southern Missouri.”
He got the door open and guided her through. The main room was open, high-ceilinged, the lake visible through the glass. He watched her take it in—the kitchen with its stone countertops, the wide plank floors, the fireplace. Her eyebrows climbed but she didn’t say anything else.
Her phone buzzed before either of them had to address it.
“It’s Cass.” She lowered herself onto the couch and answered. “Hey. We made it.”
Isaac moved to the kitchen and started opening cabinets. He’d had the place stocked through a local service before they’d left Chattanooga—a call he’d made during one of the gas stops while Fallon slept. He pulled out what was there and started putting together something simple while Fallon talked.
He could hear Cassandra’s voice through the speaker, clipped and efficient, running through what she’d done. The remote wipe on Fallon’s computer had gone clean. She’d scrubbed the apartment’s digital footprint—accounts, utilities, anything that could connect back. It had all been through a fake name, anyway.
And she’d run a fresh sweep of every law enforcement database she could access. Fallon’s partial photo was still in the system, but nothing new had been added. No name, no fingerprints, no additional intel. Seemed like everything was relatively calm for the moment. The chase through Chattanooga hadn’t made anything worse.
“Okay,” Fallon said. “Keep us updated if anything changes.”
“I will. Get some rest. You look like hell.”
“Interesting observation, since you can’t see me. Love you too, Cass.”
The call ended. Fallon set the phone on the cushion beside her. He brought her water and the food he’d put together. They ate together slowly, her left hand doing all the work, and when she finished, he crouched beside the couch.
“Bath? Help ease everything?”
