Instead, with Caitlin down the mountain and the ugly parts of Denver finally out of sight, it felt like exhaling.
She slid beneath the quilt and let the quiet settle around her.
For the first time in a long time, Izzy Moreno felt almost—almost off duty.
4
Bridlepath Farm Cottage — Later That Night
Izzy crossed to the window and peeked through the curtain.
Below the hill, the barn lights glowed amber against the night. Two young horses were being brought in from the field. A man walked with them, steady and unhurried, one hand on a lead rope, his body angled enough to guide without force.
Grant.
Even in near-darkness, she knew it was him.
One of the yearlings tossed its head. He said something she couldn’t hear.
The colt settled.
Izzy leaned her shoulder against the window frame.
She let the curtain fall and turned away before she could stand there any longer watching him.
She moved through the cottage, checking locks, straightening her toiletry bag, setting her phone on the nightstand.
That was when she heard it.
A faint scratching sound.
She stilled.
It came again.
Above her.
Izzy looked slowly toward the ceiling.
Nothing.
She exhaled, annoyed with herself.
Old house. Branch on the roof. Squirrel. Totally normal.
She turned down the bed.
Scratch.
Sharper this time. A quick drag, then something skittering across the ceiling.
Her head lifted.
“No,” she said out loud. “Absolutely not.”
The cottage offered no reassurance.
She grabbed her phone, turned on the flashlight, and stepped into the hallway.
