Page 54 of Walking Away

“She’s in a small town in North Carolina—calls herself Darcy Nolan. Izzy’s with her. My guy has eyes on them both.”

Jason’s voice spiked. “North Carolina? Is she alone?”

“Details are still coming in. Keep your temper—we don’t rush unless we have to. Let Evan stay close. He’ll map her life, find patterns. When we move, you’ll have everything you need.” Paul’s tone was slow, stoking the anger without letting it burn out of control.

Jason inhaled through clenched teeth. “So why are you telling me to wait?”

“Rushing will spook her. We want leverage—names, routines, locations. You want control, not a frightened woman who runs. Give us a week. We’ll give you the map.”

Jason’s voice dropped to a growl. “Fine. But if you stall me?—”

“You’ll get your turn,” Paul said smoothly. He left out Burke—the sheriff—for now.

Paul hung up, fingers tapping the desk. A smirk tugged at his mouth. Men like Jason were volatile, predictable in their rage—and profitable for those who knew how to play them. Evan would stay close. They’d map their prey. Then they’d deliver.

Chapter 30

Veil

Evan

Evan received a text from Paul:Stay on them. Find out all you can about her new life—and this sheriff. Enough to feed Jason and drag it out for more money.

Works for me,he thought.

He parked down the street from the cottage on the back road. It was dark, and Caitlin and Izzy were still at Catch My Draft with Burke.

He slipped to the back door. Locked. But sliding glass doors had never stopped him. A slim shim, a practiced twist, and the metallic click of the latch released under his hand.

He was inside.

With his pocket penlight, he moved quickly but thoroughly through the house. He placed the listening device on the mantel, taped beneath the back edge—small enough to go unnoticed, sensitive enough to catch everything in the open living room, dining room, and kitchen.

In the bedrooms, he found Izzy’s bags on the floor, open. Folded clothes, neatly rolled, faint with the scent of expensive perfume—citrus and vanilla. A cosmetic bag with lipsticks andmascara. Tucked between sweaters was a thick manila folder. He slid it out enough to glimpse legal documents—divorce papers.

A quick, thin grin flashed in the penlight. Jason was not going to like that.

Caitlin’s room was more careful. No photos, but a bill for the electric company sat on the dresser:Darcy Nolan,with an address and phone number. Another photo snapped.

On the nightstand sat paperbacks with creased spines, faintly perfumed—as though she’d fallen asleep with one in her hands. The sheets were crisp, still holding the faint trace of her. Details filed away.

The hush outside broke with the distant hum of an engine drawing near. A surge of adrenaline sharpened his focus. He slipped out the front door, doubled back into the trees, and crouched low.

Through the slider, he watched Caitlin and Izzy come inside—laughing, oblivious.

So close.

Caitlin

Caitlin set down her bag as she and Izzy entered, still chatting about Catch My Draft—the band, the locals, Izzy dancing half the night away, and her own relief that Burke wanted to keep seeing her. She hadn’t told him her secrets, but she knew she couldn’t walk away.

Then her breath caught. The front door stood ajar.

“Oh my gosh,” she gasped. “Izzy—look!”

Izzy’s eyes widened. “What?”

“The door—the door.”