Page 72 of Walking Away

Minutes crawled until calls echoed from above.

“Rescue team! Lowering basket!”

Scout tilted his head back, watching lines unfurl as an orange litter descended, bumping against the rock.

“Over here!” His voice cracked as he waved.

Two helmeted rescuers rappelled down, calm and efficient. They checked her pupils, stabilized her head and neck, splintedher arm, and braced her into the basket. Izzy moaned as they lifted her—just a sound, but it broke him.

Radios buzzed steady codes, voices clipped and controlled. Scout gripped the rope harder, wanting to shout that this wasn’t just another call—this was Izzy. But he held back, giving them space to work.

Hold on, Iz. Just hold on.

The rescuers hoisted her basket up the cliff, ropes creaking until it vanished over the rim. Scout unclipped and scrambled up, lungs burning, grit under his palms.

At the top, Burke appeared—pale from the climb, eyes blazing. He grabbed Scout’s arm, steadying him.

“What happened?” His tone was gravel.

“I saw him,” Scout rasped. “That son of a bitch shoved her. I swear to God, Burke, I’ll?—”

Burke cut him off, grip tightening. “Later. Right now, we keep her alive and get him boxed in.”

The medevac rotors thundered as the team carried Izzy down the trail. Dust and leaves whipped the air while paramedics loaded her into the helicopter bound for Asheville Trauma. Scout stood, a tightness he couldn’t shake as he watched the aircraft vanish into the gray sky.

Burke’s expression hardened. “Get back to town. Put out a BOLO on the Tacoma. Every county. I want him cornered.”

Scout nodded. “Copy that.”

Somewhere down the ridge, Evan was already on the move, his Tacoma eating up the mountain roads. Scout felt it like a wire pulled taut—he was close. The chase was on.

Evan

Farther down, half-hidden among the trees at a pull-off, Evan leaned against the hood of his truck, exhaling a slow stream of smoke. He’d seen Izzy strapped into the basket, seen the urgency on the medics’ faces. Her scream still echoed in his ears—pure terror. It pleased him.

As the medevac roared skyward, he flicked the cigarette into the leaves. Jason’s voice echoed in his head:Don’t let me down.

He chuckled under his breath. “How’s that for not letting you down?”

The game wasn’t over—not by a long shot. But for now, he felt the dark satisfaction of a job well done.

Chapter 42

Tracks

Burke

Burke drove back into Sylva under cover of night, the weight of the day pressing down on his shoulders. The climb, the rescue, Izzy’s broken body lifted into the medevac—each image haunted him. But none of it compared to what waited ahead.

He dreaded this moment. He had to tell Darcy that Izzy was hurt—that her best friend, the woman she leaned on as much as he leaned on Scout, was now fighting for her life.

His grip tightened on the wheel until the leather bit into his palms. Against his will, his mind slid to the night that had belonged to them—no shadows, no secrets. Her laugh, her breath against his skin, the way every wall she’d built had fallen beneath his hands. The memory ached, raw and private. He would’ve taken ten beatings before bringing her this kind of news.

Scout had put a name to the man—Evan Cole. But who the hell was he to Darcy? Why target Izzy? Questions that needed answers, and answers that would cost them if he waited.

He pulled up in front of Darcy’s cottage. A porch light flicked on across the street; a neighbor stood in her robe, worry etched deep on her face.

“Sheriff Scott? Thank God. That dog’s been howling—wailing, really—since I got home. At least forty-five minutes. I was scared to go near it; she’s a big shepherd.”