Page 80 of Walking Away

“Sheriff’s Office!”

Silence.

Inside was too neat. The bed made. Everything staged.

She’s been here,Burke murmured.Not long.

“He never stayed,” Tessa said. “Dropped the Tahoe and moved her somewhere else. Fast. Quiet. No tracks.”

“Which means Evan Cole helped,” Scout muttered.

Burke’s voice was clipped. “The Tahoe was bait. We’ve been chasing ghosts.”

“Judge signed off,” Tessa said into her comm. “Once cleared, we run a five-mile thermal sweep. Anything warm that shouldn’t be—we hit it.”

“Mountain Rentals still isn’t responding,” Parker added.

“Then we do it the hard way,” Burke said. “Every damn door they own.”

Rosie whined once, then went still. Burke crouched beside her, hand steady on her back.

“We’re coming, Caitlin. Just hold on.” His voice cracked. He swallowed hard, steel sliding back into place.

For a heartbeat, he wanted nothing more than to drag Evan Cole into a cell and make him talk—but that wasn’t how the badge worked. Not tonight.

Burke straightened, staring at the cold hearth, the untouched bedspread. The bastard had planned this—left them a stage set for a rescue that would never come.

Caitlin

Higher up the ridge, on a private stretch of land he’d leased under another name, a modern cabin sat half-hidden in the trees. Metal roof, tinted windows, satellite dish—luxury disguised as wilderness. He’d chosen it because no one would think to look here.

Inside, Caitlin sat at the edge of the bed, wrists raw from the bite of zip ties. No windows at the back. Only one door.

Jason moved through the cabin like he owned it—calm, composed, deliberate. He poured himself a bourbon, ice ticking in the glass, then returned carrying a garment bag. The bourbon’s burn and his aftershave made her sick. With slow precision, he unzipped the bag. A white silk nightgown gleamed in the lamplight—a whisper of fabric that made her skin crawl.

He laid it on the bed beside her with the care of a man setting evidence on a table.

“You’re going to shower,” he said evenly. “When you come out, you’ll put this on.”

Caitlin didn’t move.

He crouched in front of her, voice soft and razor-edged. “You’re going to look like the woman you used to be. Because tonight I’m going to remind you of everything you gave up.”

She flinched when he brushed a lock of hair behind her ear—an echo of gentleness that felt obscene.

“I haven’t decided yet,” he went on. “If I want you back, we’ll fly home tomorrow. My jet’s waiting.”

His smile thinned. “If not… well. You’ll find out.”

He stood, rolling his shoulders as if preparing for a meeting. “If you want me to choose the jet over regret, start cooperating.”

He left her there—silence thick enough to choke.

Caitlin stared at the nightgown, the fabric glaring white against the gloom. Her head throbbed.

Plan, don’t panic,she told herself.Remember every detail. Wait. Watch. Endure.

When the opening came, she would act.