Page 83 of Walking Away

Evan read like a man used to contracts, then signed, block letters stiff as iron.

“There are two cabins,” he said. “Ridge Bluff’s just bait. The real spot’s a private rental at the top—shell-company lease, electronic gate, black metal mailbox shaped like a bear. Paved drive, half-mile up. Past the gate, a row of modern solar lights. House sits back from the road—metal roof, glass south wall, satellite dish, generator behind a stacked-stone screen. Range Rover under the carport. No neighbors close enough to hear a shot. Only access is through that gate or climbing the ravine behind it. Security code changes daily—controlled from his phone. He’s armed with her Glock. Plane’s waiting in Asheville, day after tomorrow.”

Burke’s hand tightened on the radio mic until the plastic creaked. “How is she?”

Evan’s voice dropped. “Scared. Exhausted. No shoes.”

For a second, his bravado faltered—the awareness that Jason would erase him the same way he erased everyone else. “You already know,” Evan murmured. “He doesn’t keep anyone. He uses them. I like breathing.”

Scout’s fingers flexed once against his thigh. He’d seen the shoes, left in the Tacoma.

“What turned you on him?” Tessa asked.

“You already know,” Evan said again, but the edge was gone. “He doesn’t keep anyone. He uses them.”

Rhea slid the paper into her folio. “Then you finish this by riding point as far as the turnoff. Cuffs stay on. You don’t speak to West. You don’t deviate, or your deal evaporates.”

“Fine,” Evan said.

“We move now,” Tessa said.

Burke keyed the radio. “All units, we have a location. Quiet lights. North draw. Rosie’s on me. Move.”

Evan sat for a beat, smaller without the smirk—a man realizing the house never belonged to him.

Tessa chained him at the front. “You just bought yourself a chance,” she said. “Don’t spend it stupid.”

They moved as one—Burke at point with Rosie, Scout on the flank, Tessa with the plan, Evan’s chain in a deputy’s grip, and Rhea already dialing the clerk.

Outside, the mist had burned away. The mountains revealed nothing. Burke stared at the ridges, disappointment from Ridge Bluff grinding like gravel under his ribs. Caitlin was out there—and so was Jason West.

They had to move. Fast.

Chapter 48

Breach

The Rescue

They came in like ghosts—officers and deputies slipping through the trees, rifles angled toward the cabin. Every step mapped, every team in place.

The order was simple: wait for the moment, then go in hard—and get Caitlin out alive.

From the clearing, Tessa Quinn’s voice cut across comms, calm but taut.

“We have a confirmed kidnapping. Exigent entry is authorized on my command. All units hold.”

“Copy,” the tactical commander murmured, binoculars fixed on the window. The woods went still.

Through the optics, movement flickered inside. Caitlin West had no idea salvation crouched twenty yards away.

Inside

The cabin was too fine for a hideout—polished wood, a bottle of wine breathing on the table, a neat plate of fruit and cheese.

Caitlin stepped from the bathroom, the long white silk nightgown clinging cool and wrong against her skin. He had chosen it for her, like every other grotesque detail.

She drifted toward the window, fingertips grazing the glass. Dusk bled through the trees.