Page 97 of Walking Away

Rhea set a hand over hers, firm. “It’s not perfect. But it’s a conviction. That matters.”

Izzy nodded, shaking, relief and rage still battling in her chest.

Caitlin West

The courthouse corridor buzzed with the chatter of reporters and townsfolk.

As Caitlin and Izzy stepped out, flanked by Burke and Scout, the crowd hushed.

Someone whispered Jason West’s name—a rumor passed down the hall, carried on breath and speculation. His flight to Denver had made the news; his attorney’s brief appearance in chambers had stirred talk that money still pulled strings.

Caitlin went rigid anyway, the echo of him pressing against her chest.He’s gone,she told herself.But he’s everywhere.

The memory came unbidden—that quiet, poisonous certainty in his voice, the moment she’d realized what he believed she was.

Burke caught the look in her eyes and moved closer, a steady wall between her and the name that still carried weight.

“He can’t touch you,” he said quietly.

But the echo of Jason’s claim burned hotter than words—because what haunted her now wasn’t fear.

It was resolve.

I’m done running,she thought.Never again.

Burke Scott

The night air hung heavy with jet fuel and rain.

Burke and Scout watched from the access road beyond the chain-link, windows cracked just enough to hear the engines spool.

A black car rolled up to the hangar. Jason West stepped out—pressed suit, overnight bag slung easy, like a man leaving a meeting that had gone his way. He didn’t look around. Didn’t have to.

A second man emerged from the opposite side of the car—the same Denver attorney from the jail. He carried no bag, just a briefcase, and waited until Jason reached the steps. A quick exchange, a nod, and the attorney turned back toward the terminal. Job finished.

A flight attendant waited at the bottom of the steps, sleek in her navy uniform, tablet in hand. Jason smiled like he was stepping into a gala, not escaping consequence. He said something that made her laugh softly, then placed a hand on her back as they climbed. His gesture was practiced, proprietary.

The door sealed behind them with a dull thud, shutting the scene like a stage curtain. The ground crew moved in sync—cones pulled, steps retracted. A man in a headset waved the all-clear.

“Guy like that never stands in a booking room,” Scout muttered. “Just hands out cards.”

Burke’s hands rested on the dash. “Cards buy silence. Silence buys distance.”

The jet began to taxi, lights winking through the mist. Burke’s reflection blurred in the windshield.

“World’s full of two kinds of justice,” he said quietly. “The kind you pay for—and the kind you pray for.”

Scout let out a humorless laugh. “And we’re the poor bastards stuck in between.”

The engines roared, swallowing the rest. The plane lifted, banking east until it was just another light fading into cloud.

Neither man spoke for a while.

Then Burke said, “He’ll come back. They always do.”

Scout nodded once. “And when he does?—”

“We’ll be ready.”