START WITH…

Book 1 in the Angus Reid Mysteries Series

A MISSING TEEN. A TOWN BURIED IN SECRETS. A MOTHER WHO WOULD DO ANYTHING TO SAVE HER SON.

Get it here now

https://books.urcelia.com/Jacobs-Well

To my grandmother and namesake,

Who lived with elegance, walked in grace,

and served God with a heart full of love.

Her faith never wavered, her spirit never dimmed,

and like the lilies, she bloomed in every season.

INSPIRED BY

“Whoever keeps his mouth and his tongue keeps himself out of trouble.”

Proverbs 21:23

(ESV)

Prologue

The bodies were just the beginning, according to the leather-bound diary that lay like a coiled serpent among the donated books. Its unmarked cover gathered dust like buried sins as Lillian Cooper’s fingers trembled, lifting it from the box. Something in its weight spoke of secrets too heavy for paper alone.

The library’s fluorescent lights cast harsh shadows across her desk as the autumn evening pressed against the windows, turning their reflection into mirrors that showed a woman she barely recognized anymore—gray-streaked hair pulled into a careful bun, silver leaf brooch gleaming at her collar, gold-rimmed glasses catching the artificial glare.

For twelve years, she’d been Weyport’s keeper of whispered things. The librarian who knew everyone’s stories, who collected confessions like others collected stamps. Each secret carefully cataloged and preserved, currency in a lonely economy of belonging. But this diary…this was different. Its pages carried the scent of desperate truth, of things meant to stay buried.

The note tucked within its pages stopped her breath:

They’re watching. If you’re reading this, they’re probably watching you too. The evidence is hidden where they won’t think to look—scattered among everyday things, waiting for someone who knows how to read between lines. Someone who understands the power of secrets.

I don’t have much time. What I’ve uncovered goes deeper than anyone suspects. The environmental studies were just the beginning. The bodies…

The handwriting changed there, growing jagged with urgency. Lilly’s heart thundered against her ribs as she recognized the name scrawled in the margin: Holbrook Industries.

The name carried weight in Weyport—the local lumber mill and development project made them one of the region’s most powerful employers, their influence casting long shadows from Boston up the New England coast like dark spires against a troubled sky. They’d brought prosperity, or so everyone said. But Lilly had noticed how the fishing boats returned half-empty these days, how the tide carried strange odors at dawn, how people who asked too many questions seemed to drift away like morning fog.

A floorboard creaked in the library’s depths.

Lilly’s head snapped up, years of watching others suddenly reversed. The empty aisles stretched into shadow, books standing as silent witness as footsteps echoed against polished hardwood. Not the familiar tread of a late patron or fellow staff member—these steps moved with purpose, with the careful precision of someone who didn’t want to be heard.

Her fingers tightened on the diary. In all her years of collecting others’ secrets, she’d never felt the weight of discovery, the cold certainty of being watched. The silver leaf brooch at her collar seemed to burn against her skin, a reminder of all the times she’d traded in whispered confidences, treating truth like a commodity to be bartered.

The footsteps drew closer. Somewhere in the stacks, a book shifted, then fell. The sound echoed like judgment through the empty library.

Lilly moved quietly, sliding the diary into her bag as training and instinct warred within her. For years she’d hoarded information, treating other people’s pain as currency. Now she held something different—truth that demanded action, secrets that carried the weight of life and death.

The corner security mirror showed a shadow moving deliberately between the shelves. Tall. Male. Professional. Someone who knew how to hunt.

If you’re reading this, they’re watching.

The words of warning lingered. Her fingers brushed the brooch at her collar, a nervous habit born of years of social uncertainty. She’d spent her life collecting secrets to fill the void left by abandonment, by the mother who’d left her at St. Michael’s, by the families who’d passed her by, by the man who’d left her standing alone at the altar. Each whispered confession had been another brick in her wall against pain.

But this secret…this one would either save her or destroy her.

The figure emerged from between the stacks, streetlight catching the metal in his hand.

Lilly Cooper, keeper of Weyport’s secrets, stood at the crossroads of everything she’d been and everything she might become. The diary’s weight bore down against her side like truth demanding to be spoken.

The time for collecting whispers was over.

The time for running was about to begin.

Chapter One

The clock on the library wall ticked with an almost accusatory rhythm as Lilly Cooper adjusted her gold-rimmed spectacles, her fingers trembling slightly against the metal frames. The emptiness of the building pressed in around her, as familiar as the ache of loneliness that had been her constant companion for the past forty-one years. At fifty-five, she had perfected the art of appearing perpetually neat and unremarkable, a skill honed through decades of trying to blend into the backgrounds of other people’s lives. Her gray pencil skirt and cream cardigan were pristine, the small silver leaf brooch at her collar—the only hint of adornment she permitted herself—catching the late afternoon light.

The Weyport Public Library hummed with its usual quiet activity, though the dwindling number of patrons reminded her that closing time approached. Her carefully maintained mask of pleasant efficiency slipped slightly as she watched a young mother guide her children toward the exit, their hands full of picture books and their voices full of laughter. The sight stirred something deep within her, an echo of dreams long abandoned.

Lilly’s gaze drifted to the donation cart she’d been processing that afternoon. The diary—if that’s what it was—had appeared that morning, wrapped in brown paper with no indication of its donor, tucked between outdated encyclopedias and worn romance novels. Its pristine condition stood in stark contrast to its aged companions. Something about it called to her—perhaps the same instinct that had helped her survive all these years, collecting and trading the currency of secrets.

“Lilly!” Margaret Fuller’s voice shattered the library’s hushed atmosphere, drawing disapproving glances from the few remaining readers. The elderly woman shuffled toward the desk, her oversized purse swinging wildly and her floral scarf askew. “You’ll never guess what I just heard at Mo’s Diner.”

Lilly straightened, a familiar warmth spreading through her chest even as shame pricked at her conscience. Margaret’s visits were as reliable as clockwork, always bearing some morsel of town gossip. These moments—these small connections—were what made the endless parade of empty afternoons bearable, even if they came at the cost of others’ privacy.

“Oh?” Lilly leaned forward slightly, lowering her voice to a library-appropriate whisper. Her heart quickened with anticipation, hungry for any morsel of information that might make her feel less like an outsider looking in. “Do tell.”

Margaret glanced around conspiratorially before continuing, her eyes bright with the thrill of shared secrets. “That new woman renting the cottage by the coastal path? Word is, she’s not who she says she is. Left her last town in quite a hurry, and no one knows why.” She leaned closer, her voice dropping further. "Jenny Wilson says she saw lights on in that cottage at all hours and heard strange noises too. Like someone pacing, maybe crying."

The information settled into Lilly’s mind like a seed taking root. She’d noticed the woman—early thirties, tall, solitary, riding an old-fashioned bicycle with a basket. There was something about her that seemed…deliberate. Like someone trying very hard not to be noticed. Lilly recognized that careful invisibility; she’d perfected it over years of moving from foster home to foster home, learning to fade into the background to avoid the pain of attachment, only to be left behind anyway.

“Interesting,” Lilly murmured, tapping a finger against her chin as her mind cataloged this new information. “I wonder what she’s hiding.”

“I suppose we’ll find out soon enough,” Margaret replied with a knowing smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes. “Weyport has a way of revealing things, doesn’t it? Just like it revealed that business with the Hendersons last summer—which we never would have known about if it weren’t for you, Lilly.”

’The words struck uncomfortably close to home. Twelve years in Weyport had taught her that small towns held secrets as surely as the ocean held salt. She’d made herself indispensable by knowing just enough about everyone to ensure they sought her out, shared their stories, made her feel needed. It wasn’t friendship exactly, but it was better than the crushing loneliness of her early days in town, better than the hollow echo of an empty house and memories of a white dress that never made it down the aisle.

Lilly recalled that the mystery woman had appeared three days after Holbrook’s environmental impact statement was quietly filed at town hall—a document Lilly had glimpsed while reshelving in the public records section. The dates nagged at her memory now, a pattern trying to emerge from chaos.

As Margaret wandered toward the fiction section, Lilly’s attention returned to the mysterious diary. Her fingers traced its unmarked surface, wondering what secrets lay within its pages. Her other hand unconsciously touched her brooch.

The afternoon wore on, shadows lengthened across the floor as patrons gradually filtered out. Lilly moved through her usual routine with practiced efficiency—straightening chairs, reshelving abandoned books, checking the thermostats. Her sensible brown pumps clicked softly against the hardwood floors, the sound echoing in the growing quiet. Each task was a familiar comfort, a ritual that helped keep the loneliness at bay.

Finally alone, she returned to her desk and opened the diary. The first few entries were unremarkable—daily observations, mundane details. But as she turned the pages, the tone changed. The handwriting became more urgent, less controlled, reminding her of the desperate letters she’d written to her birth mother years ago, letters that were never sent because there was no address to send them to.

One entry in particular made her breath catch:

I tried to warn them. They wouldn’t listen. Now I have no choice. If anyone finds this, know I did my best to stop it. The truth has to come out, no matter the cost. They think they’ve buried it deep enough, but secrets have a way of surfacing, like bodies in a flood.

Lilly’s hands trembled as she reread the words, her heart pounding against her ribs. In all her years of collecting Weyport’s secrets—the affairs, the financial troubles, the family feuds—she’d never encountered anything that felt quite so…dangerous. The writer’s desperation seemed to seep from the page, and for a moment she understood with perfect clarity that she’d stumbled onto something far beyond ordinary town gossip.

A sudden draft stirred the pages, drawing her attention to the windows. Outside, the coastal fog had begun its nightly advance, thick tendrils curling through the streetlights like ghostly fingers. Her beige sedan sat in its usual spot, barely visible now through the gathering gloom. The sight was familiar—she’d parked in the same place every day for twelve years—yet something about it felt different tonight. Felt wrong.

The heating system kicked on with a metallic groan, making her jump. Lilly pressed a hand to her chest, feeling the rapid flutter of her heart beneath her cardigan. The library had always been her sanctuary, the one place where being alone felt natural, even comfortable. But tonight, the rows of books seemed to loom over her, their shadows stretching like accusing fingers across the floor.

She glanced at the clock: 7:45 p.m., well past closing. She should leave and follow her usual routine, heading home to her small house with its carefully tended garden. The lavender would need watering, and her cat would be waiting for dinner. The diary could wait until morning.

Yet, something held her in place. Perhaps it was the same yearning that drove her to collect and share the town’s secrets—the desperate need to matter, to be part of something larger than her solitary existence. Or perhaps it was simple curiosity, the mystery of the diary’s origins too tempting to resist. After all, wasn’t this what she’d always done? Used other people’s stories to fill the void in her own life?

After a moment’s hesitation, she slipped the diary into her bag, its weight a promise of answers to questions she hadn’t yet formed. The decision felt momentous somehow, as if by taking the diary she was stepping onto a path that would change everything.

As she gathered her things, a soft thud echoed from the mezzanine above. Lilly froze, her heart suddenly racing. The sound came again, followed by the unmistakable scrape of a book being pulled from a shelf.

“Hello?” she called out, her voice steady despite her racing pulse. “We’re closed.”

Only silence answered, but the prickling sensation between her shoulder blades told her she wasn’t alone. She turned slowly, scanning the shadows between the shelves. The security lights cast strange patterns across the floor, and for a moment she thought she saw movement near the reference section.

“Is someone there?” Her voice sounded small in the vast space.

Another sound—footsteps, soft but distinct—came from the direction of the history section. Lilly’s sanctuary had become a maze of shadows and hidden threats. She backed toward her desk, one hand clutching her bag close, the other groping for the phone.

The diary rested against her hip through the fabric of her bag, suddenly heavy with the weight of whatever secrets it contained. All her years of collecting whispered conversations and traded confidences hadn’t prepared her for this creeping dread, this certainty that she’d stumbled onto something far more dangerous than town gossip.

A floorboard creaked directly above her head. Lilly’s breath caught in her throat as she looked up at the mezzanine’s darkened outline. Someone was up there, moving with deliberate slowness, tracking her movements. The familiar walls of the library now felt like a cage, the rows of books transforming into bars that trapped her with whoever lurked in the shadows.

The fog outside swirled against the windows, thick and suffocating. Even her reliable beige sedan, barely visible through the gloom, offered little comfort. She was alone here—truly alone—with someone who didn’t want to be seen.

And somehow, deep in her bones, she knew it had something to do with the diary in her bag.

Chapter Two

Morning sunlight filtered through the library’s tall windows, casting golden fingers across worn floorboards that had witnessed decades of Weyport’s quiet dramas. Lilly stood at the circulation desk, her hands moving with practiced efficiency over returned books while her mind circled endlessly around the previous night’s encounter. The leather-bound diary sat in her bottom drawer like a splinter in her conscience, its presence gnawing at her.

The familiar weight of her cardigan draped across her shoulders, a shield against more than just the autumn chill. She adjusted her reading glasses, the gold frames catching the light as she straightened a stack of novels. Everything in its place, she thought, a mantra that had carried her through countless lonely days. But now the careful order of her world felt as fragile as the leaves skittering past the windows.

The bell above the door chimed, its clear note splitting the quiet. Young Tommy Miller entered, his cheeks flushed from the morning crispness, clutching a dog-eared paperback to his chest. He disappeared into the stacks, and Lilly smiled softly at his familiar enthusiasm for books. A few minutes later, he approached the counter with both his returned book and a new selection.

“Miss Cooper, can I check this one out, please?” His eager voice carried the innocence she sometimes feared she’d lost.

Lilly’s heart softened as she took both books, scanning in the return before reaching for his new choice. “Of course, Tommy. How’s your mother doing?”

“She’s good. Said to tell you thanks for the soup recipe. She made it last night.”

A genuine smile touched Lilly’s lips. “I’m glad she liked it.”

As Tommy bounded away, Lilly felt a momentary warmth that quickly faded as she noticed the three women huddled around a table near the back of the library, their voices hushed but animated. She recognized them immediately: Karla Andrews, the mayor’s wife, with her perfectly coiffed silver hair; Susan Bellamy, who owned the town’s gift shop and collected gossip like some people collected seashells; and Evelyn Pierce, a retired schoolteacher whose sharp eyes missed nothing.

Lilly lingered nearby, straightening books while straining to catch fragments of their conversation.

“Did you see how she avoided the planning commission meeting last night?” Susan’s whisper barely carried. “Right after they presented that harbor expansion project.”

“Of course. She knows she’s in trouble,” Karla replied, her voice dropping further. “And did you notice something odd about those environmental reports? Henry says the numbers don’t match what we’ve seen in other development proposals—”

Their voices faded to unintelligible murmurs, and Lilly fought the urge to step closer. She busied herself with a nearby cart of books, her ears straining for any clear words. Suddenly, Susan’s voice rose slightly, cutting through the quiet.

“Well, if she thinks she can hide it, she’s wrong.”

The three women froze as Lilly turned toward them, her expression carefully neutral but questioning. They briefly exchanged glances heavy with unspoken meaning.

“Morning, Lilly,” Evelyn offered with artificial brightness. “Lovely day, isn’t it?”

“It is,” Lilly replied, her tone matching Evelyn’s while her heart hammered. “Everything all right over here?”

“Oh, just catching up on books and such,” Karla dismissed with a wave. “You know how it is.”

Lilly nodded, maintaining her practiced smile. But as she moved away, Susan’s unwelcome whispered words reached her ears, “Typical Lillian Looselips. Always has to poke her nose where it doesn’t belong.”

The words stung like salt in an old wound, but Lilly kept her head high as she continued her rounds. The nickname followed her like a shadow, a reminder of how the town truly saw her despite her years of service.

By midafternoon, the library had settled into its usual lull. Lilly stood at the front desk, mechanically processing returns while her mind churned with doubts. The burden of solitude pressed against her chest, as familiar as the scent of aged paper that surrounded her. She caught her reflection in the window—tired eyes staring back from behind gold-rimmed glasses, the weight of unspoken secrets visible in the shadows beneath them.

The afternoon light caught something metallic outside her window—a dark sedan parked across the street, its tinted windshield reflecting the sun at an angle that suggested its occupant was watching the library entrance. She recognized the vehicle—a black car she’d glimpsed three times in the past week, always at a careful distance. Always when she was alone.

She spent the rest of the afternoon in a daze of unease, efficiently moving through her duties while her mind raced with possibilities. The diary’s presence felt like a live current, sending occasional shivers through her whenever she passed near it. Twice she caught herself reaching for the drawer handle, fingers trembling with the urge to read more, to uncover whatever dark truth lay hidden in those pages. But each time, she forced herself to withdraw, aware that the library’s open spaces offered too many opportunities for prying eyes.

The afternoon light gradually shifted, painting the walls in amber and gold, transforming the familiar shelves into something almost otherworldly. Dust motes danced in the slanting rays like silent messengers, carrying secrets between shadow and light. In the reference section, Mrs. Henderson pored over old newspapers, her arthritic fingers tracing headlines from decades past. The soft rustle of pages turning, normally a comfort, now seemed to carry undertones of warning.

Lilly found herself watching the patrons more closely than usual, noting their movements, their choices, their whispered conversations. Had that man in the business suit lingered too long in periodicals? Why did the woman with the red scarf keep glancing toward the staff area? Every action seemed loaded with potential meaning, every casual gesture possibly concealing darker purpose.

The weight of the diary’s presence had changed something fundamental in her relationship with the library. Where once she’d found solace in knowing everyone’s secrets, now she felt the burden of carrying one that could upend everything. The very air seemed charged with possibility and threat, like the charged stillness before a storm.

Evening approached with the stealth of a rising tide. As Lilly moved through her closing routine, memories of the previous night’s encounter sent shivers down her spine. The street outside had grown quiet, lampposts casting elongated shadows across empty sidewalks. She studied her reflection in the frosted glass of the library doors, noting the slight tremor in her hands as she turned the key in the lock.

Her beige sedan sat in its usual spot, a testament to her carefully ordered life. But as she walked to her car, the click of her heels echoing in the stillness, something felt off. She looked back at the library, its darkened windows staring back like empty eyes.

A movement caught her eye—a shadow shifting between the hydrangea bushes that bordered the parking lot. Her hands tightened on her bag, and the ever-present, unshakeable presence of the diary. But it was only Mrs. Henderson’s cat, its eyes reflecting the streetlights like twin moons before it slipped away into the gathering night.

Her drive home followed its usual route—past the old lighthouse with its beam sweeping past empty streets, past Mo’s Diner where Margaret Fuller held court over coffee and confidences, past the town hall where so many of Weyport’s official secrets were filed away in manila folders and computer databases. Each landmark a chapter in the town’s ongoing story, each shadow a potential hiding place for truths too dangerous to speak aloud.

The unease followed her home, settling into her bones like the autumn chill. Inside her quiet house, she placed the diary on her kitchen table, its presence demanding attention. The lavender in her garden released its evening fragrance through the open window. The supposedly calming aroma did little to ease her growing sense of dread.

As she prepared for bed, the diary’s warnings echoed in her mind. Tomorrow she would have to decide what to do with its dangerous revelations. For now, she tucked it carefully into her bedside drawer, close enough to grab if needed, before switching off the lamp.

In the darkness, every creak of her old house seemed to carry meaning, every shadow a potential threat. From her bedroom window, she could see the distant beam of the lighthouse sweeping across the harbor, its rhythmic pattern usually a reassurance, but tonight seeming more like a searchlight seeking secrets in the dark. The sound of waves against the distant shore carried in the still night air, a constant whisper that seemed to echo the diary’s warnings.

Her thoughts drifted to the mysterious woman on the coastal path, wondering if their stories were somehow intertwined. Two women trying to stay invisible, each carrying burdens too heavy to share. The silver leaf brooch on her nightstand caught the moonlight, casting tiny prisms on the wall that danced like fragments of scattered truth.

She thought of Susan’s whispered accusation—Lillian Looselips—and the irony of it made her almost laugh. If they only knew how many secrets she’d kept buried over the years, how many confessions she’d locked away in the vault of her silence. But this secret, this diary…it felt different. Not just a secret to be kept, but a truth demanding action.

Sleep, when it finally came, was filled with dreams of footsteps in empty corridors and words that burned like fire on the page. In her dreams, the diary’s pages turned themselves, revealing truths she wasn’t ready to face, while shadows with familiar faces watched from the corners of her mind.

Chapter Three

The Weyport Public Library stood sentinel against the gathering fog, its brick walls darkened by morning mist that crept in from the harbor like judgment on silent feet. Inside, Lilly Cooper moved between the shelves with practiced grace, but her thoughts circled the diary’s contents like ravens around a secret grave. Her fingers trembled slightly as she reshelved books, each spine aligned with mechanical precision—a futile attempt to impose order on a world threatening to unravel.

Last night’s entries haunted her thoughts, their cryptic warnings impossible to dismiss in the harsh light of day. The hidden scandal they hinted at felt like a stone in her chest, the urge to share its weight almost overwhelming. She paused at the end of an aisle, catching her reflection in the rain-streaked window. The woman staring back looked drawn, her usually neat appearance showing subtle signs of strain around the eyes.

Margaret Fuller sat in her customary chair, today’s floral scarf a splash of forced cheerfulness against the library’s muted tones. Lilly knew Margaret’s real purpose: observing and collecting tidbits of gossip to share at the next town gathering—and with her. The familiar dance of information exchange that had once felt like connection now tasted of ashes in her mouth.

The weight of what she’d discovered lay heavy against her conscience. She approached Margaret, her heart pounding with a mixture of excitement and guilt. “Morning, Margaret,” she said, lowering her voice to a conspiratorial whisper.

Margaret looked up, her eyes bright with interest. “You look like you’ve got something on your mind, dear.”

Lilly glanced around, ensuring they were alone. The sound of rain against the windows provided a soft curtain of privacy. “I came across something…interesting. Something about one of the projects here in Weyport.”

Margaret leaned forward, drawn in like a moth to flame. “Well, go on, dear. What is it?”

Lilly hesitated, the diary’s disclosures burned in her mind like buried embers. The truth about Holbrook’s environmental reports pressed against her conscience, but something deeper than her old hunger for gossip held her back. “I’ve found something…troubling. About certain falsified reports and people who aren’t who they seem to be.”

Margaret’s eyes widened, her hand flying to her throat. “What kind of trouble?”

“I can’t say more,” Lilly replied, the weight of real consequence settling over her like evening shadows. “I don’t really have all the facts.”

A familiar gleam lit Margaret’s eyes as she gazed out the window, her mind clearly racing through possibilities. “I always thought there was something strange about a few people around here. You don’t suppose this is about the hullabaloo at the council meeting the other day. Or those new suits from Boston with their flashy cars.”

Lilly’s stomach clenched. She’d started something that couldn’t be called back, like words spoken in haste. “I wouldn’t jump to conclusions, Margaret. It could be anyone.”

But Margaret was already deep in speculation, her expression alight with the thrill of scandal. “Falsified documents, you say? That’s serious. Could it have to do with the old land disputes? Or maybe someone hiding their past? Oh, Lilly, this could be the kind of secret that shakes up the whole town.”

Regret rose like bile in Lilly’s throat. The thrill of sharing secrets suddenly felt hollow, tainted by the gravity of what she’d set in motion. “It’s probably nothing,” she said, trying to minimize the damage. “I might have read too much into it.”

Margaret waved away her backtracking. “Nonsense. You wouldn’t have brought it up if it wasn’t something. And you’re right—there’s been odd behavior lately. Have you noticed how Mrs. Kilgore avoids the post office these days? Always sending her son to pick up her mail. Makes you wonder what she’s hiding.”

Lilly forced a smile, watching as Margaret crafted theories far beyond what the diary had suggested. The excitement on Margaret’s face was undeniable, but it brought Lilly no comfort. “I really shouldn’t have said anything,” she murmured. “Let’s just keep this between us for now.”

Margaret leaned back, her smile knowing. “Of course, dear. Between us. You can trust me.”

But Lilly knew better. By day’s end, the town would abuzz with whispers of hidden identities and secret pasts. As she returned to her desk, the consequences of what she’d started settled heavily on her shoulders. She peeked at the diary still tucked in her bag and wondered if she’d made a terrible mistake.

Evening descended like a shroud, transforming the library’s warm familiarity into something alien and forbidding. The usual comfort of dim lighting and rows of neatly shelved books gave way to lengthening shadows that seemed to breathe with hidden purpose. Lilly sat alone at the front desk, the diary open before her. Its fragmented entries dared her to uncover more, each page revealing more secrets desperate to be heard.

Her eyes fell on another entry that made her blood run cold:

They know. If I stop, it will all come undone.

She shut the diary with trembling fingers and moved it aside, as if distance alone could diminish its power. Outside, the fog had thickened into an impenetrable wall, turning streetlamps into ghostly halos. A shiver ran through her as her gaze drifted to the mezzanine, where shadows gathered like conspirators.

The sudden creak from the emergency exit corridor froze her in place. She turned toward the sound, her breath catching in her throat. The noise came again—a soft groan of hinges that shouldn’t be moving. "Hello?" she called out, her voice barely above a whisper.

Through the shadows, she thought she heard the door open slightly at the end of the corridor, but certainty eluded her. The night encroached against the windows, and wind mourned through the building’s old bones. It could have been a draft nudging the door, she told herself, but conviction fled in the face of mounting dread.

Forcing herself to remain calm, Lilly tried to focus on her closing tasks. The diary’s presence continued to pulse with dark energy, each passing moment adding weight to its unspoken warnings. She pulled her notepad from the drawer, hoping routine would anchor her against rising fear.

The diary sat nearby, closed yet not silent, as though even it dared not disturb the oppressive quiet. Her gaze flickered toward it occasionally, the cryptic messages she’d read earlier swirling in her mind like autumn leaves in a storm. She tapped her pen against the desk in a steady rhythm, each small sound a defiance against the pressing silence.

Another creak from the emergency exit shattered her fragile calm. Her hand froze mid-tap, heart thundering against her ribs as panic threaded through her veins.

She stood, steadying herself against the tide of fear threatening to overwhelm her. “Who’s there?” Her voice carried more strength than she felt. “We’re already closed. You shouldn’t be in here.”

Silence stretched like a bowstring drawn too tight, broken only by the whisper of paper from somewhere in the library’s depths. Gathering what courage remained, Lilly stepped away from the desk. Her footsteps, though hesitant, carried purpose as she made her way toward the emergency exit corridor. The fluorescent lights overhead cast sickly shadows that danced and shifted along the walls.

The door stood slightly ajar, swaying gently in a breeze that shouldn’t exist. Each metallic tap of door against frame sent ice through her veins. She frowned, mind racing. The emergency exit was meant to remain locked unless deliberately opened.

“Teenagers,” she muttered, trying to dismiss the unease coiling in her chest. The library had dealt with its share of young trespassers using the back door to access the adjacent park. Yet, something about the door’s movement felt wrong, as if it moved with purpose rather than chance.

Lilly approached cautiously, placing one trembling hand against the door’s edge. Night air rushed in, carrying the rustling of tree branches from the park beyond. She peered into the darkness but saw only an empty pathway, illuminated by the flickering glow of a distant streetlamp.

“You’d think they’d at least close it behind them,” she said softly, pushing the door shut with a firm click. She turned the lock, testing the handle to ensure it was secure.

Standing in the dimly lit corridor, her eyes darted around the confined space. The air felt different now, charged with something she couldn’t name. She rubbed her arms against a chill that came from within. The wind, teenagers—all logical explanations that suddenly felt paper-thin against mounting evidence of something more sinister.

Satisfied that the door was secured, Lilly walked briskly back to the main library. Her unease lingered, but she focused on straightening her desk, organizing the scattered papers and pens into their proper places. The diary sat where she’d left it, closed and ominous, as though daring her to open it again.

Lilly scanned the quiet library, the stillness feeling less oppressive now that she had convinced herself of the noise’s mundane origin. It was time to leave. She had stayed far longer than intended, and the events of the day had left her soul weary with the weight of secrets and consequence.

She glanced around one final time, as she purposefully made her way toward the light switch. The day’s revelations and whispered confessions could wait until morning, when sunlight would banish the oppressive shadows and restore the proper order of things.

Or so she hoped.

Chapter Four

Lilly stood at the light switch, her hand hovering above it as she cast one last look around the library. The dim rows of bookshelves stretched into shadowy obscurity, each one holding a quiet, foreboding presence in the quietness of the night. She exhaled deeply, shaking off the lingering unease that had followed her all evening. Whatever her imagination had conjured, it was time to put it to rest.

The library’s fluorescent lights cut out with a loud, mechanical click, plunging the room into an almost suffocating darkness. Lilly’s breath hitched for a moment before she fished her phone from her pocket, the faint glow of its screen casting just enough light to guide her steps. She’d barely taken three steps when the sound stopped her in her tracks.

A distinct creak, unmistakably coming from the mezzanine above.

Her heart skipped, and she froze. The darkness seemed to stretch, pulling every shadow into the corners of her vision. Forcing her breathing to steady, she glanced up toward the mezzanine, though the dim light from her phone did little to illuminate it.

It’s just the building settling, she told herself, her fingers gripping the edge of the desk for reassurance. Yet, she intuitively knew otherwise.

The sound came again, this time more pronounced—a faint rustle like fabric brushing against a shelf. Lilly’s rational mind grappled with her growing unease. The library was empty; she’d checked before locking the doors.

“Hello?” she called out, her voice firmer than she felt. The sound barely carried, swallowed by the oppressive darkness. She waited for a response, straining to hear any other noise. None came.

Lilly swallowed hard, stepping around the desk. Her phone’s flashlight app cast a narrow beam on the floor in front of her. She considered turning the main lights back on but hesitated. Whoever—or whatever—was making the noise; she didn’t want to fully expose herself to them by flooding the library with light. She carefully directed her phone upward, toward the mezzanine railing. The light caught nothing but the polished wood and the spines of forgotten books. Still, the gnawing feeling in her chest refused to let her walk away.

Her footsteps echoed as she crossed the main floor, each step measured but hesitant. When she reached the base of the staircase, she hesitated. The creak from above felt closer now, almost deliberate. Her throat tightened as she looked over her shoulder toward the main entrance. Logic told her to leave, but something rooted her to the spot—a mix of fear and an inexplicable need to know what was happening.

The stairs groaned under her weight as she ascended, each sound amplifying the tension winding through her. When she reached the top, the mezzanine stretched out in eerie stillness. The narrow aisles of bookshelves loomed, their shadows casting jagged lines across the floor.

Lilly took a cautious step forward, her phone’s light sweeping over the shelves. The rustling sound came again, faint but distinct. It seemed to come from the far corner, where the older, lesser-read books were kept. Her hands trembled as she directed the light toward the source of the noise. Her breath hitched as the beam caught an anomaly—a book lying open on the floor.

She approached slowly, her pulse pounding in her ears. The book’s pages shifted slightly, stirred by a breeze. Bending down, Lilly reached for it with trembling fingers. As she turned the book over, a torn piece of paper slipped out, fluttering to the floor. She froze, staring at the note as though it might leap up and bite her.

With a deep breath, she picked it up. The writing was frantic, the letters jagged and hurried:

He’s watching. Don’t let him see you.

Lilly’s chest tightened, her breath coming in shallow gasps. The words echoed in her mind, each one pressing like a leaden weight. She scanned the mezzanine, the shadows shifting and rippling as though alive. Her fingers tightened around the note as a sudden burst of panic gripped her.

Forcing herself to move, Lilly hurried back toward the staircase, clutching the book and note to her chest. Her footsteps quickened as she descended, her phone’s light bobbing with each step. By the time she reached the desk, her hands were trembling so badly that she almost dropped the book.

She laid the book down and unfolded the note, placing it carefully on top of the diary before she set her phone on the desk next to it, the flashlight casting its steady beam across the surface. Reaching for her bag, she knew leaving the library now was the only logical choice. She began packing her belongings with shaky hands, her mind racing as she resolved to leave the unsettling atmosphere behind. Her mind raced, connecting the cryptic words to the fragmented entries she’d read earlier. Were the two connected? Was the diary more than just a forgotten relic of someone’s past? The questions swirled, each one more urgent than the last.

A noise—this time unmistakable—broke her concentration. A shuffle of footsteps, deliberate and far too close for comfort. Lilly’s head snapped up, her pulse roaring in her ears.

The faint glow of her phone’s flashlight wavered as though the darkness itself pressed closer, casting shadows that twisted unnaturally against the walls.

“Who’s there?” Lilly demanded, her voice cracking.

She grabbed her phone, its light trembling as much as her hands as she shone it toward the source of the noise.

Silence. But the feeling of being watched was undeniable.

Her eyes darted to the emergency exit at the far end of the library. The faint creak of its hinges sent a jolt of fear through her. She had just locked the door. She’d made double sure of it.

Lilly clutched her phone tightly, her knuckles white as she turned her gaze back toward the emergency exit. Every instinct screamed at her to leave, but her legs felt like lead. Her breath came in shallow bursts as her mind raced. She forced herself to inch closer to the emergency exit, her flashlight trembling as she swept its beam across the corridor. Just as she reached the threshold, a shadow quickly moved through the edge of her vision.

Her scream tore through the library, sharp and piercing, before the silence swallowed it whole. The sound echoed off the walls, reverberating through the rows of shelves before fading into an eerie quietness. Lilly stood frozen, her heart hammering in her chest, her eyes wide as she stared into the shadows where the figure had disappeared.

The stifling quiet was shattered by another sound—a slow, deliberate footstep. It wasn’t the shuffle she’d heard earlier; this was closer, heavier, and unnervingly calm. Her breath caught in her throat as she slowly, cautiously turned the flashlight toward the noise.

“Who’s there?” she demanded again, but the strength in her voice was gone, replaced by a fearful whisper.

No response. The only sound was the faint rustle of her own movements and the oppressive stillness surrounding her. Lilly inched closer to the emergency exit, her flashlight unsteady as its beam swept over the corridor. The door hung slightly ajar, the lock she had carefully secured now unlatched. Confusion gripped her—she knew she’d locked it earlier, sliding the latch firmly in place. How could it be open again? A breeze drifted in, disturbing the silence and carrying faint sounds from outside. But her thoughts were fixed on the implications: someone had either entered or left through that door after she locked it. The realization sent a chill racing down her spine—whoever had been watching her was no longer just a distant shadow.

Driven by instinct, she backed toward the nearest row of shelves, her flashlight catching fleeting shapes that seemed to shift with every step. Her pulse thundered as she forced herself to glance back toward the desk, its familiar outline offering little comfort. The overwhelming sense of being hunted bore down on her.

A sudden clatter made her start, a sharp wave of fear crashing through her chest. Her flashlight snapped toward the sound, its beam catching a swirling cloud of dust where a book had landed heavily on the main floor below. Her heart raced as she traced the trajectory upward, realizing the book had fallen from the mezzanine. The crushing dread squeezed in as her mind raced, trying to piece together how the book had toppled—perhaps a stray draft or the building’s old structure shifting unpredictably. Her chest tightened as she took a hesitant step toward the book on the floor, but fear rooted her to the spot. The threatening space grew heavier, pushing her thoughts toward escape.

Lilly turned her attention to the main door, her heart pounding with the overwhelming instinct to now flee. Her breathing turned rapid and uneven as she cast one last, nervous look behind her, the flashlight’s beam jittering over the encroaching shadows. Taking a cautious step forward, she willed her legs to move faster, her steps faltering only as she reached for the main door’s handle. She yanked at it with trembling hands, but it refused to budge, the unyielding metal amplifying the panic surging through her.

Chapter Five

Lilly’s hands shook as she fumbled with the main door’s handle. It refused to budge, the metal cold and unrelenting beneath her fingers. Panic swelled in her chest as she twisted and pulled again, desperation giving her strength, but the door held firm. Her stomach clenched as she remembered locking it earlier when she closed the library for the night, the keys now safely tucked away in her desk drawer. Realizing there was no way out without them, she pressed her back against the unyielding door, her breaths coming in short, panicked bursts.

Her flashlight beam swung frantically about the room as she checked to see if it was safe to make her way to the desk where her keys, the diary, and bag waited. She needed those items in order to leave, but the fear gripping her chest made her hesitate. Shadows leaped and shifted in the wavering light, each one seeming to creep closer. The vastness of the library—once her sanctuary—now felt overpowering, its stillness pressing in around her like an invisible weight. The suffocating quiet bore down on her, and her thoughts scrambled for a solution, but every possibility felt as elusive as the shadows themselves.

Lilly took a deep breath and darted toward the desk, her heart pounding as she grabbed for her keys, bag, and the diary. Her fingers shook as she fumbled with the items, her ears straining for any sound of movement behind her. She needed to unlock the main door and escape, but fear weighed heavy. In the wavering light, a figure emerged—standing at the far end of the main aisle, cloaked in shadow. Lilly’s breath hitched, her phone slipping from her hand and clattering to the floor, its beam illuminating the bottom of a nearby shelf.

The figure took a step forward, deliberately and unhurried. Lilly’s voice caught in her throat as she tried to scream again, but no sound came out. Her legs felt like lead, rooting her to the spot even as every instinct screamed at her to run.

“Stay back!” she finally managed, her voice cracking as she crouched next to the desk. Her trembling fingers searched blindly for her phone on the floor, her pulse thundering in her ears as panic threatened to overtake her.

The faint beam from her phone, still casting uneven light from the floor, caught the edge of the figure’s movement. Its features remained shrouded in shadow, leaving Lilly unable to tell if it was a man, a woman, or something else entirely. The uncertainty only added to her growing sense of dread. The figure paused, its head tilting slightly as though considering her words. Then, without warning, it moved again, faster this time. Its footsteps were purposeful, aimed straight toward her. Now upright, she spotted the diary and note lying on the desk beside her. A shiver crawled down Lilly’s spine as dawning dread took hold—the intruder was likely after the diary. She went still, holding her breath, as she watched the figure stride purposefully toward her. Her heartbeat thundered in her ears as it ignored her entirely, its focus fixed on the diary and note lying atop the desk.

Without thinking, she snatched the diary and note from the desk and clutched them to her chest. The faint glow of her phone’s flashlight still illuminated the desk, but she quickly switched it off, plunging the room into darkness.

The oppressive quiet deepened as Lilly crouched low behind the desk, her heart pounding. She strained to hear the figure’s movements, each sound amplifying her fear. She crept toward the nearest row of shelves, her breaths measured and silent, hoping to find a way toward the emergency exit without being seen or heard.

The sound of the figure moving closer made her freeze. Lilly tightened her grip on the diary, her mind racing with panic and determination. She slowly edged around the shelves, each step taking her closer to the emergency door.

A sudden clatter of shifting books behind her made her gasp. She bit her lip, forcing herself to stay quiet as she huddled in the shadows. The intruder’s footsteps echoed louder. The cat-and-mouse pursuit through the rows of shelves felt endless, each second stretching into an eternity.

Finally, Lilly reached the emergency exit. Her fingers fumbled over the latch as she adjusted the auto-lock setting, her breath hitching at every sound behind her. With a final push, she opened the door and stumbled into the night. The door clicked shut behind her, locking automatically as the mechanism engaged. For a brief moment, relief washed over her, knowing the intruder would now need to retrieve her keys from the desk to escape.

She didn’t stop to think or look back. Her feet pounded against the pavement as she sprinted toward the park, the distant glow of a streetlamp pulling her forward. The shadows stretched and twisted ominously in her peripheral vision, but she forced herself to focus on the light ahead. The diary and note pressed against her chest felt heavier with each step, the implications of their significance weighing on her mind.

Just as she reached the edge of the park, her foot caught on uneven ground, sending her sprawling to her hands and knees. Instinctively, she looked back, her heart pounding as her eyes scanned the darkness behind her. The library stood silent and foreboding in the distance, its windows dark and uninviting.

The thought that she’d escaped was short-lived. Her stomach dropped as she saw him—a solitary figure rounding the corner, his silhouette briefly illuminated by the faint glow spilling from a distant streetlamp. The intruder was chasing her. Her pulse thundered as she realized it wasn’t over. Whoever had been inside the library was still after her.

Pushing herself to her feet, Lilly stumbled toward the streetlamp’s light, the cold night air biting at her skin. She welcomed the sting, letting it anchor her as she focused on a single, desperate thought: she had to keep moving. She wasn’t safe yet, and she pushed her trembling legs to move faster. Behind her, the heavy rhythm of the intruder’s footsteps grew louder, closer, each one reverberating in her ears like a countdown to her capture.

The park loomed ahead, its dense shadows and sparse lighting offering no promise of safety. She darted between the trees, her chest burning with every gasping breath, the diary clutched so tightly to her chest that her knuckles burned under the pressure. The faint glow of the streetlamp flickered in and out of her vision, her only beacon in the chaos.

A sudden crash of branches behind her sent her spiraling into panic. He was gaining on her. Lilly’s foot slipped on the damp ground, and she stumbled, barely catching herself against the rough bark of a tree. She spun around, her pulse roaring in her ears, but the darkness beyond revealed nothing—only the sound of footsteps drawing ever closer.

Summoning every ounce of strength, Lilly pushed herself forward, her body moving on instinct alone. Her mind screamed for escape, her desperation clawing at the edges of reason. She had long abandoned faith, believing herself unworthy of rescue, but now, in her panic, she felt the urge to pray—a plea for something, anything, to stop this relentless pursuit. The distance to safety felt infinite, each step dragging her deeper into a nightmare from which she couldn’t wake.

She lunged forward, desperate to reach the edge of the park, her eyes locked onto the faint glow of the main street ahead. Safety lay just beyond the low fence—cars, lights, people who could help. A sudden movement at the edge of her vision made her freeze. The figure was there, emerging from the darkness, closer than she’d realized. Lilly’s breath caught in her throat. When she finally managed to free her breath, her scream tore through the night, sharp and desperate, before being swallowed by the suffocating stillness of the park. And then, silence.

Chapter Six

Sheriff Angus Reid stood on the windswept shoreline of Weyport, his boots sinking into the damp pebbles as the morning tide crept closer. The rhythmic crash of the waves against the rocks usually brought him peace, but today it only amplified the storm in his mind. In his hand, he held a photograph, its edges worn and its colors faded with time. The picture showed two young men standing in front of the neon glow of a Las Vegas casino. Taken ten years ago, he looked younger, his face unmarred by the lines of loss and responsibility. The other man in the photo was Logan—his younger brother.

The image was from Logan’s last visit, a memory Angus couldn’t shake. He recalled their brief and strange encounter, his brother’s evasiveness about why he was passing through Vegas. Logan’s parting words, “You’re doing good, big brother. I’m proud of you,” had seemed casual at the time, almost routine. But now, hindsight cast a different light on them. Logan’s tone had been softer, almost resigned, as if he knew it might be their last conversation. His refusal to make future plans or share his destination gnawed at Angus—a subtle warning he hadn’t grasped then. What Angus had dismissed as an ordinary farewell now felt loaded with unspoken meaning. A final goodbye.

A sharp bark jolted him from his thoughts. Scout, the border collie puppy Murphy had given him, bounded along the shore, his tail wagging furiously as he chased a driftwood stick. Angus’s lips twitched into a smile. The dog was quickly becoming an anchor in his life, filling moments of solitude with companionship. But the photograph in his hand reminded him of the void that no companion could fill. Logan’s disappearance—and the news of his death—had left scars that time refused to heal.

Even now, something in his spirit refused to believe his brother was truly gone. He’d never seen the body. The official report had been vague, and though Angus had tried to bury his doubts, they always resurfaced. The thought nagged at him like an unfinished case, the mystery lingered at the edges of his mind. Was there something he had missed during their last meeting? Something in Logan’s behavior that might explain why he had disappeared?

His radio crackled to life, snapping him back to the present.

“Sheriff, we’ve got a situation at the library,” Deputy Miguel Garcia’s voice came through, tinged with urgency. “Lilly Cooper’s missing.”

Angus frowned, gripping the receiver. “Missing?”

“Her neighbor found her front door unlocked and her house ransacked this morning. Said Lilly’s cat was scratching at their window all night.”

Angus’s gut tightened. Lilly—Weyport’s meticulous librarian—had a way of making herself indispensable to the town. Angus had always assumed that Lilly’s knack for knowing everything about everyone was her way of feeling connected to others. To her, it wasn’t gossip: it was survival. If she was the one with the secrets, the insights, the tidbits of news that everyone craved, people would seek her out. And they had.

Her position as the town librarian gave her an unparalleled advantage. Angus had observed how people seemed to confide in her without even realizing it, their chatter flowing freely as they checked out books or attended library events. Over time, he’d noticed how Lilly seemed to skillfully navigate conversations, sharing just enough to keep people interested. It ensured her a place at the center of Weyport’s social web, though Angus couldn’t help but wonder what pain in her past might have driven her to seek connection in this way. What void was she trying to fill by holding onto these secrets?

But leaving her door unlocked? Ignoring her cat? And now, her house ransacked? None of this aligned with what Angus knew about Lilly. She was meticulous to a fault, her routines as steady as the tide. The state of her house only deepened his concern. Whatever had happened, it was already clear Lilly might be in serious trouble.

“I’m on my way,” Angus said, climbing into his truck.

Scout scampered to the door, his little paws scrabbling at the step. Angus chuckled and reached down, lifting the wriggling puppy onto the passenger seat. Once settled, Scout wagged his tail enthusiastically, seemingly sensing his master’s shift in mood.

The streets of Weyport were already bustling with energy as Angus drove through the town. The library came into view, its weathered brick façade bathed in soft morning light. Parked in the small lot outside was Lilly’s car, a sensible beige sedan with a spotless exterior, as neat and unassuming as the woman herself. A small group of townsfolk had gathered outside, murmuring among themselves. None had attempted to enter, adhering to Lilly’s unspoken rule that no one entered the library until she officially opened the door and welcomed them in. It was a boundary she had somehow enforced over the years, and the townsfolk respected it, even now, with the door unlocked where Miguel stood, his expression grim.

Angus parked and approached his deputy, tipping his head in greeting as he passed the townsfolk.

“What do we know?” Angus asked.

“Door was unlocked when I got here. Her purse is on the desk, but no sign of her phone. The place doesn’t look vandalized, apart from a few books on the floor, but something feels off. Even her car is still parked in the lot.”

Angus nodded and stepped inside. “Yeah, I noticed that,” he said then paused at the door and frowned, noticing the keys dangling from the lock on the inside. “Strange,” he muttered. “Why would Lilly leave the keys in the door like this? Doesn’t make sense.”

Miguel paused and stared at the keys in the lock, obvious that he hadn’t noticed them until now.

The library was eerily quiet, the usual hum of activity replaced by a stifling motionlessness. Rows of books stood in orderly lines, their spines catching the morning light. In one of the aisles, a stack of books lay scattered on the floor, as if someone had knocked them over in haste.

Angus’s stomach sank. Lilly’s habit of collecting secrets had always seemed harmless—a quirk of her lonely existence. But this was different. This felt dangerous.

“What about the emergency exit?” Angus pointed his chin toward the door at the far end of the library.

“It’s locked. No sign of tampering to the lock or the door frame,” Miguel replied.

Angus glanced at him. “We need to treat this as a potential crime scene. I think there’s more here than what meets the eye. Secure the area.”

“10-4,” Miguel replied, already reaching for his radio.

Angus turned his attention back to the scattered books, his mind racing. After checking every aisle, he moved back to Lilly’s desk. He scanned the scattered books and overturned chair next to her desk, searching for further signs of a struggle. The unsettling disorder hinted at something far more serious than an ordinary lapse of routine or carelessness. The questions multiplied, each one more unsettling than the last. Had her relentless pursuit of connection finally led her into something she couldn’t handle?

As Scout sat obediently by the doorway, his eager eyes watching Angus as he surveyed the scene, Angus felt the heavy burden of responsibility settle over him. The library, usually a haven of order and knowledge, now felt ominous, each shadow and corner brimming with unspoken tension. Whatever happened with Lilly, he needed to find out what had caused her abrupt absence and her home left in disarray.

When he stepped back outside, the murmurs of the gathered townsfolk grew louder. Their faces reflected a mix of curiosity and concern, each person eager for answers but unwilling to ask outright. Angus scanned the small crowd, searching for any familiar face that might offer a lead.

“If anyone saw or heard anything unusual this morning or noticed anything strange about the library when you arrived,” he began, raising his voice to command attention, “come forward now.”

A young woman clutching a canvas tote bag hesitated before stepping forward. “I saw what looked like a flashlight in the library late last night on my way home,” she said nervously. “I thought it was strange since it was supposed to be closed. I didn’t see much else, but through the window, I could have sworn I saw something moving around in there. But like I said, I could be wrong. It was dark and I was focused on keeping my bicycle on the road.”

“Did you see anyone else around? Any other cars in the parking lot maybe?” Angus asked, his tone gentle but firm.

The woman shook her head. “No. Just the dim light moving around inside. I’m sorry Sheriff, I should have called you. I saw her car parked outside and just assumed she had a power outage or something.”

“Thank you, you did great,” Angus said, jotting down her statement. It wasn’t much, but it was a start. As he turned back toward the library, he thought that whatever Lilly had gotten herself caught up in had now clearly led her into something far more dangerous than idle gossip.

Chapter Seven

Angus rejoined Miguel, who was photographing the main entrance. His mind raced with questions about the scene. Angus knew they would need additional help to process the entire building, a task too large for one deputy. He had tasked Miguel with photographing the scene and documenting anything out of place. From the few scattered books to the overturned chair near Lilly’s desk, every detail felt like it held a piece of a larger puzzle—a puzzle Angus wasn’t sure how to solve.

After spending time helping Miguel, Angus stepped outside to gather his thoughts. The fresh air was a welcome reprieve from the oppressive stillness inside the library. He rubbed the back of his neck, his mind returning to Lilly. She’d always been an enigma, even in a town where everyone knew everyone. The more he thought about it, the more he realized how little anyone truly knew about her. She’d been a fixture in Weyport for years, yet she had no close friends, no family that anyone could name. Her presence in the community had always felt like a constant, but now that she was gone, Angus couldn’t shake the feeling that they’d all taken her for granted.

“Sheriff,” Miguel called, joining Angus on the sidewalk. Miguel held a small evidence bag in one hand, with the set of keys found in the door inside. “No signs of forced entry on either door. If there was someone else here, they either had a key or stumbled upon one.”

Angus frowned. “One thing we know about Lillian Cooper is that she is meticulous. If she’d misplaced her keys, she would’ve been relentless in searching for them. I don’t buy the idea that someone just stumbled on them and let himself in.”

Miguel nodded, his expression grim. “You think she knew the person?”

“It’s possible,” Angus admitted. “Or maybe someone’s been watching her for a while, waiting for an opportunity.” The thought made his stomach churn.

Scout, still tethered to the truck’s side mirror, gave a soft whine, breaking the tension. Angus reached down to scratch behind the dog’s ears. “Good boy,” he murmured, though his thoughts were far from settled.

Miguel shifted his weight, looking down the street. “What’s next? We’ve got her house to check out, but I already have a bad feeling about it.”

Angus nodded, moving toward the driver’s side door. “Let’s head over there. If her house was ransacked, we can only hope and pray we’ll find something to connect the dots.”

The drive to Lilly’s house was quiet, Scout’s occasional barks the only sounds breaking through Angus’s thoughts. Miguel followed in his cruiser Angus couldn’t help but reflect on how valuable Miguel had become to the team and he was grateful for his steady presence and professionalism. His keen eye for detail and methodical approach to investigations were unmatched. If Miguel ever decided to transfer to San Antonio to be closer to his family, as he’d once mentioned, Angus knew those skills would be sorely missed.

Lilly’s small home sat in a quiet neighborhood not far from the library, its exterior neat and well-maintained, with freshly painted white siding and shutters perfectly aligned. Her garden, however, was her true pride and joy. Rows of lilies and lavender lined the walkway, each plant carefully tended and perfectly trimmed. Angus often saw her on her knees, wearing her wide-brimmed sun hat, as she tended to her flowers with meticulous care. It was the kind of house and garden that reflected her personality—organized, precise, and filled with quiet beauty.

As they stepped out of their vehicles, Angus noted the stillness. The neighbor who’d called in could be seen peering out from behind her curtains, her face a mixture of curiosity and concern. Angus made a mental note to stop by her house next to ask more questions, as she might have seen or heard something useful for the investigation. The front door stood ajar just as the neighbor reported, its welcome mat slightly askew as if it had been kicked in haste.

“Looks like whoever was here didn’t care much for subtlety,” Angus muttered.

Miguel nodded, drawing his weapon as they approached. “Want me to clear it first?”

“Let’s go together,” Angus replied, motioning for Scout to stay by the truck where Angus had fastened his leash to the mirror. The dog whined but obeyed, watching intently as they moved inside.

The interior of the house was a stark contrast to the orderly librarian Angus had observed over the years. Drawers had been pulled from their slots and upended, their contents strewn across the floor. Shelves were emptied, and the cushions on the small couch in the living room had been slashed open. The kitchen was no better—cabinet doors hung open, and broken plates littered the tile floor.

“They weren’t looking for cash,” Miguel said, stepping carefully over the mess. “This feels more targeted.”

Angus agreed. “They were searching for something specific. Question is, did they find it?”

In the hallway, a small framed photograph caught Angus’s eye. It was of a young Lilly, her hair braided neatly, standing beside an older woman who bore a striking resemblance. He brushed aside the shattered glass with the tip of his pen. “Her mother, maybe?”

Miguel looked over his shoulder. “Could be. Do we know anything about her family?”

“Not much,” Angus admitted. “She’s never talked about them, at least not to me.” He studied the photo again carefully, a pang of guilt settling in his chest. How had they all overlooked her for so long?

A sudden sound from the bedroom snapped both men into action. Angus raised a hand, signaling for Miguel to stay close. They moved toward the door, their weapons drawn, and pushed it open in unison. No one was inside, but the window was wide open, its frame marked by jagged shards of glass scattered on the floor. The curtains billowed in the breeze, and Angus’s gaze shifted to the shattered window lock. “This is likely how they got in,” he muttered. “Front door’s probably how they left.”

He continued scanning the room, his eyes landing on the scattered contents of a small desk. Papers and notebooks lay in disarray, and Angus’s eyes landed on a small, spiral-bound notebook among the mess. He snapped on a pair of gloves and picked it up, flipping through the pages to find a mix of handwritten notes and scattered thoughts. The disjointed observations didn’t make much sense at first glance, but they appeared to reference books, dates, and vague connections.

“This might be something,” Angus said, slipping the notebook into an evidence bag.

Miguel frowned. “You think she was keeping notes on something?”

“Possibly,” Angus replied. “Librarians keep notes on everything. They’re researchers by nature so it’s worth looking into. Whatever this mess is about, someone clearly tore this place apart to find something.”

Angus stepped from the room and turned to Miguel. “Secure the scene,” he instructed firmly. “Call in a few more deputies to process this place. It’s too big for just the two of us. Make sure every inch is documented.”

Miguel gave a sharp nod. “I’ll get right on it, Sheriff.”

Satisfied, Angus crossed the yard to the neighbor’s house. The curtains twitched as he approached, and the door opened slightly before he could knock. A cautious older woman with glasses perched on her nose peeked out.

“Mrs. Connelly,” Angus greeted, recognizing her as a long-time resident of Weyport. “Mind if I ask you a few questions about last night?”

She hesitated but then opened the door wider. “Of course, Sheriff. Please, come in.”

Inside, the small living room was tidy, with doilies on the furniture and the faint scent of lavender in the air. Mrs. Connelly gestured for Angus to sit, but he remained standing. “Thank you for calling in earlier. I need to know if you noticed anything unusual last night. Any noises, lights, or strangers around Lilly’s house?”

The woman clasped her hands nervously. “I saw the lights on late, which isn’t like Lilly at all. She’s usually so punctual about turning them off. Then, around midnight, I thought I heard glass breaking. I peeked out but didn’t see anyone.”

“What about cars? Did you see any parked nearby?” Angus pressed.

She shook her head. “No cars, but…” She hesitated, her brow furrowing. “I think I saw a shadow moving by her side window. It was quick, and I couldn’t really make out any details. I’d left my eyeglasses on my nightstand, so things were a bit blurry without them. If you’d like, I can show you where I was when I saw it.”

Angus nodded. “That’d be helpful, Mrs. Connelly. Let’s take a look.”

She led him to her bathroom window, which offered a partial view of Lilly’s house. “I came in here around midnight and happened to peek out,” she explained. “That’s when I saw the movement by her side window. It startled me, but I didn’t think too much of it at the time. I thought it might have been her, but now I’m not so sure.”

Angus peered through the small window, observing the sightline to Lilly’s house. “It’s a good vantage point,” he said, jotting the information in his notebook. “Thank you for showing me.”

“Anything else come to mind? Even something small?” Angus asked gently.

Mrs. Connelly pursed her lips. “Well, there’s been a young woman visiting her recently. I don’t know her name, but she’s been around a few times. Usually late in the evening.”

“Do you happen to know what car she drives?” Angus probed.

“She doesn’t. She has a bicycle. One of those old-fashioned ones with the baskets on the front.” She smiled, a glow in her eyes. “I had one when I was a young woman. Oh, those were the days,” she said, her hands neatly folded across her full waist as she reminisced.

“Anything else you can recall about the young woman, Mrs. Connelly?” Angus asked, pulling her from her daydream.

Mrs. Connelly shook her head. “Not really, I mean the woman seemed friendly enough, though it’s unusual for Lilly to have visitors. She’s always kept to herself.”

Angus filed the information away. “Thank you, Mrs. Connelly. If you remember anything else, don’t hesitate to call me.”

She nodded, looking relieved. “I hope Lilly’s okay, Sheriff. She’s a good woman.”

“I hope so too. Thank you again for your help, Mrs. Connelly.”

Angus stepped back outside, his thoughts racing. Miguel was already on the phone, coordinating with other deputies. The neighbor’s account added new layers to the mystery, and Angus couldn’t help but reflect on Mrs. Connelly’s final words. “She’s a good woman,” he murmured under his breath. But the truth nagged at him—it seemed no one truly knew anything about Lillian Cooper. The details of her life were as elusive as the clues left behind. For now, all he could do was piece together the fragments of what they knew and hope they would eventually lead to the answers he sought.

Chapter Eight

Mrs. Connelly’s house faded in the rearview mirror as Angus’s hands gripped the steering wheel, his mind churning through the fragments of information they’d gathered. The hum of the truck’s engine filled the silence, but it wasn’t enough to drown out his thoughts. Lilly’s disappearance weighed on him, not just because of the mystery itself, but because of the nagging guilt he felt for never truly making an effort to understand her. Like so many in Weyport, he’d dismissed her as a gossip queen, a woman with a knack for knowing everyone’s business but keeping her own life tightly sealed. Now, as he pieced together fragments of her world, Angus couldn’t shake the feeling that he’d misjudged her. Had anyone ever stopped to wonder if her prying and chatter were born out of loneliness? Had she sought connection in the only way she knew, only to be misunderstood by those around her? With his heart filled with newfound empathy, he turned to God in whisper.

“Forgive me, Lord,” he murmured, his voice barely audible, “for judging Lilly, for not being there to serve her. Help me find her, Father. I need answers. I need something. Lilly’s out there somewhere, and I don’t even know where to start. Guide me…guide us.”

Prayer was second nature to him, a steady anchor in the storms of life and work. In moments like these, when the trail was cold and the stakes unbearably high, he leaned on it even more, trusting God to guide his steps. He exhaled deeply, the tension easing slightly from his shoulders as he turned onto the main road leading back to the station.

Arriving at the station, Angus parked his truck and reached into the back seat to retrieve Scout. The border collie wagged his tail excitedly as Angus led him into the office. Once there, Angus set out a fresh bowl of water and a dog treat, patting Scout on the head as the puppy settled into his bed for a much-needed nap. Once the dog was comfortable, Angus grabbed his notepad and headed to the boardroom.

The boardroom at the Weyport Sheriff’s Office was alive with a quiet buzz of activity. Miguel stood at the front of the room, jotting notes onto a large whiteboard already covered in timelines, evidence lists, and photos. Angus sat at the head of the long table, his fingers drumming a steady rhythm as he reviewed a stack of reports. Tammy, currently the office administrator but studying intently for her deputy certification exams, typed furiously on her laptop, while two deputies, Gina Carter and Blake Shepherd, sat nearby flipping through files and taking notes.

“Alright,” Angus said, his voice cutting through the murmurs, “let’s go over what we have so far.”

Miguel tapped the marker against the board. “We’ve established that Lilly Cooper was last seen yesterday evening at the library. We have IT going through the computer logs to establish who last had contact with her and are reviewing surveillance footage from outside the library. Her car was left in the lot, her keys were found in the main door, and the library itself showed no signs of forced entry. At her home, we found clear evidence of a break-in—drawers overturned, cushions slashed, and a broken window.”

Angus cleared his throat. “I interviewed Mrs. Connelly, Lilly’s neighbor who reported her missing. She mentioned hearing glass breaking around midnight and thought she saw a shadow near Lilly’s side window. It was dark, and she didn’t have her glasses on, so the details are fuzzy. But she also mentioned a young woman visiting Lilly recently. A bicycle, old-fashioned with a basket, stood out in her description.”

“But nothing definitive to suggest where she went or who might’ve taken her,” Tammy added, not looking up from her screen.

Angus nodded. “That’s the heart of it. The question is, was this about Lilly herself, or something she’d gotten involved in? Because I’ve since come to the conclusion that we don’t truly know anything about who Lillian Cooper really is.” He leaned back, his gaze sweeping the room. “Thoughts?”

Blake cleared his throat. “If this was planned, whoever did it knew her routine. They waited for an opportunity when she’d be alone. From what I’ve come to learn from interviewing everyone who stood waiting outside the library, it isn’t at all strange that she works after closing. One or two even mentioned she had told them she enjoyed being there more than at home.”

“Poor woman,” Tammy said. “I can’t imagine not having anyone to go home to at night.”

“I hear you,” Miguel agreed.

“And if it wasn’t planned? Because there’s no indication of anything missing, not even her car, which rules out robbery,” Angus brought them back to the investigation.

“Then it’s possible she walked in on something she wasn’t supposed to see,” Blake replied. “Maybe at the library or even at home. She could have walked in on an attempted robbery and got in their way.”

Tammy paused her typing. “What about the notebook you found?”

Angus gestured to the evidence bag on the table. Inside was the spiral-bound notebook he’d recovered from Lilly’s desk at her house. “It’s mostly disjointed notes—dates, references to books, and vague connections. Nothing concrete yet. We’ll need to go through it carefully to see if anything stands out.”

Miguel added, “I’m wondering if the notebook connects to her work at the library. Maybe something she stumbled on there that someone didn’t want her to see or hear.”

“You’re right, let’s not discount the notebook yet. Every detail matters,” Angus confirmed as he rubbed his chin thoughtfully. “And those notes—they might seem random, but we’ve seen before how scattered pieces can come together to form a bigger picture. Miguel, work with Tammy on cross-referencing those dates and any unusual activity at the library. Let’s figure it out, team. The clock is ticking.”

Tammy nodded, her fingers flying across the keyboard. “On it, Sheriff.”

Gina spoke up. “Do we have anything on that young woman Mrs. Connelly mentioned? The one with the bicycle who has been seen visiting Lilly a few times?”

“Not yet but I’ll look into it,” Miguel replied. “Although she’s not given us anything concrete to go on.”

“Mrs. Connelly thought it strange enough to mention, so let’s check with the other neighbors. If we’re lucky, someone’s dashcam or Ring doorbell might have caught her on camera,” Angus said.

Miguel nodded as he jotted down the task. "I’ll pop around to the neighbors the moment we’re done here."

Angus’s brow furrowed as a thought struck him. “Wait a minute,” he said, leaning forward. “The woman at the library last night—the one who said she saw a flashlight inside—she mentioned riding a bicycle, didn’t she?”

Miguel straightened. “Yeah, she did. Said she was on her way home and noticed the light and possible movement inside the library.”

“What name did she give?” Angus asked, his tone sharpening.

“Uh, Emily something,” Miguel replied, flipping through his notebook. “Emily Jones.”

Angus’s eyes narrowed. “Does that name sound real to you?”

Miguel hesitated. “Now that you mention it, no. It’s pretty generic.”

“Tammy,” Angus said, turning to her, “I need you to dig into that name and see if we can find anything on her. Also, if you haven’t already, compare the dates and references in the notebook to library records—maybe Lilly was tracking something specific. But this girl on the bicycle could be our best lead right now. She’s our only lead, if I’m honest.”

“Leave it with me, Sheriff,” Tammy replied, her expression focused.

The room fell quiet for a moment as everyone absorbed the potential implications. Angus felt the gravity of their task deepening; any small lead could crack this case wide open. As he studied the whiteboard, an idea struck him—what if Lilly’s notes weren’t disjointed at all but were instead a deliberate attempt to piece together a pattern only she could see? He resolved to personally take another look later, hoping fresh eyes might spot what others missed.

If the woman at the library was the same one visiting Lilly’s house, it meant she was connected to the case in ways they had yet to determine. And if she’d given a fake name, it only deepened the mystery.

Angus stood and walked to the whiteboard. He picked up the marker and wrote Emily Jones? in bold letters, circling it twice. “Let’s find out who this woman is and bring her in for questioning,” he said resolutely. “And why she just happened to be passing the library after closing.”

Chapter Nine

Angus sat at his desk, the late morning light filtering through the blinds and casting thin lines across the stacks of files and notebooks in front of him. His coffee sat untouched, steam curling upward in lazy wisps. He flipped open the notebook where he had jotted down details from his conversation with Mrs. Connelly and the subsequent meeting in the boardroom. One name stood out among the scattered notes: Emily Jones.

“If that even is her name,” he muttered to Scout who was chewing at a rawhide toy. Scout cocked his head to one side with curiosity in his big brown eyes before he turned his attention back to his treat.

Angus smiled at the dog’s lack of interest in him and directed his thoughts back to his notes.

The woman at the library had been composed yet nervous, her words carefully measured. Something about her didn’t sit right with him. A possible fake name, riding a bicycle in the late autumn and at night, and an unsettling coincidence with Mrs. Connelly’s description of Lilly’s recent visitor. Emily’s presence at the library the night Lilly disappeared could not be ignored.

“Miguel,” Angus called out, his voice carrying through his open door and out into the open office.

Miguel appeared at the doorway, a clipboard in hand. “Yeah, Sheriff?”

“We have to find this Emily Jones woman. Something’s off with her. Start by checking the town’s public records. See if there’s anything on a woman matching that name. If that doesn’t turn up anything, expand the search to neighboring counties.”

Miguel nodded. “Will do. Anything else?”

“Head down to Mo’s Diner after that. Ask around. Someone might’ve seen her or her bicycle. Check with Monica. She’s been waitressing there since Mo opened fifteen years ago. If anyone’s seen this woman, Monica has.”

“Got it,” Miguel replied, heading off to continue the search.

Angus leaned back in his chair, exhaling slowly. He prayed for clarity and wisdom, asking God to reveal the truth in His time. Patience was a virtue that Angus often struggled with, but it was essential in moments like these. The state of Lilly’s house—clearly ransacked—the disturbance at the library, uncertainty surrounding her disappearance, and Emily’s involvement; facts that all niggled at him.

By midafternoon, Miguel returned with a stack of papers and a weary expression. “Sheriff, we’ve got nothing. No Emily Jones matching her description in Weyport or the surrounding counties. No one’s even heard the name.”

Angus frowned. “That’s unusual but not surprising.”

Miguel placed the papers on Angus’s desk. “Tammy’s also been checking for recent purchases or rentals under that name—bikes, properties, anything. So far, nothing. Not even a bank account. We’ll keep digging, but it’s looking like she either doesn’t exist or she’s gone to great lengths to stay off the grid.”

Angus nodded, flipping through the papers. “What about the diner?”

“No luck there either. Most folks think they remember seeing a woman with a bicycle now and then, but no one’s seen her up close, and no one’s spoken to her. I’ve been calling local businesses. Ben from the supermarket says he’s noticed a woman with a bicycle once, maybe twice, but he says she’s never spoken to him. She’s in and out of the store. Says she keeps to herself, leaves the money on the counter, and then leaves.”

Angus’s jaw tightened. “It’s almost like she doesn’t want to be found.”

Miguel hesitated. “There’s one more thing. I just got off the phone with the guy who owns the bike shop on Main Street. He thinks he might’ve sold her that bicycle a few months ago, but she paid in cash and didn’t give a name.”

Angus’s eyes narrowed. “That’s a start. Did he give you any details about her?”

Miguel nodded. “Said she seemed normal enough. Late-twenties, auburn hair, polite. Didn’t stick around to chat.”

Angus leaned forward, his elbows resting on the desk. “Alright. Sounds a lot like the woman I spoke to. Let’s keep her on our radar. Put out feelers to see if anyone else remembers her. Someone who goes through such great lengths not to be noticed has a lot more to hide than what meets the eye.”

That afternoon, Angus decided to retrace Emily’s steps, starting with the library. He parked his truck in the lot and stepped out, Scout’s eager face peeking from the passenger seat. “Not this time, buddy,” Angus said with a smile, patting the dog’s head before heading inside.

The library was quiet, the atmosphere heavy, as if the building itself missed Lilly’s presence. Angus scanned the rows of books, his boots echoing softly against the polished floor. He made his way to the front desk, where Lilly’s purse had been left, untouched since the investigation began.

Angus crouched to examine the desk more closely. His fingers brushed the edge of a drawer, pulling it open to reveal neatly arranged office supplies. He couldn’t help but notice how methodical Lilly was, her world carefully organized—a stark contrast to the chaos that had overtaken it now.

Standing, he surveyed the space, trying to imagine what Emily might have seen or done when she passed by. He recalled her words about noticing a flashlight inside the library. Was she telling the truth, or had she been involved in some way? His gut told him there was more to her story, but for now, all he had were questions.

The library’s silence pressed in on him as he moved through its familiar rows. Each shelf seemed to carry memories of Lilly’s presence, the subtle touch of her meticulous hand in the orderliness of the books. As he reached the reference section, he recalled the notebook they’d found at Lilly’s home. It was filled with cryptic notes—barely legible—and scattered with annotations that hinted at something deeper. He resolved to examine it more thoroughly later, hoping it might hold some hidden clue.

Back at the station, Angus gathered his team in the boardroom.

“Alright, folks,” he began, pointing to the whiteboard. “Emily Jones remains our only lead. Miguel, update us on your findings.”

Miguel went over what he’d uncovered—or rather, what he hadn’t. The lack of records, the cash purchase at the bike shop, and her evasive behavior painted a troubling picture.

“It’s possible she’s not from around here,” Tammy offered. “Maybe she’s just passing through.”

“Or maybe she’s hiding something,” Angus countered. “We need to dig deeper. Expand the search beyond Weyport. Miguel, check with the state database for any missing persons who match her description.”

“On it,” Miguel replied.

Tammy spoke up again. “What about the notebook we found at Lilly’s house? Could Emily be connected to any of the references in it?”

Angus considered this. “Possibly. I’ll go over it again tonight. See if anything stands out.”

The meeting continued, each team member contributing ideas and observations. They reviewed potential leads and discussed patterns that might have been missed. Tammy suggested reaching out to regional police departments for any reports of similar disappearances, a suggestion Angus quickly approved.

As the discussion wound down, Angus stood and addressed the group.

“Emily Jones might not be who she says she is, but she’s tied to this somehow. Let’s keep pushing. The answers are out there. We just have to find them.”

As the team dispersed, Angus lingered in the boardroom, staring at the whiteboard. Emily’s name was circled in red, a glaring reminder of the puzzle they had yet to solve.

With a sigh, he left the room and went back to his office, determination burning in his chest. He would find out who Emily Jones really was—and what she knew about Lilly’s disappearance. Every new piece of information only seemed to deepen the enigma. If Emily wasn’t who she said she was, then who was she? And why had she been in the library that night?

Scout let out a soft whine from his bed, drawing Angus’s attention. The dog had picked up on his mood—he always did. Angus rubbed the back of his neck and made a decision: it was time to hit the streets himself. If the phone calls and records weren’t turning up any answers, maybe a personal visit to the people of Weyport could.

Chapter Ten

Angus adjusted the brim of his cap as he stepped into the crisp morning air. The streets of Weyport were beginning to stir with shopkeepers sweeping their sidewalks and the distant hum of a delivery truck punctuating the stillness. Scout was settled back at the station, his contented snores a contrast to the unease churning in Angus’s mind.

The name Emily Jones lingered like a smudge on an otherwise clear canvas. Everything about her presence seemed too coincidental, her demeanor too rehearsed. Yet, despite her significance in this puzzle, she remained maddeningly elusive.

He decided to visit the town’s quieter corners—the places where faces went unnoticed, and people like Emily might leave traces of themselves behind. First stop—the coffee shop, where locals gathered to swap stories and observations. Someone might have noticed her. Plus, he hadn’t slept much, and he desperately needed a strong coffee.

The bell above the door jingled as Angus entered The Quick Brew. The rich aroma of roasted beans enveloped him, a comforting contrast to the tension he carried. Zoe, the young barista with a friendly smile and quick hands, looked up from behind the counter.

“Morning, Sheriff. The usual?” she asked cheerfully, remarkably chipper for how early it was. Angus found himself wondering how someone can be that awake and cheerful that early in the morning. Her friendly eyes waited on him to answer. A rough night without sleep and the lack of progress on the case had him somewhat grumpy but perhaps her friendliness was precisely what he needed.

Angus gave her a nod; the corners of his mouth now in a slight upward curl. “Thanks, Zoe. Actually, I’m here with some questions. You know anything about a young woman, late-twenties, auburn hair, rides a bicycle with a basket on the front?”

Zoe frowned, pouring his double cream latte with steady hands. “Can’t say I do. Bicycle, you said?”

“That’s right. She’s been seen around town, keeps to herself. Might’ve come in here for a coffee or snack.”

Zoe shook her head. “Sorry, Sheriff. I’d remember someone like that. Most folks who come in are regulars. If she’s new, I haven’t seen her. Besides, who in their right mind cycles this time of year?”

Angus thanked her and took his coffee to go. Outside, he stood on the sidewalk, scanning the street as he sipped the steaming liquid. His mind sifted through the few leads they had. If Zoe hadn’t seen her, maybe someone else along Main Street had.

Miguel was already canvassing the area, checking with shop owners and passersby. When Angus caught up to him near the bike shop, Miguel’s expression mirrored his own frustration.

“Anything?” Angus asked.

Miguel shook his head. “Nothing concrete. The bike shop owner confirmed selling her the bike a few months ago, but as we know, that’s as far as it goes. No name, no card payment, just cash.”

“Did he mention if she said anything unusual? Accent? Mannerisms?”

Miguel thought for a moment. “He said she was polite but quiet. Didn’t stick around to chat. Auburn hair, like you described. That’s about it.”

Angus sighed. “Alright. Keep at it. I’m going to check in with Ben at the grocery store.”

At the Weyport Supermarket, Ben, the store assistant, remembered the woman but offered little more than Miguel had gathered on the phone the day before. “If it is who I think it is, she’s only been in a few times,” Ben said, rubbing his chin. “Pays in cash, doesn’t say much. Always seems like she’s in a hurry. Weird though, she never looks me in the eye. Just drops the money on the counter and leaves.”

“Ever notice which direction she goes when she leaves?” Angus asked.

Ben pointed toward the park. “Usually heads that way. Don’t know where she goes from there.”

Angus thanked him and stepped outside. The park. It was as good a place as any to look for more clues. He called Miguel to meet him there.

The park was quiet, the morning frost glistening on the grass. Angus and Miguel walked the paths, their eyes scanning for anything unusual. Near one of the benches, Miguel stopped and pointed to a discarded scarf caught in a bush.

“Could belong to her,” Miguel said, holding it up carefully. “Do we know if Lilly wore any scarves?”

Angus examined it. “Maybe. Bag it just in case. Let’s keep looking.”

They moved deeper into the park, checking the trees and pathways for further signs. Near a small clearing, they found a bicycle tire print in the soft dirt. It wasn’t conclusive but worth noting.

“This path leads toward the side street behind the library,” Angus said. “Let’s ask around this neighborhood. If Lilly left the library on foot, she might have decided to cut through the park like most of the teenagers do on their way to school. And if Emily came through here, well, let’s cross all the tees and ask about either of them. Someone might’ve seen something.”

By midday, the search yielded little more than vague recollections from a few residents. Most people hadn’t noticed the woman, or Lilly, for that matter, and those who had couldn’t provide any useful details. Discomfort took hold of Angus as he and Miguel regrouped near the park.

“We’re missing something,” Angus said, his voice low. “Emily’s too careful, too deliberate. There’s got to be a reason she’s staying under the radar. This town is too small to go unnoticed unless you deliberately set out to hide yourself.”

Miguel nodded. “I can see this case is eating at you, Angus. Wanna talk about it?"

Angus smiled at Miguel in acknowledgement. “I guess I just feel like we took Lilly for granted, you know? I mean, what do we really know about her? I’ve never even taken the time to get to know her. Perhaps if I did none of this—”

“People only show what they want others to see, Angus,” Miguel cut him short. “Lilly talked a fair game about pretty much everyone in this little town of ours but she was never one to talk much about herself. It seems this is how she wanted it. Don’t beat yourself up over it. Nothing you could have done would have stopped whatever it is that’s going on here. We’ll find her.”

Angus nodded. “Thanks, Miguel. I guess you’re right. Maybe Tammy’s got something. She’s been cross-referencing missing persons reports and other databases. Let’s head back to the station.”

Tammy greeted them with a mix of excitement and concern. “I think I found something,” she said, leading them to her desk. On her screen was a report from a neighboring county.

“This missing person’s report matches the description of Emily Jones—auburn hair, mid-twenties. But here’s the kicker: the report was filed over a year ago, and the name isn’t Emily Jones. It’s Becca Lane.”

Angus’s brow furrowed. “Becca Lane? What else does the report say?”

Tammy scrolled through the document. “Not much. Last seen in a small town about fifty miles from here. No known relatives. The case went cold pretty quickly.”

Angus exchanged a look with Miguel. “So if this is one and the same woman, Emily Jones is an alias. Why would she use a fake name?”

Miguel leaned against the desk. “Maybe she’s running from something. Or someone.”

Angus nodded slowly. “Let’s get a copy of that report and see if we can track down whoever filed it. Maybe they know something we don’t. And see if you can get them to send you a photo of Becca Lane. I want to see if it matches the woman I spoke to outside the library.”

Tammy printed the report and handed it to Angus. “I’ll get on it right away and I’ll keep digging, see if I can find any more connections.”

“Good work, Tammy,” Angus said, his mind already racing with possibilities.

Later that afternoon, Angus was back in the boardroom with Miguel and Tammy. He’d been poring over the notebook all afternoon. Frustration had settled in knots at the back of his neck, and he rubbed at it as he stared at the whiteboard with notes, timelines, and question marks. More question marks than he’d like.

“Let’s recap,” Angus said, his tone blunt. “Let’s assume Emily Jones, or Becca Lane, showed up in Weyport under a fake name. She’s been seen at the library and possibly at Lilly’s house. Now she’s vanished. Lilly’s also missing, and her home was ransacked. What’s the connection?”

“And why would Emily be visiting Lilly?” Tammy asked. “What’s Lilly’s role in all this? Do you think she knows Emily?”

Miguel tapped the whiteboard with a marker. “That’s the million-dollar question. Did they share a secret? What did these two women have in common? Did Emily know something about Lilly perhaps? Something Lilly didn’t want anyone to know?”

“Are you saying Emily could have blackmailed Lilly?” Angus asked, his voice sharpening with the prospect of a new angle.

Miguel shrugged his shoulders. “I don’t know. I suppose we can’t rule it out.”

Angus was on his feet, circling the boardroom. “It’s definitely possible, Miguel. We’ve all concluded that we know nothing about Lillian Cooper. Emily could be from Lilly’s past. She could be a con artist, a long-lost daughter, who knows? But we can’t rule it out. It’s an angle we need to explore. We’ve been so fixated on finding Emily Jones that we’ve taken our eyes of Lilly. If Emily’s keeping a low profile, she’s either running away from something or someone, or she came here to see Lilly. One way or the other, we need to find out everything we can about both of these women.” Angus rubbed his chin as he paced the floor. “Lilly knew everyone in this town, even if they didn’t realize it. She had a way of gathering information, putting pieces together.”

“Which is precisely why I still think Lilly found out something she wasn’t supposed to,” Tammy said, sinking back in her chair.

“We’re not going to rule that theory out, Tammy,” Angus acknowledged.

The room fell silent as they considered all the theories and implications. Finally, Angus spoke again.

“Miguel, I want you to focus on tracing Emily’s movements before she came to Weyport. Where does she live? We need to dig deeper. Tammy, keep digging into the missing person’s report. Is Emily, Becca Lane? There’s got to be something we’re missing. I’m going back to Lilly’s house. Someone turned her house upside down for a reason and I’m going to find out what that reason is.”

They nodded and left the room, leaving Angus alone with the whiteboard. He stared at the information on the board, determination sharpening his focus. Whoever Emily Jones really was, she wasn’t just a key to unraveling this mystery—she might be the only lead that could bring Lilly home. But something unsettled him, an unshakable feeling that both women were caught in something far darker than anyone in Weyport could imagine. And the truth, whatever it was, felt closer than ever to slipping away.

But what weighed on him most was the undeniable feeling that Lillian Cooper had secrets of her own. Secrets that landed her in more trouble than she could handle.

Chapter Eleven

Angus pulled into the narrow driveway of Lilly’s house, gravel crunching under his tires. The evening moon cast long shadows throughout the tidy garden that flanked the walkway. The contrast between the pristine exterior—the perfectly trimmed and flourishing rows of lilies and lavender—and the turmoil he’d uncovered within disturbed him.

He turned off the engine, the sudden silence amplifying the distant rustle of leaves in the cold night air. Scout wasn’t with him this time; Angus had dropped him off at home before heading out, knowing he wouldn’t be long. The little dog was safely tucked in his pen with a fresh bowl of water and his favorite chew toy.

Stepping out of the truck, Angus adjusted his hat and scanned his surroundings instinctively. The quiet neighborhood seemed undisturbed, but his gut told him to stay alert. The night air carried a chill that seeped through his coat, but he paid it no mind. He was back to dig deeper—to uncover anything they might have missed the first time around, anything that could shed light on the connection between Lilly and the mysterious Emily Jones, now suspected to be Becca Lane. Tonight wasn’t about routine patrols or casual observations—tonight was about digging deeper into Lilly’s life and the secrets that might explain her disappearance.

The front door remained taped off, and its lock had been replaced after the initial investigation. Angus used the new key Tammy had handed him earlier and entered the house. Inside, the scent of disturbed dust still lingered. The overturned furniture and scattered papers spoke of haste and desperation. Whoever had ransacked the place had been looking for something specific—they had been willing to tear apart Lilly’s carefully curated life to find it.

He moved to the living room, his eyes scanning the walls and shelves under the light from his flashlight. Framed photographs of unknown faces dotted the mantelpiece, but none appeared recent. Most were faded, featuring an older couple he assumed were Lilly’s parents. He jotted the observation down in his notebook. Was Lilly’s past the key to understanding her disappearance?

He knelt by an overturned coffee table, picking up a stack of papers. They were mostly bills and letters, mundane pieces of a quiet life. But as he sifted through them, one envelope caught his attention. It bore no return address, only the words To Lilly scrawled in hurried handwriting. The postmark was from two months ago. He slid the envelope into his evidence bag, deciding to examine it back at the station.

Angus’s next stop was Lilly’s bedroom. He paused in the doorway. The small space was sparsely decorated and for the most part, escaped the pillage—except for the single knee-high bookshelf beside her bed. It had been overturned, an array of novels and nonfiction titles scattered across the floor. One book lay open on the nightstand—The Secret Keeper. Its bookmark suggested she’d been near the end.

He opened the closet. Rows of modest clothing hung neatly. As he paged through the garments, something unusual caught his eye—a slight gap in the back panel. Angus pushed the clothes aside and leaned in, his fingers tracing the panel’s edge. With a firm tug, it popped open to reveal a hidden compartment. Inside lay a torn piece of paper, its edges jagged as if hastily ripped from a notebook. The handwriting was unmistakable—Lilly’s, a mixture of hurried notes and underlined phrases. Angus frowned as he thought back to the notebook they’d discovered during the initial investigation. Surely, he would have noticed if a page had been missing.

Angus read the paper carefully, his brow furrowing. These weren’t casual musings but a fragmented trail of cryptic clues—dates, names, and phrases that seemed to lead nowhere yet hinted at something larger. One line stood out: E.J. knows. Must confirm. Another, circled heavily, read: Cottage—not safe.

E.J.…Emily Jones. Or was it now Becca Lane?

The creak of a floorboard shattered the stillness, pulling Angus’s attention away from the torn paper. He froze, listening intently. The sound came again, this time from the kitchen. His hand instinctively went to his holster as he rose slowly, shoving the piece of paper into his coat pocket. Someone else was in the house.

Angus moved cautiously, his boots silent against the hardwood floor. The kitchen door was slightly ajar, and through the crack, he saw a shadow pass across the far wall. Whoever it was hadn’t noticed him yet. He stepped back into the hallway, positioning himself for a better view.

The intruder emerged—a tall man dressed in dark clothing, his face obscured by a hood. He carried a crowbar in one hand and a flashlight in the other. Angus’s pulse quickened. This wasn’t a burglar; this was someone who had come prepared. He had used the crowbar to break the lock on the kitchen door—and possibly use as a weapon.

“Stop right there!” Angus barked, drawing his weapon.

The man froze for a split second before bolting toward the back door. Angus pursued without hesitation, adrenaline coursing through him as he chased the intruder. The man reached the door and yanked it open, disappearing into the backyard. Angus followed, his boots pounding against the ground as he chased the fleeing figure through the garden and over a low fence.

The pursuit led them into a narrow alley that ran behind the neighboring houses. The man was fast, but Angus had the advantage of knowing the terrain. He veered left, cutting through another yard to intercept. As the man emerged from the alley, Angus lunged, tackling him to the ground. The crowbar clattered away as they hit the dirt.

The intruder twisted, throwing a punch that connected with Angus’s shoulder. Pain shot through him, but he held on, wrestling the man onto his back. “Who are you?” Angus demanded, his voice edged with fury. “What are you looking for?” The man didn’t answer. Instead, he shoved Angus off with surprising strength, scrambling to his feet. Before Angus could react, the intruder swung his flashlight, striking him across the temple. Stars exploded in Angus’s vision as he fell back, dazed.

By the time he regained his bearings, the man was gone, his footsteps fading into the distance. Angus sat up slowly, his head throbbing. He pressed a hand to his temple and felt a warm trickle of blood. Gritting his teeth, Angus quickly assessed the situation, recalling that Miguel had mentioned he’d be finishing patrol nearby before heading home for the night. Confident his deputy wasn’t far, Angus pulled out his radio.

“Miguel, this is Angus,” he said, his voice strained. “I’m at Lilly’s house. We’ve got an intruder fleeing west toward the park. I need you to intercept if you’re close. Tall male, dark clothing, hooded sweatshirt. Dangerous and likely armed.”

“10-4,” Miguel’s voice crackled back. Moments later, the APB call echoed through the airwaves.

Angus staggered to his feet, his vision still blurry. He retrieved the crowbar the intruder had dropped, careful not to disturb any fingerprint evidence. As he made his way back to the house, his mind raced. Whoever this man was, he’d been looking for something specific. When he reached Lilly’s house he secured the crowbar in an evidence bag in his truck before turning his attention back to the house and the piece of paper he had found in the hidden compartment. The note in Angus’s pocket suddenly felt heavier, its cryptic entries taking on a new urgency as he slipped it into an evidence bag as well and secured it in his truck with the envelope and crowbar.

Once inside, Angus secured the house and sat on the edge of Lilly’s bed, trying to steady his breathing. His temple throbbed, and the blood on his forehead was beginning to dry, but the adrenaline coursing through his veins dulled the pain. He stood up and paced the small house, mentally replaying the encounter. Whoever the man was, he had been determined, almost frantic. This wasn’t a random burglary—it was targeted, purposeful. But why? What was he after? This investigation wasn’t just about Lilly’s disappearance anymore. There were deeper layers to uncover, and whoever that man was, he seemed desperate enough to risk everything to find what he was looking for.

“Miguel, status update?” Angus radioed, leaning against the wall to steady himself.

“Still combing the area near the park,” Miguel’s voice came through. “No sign of him yet, but we’re widening the perimeter.”

“Good. Stay on it,” Angus replied, running a hand down his face. “I’m heading back to the station. Found a few new leads I need to drop in the evidence locker.”

“Copy that. You alright?”

Angus nodded as if Miguel was able to see him. “I’ll live. But we need to find this guy. He knows something.”

“I’ll get the team to circle the park and follow up with the park patrol and nearby surveillance first thing.”

“Good,” Angus said. “Let’s make sure no stone is left unturned.”

Miguel’s radio clicked off and Angus stepped outside, the cold air biting against his skin as he secured the house and followed the garden path back to his truck. He glanced back at Lilly’s house, its windows dark and unwelcoming. Somewhere within its walls—or between the lines of that torn note—lay the answers. And Angus was determined to find them, no matter the cost. He knew one thing for certain: the closer he got to the truth, the more dangerous this case was becoming.

Chapter Twelve

The first streaks of dawn broke through the autumn sky as Angus parked his truck in front of the Weyport Sheriff’s Office. The sun had yet to rise, casting the town in a muted gray light. Inside the truck, Scout shifted in his seat, his ears perking up as he recognized the familiar surroundings.

“Let’s get to work, boy,” Angus said, grabbing his hat and stepping out.

Scout hopped out behind him, his breath visible in the chilly air, his tail wagging as he darted ahead, eager to start the day. Angus smiled at the dog’s playful energy, grateful for the companionship he didn’t think he had needed before.

The office was quiet save for the hum of fluorescent lights and the greetings of a few night-shift deputies wrapping up their reports. They nodded to Angus, their expressions a mix of weariness and respect.

“Morning, Sheriff,” one called out, rubbing tired eyes.

“Morning. Looks like you’re ready to head off to bed, my friend,” Angus replied casually, heading straight to his office to drop off his coat and settle Scout with a fresh bowl of water and a dog biscuit. The dog padded to his bed in the corner and curled up, watching Angus with curious eyes.

Angus grabbed the evidence bags he’d secured the night before—one holding the crowbar, another the envelope, and the third containing the torn piece of paper—and headed to the boardroom. With a measured breath, he switched on the overhead light and carefully placed the evidence bags on the table, ready to delve into the puzzle ahead. The large whiteboard was blank except for faint marks left by dry-erase markers from the previous meeting. Reserved specifically for brainstorming the case, Angus uncapped a marker and began jotting down the new evidence he’d collected from Lilly’s house. Beside it, he wrote in bold, capital letters: INTRUDER? and underlined it. His gaze shifted to the adjacent crime scene board, filled with photos, notes, and timelines detailing Lilly’s disappearance.

He started with the crowbar. Pulling on gloves, he inspected it closely under a desk lamp. It was ordinary, the kind anyone could pick up at a hardware store, but it bore scuff marks and faint scratches along the metal. He moved it to one side and made a note to have the lab test it for fingerprints and DNA.

Next, he turned to the envelope. The writing on the front appeared to have been hurried, almost frantic, but there was nothing inside to explain its significance. Angus frowned, setting the empty envelope aside before pulling out the torn piece of paper. The jagged edges and hastily written notes demanded his attention. He flattened it on the table, his eyes narrowing as he read the words again.

E.J. knows. Must confirm. Cottage—not safe.

He retrieved the notebook found during the initial search of Lilly’s house and flipped through it, page by page. The neat handwriting in the notebook didn’t match the torn piece of paper, nor did the paper’s texture or color. Wherever this page had come from, it wasn’t from that notebook.

“What secrets were you keeping, Lillian Cooper?” Angus muttered, leaning back in his chair as he stared at her photo on the evidence board. The evidence created more questions than answers. He stared at the note, the words Cottage—not safe looping through his mind. Could this note hold a clue to Lilly’s disappearance? The mention of a cottage added another layer to the mystery. There were several cottages around Weyport—could one of them hold the answers? Angus jotted the phrase Cottage—not safe onto the whiteboard, determined to keep the possibility open without jumping to conclusions.

The sound of the office door opening pulled him from his thoughts. Miguel stepped in, his expression taut with resolve, followed closely by Tammy, who balanced two steaming cups of coffee.

“Morning, Sheriff,” Tammy greeted him, setting one cup in front of him.

“Thanks, Tammy,” Angus said, taking a grateful sip. “Hope there’s more where this one came from.”

“You bet! This case has us all losing sleep.”

Miguel set his bag on the table. His sharp eyes immediately caught the Band-Aid on Angus’s temple. “You alright, Sheriff? That looks like it could use a second look.”

Angus waved him off. “I’m fine. Just a scrape.” He offered a faint smile. “We have far more important things to focus on right now.”

Miguel nodded but didn’t hide his concern. “No sign of the intruder,” he said without preamble. “I combed the area from Lilly’s house, all around the park and beyond, but it came up empty. Whoever he is, he’s good at disappearing.”

Angus nodded, unsurprised but frustrated. “We’ll catch him. It’s only a matter of time. Hopefully he left us some fingerprints." Angus pushed his chin toward the bagged crowbar. Tammy’s eyes widened slightly at the sight.

“That would make my job a whole lot easier for sure!” Miguel quipped.

“Well, let’s focus on what we do have.” Angus filled them in on the discoveries from Lilly’s house, laying out the evidence on the table. Miguel leaned in to study the torn piece of paper.

“E.J.,” Miguel said, his brow furrowing. “Emily Jones? Or, if we’re right, Becca Lane?”

“Could be either—or someone else entirely,” Angus replied. “But it’s clear Lilly thought she knew something important.”

“You know, Sheriff, this whole thing with Emily—or Becca—doesn’t sit right,” Miguel said. “We’ve got someone staying in a small town like Weyport, using a fake name, yet no one has seen or heard of her. It appears she’s going out of her way to hide, yet she steps forward to provide information on the steps of a public library. It just feels off.”

“I agree,” Angus said. “It’s all very strange but we need to find her and figure out how she fits into all this. She’s a key piece of the puzzle—I’m certain of it.”

Tammy tapped her pen against her notebook. “Do we know if Lilly and Becca had any mutual connections? Friends, colleagues, anything like that?”

“Not yet,” Angus admitted. “But it’s something we need to look into.”

“I’ll cross reference their Facebook profiles. You’d be amazed what you can find out on socials,” Tammy said as she jotted down a reminder.

Miguel pulled out a map of the area and spread it across the table.

Angus leaned in. “Talk to me, Miguel. What did you find out from your search last night?”

Miguel pointed to sections he’d searched, marking them with a pen. “Not much I’m afraid. We checked every route leading away from the park. No disturbed ground, no signs of a hurried escape. It’s like the guy vanished into thin air.”

Angus studied the map, his jaw tightening. “He’s local,” he said. “Knows the terrain too well to leave a trail.”

Tammy chimed in, “Should we check traffic cams? Maybe he left on foot and got picked up by a car.”

“Good idea,” Angus said. “Put in a request with the highway department for any footage from last night. If he got out of town, we need to know how.”

As Tammy made notes, the whirring sound of paper feeding through the fax machine in the corner caught her attention. . She stood and watched as the document fed through the machine. Noticing the sender’s details, she announced to the team, “It’s from the Millcove Sheriff’s Office. I’ve been waiting for them to send me the missing person’s report photo of Becca Lane. This might be it.”

The document dropped into the basket and she retrieved it, her eyes scanning the page before her expression lit up.

“Sheriff,” she said, “it’s a picture of Becca Lane. I think we’ve got confirmation.”

Angus and Miguel leaned in as she laid the picture on the table. Becca’s face stared back at them, her features distinct and unfamiliar. Angus frowned. “That’s not Emily Jones.”

Miguel straightened. “You’re sure this isn’t the woman who came forward outside the library?”

Angus nodded. “I’m positive. I don’t forget a face.”

“So Becca and Emily aren’t the same person,” Miguel confirmed.

“That’s right,” Angus said, his mind racing. “We’ve been chasing the wrong lead. So, we have two women—Emily Jones—whereabouts unknown—and Becca Lane who’s still missing from Millcove. Both connected somehow to Lilly and her disappearance.”

Angus leaned back, his thoughts churning. “Let’s regroup in an hour,” he said, glancing at Miguel and Tammy. “I need to clear my head and think.”

Tammy nodded, stepping out to take action on her tasks, followed by Miguel a few steps behind her. Angus stood from his chair and walked back to his office, feeling the tension in his shoulders from hours of staring at the evidence.

“Come on, Scout,” he said as he entered his office, grabbing the dog’s leash from a hook by the door.

Scout bounded up eagerly, his tail wagging in anticipation. Angus led him outside to the small patch of green behind the sheriff’s office—a modest space bordered by a weathered fence, where deputies sometimes took their breaks. The fresh air and mild midday sun was a welcome relief to both of them and Angus appreciated the chance to clear his mind. As Scout sniffed around, Angus turned over the growing complexities of the case. He sighed, rubbing his temple near the bandage, the ache a reminder of the previous night’s scuffle. If Becca Lane wasn’t Emily Jones, then who was she? Who was this mystery woman on the bicycle? Why did Lilly write her initials on a hidden piece of paper and how did she fit into her disappearance?

There were too many questions and not enough answers, but he wasn’t ready to give up.

The evidence was there, scattered and incomplete. They were close to something—he could feel it. And the truth, when it came, promised to be explosive.

Chapter Thirteen

The late afternoon autumn sunlight streamed through the blinds of Angus’s office, shining warm slants of light illuminated the desk piled with evidence bags and notes. Scout lay curled in the corner, his soft snores breaking the quiet as Angus leaned back in his chair. Tammy and Miguel were seated across from him, their postures mirroring the weight of the unsolved case.

Angus rubbed his temples, the dull ache lingering from his encounter with the intruder. “Alright,” he said, gesturing toward the desk cluttered with files and photos. “Let’s start with what we know.”

Tammy set a glass of water and two aspirin in front of him. “Thought you might need these,” she said with a faint smile. Her face was tired, but her eyes held determination.

Angus nodded, offering a small smile of gratitude. “Thanks, Tammy. Your efficiency is a real asset to this team.”

Tammy’s cheeks reddened slightly, but she quickly shifted to business mode, flipping open her notebook. “I’ve gone through the traffic cam footage,” she began, her voice steady despite the exhaustion evident on her face. “No one was seen fleeing Lilly’s house last night.”

“No one?” Angus frowned, his fingers tapping rhythmically against the desk.

“No one,” Tammy confirmed. “It’s like he vanished into thin air. But I also pulled footage from the park and library from the night Lilly disappeared. Figured it was worth a shot.”

Miguel leaned forward, his arms resting on his knees. “And?”

Tammy slid a printed still from the footage across the desk. The image was grainy, poorly lit, but it clearly showed two figures moving through the park. “This was just before 10 p.m. That’s Lilly, running. And that—” she tapped the blurred figure trailing behind her— “might be your intruder, Sheriff.”

Angus studied the printout, his jaw tightening. Though the details were indistinct, the urgency in Lilly’s posture was unmistakable. “It’s hard to tell, but the height and build match. Could be the same guy I ran into at her house. Good work, Tammy. Your out-of-the-box thinking is exactly what we need.”

Tammy’s lips curved in a faint smile, her exhaustion momentarily eclipsed by pride. “Thanks, Sheriff. I’ll see if I can enhance the footage further. Maybe we can get a better look at his face.”

Miguel cleared his throat. “I’ve been talking to everyone in town, trying to get anything on Emily Jones. So far, nothing concrete. People remember seeing a woman matching her description, but no one knows who she is or where she stayed. She’s like a ghost.”

“Keep pressing,” Angus said. “Someone’s seen or heard something. We just need the right person to open up.”

“Well, then what I’m about to say is going to make it even weirder,” Tammy interjected, hesitating slightly before speaking again. “I tried cross-referencing Lilly and Becca Lane on social media—Facebook, Instagram, anything—but I came up empty. Neither of them has profiles. Not even old ones.”

“Interesting,” Miguel said, his brow furrowing. “These days, everyone’s online.”

“Exactly,” Tammy replied. “It’s almost like they don’t want to be found.”

Angus nodded pensively. “It could also mean they’re both private people…or that they have something to hide.”

The room was silent as they each considered the implications of what little they had to go on. Scout stirred in his corner, stretching and yawning. Angus looked at the clock. “Let’s move this discussion to the boardroom. I want everything laid out where we can see it.”

Angus approached the crime scene board. The photos and notes pinned there felt like pieces of a puzzle that refused to fit together. “We’re missing something,” he muttered, his eyes scanning the web of connections. “Miguel, do me a favor. Check with the hair salons around town—see if anyone named Emily Jones had their hair done in the last six months. Most women can’t go long without having their hair done.”

Miguel nodded, jotting down the request. “Smart! Will do.”

Tammy added the grainy park footage to the board as Miguel unfolded a map on the table.

“Tammy,” Angus added, “keep working on enhancing that footage. And see if you can find anything about the intruder’s escape route.”

Tammy made notes then looked up to study the notes on the whiteboard. “The cottage,” she said, tapping her pen against the torn note Angus had found. “That’s a bit vague. Though there are those two bird-watching cottages the Forest Service put up last year. Could it be one of them?”

“Possibly,” Angus replied, his tone measured. “I don’t want to jump to any conclusions just yet, but it’s worth checking out. We need more to go on before we act on this lead, though. The town’s on edge enough with Lilly’s disappearance.”

Miguel crossed his arms, studying the map. “And the crowbar? Why bring that with him? It’s not as if anyone was in the house and besides, he could’ve easily broken a window or a latch off the back door without it.”

“Unless he brought it for protection,” Tammy offered.

“Or,” Miguel said, his tone darkening, “he was after something specific. Something that needed prying open.”

“Very possible,” Angus said. “But what? That’s what we need to figure out.”

The ringing of Angus’s office phone cut through the quiet, startling everyone. Tammy glanced at Angus, who nodded his permission. “I’ll get it,” she said.

Moments later, she returned with a bemused expression. “Sheriff, it’s Margaret Fuller. She says it’s urgent.”

Angus sighed, exchanging a knowing look with Miguel. “Margaret Fuller and ‘urgent’ don’t usually belong in the same sentence. Put her through.”

Tammy pressed a button on the boardroom phone.

“Sheriff Reid,” Angus answered gruffly.

“Well, good afternoon, Sheriff,” Margaret’s voice crackled to life, full of gossipy energy. “I hope I’m not interrupting anything important.”

Angus pinched the bridge of his nose. “Not at all, Margaret,” he said, forcing patience into his tone. “What can I do for you?”

“Well, I heard through the grapevine that you’re looking for a young woman on a bicycle,” Margaret said, her tone conspiratorial. “Is that true?”

Angus’s grip on the receiver tightened. “We’re looking into all possible leads regarding Lilly’s disappearance. Why?”

Angus turned sharply toward Miguel, his interest piqued.

Margaret’s voice dropped, adopting a hushed tone as if sharing a scandal. “I thought you might want to look into the woman who rents one of those coastal path cottages by the pier. Joan Wilson who lives in one of the cottages says she’s been there a few months now, and well, let’s just say she’s not exactly blending in.”

“What do you mean?” Angus asked, keeping his voice neutral.

“Oh, you know how it is in a small town,” Margaret said with a chuckle. “People notice things. She keeps to herself mostly, but I’ve seen her riding that bicycle around town. Always at odd hours, and she never seems to stop and chat. Quite the peculiar one, if you ask me.”

Angus glanced at Miguel, who was now leaning forward in his chair. “Do you know her name, Margaret?”

“Oh, I don’t know that,” Margaret replied, her tone feigning innocence. “I’ve only seen her a few times. Dark hair, quiet demeanor…not the type to mingle, if you know what I mean. It’s just that she’s, well, different,” she continued, her voice dropping as if someone might overhear. “Not in a bad way, mind you, but there’s something about her. A mystery, if you ask me.”

“Have you noticed anything unusual about her?” Angus prompted. “Have you spoken to her?”

“Not directly, no,” Margaret admitted. “But I’ve seen her around. And well, you didn’t hear it from me, but I heard she left her last town in a hurry. No one seems to know why.” She hesitated, clearly enjoying the attention. “I can’t say anything for sure, but she does seem…secretive. You know how people like that can be.”

Angus sighed, his patience wearing thin. “Thanks for letting me know, Margaret,” Angus said, his tone calm but resolute. “I’ll look into it, and if you remember anything else or see her again, be sure to let me know, please.”

Margaret’s tone shifted slightly. “You’re getting closer to finding Lilly, right? Poor woman, I hope she’s alright. I can’t imagine what must’ve happened to her. Such a sweet soul, always helping people.” There was an unmissable edge to her voice, a fishing expedition disguised as concern.

“We’re doing everything we can,” Angus replied evenly. “If you think of anything else, give me a call.”

“Oh, I’ll be sure to, Sheriff,” she said sweetly. “And do let me know if you’re any closer to finding poor Lilly. Such a shame, really. She’s such a good woman. I do hope she’s alright.”

As the line disconnected, Angus turned to Miguel and Tammy. “Get me everything we can find on the tenants of the pier cottages. I want names, backgrounds, everything.”

Miguel nodded, already pulling out his phone.

Tammy added a note to the crime scene board: Cottage by the pier—woman tenant?

As the team dispersed, Angus lingered by the crime scene board. He leaned against the table, his thoughts racing. The evidence seemed to raise more questions than answers. The faint image of Lilly running through the park played in his mind, each blurred detail taunting him.

“Where are you, Lilly?” he muttered under his breath. "And who is Emily Jones?"

The stakes were rising, and Angus could feel the pressure mounting. The answers were out there—but so were the dangers.

Chapter Fourteen

The early morning sunlight cast a pale glow over Weyport as Angus parked his truck near the seaside path. The salty breeze carried the sound of waves crashing against the shore. He had spent the better part of the evening after Margaret Fuller’s call poring over the town records Tammy had pulled for him. The tenant renting the only leased cottage along the seaside path that led to the pier was registered under the name Cassandra Miller—another name he didn’t recognize. His gut told him they were onto something, but whether it was a lead or another dead end remained to be seen.

“Let’s see where you tie into this mess and what secrets you’ve got, Cassandra,” Angus muttered, stepping out of the truck. He made his way toward the small, weather-worn cottage tucked along the rugged coastline. It stood apart from the other homes, its peeling paint and wind-blown shutters lending it an air of isolation.

Miguel’s cruiser pulled up behind Angus’s truck, and the deputy stepped out, his sharp eyes scanning the area. “Morning, Sheriff. Think we’ll finally get some answers?”

“We’re overdue for some,” Angus replied, motioning for Miguel to follow. Together, they approached the front door, their boots crunching against the gravel path. Angus knocked firmly, the sound echoing through the stillness.

No answer.

Angus locked eyes briefly with Miguel before knocking again, this time louder. “Cassandra Miller? Weyport Sheriff’s Office. We’d like to ask you a few questions.”

Still nothing.

“Maybe she’s out,” Miguel suggested, though the unease in his voice mirrored Angus’s state of mind.

Angus tried the doorknob. Locked. “Check around back,” he instructed, stepping off the porch to peer through a window. The curtains were drawn tightly, allowing only slivers of light to seep through. From what little he could see, the interior appeared neat but sparsely furnished.

Miguel returned moments later, shaking his head. “No sign of her. Back door’s locked too. Looks like she’s not home.”

“Alright, let’s check with some of the neighbors. Margaret mentioned a Joan who lived in one of the cottages, so let’s see if anyone’s seen her recently.”

A short walk up the street led them to a small bungalow, its porch lined with potted plants and wind chimes. An elderly woman answered the door, her curious eyes darting between Angus and Miguel.

“Good morning, ma’am,” Angus greeted her, tipping his hat. “I’m Sheriff Reid, and this is Deputy Garcia. We’re looking for Cassandra Miller, the tenant at the cottage next to you. Have you seen her recently?”

The woman’s brow furrowed as she adjusted her glasses. “Who?”

“Cassandra Miller,” Angus repeated.

“Oh, you mean the quiet young woman from next door. Is that her name?” her tone enquiring. “Haven’t seen her much lately. Keeps to herself, you know. But I did notice her bicycle was gone for a couple of days last week. She came back late one night, though. Thought it was odd.”

“I didn’t notice a bicycle there now,” Angus queried.

The woman shrugged her shoulders without offering any more information about it.

“Did she have any visitors?” Miguel asked.

She pursed her lips in thought. “Not that I’ve seen, but I don’t watch her every move. Although…” She trailed off, her expression hesitant.

“Anything you can tell us would be helpful,” Angus encouraged gently.

“Well, last week I heard voices outside, late at night. Sound travels when the wind blows up along the coast. Anyway, it could’ve been her arguing with someone. I didn’t see who it was, though. I don’t like to snoop.”

Angus leaned in slightly, his tone calm but probing. “Voices? Did you hear if they were male or female?”

She squinted, clearly trying to recall. “One was definitely a man’s voice—deep and harsh, like he was angry. The other was softer. Could’ve been hers, but I’m not sure.”

“Did it sound like more than two people?” Miguel asked.

The woman shook her head. “No, just the two. It didn’t last long. After a few minutes, everything went quiet again.”

Angus coaxed gently, “Do you recall if they said anything specific? Words, names, anything that stood out?”

She hesitated, her brow furrowing in concentration. “I couldn’t make out much. It was muffled, like they were trying not to be heard. But I think I heard the man say something about being ‘out of time.’ It was all so quick.”

The phrase lingered ominously in the air. “Thank you, ma’am,” Angus said, handing her his card. “You’ve been very helpful. If anything else comes to mind, please don’t hesitate to call.”

The woman nodded as she tucked the card into her apron pocket, her lips pursed in thought. “Is she in some kind of trouble?"

“That’s what I’m hoping to find out, ma’am.”

“Well, I just hope that poor girl’s alright. Weyport may be a small town, but we’re not immune to trouble, Sheriff. Be careful out there.”

Angus squeezed the rim of his hat, offering a reassuring smile. “We will, ma’am. And thank you again.”

As they walked away, the soft ringing of the woman’s wind chimes echoed behind them, blending with the crash of waves. Angus’s thoughts churned as he walked back toward the seaside path, the neighbor’s cryptic recollection adding another thread to the growing web of questions.

Back at the station, Angus and Miguel regrouped in the boardroom. Tammy was already there, her laptop open and a stack of papers spread out before her.

“Anything new?” Angus asked as he took a seat.

Tammy nodded, pushing a printout toward him. “I dug into Cassandra Miller’s rental agreement. Turns out she’s paid up for six months in advance. The landlord didn’t have much to say about her, though. Said she’s quiet and he hasn’t had any complaints from any of the neighbors.”

“No social security number, emergency contacts, or references?” Miguel asked.

“None whatsoever. The landlord said he can tell from a person’s eyes if they are decent or not and that was good enough for him,” Tammy replied with half a smirk, her tone carrying both disbelief and a touch of humor. She tilted her head slightly, an unconscious gesture that often accompanied her moments of incredulity. “But here’s the interesting part. The payment came from a bank account linked to someone named Emily Jones.”

Angus’s eyes narrowed. “So Cassandra Miller and Emily Jones are the same person?”

“Looks like it,” Tammy confirmed. “But why use two names?”

“Hiding from someone,” Miguel suggested. “Or something.”

Angus leaned back in his chair, the weight of the suggestion settling over him. “We need to figure out who she’s hiding from and why. And what Lilly has to do with all of this.”

Tammy hesitated before speaking again. “There’s one more thing. I ran her name through the database. Emily Jones filed a police report three years ago in Boston. Claimed someone was stalking her.”

“Did they catch the stalker?” Miguel asked.

Tammy shook her head. “No. The case went cold. But it’s a starting point.”

Angus’s mind spun with the implications. “Good work, Tammy. This gives us a direction. Miguel, contact the Boston PD and see what else they have on this cold case. If someone was stalking Emily—or Cassandra—it might explain why she’s here, keeping a low profile. And if Lilly somehow uncovered this, it might’ve put her in danger too.”

Miguel jotted down the instructions. “I’ll get on it right away, Sheriff.”

Tammy added, “Should I dig into more details about the bank account? Maybe trace other payments or accounts tied to either name?”

“Absolutely,” Angus replied. “Every thread we pull might lead us closer to the truth.”

The room sprung into action, the station’s activity humming faintly in the background. Angus stared at the whiteboard, the scattered notes and timelines beginning to shape into a more sinister picture.

“This isn’t just about Lilly stumbling upon a piece of juicy gossip,” Angus said quietly, almost to himself. “Whoever this Emily Jones is, she’s involved. Either she’s hiding a secret or she’s gone to great lengths to hide from someone. And if it’s the latter, and they’re willing to stalk and chase, it means they’re desperate. Desperate people are dangerous.”

The weight of his words settled over the room, unspoken fears flickering in everyone’s expressions. For a moment, the gravity of their work pressed heavily against the air.

“Let’s keep at it,” Angus said, breaking the tension with a firm resolve. “If Lilly’s habit of gossiping got her into as much trouble as I’m sensing it has, we need to pull out all the stops to find her. And fast.”

As the day stretched into evening, Angus lingered in the boardroom, staring at the crime scene board as if waiting for a heavenly revelation. The connections between Lilly, Emily, and now Cassandra—if that was even her real name—refused to fall neatly into place.

Miguel stepped into the room, his expression tight. “Sheriff, I just got off the phone with Boston PD. They’re sending over the full file on Emily Jones’s stalking case, but they mentioned something off the record. The officer I spoke to said the case didn’t just go cold—it was shut down. Pressure from higher-ups.”

Angus’s brow furrowed. “Shut down? Why?”

Miguel shook his head. “He wouldn’t say. Just that someone wanted it buried.”

Angus exhaled sharply, his jaw tightening.

“Let’s hope that file gives us something to work with,” Angus said. His words were low but full of conviction. “Because if someone’s willing to bury a case, they’re willing to do a lot worse to keep their secrets hidden.”

Chapter Fifteen

The heavy rain rolled in like an uninvited guest, pounding against the station windows. Angus rubbed his temple, trying to make sense of the tangled threads connecting Emily—or Cassandra—and Lilly. Did she and Lilly share the same secret, or did Lilly’s curiosity and gossip drag her into it? Miguel’s earlier disclosure about the Boston PD shutting down Emily’s stalking case distressed him. Someone was trying to keep this woman’s past buried, and now she too had disappeared without a trace. Coincidence? Perhaps not.

Tammy walked into the boardroom, balancing a steaming mug of coffee in one hand and a stack of files in the other. “Weather’s not making this day any easier,” she said, setting the files down. “But I’ve got the Boston case files. They came in quicker than expected.”

Angus straightened. “Anything jump out?”

Tammy flipped open the top file and pointed to a typed section. “Emily Jones filed a report about receiving threatening letters, all anonymous. She also reported being followed multiple times, but there were no witnesses to corroborate her claims. It gets murkier. The officer handling the case tried running her stalker’s prints from one of the letters, but the report says those prints were ‘unidentifiable.’ No match in the system.”

Miguel, who had joined them quietly, leaned against the doorframe. “Unidentifiable? That’s convenient.”

“Too convenient,” Angus said, frowning. “Someone didn’t want this case solved.”

Tammy nodded. “The officer wrote a note in the file, off the record. He suspected pressure from someone higher up to let the case fizzle out. But here’s the kicker—one of the letters had the same phrase Cassandra’s neighbor overheard during the argument: ‘Out of time.’”

Angus froze. “You’re sure?”

“Positive,” Tammy confirmed, pushing the report toward him.

A chill ran down Angus’s spine. Whoever was after Emily, AKA Cassandra, had found her in Weyport. The timing couldn’t be a coincidence. “We need to dig deeper. Tammy, get these letters analyzed again. I want every angle double-checked.”

Tammy nodded, already making notes. “On it.”

“Miguel, stay on the Boston PD and see if there’s anything else they’re holding back. Keep it on the down low. The last thing we need is for the State Attorney’s Office to shut this down before we get any answers.”

“An old buddy of mine is on the force in Boston. He owes me a favor so I’ll see what I can find out.”

Before Angus could say more, the station intercom crackled to life.

“Sheriff Reid,” the dispatcher called, urgency lacing her voice. “We’ve got a situation on the coastal path near the pier. A body’s been found on the rocks.”

Angus met with Miguel’s gaze, tension thick in the air, as he pulled the radio off his belt clip and held it to his mouth. “We’re on our way.”

The lighthouse loomed over the coastline, its beam slicing through the misty rain as Angus and Miguel pulled up to the scene. Patrol cars and a coroner’s van were parked nearby, their flashing lights casting eerie reflections on the wet rocks below. Angus pulled his hood up as the wind whipped rain against his face. His sharp gaze scanned the area. Officers in rain-slicked jackets were cordoning off the area.

“Who found the body?” Angus asked as he entered the crime scene.

“A fisherman,” one of the deputies replied, pointing to a man sitting on the tailgate of his truck, partially sheltered from the rain by the raised flap of the truck’s canopy. Wrapped in a blanket, he stared at the rocky shore, his face pale. “He said he spotted something while checking his nets.”

Angus nodded. “We’ll talk to him after we secure the scene.”

Miguel joined Angus as they navigated the slippery rocks toward the body. Nearby, recognized only by the bright yellow ‘Medical Examiner’ writing on her back, Murphy was crouched under a large, rainproof tarp held up by two deputies, shielding the scene from the relentless downpour. Her raincoat, streaked with mud from the uneven terrain, clung to her frame.

Even in the grim setting, there was something steadying about Murphy’s presence. She glanced up as Angus approached, her expression softening briefly before shifting to the focused professionalism he knew well.

“Hey,” she said softly, rising to her feet. “I figured you’d show up for this one.” She spoke casually, though concern edged her voice.

“Couldn’t let you have all the fun,” Angus quipped lightly, though his eyes betrayed the heaviness in his heart. He glanced down at the body, his jaw tightening. “What do we have?”

Murphy’s lips pressed into a thin line. “Female, late twenties to early thirties. Cause of death appears to be blunt force trauma to the head, though I’ll confirm after the autopsy. There are bruises on her wrists—she put up a fight.”

Angus crouched to get a closer look, his heart sinking as the details sank in. The wicker basket from a bicycle was wedged against the rocks nearby, its contents scattered. A battered leather-bound notebook lay partially submerged in a puddle, its edges warped from the rain.

Murphy followed his gaze and nodded toward the items. “The basket likely came from a bike, though the bike itself isn’t here." The notebook caught her attention. “It’s soaked, but if we dry it out carefully, we might recover something useful.” She beckoned to one of her team members who hurried over. “We need to bag that notebook ASAP before it gets more damaged, please.”

The crime scene investigator promptly bagged the notebook as instructed and Angus gave a curt nod as he added, “Make sure it’s handled carefully. If there’s anything in it, we’ll need every shred of information.”

Murphy tilted her head slightly, studying Angus. Her voice softened. “You look exhausted, Angus. I take it Lilly’s still missing. It’s eating at you, isn’t it?”

Angus met her eyes, the familiar warmth in them grounding him. “Hard not to, with people in my town disappearing—or worse. Feels like we’re always one step behind. I keep thinking I missed something. A clue. A sign.”

Murphy reached out, her gloved hand resting briefly on his forearm. “You’ll figure it out, Angus. You always do.”

A ghost of a smile appeared on his face. “Let’s hope you’re right, Murph.”

Miguel’s voice interrupted. “Sheriff, should I bag the basket and its contents?”

“Yes,” Angus said, his tone shifting back to command mode. “And coordinate with the deputies. I want canvassing done—anyone who might’ve seen or heard something near the lighthouse in the last twenty-four hours.”

Murphy stepped back, adjusting her raincoat. “I’ll get started on the autopsy as soon as the body’s removed. You’ll have my report by tomorrow morning.”

“Thanks, Murph,” Angus said, his gaze lingering on her briefly before turning back to Miguel. “Let’s get moving.”

Back at the station, the tension was palpable. Tammy waited for them in the boardroom, her expression tight with worry. “Is it her?” she asked quietly.

Angus nodded grimly. “It’s Emily. She’s dead.”

Tammy covered her mouth, her eyes wide. “How?”

“Blunt force trauma. Murphy’s looking into it,” Miguel said, pulling a chair out and sitting heavily. “We need to figure out who killed her—and fast.”

Angus placed his hands on the table, leaning forward. “This changes everything. Whoever killed her was desperate enough to make it public. They’re sending a message.”

“But what does this have to do with Lilly?” Tammy asked. “If Emily was the target, why did Lilly disappear first?”

Angus frowned, the question hanging in the air. “That’s what we need to find out. I need you to focus on Emily’s background. We know she was using two names—what else was she hiding? Miguel, I’m going to need a warrant for Emily’s cottage so do whatever you must to get one before the judge leaves for the day.”

“10-4,” Miguel said as he reached across the table for the phone to make the call.

Angus grabbed his keys and headed for the door. “I’ll follow up with Murphy regarding the autopsy first thing in the morning. See if she finds anything unusual.” His voice turned more serious as he continued. “In the meantime, I’m going back to that cottage. There’s something there we missed. Something worth killing for.”

The cottage stood quiet and foreboding, perched near the seaside path. Angus approached the door cautiously, testing the handle. Locked.

He stepped back, scanning the surroundings, the salty breeze carried the sound of waves against the rocks. Pulling out his phone, he called Miguel. “Any news on that search warrant? I need you to expedite it and meet me at the cottage. I’ll wait here.”

Fifteen minutes later, Miguel arrived, waving a signed document as he jogged up to Angus. “Got it. I caught Judge Mitchell before he left for the day. Luckily, Tammy had already prepped the affidavit, and I signed off on it before handing it over. The judge reviewed it, approved the warrant, and signed off. We’re good to go. Oh, and I swung by the landlord’s place. He had a spare key for the cottage. Figured this would save us some time.”

“Great work, Miguel, and good thinking to get the key,” Angus said, unfolding the warrant and double-checking the details. He nodded to Miguel, and said resolutely, “Let’s see what’s inside.”

Angus entered the cottage, the door creaking on its hinges. The air inside was damp, carrying the faint scent of saltwater and damp wood. Angus scanned the room, his sharp gaze noting every detail as Miguel closed the door behind them, sealing out the persistent drizzle.

The last rays of daylight barely pierced through the drawn curtains, forming long shadows over the sparsely furnished room. The two men methodically searched the cottage, starting with the small living area. Papers were stacked neatly on a desk by the window, but they bore no identifying information—just grocery lists, receipts, and mundane notes. In the kitchen, cupboards held only the essentials, and the fridge was nearly empty.

“Doesn’t look like she was planning to stick around,” Miguel remarked, holding up an open drawer containing a single set of utensils.

“She paid for six months upfront, yet she lived like she’s ready to pack up and leave any second,” Angus muttered. “It doesn’t add up.”

Miguel moved toward a small wooden chest near the window, its surface worn smooth from years of use. As he opened the lid, the faint scent of cedar wafted out. Inside, among folded blankets, was a manila folder tucked carefully beneath the layers.

“I think I’ve got something,” Miguel called out.

Angus walked over, watching as Miguel pulled out the folder. “It was hidden under the blankets,” Miguel said, handing it to him.

Angus opened it, his stomach tightening as he saw the contents: photographs of Weyport locals. Lilly walking into the library, Emily riding her bicycle, and a man with his face partially obscured by a hood. Each image felt like a thread in a larger, darker web.

“Stalker’s gallery?” Miguel suggested darkly.

“Or evidence,” Angus replied. His eyes lingered on the photo of the hooded man. “This could be our intruder.”

Miguel nodded, his jaw tightening. “What’s the connection between him, Lilly, and Emily? And why take such a risk keeping these photos here?”

“That’s what we’re going to find out,” Angus said, his voice hard. He handed the folder to Miguel and stepped back, his sharp eyes scanning the rest of the room. The hairs on the back of his neck prickled—a sense that they were only scratching the surface of something much larger.

For the first time, Angus felt the threads of the case tightening, pulling them closer to a dangerous truth. And whoever was behind it all wasn’t just desperate—they were deadly.

Chapter Sixteen

The sharp scent of disinfectant lingered in the air as Angus stepped into the morgue. The chill immediately cut through his jacket, but he barely noticed. It was early morning, and he knew Murphy had been there all night, tirelessly working on Emily’s autopsy. His thoughts were fixed on the fragments of a puzzle that refused to come together. Emily Jones was dead. Cassandra Miller was unknown—assumed an alias but still to be confirmed. And Lilly Cooper remained missing, her fate hanging in the balance. Yet, the tangled connections between them seemed undeniable—and perilously close to being knotted so tightly that it seemed nearly impossible to unravel.

“Morning, Sheriff,” Murphy Delaney called out playfully from across the room. Her chocolate-brown hair was tied back into a no-nonsense ponytail, and her blue scrubs contrasted sharply with the sterile white of the surroundings. “Coffee’s hot, if you need it.”

“Thanks, but I’m already running on too much caffeine,” Angus replied, managing a small smile as he crossed the room and planted a light kiss on her cheek. “Got any of those cookies you hoard in your desk? I might need reinforcements.”

Murphy smirked, a playful glint in her eye. “Maybe. But only if you’re nice.”

Her teasing drew a soft chuckle from Angus, a rare moment of lightness cutting through the weight of the day. But it faded as his gaze shifted to the steel table behind her, and the reality of the situation crept back in.

“Is that Emily?" he asked, his words steady, though laced with tension, changing his mind about the cookies when Murphy held out the packet.

Murphy’s demeanor shifted too, professionalism overtaking their brief levity. “Just finished the preliminary examination.” She guided Angus toward a digital screen displaying scans of Emily’s injuries. “She’d been restrained, Angus. The bruising patterns on her wrists and ankles suggest she was tied up for days. The ligature marks suggest nylon or synthetic rope—common, but not something she’d have owned herself. She fought back. We found traces of skin under her nails, likely from her attacker. Lab analysis is pending.” She clicked to another scan, pointing to a faint discoloration on Emily’s upper arms. “These pressure marks indicate she was likely grabbed forcefully, maybe dragged. There’s also a small abrasion on her shoulder that could be from struggling against a rough surface—brick, maybe concrete.”

Angus clenched his jaw as he studied the images. “And the head wound?”

Murphy displayed a close-up photo of the blunt force trauma. “It’s irregular, not from a standard weapon. Possibly something improvised, like a rock or a heavy tool. It was a single strike, but the angle suggests her attacker came from behind. It was likely the cause of death. She didn’t see it coming. Whoever did this wanted her quiet, but not before she suffered.”

The words were like a gut punch. He exhaled sharply, his teeth grinding. The gravity of this case was unmistakable, pressing down on him like a shadow he couldn’t shake.

“Anything to suggest where she was held?” Angus asked, his voice sharp but focused.

Murphy nodded, moving to another scan. “I found some fibers under her toenails. There’s also a unique mix of particulate matter in her hair and clothing—fine sawdust mixed with clay particles. Weyport doesn’t have many places that fit both profiles, but a few old warehouses near the dock could. It could just as easily have been a cabin in the woods though. No way to know until the labs are back.”

“You said there were also fibers under her toenails.”

“Yes, trace evidence under her nails. Dust particles and fibers that don’t match her clothing. They’re synthetic, likely from a cheap blanket or tarp. It’s generic, but it’s something,” Murphy said, crossing her arms. “I’ve sent samples to the state lab for cross-referencing. If there’s a match in their database, we might get a location, but it’ll take time.”

Angus’s gaze dropped to the floor, a shadow of frustration crossing his face as he looked up at Murphy again. "We’re up against the clock, Murph. Whoever’s behind this is relentless, and with Lilly still out there…I’m worried about how far they’ll go. Whoever did this planned it—right down to disposing of her along the coastal path where she lived. They wanted her found. And they wanted her silenced. Perhaps they were sending someone a message—I don’t know—but we have to find Lilly.”

Murphy hesitated, her gaze softening as she looked at him. “You’ve got more than this case weighing on you, don’t you?”

Angus’s brow furrowed as he leaned against the counter, his shoulders sagging. “Is it that obvious?”

Murphy smiled sweetly. “We’ve been together nearly six months now, Angus, so yeah, I’ve learned a thing or two about you.”

“It’s Logan,” he admitted after a beat.

Murphy’s expression turned to one of concern. “Your brother?”

Angus nodded, his voice quieter now. “I realized recently—I never really asked questions when he died. Never saw an autopsy report. Just…took their word for it. It hit me last night: what if there was more to it? What if I missed something? I’ve been chasing ghosts for everyone else, but not for my own family. I’ve been avoiding the one question I’ve always had. How did Logan die? Really die? Why didn’t I push harder to know back then? And where has he been all these years since he went missing back when we were teenagers?”

Murphy stripped off her gloves and placed one hand gently on his arm. “Angus, you had no reason to doubt the authorities. You did what you thought was right at the time. Have you thought about asking your mom? Maybe there’s something she remembers.”

Angus sighed, the weight of her words settling heavily on him. “I doubt it. My mom…she’s not who she used to be. Dementia’s taken a lot from her. These days, her mind’s all over the place. Half the time, she doesn’t even recognize me.”

Murphy’s expression softened, sympathy flashing in her eyes. “I’m sorry, Angus. I didn’t realize it had gotten that bad. You don’t talk about her much.”

He glanced away briefly, his voice quieter now. “There’s not much to say. She’s in a care home up in Portland. I visit every time I’m in the area, but…it’s like she’s already gone. It’s always just been the two of us since Logan disappeared. That’s why I can’t let this go. Once she’s gone, it’ll just be me. No one else.”

Murphy’s hand lingered on his arm, her voice steady but warm. “I can look into it for you, Angus. I can access the database. See if I can find the report for you. Closure doesn’t erase the pain, but it might give you some peace.”

His gaze lifted to meet hers, gratitude flickering in his tired eyes. “You’d do that for me? Even if it goes against protocol?”

“Of course. But I’ll warn you—sometimes the answers we find aren’t the ones we’re looking for. Besides, it’s not against protocol. Medical examiners revisit cases all the time for comparisons. If there’s anything to find, I’ll find it. Just say when.”

Angus held her gaze, the calmness of her presence steadying him. “I think I’m ready for that. I need to know what happened to my brother,” he said quietly.

“Consider it done. And Angus, for the record, you’ll never be alone in this world. There are way too many people who love you.” She blushed as she said it.

Angus’s hands rested gently on her shoulders, his eyes radiating a quiet warmth. For months, they had danced around those three simple words, words he knew she longed to hear. He felt them burning in his chest, yet something kept him from saying them aloud. Love had betrayed him too many times, leaving only heartache in its wake. Instead, he lowered his gaze and said softly, “Thanks, Murph.”

She smiled faintly, squeezing his arm before releasing it. “I’ll let you know as soon as I have anything.”

For a moment, silence settled between them, the weight of the conversation lingering. But Murphy’s tone shifted back to one of professionalism as she cleared her throat. “There’s something else. The notebook we found near Emily’s body—it’s soaked, but we’re recovering some entries. A few of them are strangely cryptic, but one phrase stood out: ‘Out of time.’”

Angus straightened, his thoughts snapping to attention. “Same words as Emily’s neighbor overheard during the midnight argument.”

“And isn’t it the same phrase you told me was in the Boston case file?”

Angus nodded in response. “You’re right. Whoever’s behind this has been using that phrase as a threat. It’s deliberate.” A chill ran down Angus’s spine. He clenched his fists, the words hanging ominously between them. “We need to figure out what it means—and why it keeps showing up.”

Murphy nodded. “Patterns leave trails, Angus. And trails lead to answers.”

“And we’ll follow the trail,” Angus said firmly, his voice low and resolute. “All the way to the end.”

Chapter Seventeen

The storm had eased up by the time Angus left the morgue, but the weight of the case hung heavier than ever as he parked his truck in front of the Weyport Sheriff’s Office. The rain-soaked streets shimmered under the muted glow of the overcast sky. He stepped inside, brushing water droplets from his jacket, and found Tammy and Miguel waiting in the boardroom. The crime scene board was filled with photos, notes, and timelines, its chaotic arrangement a testament to the tangled web they were dedicated to unraveling.

As Angus entered, he paused to take in the sight of the team already hard at work. Tammy was hunched over her laptop, her fingers flying across the keyboard while Miguel leaned back in his chair, flipping through notes with a furrowed brow. Scout padded in behind Angus, shaking off the last of the rain before settling into his usual spot in the corner of his office.

“Morning, Sheriff,” Tammy said, glancing up briefly with a small smile. "Coffee’s brewing, if you need it.”

“Morning, Tammy. Miguel,” Angus replied, hanging his damp coat over the back of his chair. "How’s everyone holding up?”

Miguel smirked. “Still breathing, Sheriff. Can’t complain.”

Tammy shrugged, rubbing her neck. “Could use a week off, but otherwise, I’m good.”

Angus nodded, his expression softening. “Glad to hear it. This case has been tough, I know, but you’ve both been doing solid work. Let’s see if we can make some headway today.”

Miguel leaned forward, closing his notebook. “You look like you’ve been up all night. Anything new from Murphy?”

“More than I expected,” Angus replied, settling into his seat. “Let’s go over what we’ve got so far.” With a gruff voice, he set his hat on the table and raked his hand through his hair. “I’ve just come from Murphy. She confirmed Emily’s cause of death was blunt force trauma to the head. There’s no question she fought back, but whoever did this overpowered her.” He paused, scanning their faces. “This wasn’t random. We’re dealing with someone who’s desperate to keep their secrets buried.”

Tammy gave a brief nod, her expression strained. “Did Murphy mention anything about the notebook?”

“Her team’s still working on it,” Angus replied. “One phrase stood out, though: ‘Out of time.’ It’s the same phrase from the Boston file and what Cassandra’s neighbor overheard during that late-night argument.”

Miguel frowned, leaning forward. “That can’t be a coincidence.”

“No, it’s not,” Angus agreed. “And it’s all the more reason we need to get ahead of this before anyone else ends up dead. Tammy, you mentioned running facial recognition on the hooded figure from the photos in the manila folder. Any progress?”

Tammy gestured to her laptop where a program was running in the background. “It’s processing. Should have results soon.”

Miguel picked up the manila folder, flipping through the photos. “These are unsettling. Lilly, Emily, and now this hooded guy. Whoever took these was keeping tabs on them. But why? What’s the connection?”

“That’s what we need to figure out,” Angus said with a hard edge to his voice. “Miguel, what did you get from the landlord?”

Miguel set the folder down and crossed his arms. “The landlord confirmed Cassandra Miller paid six months’ rent upfront. Said she mostly kept to herself but mentioned a man visiting her a few times. Matches the description of our hooded guy from the photos.”

Angus frowned. “How did the landlord see them?”

“He lives in the main house on the property,” Miguel explained. “Said he’d see them talking outside her cottage. Apparently, he has a direct view of her cottage from his porch.”

“Did he mention what their interactions were like?”

Miguel nodded. “Always brief and low-key. No arguments or anything, just…tense. He said he didn’t think much of it at the time. He figured it was just a friend or maybe a boyfriend.”

Angus’s jaw tightened. “If this guy was a regular visitor, he might’ve said or done something suspicious, which I suppose is why their visits stood out to her landlord. Tammy, as soon as we get a hit on that photo, I want you to dig into his background. Addresses, work history, criminal record—anything that ties this guy to Weyport.”

Miguel made a sucking noise with his cheek. “You know, Sheriff, it’s entirely possible that we’re chasing after the wind here trying to find this Cassandra woman. I mean, let’s face it, Margaret is Lilly’s gossiping sidekick. Those two are as thick as thieves when it comes to spreading all sorts of tidbits around town. Who’s to say she’s not just spreading idle gossip about this woman purely because she’s curious to know where she’s from?”

Angus rubbed the stubble on his chin. “I don’t disagree with your observation here, Miguel, but gossip or no gossip, if there’s smoke there’s fire and if Margaret Fuller’s nosiness flagged Cassandra, we shouldn’t ignore it until we know otherwise. If it weren’t for us finding that manila folder with a photo of our hooded suspect in Cassandra’s cottage, I wouldn’t have bothered about finding her. But we did, and that tells me she might just hold a vital piece of this puzzle. Which reminds, me; we need to get visual identification of her. All we have is a lease. I find it very odd that in today’s day and age, the landlord wouldn’t insist on a tenant’s identification before he leases out his property. We need a driver’s permit, gym card—anything that can help us find Cassandra Miller. We’re hunting for a ghost in the dark and that won’t help us find Lilly or Emily Jones’s murderer.”

“I’ll get on it right away, Sheriff,” Tammy said, her fingers tapping rapidly the keyboard.

“Miguel, check with people around town and see if you can track down this guy in the photos. I know the pictures aren’t showing his face but who knows? If he’s still here, I want to know who he is, where he’s been, and where he fits into all this.”

“10-4,” Miguel replied, grabbing one of the photos and his notebook before heading out.

Later that afternoon, Angus took Scout for a short walk, using the time to also talk to God about the cases. Deciding to kill three birds with one stone, he set off to speak to the only man in town who seemed to have a true pulse on the people. As he walked the familiar path to the church, the rain had tapered off, leaving the air crisp and damp. Pastor Rob greeted him warmly at the entrance, his kind eyes tinged with concern.

“Sheriff Reid, always good to see you,” he said, shaking his hand. “What brings you by?”

“Nice to see you too, Pastor Rob. I was hoping you might have some insight into Lilly Cooper,” Angus said, his words measured but earnest. “I know she’s not a regular churchgoer, but this is a small town, and clergy often know more about people than anyone else. Anything you might’ve heard or noticed could make all the difference right now.”

Pastor Rob looked away for a brief moment. "I’ve heard she’s missing, and of course, I want to help you find her, but you know I’m not at liberty of disclosing anyone’s—"

“I know, confidentiality and all that”" Angus interrupted him before he could finish. “And I respect it, of course. It’s just that I have reason to believe Lilly’s life is at stake here. She might have come to you if she felt she was in danger. So, I just need to know if she did and if she might have mentioned anything unusual to you recently? Anything that might explain why someone would target her?”

Pastor Rob’s face clouded. “Lilly came by about a week before she disappeared. Totally out of the blue since she’s not been here in a long while. She was…different. Anxious. She asked a lot of questions about forgiveness and justice. Said she’d come across something that troubled her deeply.”

“Did she say what it was?” Angus pressed.

Pastor Rob shook his head. “She was vague. Just mentioned wanting to make things right. She wasn’t making much sense, to be honest. I tried to counsel her, but she seemed…determined to handle it on her own. She did look over her shoulder like someone was following her, but when I asked, she brushed it off. It was clear something was weighing on her deeply.”

Angus nodded, his thoughts in motion. “Thank you, Pastor. I appreciate you telling me this. If anything else comes to mind, please let me know.”

Back at the station, Angus hung up his damp coat and rubbed Scout’s ears before heading toward his office. The faint hum of activity filled the air, deputies moving purposefully between desks. He had barely taken a seat when Tammy’s voice rang out, sharp with urgency.

“Sheriff! You’re going to want to see this!”

Angus was on his feet in an instant, striding with purpose to her desk. Tammy leaned over her computer, her fingers hovering above the keyboard, her gaze fixed on the screen. Miguel appeared from the breakroom, coffee in hand, curiosity drawn by Tammy’s tone.

“What have you got?” Angus asked, his voice steady but tinged with anticipation.

Tammy pointed to the screen, her excitement barely contained. “I’ve been piecing together Emily’s movements leading up to her murder. This footage from The Weyport Supermarket is from two days before her body was found. Look here.” She clicked play, and the grainy video feed came to life.

The footage showed Emily walking briskly into the frame, her hood pulled up against the drizzle, but there was no mistaking her. She slowed as a man approached her—a man whose stature and movements immediately caught Angus’s attention. The two exchanged words briefly before the man handed Emily a folded piece of paper and walked away. Emily stood there for a moment, staring after him, before tucking the paper into her pocket and exiting the frame.

“Freeze it there,” Angus said, leaning closer. Tammy complied, pausing the video on the man’s profile as he turned to leave. His face was partially obscured by the hood of his jacket, but there was enough to see the sharp angles of his jaw and the distinct intensity in his posture.

“Is that enough to get an ID on the guy?”

“Already ahead of you,” Tammy smiled, clicking to another tab. A few more keystrokes, and a side-by-side comparison appeared on the screen. “I ran the photo through facial recognition software and cross-referenced it with state databases. I got a match within minutes. His name’s Brian Carter—a handyman who’s worked odd jobs all around Weyport. And get this—he’s a 70% match for the hooded man in the photos from the manila folder.”

Angus’s pulse sped up, his thoughts scrambling. “He’s also the guy who broke into Lilly’s house the other night,” he said with certainty “Same build, same way he carried himself. I’d bet my badge on it.” Angus stood back, rubbing the back of his neck. “The question we now need to ask is why Cassandra had a folder with photos of this guy in her cottage?”

Miguel whistled under his breath. “I just had a thought, Sheriff. What if Cassandra is a journalist? She could be from somewhere out of town, which explains why she only signed a lease for six months. If she’s working a story, she could be the one who took these photos.”

Angus turned to face him. “Great thinking, Miguel. Call up Clara Matthews at the Weyport Herald and see if she’ll do some checking around for us. I don’t know if newspapers have a central database of reporters but it’s worth a shot.”

Miguel was about to reach for his phone when Tammy’s voice sounded again.

“That’s not all,” she added, pulling up another screen. “Look at this.” She displayed the park security footage from the night Lilly disappeared. Though grainy, the outline of the hooded figure chasing Lilly matched Brian Carter’s profile almost perfectly. “He’s everywhere, Sheriff. At the park, at the grocery store with Emily, and linked to Cassandra Miller. He’s the common thread.”

Angus leaned against Tammy’s desk as the gravity of the situation became clear. “As of now, Brian Carter is the last person we know to have seen Emily Jones alive. If he’s our murderer, Lilly and possibly even Cassandra could be next. Time is of the essence, team. We need to find this guy, and fast!”

Chapter Eighteen

The midafternoon light filtered through the station’s windows as Angus watched the last few seconds of the security footage on Tammy’s screen. Miguel stood nearby, arms crossed, his brow furrowed in concentration as Tammy paused on the image of their suspect.

“This guy’s our next move,” Angus said, tapping the frozen frame of Brian Carter handing a folded piece of paper to Emily at the grocery store. “Do we have an address for the guy?” Angus directed his question to Tammy then continued. “As of now, this guy’s our primary suspect.”

Tammy nodded, her fingers a blur on the keyboard. Within moments, she had the information pulled up. “Got it,” she said. “Last known address is on Willow Lane, but no recent activity to confirm he’s still there.”

“Thanks, that will do,” Angus said. “Grab your gear, Miguel, you’re coming with me. Let’s move. We don’t have a moment to waste.”

“Right behind you, Sheriff," Miguel responded instantly and hurriedly crossed the floor to his desk.

Angus turned and headed to his office, pausing to take a steadying breath. He grabbed his coat and keys, whistling for Scout, whose eager bark was a small comfort amidst the turmoil.

“Miguel,” he called over his shoulder, “grab that address Tammy pulled and meet me out front. Scout needs a quick break before we go.”

“Got it,” Miguel replied, hurrying to grab the paper as Angus clipped Scout’s leash. The dog tugged forward, sensing the urgency in his master’s movements.

Scout barked eagerly as Angus opened the truck door. Miguel slid into the passenger seat, folding the address printout in his hand.

“You think he’ll be home?” Miguel asked as Angus started the engine.

The clock on the dashboard read 3:31 p.m.

“We can only pray, Miguel. We could really use a break in the case,” Angus replied, his tone grim.

The drive to Willow Lane was quiet except for the occasional hum of the radio. When they arrived, Angus pulled up in front of a small, weathered house with peeling paint and overgrown bushes. The curtains were drawn, and no car was in the driveway. Angus knocked firmly on the door, Scout standing alert by his side.

No answer.

“He’s not here,” Miguel said, stepping back to survey the property. “Looks like no one’s been here for a while.”

Angus lingered on the porch, frustration simmering beneath the surface. “We’re running out of time,” he muttered, his gaze scanning the empty street. He exhaled sharply, his hand resting on Scout’s head. “Let’s head back to the truck. I’ll check in with Tammy to see if there’s another address on file.”

As they climbed back into the truck, a thought struck Angus. He froze for a moment, then turned to Miguel.

“Wait. Brian’s a handyman, right?”

Miguel nodded. “That’s what Tammy’s search said.”

“Since he’s not home, he’s probably working somewhere,” Angus said, starting the engine. “Let’s check with Greg at the hardware store. He might know where Brian’s been working.”

Ten minutes later, they arrived at Weyport Hardware, a small, cluttered shop run by Greg Hensley, a lifelong resident of the town. The bell over the door jingled as Angus and Miguel stepped inside. Greg, a burly man with a thick beard and a friendly demeanor, looked up from the counter.

“Sheriff Reid,” Greg greeted. “How’s the new porch coming along?”

“Hey, Greg,” Angus returned the greeting. “It’s on hold for the moment.”

“These things take time, Sheriff. It’ll come together when it’s meant to. So, if you’re not here for more nails, what can I do for you today?”

“I’m actually looking for Brian Carter,” Angus said. “I understand he’s a local handyman.”

“Indeed he is. He’ll help you put together that porch in no time. Brian’s a quiet one but hard-working. Keeps to himself mostly, but always dependable when you need a job done.”

Angus didn’t feel the need to correct him. The last thing he needed was for news to get out that he was looking for him.

“Good to know. He’s not home. Any idea where he might be working today?”

Greg stroked his beard thoughtfully. “Brian? Yeah, he’s been fixing up old man Tucker’s place on the edge of town. Greg scratched his chin. “Been at it for a few days now. You’ll probably find him there.”

“Appreciate it, Greg,” Angus said, tipping his hat. “Thanks for the help.”

As they headed back to the truck, Miguel glanced at Angus. “Tucker’s place? That’s pretty remote. Think he’s hiding out there?”

“Only one way to find out,” Angus replied, starting the engine.

The dilapidated property on the edge of Weyport looked as if it were holding its breath, barely standing against time and neglect. Angus parked the truck near the uneven gravel driveway, his eyes scanning the scattered junk—rusted tools, an overturned wheelbarrow, and a sagging shed that had seen better days. Scout shifted in the back seat, his ears perking up as if sensing the tension in the air.

“There he is,” Miguel muttered, pointing to a man in his late thirties with unkempt hair and a wiry frame. Brian Carter was bent over a sagging fence, hammering nails into the rotting wood. His movements were jerky, distracted, as if his mind were somewhere else entirely.

Angus opened his door, stepping into the damp, cool air. He adjusted his hat and called out, his tone calm yet authoritative, “Brian Carter?”

Brian froze mid-swing, his back stiffening. Slowly, he turned around, the hammer still in his hand. His face was gaunt, eyes sunken and darting like a cornered animal. Identification flickered in his eyes as he saw Angus’s uniform and the sheriff truck. His guarded expression shifted to one of apprehension. “Yeah? What’s this about?”

“Sheriff Angus Reid,” Angus replied, showing his badge. “This is Deputy Miguel Garcia. We need to ask you a few questions.”

Brian wiped his hands on his jeans, his gaze darting between the two men. “Questions about what?”

“Emily Jones,” Angus said brusquely.

For a split second, Brian’s composure cracked. A muscle in his jaw twitched, and his eyes danced with recognition. But he quickly recovered, forcing a confused frown. “Don’t know any Emily Jones.”

“That so?” Angus said, pulling a folded photograph from his pocket. He handed it to Miguel, who stepped forward and held it up for Brian to see. “This is you, isn’t it? Standing next to Emily at the grocery store two days before she was murdered.”

Brian’s face paled. His grip on the hammer tightened, and Angus noticed the faint tremor in his hands. “Must be some mistake,” he mumbled, taking a step back.

“No mistake,” Angus said, his voice steady but resolute. “You’ve been identified with Emily Jones, and we have strong reasons to believe you’re tied to her murder and Lilly Cooper’s disappearance. We need to ask you some questions back at the station.”

Brian’s breathing quickened. His gaze darted between Angus and Miguel, his body coiled like a spring. “I don’t have to talk to you,” he said, his voice rising.

“That’s not an option right now, Carter,” Miguel said, stepping to the side to block any retreat toward the house. “And if you’re thinking of running, it isn’t going to help your case.”

The moment the words left Miguel’s mouth, Brian bolted.

“After him, Scout!” Angus commanded as he unclipped the leash from the dog’s collar.

The five-month-old border collie leapt into action, perfectly executing the search and discovery techniques that Angus had been training him in. He barked as he sprinted after Brian. Angus and Miguel gave chase, their boots crunching against the wet ground. Brian darted toward the woods behind the property, his hammer clattering to the ground as he ran. The thick trees swallowed him up, and Angus’s pulse quickened.

“Cut him off on the right,” Angus shouted to Miguel, veering left as Scout tore through the underbrush ahead.

The chase was chaotic. Branches clawed at Angus’s arms, the ground slick with mud that threatened to send him sprawling. He could hear Brian crashing through the foliage, his ragged breaths loud in the otherwise quiet forest. Scout’s barking grew louder, signaling he was closing in.

“Stop running, Brian!” Angus yelled, his voice cutting through the trees. “You’re only making it worse for yourself!”

Brian didn’t respond. He stumbled over a fallen branch, regaining his footing just as Scout lunged for him. The dog’s teeth snapped inches from Brian’s leg, causing him to veer sharply toward an embankment.

Angus pushed himself harder, his legs and lungs burning as he closed the distance. Just as Brian reached the edge of the embankment, Angus tackled him, sending them both tumbling to the muddy ground. Brian thrashed and yelled, but Angus pinned him down, his voice commanding.

“It’s over, Brian! Stop fighting!”

Miguel arrived moments later, slapping cuffs onto Brian’s wrists. “Nice try,” he muttered, hauling him to his feet.

Brian’s face was smeared with dirt, his expression a mixture of anger and fear. “You have no idea what you’re messing with,” he spat. “You think you can stop this? You’re dead wrong.”

“Feel free to explain it to me then. What can’t be stopped?” Angus asked, but the expression on Brian’s face told him he had no intention on telling him. He pushed Brian forward. “Let’s get him back to the station.”

Brian sat in the interrogation room, his hands cuffed to the metal table. He stared at the wall, his jaw locked as Angus and Miguel entered. Angus set a file on the table, his movements deliberate.

“Brian Carter,” Angus began, sitting across from him. “Age thirty-nine. Handyman. No prior arrests. Looks like you’ve kept your nose clean…until now.”

Brian didn’t respond, his eyes flicking briefly to the file before returning to the wall.

“You’ve got two options,” Angus continued. “Talk to us and maybe help yourself, or keep playing the silent game and take the fall for murder. Your choice.”

Brian’s lips created a thin line. “I want my phone call.”

“You’ll get it,” Angus said, leaning forward. “But first, explain this.” He slid a photo across the table—the image of Brian and Emily at the grocery store.

Brian’s eyes darted to the photo, his composure faltering for a split second. “I don’t know her,” he said with his teeth clamped together.

“Really?” Miguel interjected. “Because this photo says otherwise. You handed her something. What was it?”

Brian’s silence was telling. Angus pressed on. “We also have photos of you watching Emily and Lilly. Care to explain why you’ve been stalking women around Weyport?”

Brian’s head snapped up, his eyes narrowing. “I wasn’t stalking anyone. I was following orders.”

Angus’s stomach tightened. “Whose orders?”

Brian clamped his mouth shut, refusing to say more. He leaned back in his chair, defiance etched into his features. “I want my phone call.”

Reluctantly, Angus nodded to Miguel, who stepped out to arrange it. Minutes later, Brian was escorted to the phone. He dialed a number from memory, speaking in hushed tones that Angus couldn’t make out.

When Brian returned to the interrogation room, his demeanor had shifted. He sat straighter, his confidence restored. Before Angus could question him further, Tammy appeared at the door, her expression troubled.

“Sheriff,” she said in a low voice. “You’ve got a call. It’s the district attorney’s office.”

Angus frowned but excused himself, leaving Miguel to keep an eye on Brian. Picking up the phone in his office, he said, “Sheriff Reid.”

The DA’s voice was firm. “Angus, let Brian Carter go.”

Angus’s grip tightened on the receiver. “Say what now? He’s connected to two of my cases. Murder and kidnapping. We’ve got evidence tying him to both.”

“I understand, but it’s out of your hands,” the DA replied. “Orders from the state attorney general’s office. This goes beyond Weyport.”

Angus ground his molars. “Why? What’s going on here?”

“I’m not at liberty to say,” the DA said flatly. “Just know this—if you don’t release him, you’ll be obstructing something bigger than your case. Let him go.”

The line went dead.

Angus stared at the phone, a mix of anger and disbelief coursing through him. When he returned to the interrogation room, Brian’s smug expression said it all—he knew he was untouchable.

“You’re free to go,” Angus said coldly, his jaw clenched as he unlocked his handcuffs.

Brian stood, his confidence unshaken as he walked out of the room. Miguel looked at Angus, bewildered. “What just happened?”

Angus shook his head, his voice low as they watched Brian Carter exit the station. “We just lost our only solid lead, Miguel. That’s what happened.”

Chapter Nineteen

The mood inside the Weyport Sheriff’s Office was taut with frustration. Angus sat at the head of the boardroom table, his jaw set as Miguel paced by the window. Tammy was seated across from him, arms crossed, her expression mirroring his own frustration.

“I don’t understand, Sheriff. Why did you let him go? He just walked out,” Miguel muttered, running a hand through his hair. “Like it was nothing. Like we’re the fools here.”

Angus exhaled slowly, rubbing a hand down his face. “We were ordered to let him go. No explanation. Just a direct command from the state attorney general’s Office. My hands were tied, Miguel.”

Tammy shook her head. “Who has that kind of pull? Someone above the DA? A politician?”

“No idea,” Angus admitted. “But someone powerful wants Brian Carter off the table. And that means we were close to something they don’t want us uncovering.”

Heavy silence stretched between them, the intensity of the moment enveloping them like a thick fog.

“We’re not letting this go, are we?” Tammy asked finally, her voice quiet but no less determined.

Angus sat up straight and his expression hardened. “No, we’re not.”

Miguel stopped pacing. “Alright. Then what’s next?”

Angus turned his attention to Tammy. “I want everything you can find on Brian Carter. I don’t care if you have to dig through state archives or call in favors from every tech guy you know. If he has ties to anyone in Weyport or beyond, I want to know about it. There’s something here we’re missing.”

Tammy nodded, already reaching for her laptop. “I’ll start now.”

Miguel crossed his arms. “And us?”

Angus leaned forward. “We’re going to retrace Carter’s steps. We’ll see if anyone in town has seen him since he left here. And if he knows who’s pulling strings for him, maybe he’s careless enough to lead us straight to them.”

Miguel smirked. “Then we make sure we’re watching and follow the breadcrumbs.”

Angus nodded. “Exactly,” he said, readying himself to leave.

“Uh, Sheriff, something’s off,” Tammy said, stopping him in his tracks.

Angus frowned, turning to face her where her fingers were dancing fiercely across the keyboard. “What do you mean?”

Tammy sighed, rubbing her temples. “I was already digging into Carter’s records, and it’s like they’ve been scrubbed clean. It’s not just his past in Boston. I tried to find any property he might have rented, any traffic violations—nothing. He barely exists on paper, except for his driver’s license. Not even a Facebook profile.”

Miguel scowled. “This guy’s definitely hiding something or under the control of someone powerful.”

Angus nodded grimly. “Or hiding from someone. Keep at it. No one can be this off the grid. Everything is online these days. There has to be something,” Angus yelled over his shoulder as he walked to his office to fetch Scout.

By early evening, Angus and Miguel had spoken to half the town, but Brian Carter had vanished. No one had seen him; no one had heard from him. Even Greg at the hardware store had no idea where he might have gone.

“He’s covering his tracks,” Miguel muttered as they walked back to the truck.

Angus remained silent for a moment, his mind working through the possibilities. “Then we’re looking in the wrong places.”

Miguel studied his face. “You have an idea, don’t you, Sheriff?”

Angus glanced at the darkening sky. “We need to go back to Emily’s cottage.”

Miguel frowned. “We already searched it.”

“Yeah,” Angus said, unlocking the truck. “But that was before we knew Brian Carter mattered and that he’s our number one person of interest.”

They drove in silence, the headlights lighting the darkened roads. The seaside path was deserted when they arrived, the cottage standing against the wind like a forgotten relic. It was dead quiet, the sound of waves crashing against the shore the only thing breaking the stillness.

Angus motioned for Miguel to check around back.

Miguel nodded and promptly disappeared behind the cottage while Angus approached the front. He knocked once, his other hand resting on his holster on his hip. No answer. He tried the handle. The door was still locked, just as they’d left it.

He shone his flashlight up and down the doorposts and down onto the floor around his feet. Something on the porch caught his eye.

A fresh cigarette butt.

His gut tightened. It wasn’t there before.

Angus crouched, examining it. The embers had only recently died out. Someone had been here—and not long ago.

Miguel reappeared. “Back door’s locked, no sign of a break-in.”

Angus straightened. “Someone was here. Very recently.”

“Could be Carter.”

Angus didn’t reply, but his instincts told him they’d just missed him.

Miguel pointed his flashlight downward. “Sheriff, look at this.”

Angus stepped closer, his beam following Miguel’s. A faint, smudged boot print marked the wooden floor near the doorframe. Dried dirt and sawdust clung to the edges of the imprint—Carter had tracked it in from his last job.

“Looks like our handyman left us a little something,” Miguel said. “That sawdust’s fresh and it looks just like the sawdust we spotted at Tucker’s place earlier.”

Angus’s mouth pressed into a thin line. “Let’s take another look inside,” he said, unlocking the door with the spare key they had obtained from the landlord.

Inside, the cottage was exactly how they’d left it—except for one thing.

The chair at the small dining table had been pulled out.

Angus stepped forward, running his fingers over the wooden backrest. “Somebody sat here.”

Miguel scanned the room. “If it was Carter, what was he doing?”

Angus’s eyes landed on the notepad sitting on the table. He picked it up, flipping through the pages. Most were blank, but a few had deep indentations, as if something had been written on the top sheet and torn away.

Miguel grabbed a pencil from the counter, shading over the indentations. “I saw Columbo doing it once,” he explained. Slowly, words began to appear.

Meet me at the pier. Midnight.

The two men exchanged glances.

Miguel squinted at the note, then checked his watch. “If this was left recently, that means it’s happening tonight.”

Angus’s jaw tightened. “Looks like Carter has a friend in town.”

Back at the station, Tammy’s voice called out as Angus and Miguel walked in.

“Sheriff! I’ve got something.”

They rushed over, finding her staring at the screen.

“I ran Brian Carter’s name again. Dug deeper.” She took a breath. “Turns out, Brian Carter wasn’t always Brian Carter.”

Angus’s stomach sank. “Explain.”

Tammy turned the screen toward them. “His birth name is Daniel Bryce. He legally changed it five years ago.”

Miguel frowned. “Why?”

“Because,” Tammy said, clicking on another document, “he was tied to a high-profile fraud case in Boston. Worked for a construction company with shady financial dealings—laundering money for someone higher up.”

Angus folded his arms. “Higher up, like who?”

Tammy hesitated. “That’s where it gets interesting. The case was buried. Sealed by someone in law enforcement. There’s no record of who he worked for, but it was enough for him to disappear and resurface in Weyport.”

Miguel exhaled sharply. “So Brian Carter, AKA Daniel Bryce, wasn’t just a handyman. He was in deep with some bad, powerful people.”

“And someone’s still protecting him,” Angus muttered.

Tammy clicked one last time, bringing up a recent bank statement.

“This is where it gets worse.”

They looked at the screen. A deposit of ten thousand dollars had been put into Brian Carter’s checking account yesterday.

“From where?” Angus asked.

Tammy’s voice was quiet. “A Weyport bank. An account under the name…Lillian Cooper.”

Silence crashed down like a hammer.

Miguel looked at Angus. “Lilly’s alive.”

Angus nodded slowly. “And she’s being coerced into paying Carter for something. Or,” he paused briefly then continued, “she has been killed and someone is accessing her account.”

“Think maybe she’s hired the guy to carry out some work for her at her house?” Miguel thought aloud.

Tammy clicked at her screen then replied, her one eyebrow rising in a question. “ Even if she’s busy building a pool in her backyard, I’m not sure why it would be a perfectly rounded figure like this,” she added.

“You’re right. Our initial search of Lilly’s house didn’t show any signs of work being done. There’s definitely more to this, and by the looks of things, she’s involved in something much bigger than we realized.” He rubbed at his brow. “Can you track down the original transaction? Signature? Anything to prove beyond doubt that Lilly made this payment?”

Tammy nodded. “I can certainly try.”

Miguel rubbed his jaw. “So Carter was working for someone shady back in Boston, changed his identity, and ended up here. But what does that have to do with Emily’s murder and Lilly’s disappearance?”

Angus exhaled slowly. “That’s what we’re going to find out.”

His eyes shifted to the note from the cottage.

Meet me at the pier. Midnight.

He and Miguel gave each other a knowing look.

“We’re going to be there,” Angus said.

As the clock ticked closer to midnight, the weight of the case bore down on Angus’s shoulders. Every thread of this mystery was tightening around them, and somewhere in the middle of it—was Lilly.

And the truth felt as distant as ever.

Chapter Twenty

The wind howled through the empty docks as Angus and Miguel waited in the shadows near the pier, their eyes constantly surveilling the surrounding darkness. The note they had uncovered from Emily’s notepad had been explicit—Meet me at the pier. Midnight.

Miguel shifted his weight, exhaling sharply. “You think this is legit? What if it’s a setup?”

Angus didn’t answer right away. His instincts told him this wasn’t a trap—not the kind where their lives were in immediate danger, at least. But something wasn’t adding up.

“I don’t think we’re being set up, Miguel. Someone wrote that note and I think it was intended for Emily.”

“But Emily is dead,” Miguel commented, his forehead scrunched in a frown.

“Exactly. Whoever wrote that note doesn’t know she’s been murdered.”

Miguel took a moment then said, “Okay, but we saw the cigarette butt. And the footprint with the sawdust. We know Carter was there.”

“I agree,” Angus said as he scanned the pier again, “which is why I think he intercepted the note. I don’t know what he went there to find but my gut is telling me he found the note instead and took it with him.”

“Do you think he killed Emily? Went back to cover his tracks maybe?”

Angus rubbed the back of his neck. “Honestly, Miguel, I don’t know what to think anymore. All I know is that someone is supposed to be here anytime now, and whoever it is better be ready to answer my questions.”

Miguel made a sucking noise with his cheek. “Amen to that, Sheriff. I’m ready. But if it’s Brian Carter, I’m dragging him back to the station—even if it takes me all night, I’ll get him to talk. I don’t care who’s pulling rank to protect this guy.”

Angus nodded. “I hear you, Miguel. Just keep your cool, okay? We need to be smart about this. We’ll get our guy. We always do.”

The docks were empty, save for the occasional creak of a boat shifting against its moorings. A few yards away, the water lapped against the wooden beams, a rhythmic whisper in the eerie quiet.

A soft scuff of boots on wood broke the silence.

Both men tensed. Angus caught the movement first—a lone figure emerging from the darkness, wrapped in a heavy coat, head down against the wind.

Miguel drew his hand closer to his weapon. "That’s our guy, isn’t it?"

Angus nodded.

The figure froze mid-step, tension rippling through its frame, gloved fingers curled slightly, poised as if debating whether to flee or fight.

Angus took a few steps towards him. Miguel hung back.

“It’s okay. I just want to talk,” Angus said calmly, his hand now away from his holstered gun.

The figure hesitated, the oversized hood of the coat casting a deep shadow that swallowed its features completely.

Angus’s voice was steady and controlled as he delivered the news. “We found the note at Emily Jones’s cottage. She’s not coming. She was murdered.”

The figure inhaled sharply, a reflexive sound of shock that told Angus he hadn’t known.

“We just want to ask you a few questions,” Angus continued.

The figure stood frozen as Angus waited for his reaction.

Slowly, the figure stepped into the dim glow of a nearby mooring light, its face finally coming into focus.

But it wasn’t Brian Carter.

“Becca? Becca Lane?” Angus whispered, keeping his voice steady.

Behind him, Miguel took a step forward, his brows knitting together. “Becca Lane? As in the Millcove missing person case?” he whispered in disbelief.

She didn’t answer right away. Her eyes darted around the dock, searching, confirming something. When she spoke, her voice was strained. “What happened to Emily?”

Miguel’s jaw tightened. “We found her body on the rocks near her cottage."

Becca’s expression barely shifted, but her breath hitched just slightly. “No,” she whispered, more to herself than to them. “That’s not possible.”

Angus slowly stepped forward. “You wrote the note for Emily, didn’t you? You asked for her to meet you.”

Becca’s silence was all the answer he needed.

She swallowed hard, her gaze flicking past them as if searching for an escape. “I have to go.”

Miguel moved to block her path. “Emily’s dead, and we need to know why. You know something.”

Becca hesitated. “I don’t—"

“Whatever this is, Becca, we’re here to help,” Angus interrupted. “Emily was murdered. Whoever she was mixed up with didn’t just get rid of her for no reason. You were trying to meet with her about something. And now you’re standing here telling me you don’t know what’s going on?”

Becca let out a shaky breath, her hands tightening into fists. “I can’t help you.”

“You mean you won’t,” Miguel muttered.

She met Angus’s gaze, her expression unreadable. “It doesn’t matter what I know. It won’t change anything. You can’t stop this, Sheriff. Not when the people pulling the strings have the Boston PD in their pocket.”

Angus’s stomach twisted. He had suspected as much, but hearing it confirmed sent a new wave of frustration through him.

“So you’re just going to disappear again?” he asked. “Let them win?”

Becca’s breath caught, then escaped in a sharp exhale. “I’m still alive, aren’t I? That should tell you something.”

Miguel scoffed. “Yeah, it tells me you’re scared.”

Becca’s gaze hardened. “You should be too.”

The impact of her words lingered between them, thick as the salt air around them.

Angus took a calculated step toward her. “We can protect you. If you tell us what’s really going on—”

Becca laughed, a hollow sound devoid of humor. “You can’t protect yourselves, Sheriff. And if you keep digging, you’ll find that out the hard way.”

Angus gritted his teeth. He wanted to push harder, to force her to give up whatever she was holding back. But Becca wasn’t just being stubborn—she was terrified.

Before he could say another word, a noise echoed from the parking lot beyond the docks.

A car door slamming shut.

Becca’s eyes widened. She took a sharp step backward. “I have to go.”

“Becca—”

“No!” She turned and bolted toward the far end of the dock, disappearing into the darkness before either of them could stop her.

Miguel grunted under his breath.

Angus ran a hand through his hair, watching as the night swallowed her whole. Then, another sound caught his attention. This one closer. A deliberate shift of weight on gravel.

Someone was watching them.

Miguel had heard it too. His hand hovered over his weapon as he turned toward the direction of the sound. “We’ve got company.”

A silhouette stood at the edge of the dock, just beyond the glow of the streetlamp.

Angus took a slow breath. “Show yourself!”

The figure hesitated. Then, without a word, it turned and slipped away, vanishing into the shadows.

Miguel blew out a tense breath. “Well, that’s not unsettling at all.”

Angus’s gut twisted. First Becca, now this. Too many people knew more than they were saying. And too many of them were afraid.

One thing was certain—this wasn’t over. Not by a long shot.

Chapter Twenty-One

The headlights carved a path through the 12:30 a.m. darkness as Angus guided his truck away from the pier, each turn carrying them deeper into the sleeping town. Becca Lane’s warning echoed in his thoughts: You can’t protect yourselves. The words were thick with meaning, filled with implications he wasn’t ready to confront. They reminded him of Solomon’s warnings about the futility of human protection without divine guidance—a truth he’d learned time and again in his years of service.

The rhythmic sweep of windshield wipers marked time against the misty darkness, their motion hypnotic in the middle-of-the-night quiet. Miguel sat in silence beside him, his usual energy subdued by their midnight encounter. Even Scout, curled in the back seat, seemed to sense the tension, his vigilant eyes reflecting occasional flashes of streetlights.

“She knew something,” Miguel finally said, his voice barely above a whisper. “The way she bolted when that car door slammed—she’s terrified.”

“And that person watching us,” Angus added, his jaw tight. “Someone’s keeping tabs.”

The silence that followed felt charged with unspoken possibilities. Angus’s mind wandered to his brother Logan, to secrets buried and truths hidden. How many shadows had to be chased before light finally broke through? The prophet Isaiah’s words surfaced in his memory: I will give you the treasures of darkness and hidden riches of secret places.

The radio crackled, startling them both. “Sheriff?” It was the night dispatcher. “Dr. Delaney’s been trying to reach you. Says it’s urgent—new lab results on the Emily Jones case.”

Angus checked his watch—12:47 a.m. Murphy working this late meant something significant. “Thanks, tell her we’re heading there now.”

The county forensics lab blazed with fluorescent light, a beacon of wakefulness that belied the actual hour. The sterile corridors echoed with their footsteps as they made their way to Murphy’s workspace. She stood at her workstation, her hair escaping a hasty ponytail, dark circles beneath her eyes betraying hours of relentless focus. The wall behind her was covered with microscope images and chemical analysis readouts, a testament to her thoroughness.

“I couldn’t wait until morning,” she said without preamble, gesturing to her microscope. “The particulates in Emily’s hair—they’re not just regular sawdust. It’s industrial grade, treated with specific chemical preservatives. Look at these cell structures.”

Angus peered through the lens at the magnified particles. Though the technical details meant little to him, he recognized the precision in Murphy’s work—the same careful attention to detail that had drawn him to her from the day he met her.

“The preservation compound contains a unique chemical signature,” Murphy continued, pulling up a spectrographic analysis on her monitor. “It’s a proprietary blend that was discontinued five years ago due to environmental concerns.” She clicked on another tab, bringing up another screen. “Only one facility in the area still had permission to use their remaining stock.” She turned the screen toward them, displaying a satellite image. “The old Holbrook lumber mill, just outside town.”

Miguel leaned closer, his breath catching. “Holbrook? As in—”

“Holbrook Industries,” Murphy confirmed, her voice tight with significance. “The same company that owns half of Boston’s waterfront.”

Angus’s spine prickled with a cold unease. The name carried weight, even here in Weyport. James Holbrook was known for his aggressive real estate development and his connections to state politicians. His influence stretched far beyond Boston’s city limits, reaching into corners of power that most couldn’t touch.

“The mill’s been closed for two years,” Miguel noted, studying the satellite image. His finger traced the access road that wound through dense forest before disappearing behind the main building. In the grainy overhead view, the facility looked abandoned, its empty parking lot overgrown with weeds. “But if these chemical readings are fresh—”

Murphy nodded, pulling up another file. “The concentration of preservative compounds in the samples indicates exposure within the last seventy-two hours. Someone’s using that facility, official closure or not.”

The consequences settled over them like a shroud. Angus studied the satellite image, noting the isolation of the property, the perfect place for secrets to stay buried. His phone felt heavy in his pocket as he pulled it out, thumbing a quick text to Tammy:

Need urgent background check on Brian Carter + Holbrook Industries. Your eyes only.

The response was immediate:

At my desk already. Couldn’t sleep. Following some leads. Send details. This case keeps getting deeper, Sheriff.

“Look who else is burning the midnight oil,” Miguel muttered, a hint of admiration in his voice when he glimpsed the message over Angus’s shoulder. “I guess this case has us all puzzled.”

Angus dialed, and Tammy answered on the first ring. He could hear her fingers clicking the keys on her. “Sheriff…six years ago, before he changed his name, Carter worked security for one of their subsidiaries. HI Corporate Services.” Her voice dropped, laden with the impact of her discovery. “Looks like he was stationed at multiple Holbrook properties, including—”

“The lumber mill,” Angus finished, exchanging a meaningful look with Murphy. The pieces were falling into place with an inevitability that felt almost divine in its timing, as if an unseen hand were arranging the threads of truth before them.

Ending his call with Tammy, Angus stood and studied Murphy’s face in the harsh fluorescent light. Exhaustion shadowed her eyes, but beneath it burned the fierce dedication that had him in awe of her. “You’ve given us more than a breakthrough, Murph.” He leaned in, kissing her gently on the cheek—a gesture that spoke of gratitude deeper than words could reach. “Get some rest. Whatever lies ahead, we have a better understanding of what we face because of your work tonight.”

Murphy’s fingers found Scout’s ears where he waited patiently by his water bowl, her touch conveying the concern she wouldn’t voice aloud. “Be careful out there, Angus.” Her words reminding him of Solomon’s wisdom about walking in dark places. “Whatever, or whoever, is waiting in that mill—” She left the thought unfinished, but her eyes completed it—evil prefers to work in shadow.

The drive to the lumber mill took them through Weyport’s sleeping streets, past darkened houses where families rested unaware of the growing storm. Scout dozed in the back seat while Miguel studied the satellite images on his phone, his trained eye marking access points and escape routes with quiet efficiency. When they turned onto the old logging road, the darkness seemed to deepen, as if nature itself recognized what kind of secrets were buried ahead. Angus’s hands tightened on the wheel, remembering the Psalmist’s words about valleys of shadow—and the promise of light beyond.

The old lumber mill rose against the predawn sky like an abandoned cathedral, its metal siding catching the first pale suggestion of morning. The structure loomed before them, a monument to fallen industry and buried secrets. Angus killed the headlights as they approached, gravel crunching beneath the tires like broken promises. Scout’s ears perked up, his nose twitching at the unfamiliar scents carried on the damp air.

“No other vehicles,” Miguel observed, scanning the empty lot. The darkness felt alive, pregnant with possibility and threat.

They approached cautiously, flashlight beams revealing years of neglect. The main entrance was padlocked, its heavy chain rusted with age, but a side door hung slightly ajar, its frame warped from weather and time. The gap seemed to beckon them, a mouth ready to swallow their light.

Inside, their footsteps echoed off concrete floors and metal walls, each sound amplified in the cavernous space. The air was thick with the musty scent of decay and something else—the sharp tang of fresh-cut wood that shouldn’t have been present in an abandoned facility. The beams from their flashlights caught cobwebs and dust, but also fresh scuff marks on the floor—recent disturbances in the settled grime.

“Someone’s been here recently,” Miguel muttered, pointing to clear tracks in the dust. “Multiple sets of prints, different directions.”

They moved deeper into the facility, past machinery that loomed like sleeping giants. The office area ahead was a darker patch in the general gloom, its windows reflecting their approaching lights like dead eyes. Angus’s beam caught something metallic on the floor near the office door, a small glint that seemed out of place in the industrial decay.

His heart stopped.

There, gleaming in the flashlight’s glow, lay a small silver brooch shaped like a leaf—Lilly’s trademark accessory, the one she’d worn faithfully at her collar every day at the library.

“Miguel,” he called softly, crouching to examine it.

Miguel’s sharp intake of breath confirmed what Angus already knew. “It’s hers.”

Angus picked it up carefully, turning it over in his palm. The clasp was broken, appearing to have been torn from fabric in a struggle. The metal was still warm, as if it had been recently handled. His other hand instinctively moved to his weapon when Scout’s low growl broke the silence, the sound raising hackles on the back of his neck.

“Sheriff,” Miguel’s voice was urgent. “Footprints. Leading to the back storage area.”

They followed the trail, Scout padding silently beside them, until they reached a heavy metal door. It was secured with a new padlock—incongruously clean and shiny against the building’s decay, its brass surface unmarred by time or elements.

“Recent activity,” Angus noted. “Get the bolt cutter from the truck.”

While Miguel hurried to the truck, Angus studied the door, his flashlight beam catching subtle details. Something about this felt wrong. The mill’s location, the industrial sawdust, Brian Carter’s connection to Holbrook—it was all connected. But how? And why would someone bring Lilly here?

In the quiet dawn hours, he knew with certainty—they’d stumbled onto something bigger than a missing librarian. This was about power, money, and secrets that reached all the way to Boston. Somewhere in this maze of metal and shadow, Lilly Cooper’s fate hung in the balance.

Dawn was breaking over Weyport, painting the sky in shades of amber and rose. But in the shadows of the Holbrook mill, darkness still held its secrets close, waiting to see who would be strong enough—or faithful enough—to bring them into the light.

A sudden noise from above made him freeze. Metal creaking against metal, then silence. Scout’s ears flattened as he stared up into the darkness, a low whine building in his throat.

They weren’t alone.

Chapter Twenty-Two

Dawn crept through the station windows like searching fingers, painting Tammy’s desk in shades of amber and shadow. Empty coffee cups stood like soldiers around her keyboard, testament to her night-long vigil. Her eyes burned from hours of scanning public records, but something in the pattern kept pulling her forward, like the still, small voice that had guided prophets through their darkest hours. "He who seeks finds," her grandmother used to say, quoting Matthew with quiet certainty. Right now, Tammy needed that certainty more than ever.

The latest cup of coffee at her elbow had gone cold, forgotten in the intensity of her search through the county’s property records database. She’d been digging since Angus’s call about Brian Carter, following the trail of land acquisitions and permit applications that wound through their coastal community like a serpent. Persevering with the kind of patient determination her father, a former accountant turned pastor of a small church in Florida, had instilled in her. Each new shell company she uncovered felt like another piece of a larger puzzle—one that stretched far beyond Weyport’s quiet streets into shadows she was only beginning to understand.

Outside her window, sparrows had begun their morning chorus, their songs a stark contrast to the dark truths unfolding on her screen. The county registry’s website displayed a maze of property transfers and corporate filings. Limited liability companies nested within each other like Russian dolls, each one carefully constructed to obscure its true ownership. But Carter’s bank records—obtained through the investigation into Emily’s murder—had given her the thread to follow. Monthly payments from these same companies, each one a breadcrumb leading toward something bigger.

The morning light strengthened as she cross-referenced business registrations with zoning applications. A pattern emerged, subtle as a whisper in church. Four different LLCs had purchased waterfront properties in the past year, each filing environmental impact studies that seemed designed to fail. As if someone wanted a paper trail of rejected permits. But why?

Her phone buzzed. Angus.

“Sheriff,” she answered, her voice hoarse from disuse, from hours of silence broken only by keyboard clicks and murmured prayers. “You need to see this. Those payments to Carter? They’re just the beginning. I’ve found—”

“Hold that thought,” Angus cut in, his tone carrying the gravity of fresh discovery. “We found something at the mill. Lilly’s brooch. And signs of recent activity. I need you to dig deeper into Holbrook’s connection to Weyport. Any properties, shell companies, anything that might—”

“Already on it,” Tammy interrupted, pulling up another window, her fingers dancing across the keyboard with practiced grace. “And Sheriff? Carter’s not just connected to Holbrook. He’s been on their payroll for years, even after his official employment ended. Monthly deposits through a series of shell corporations, all leading back to James Holbrook himself. The pattern’s so careful it’s almost beautiful, if you ignore what it means.”

The silence stretched across the line, thick with unspoken meaning.

“How much?”

“Ten thousand dollars. Every month. Like clockwork. The kind of money that buys more than loyalty.”

Angus fell silent for a moment, the revelation settling heavy in his chest. “Keep digging. And Tammy? Watch your back. If Holbrook’s involved—”

“I know,” she said softly. “Trust no one.” Words from a childhood Sunday school lesson echoed in her mind: Be wise as serpents, innocent as doves.

After ending the call, Tammy sat back in her chair, its familiar creak a counterpoint to her racing thoughts. The numbers on her screen told a story of corruption and careful concealment, of power wielded in shadow. But why here? Why Weyport? Their quiet coastal town seemed an unlikely stage for corporate intrigue of this magnitude.

Her gaze drifted back to an article on her screen. The timing of it nagged at her. Three months ago, Holbrook Industries had announced their major coastal development project in Boston, promising jobs and prosperity while environmental groups protested the impact on wetland preserves.

That same week Emily Jones had arrived in Weyport, carrying secrets like hidden pearls.

Could it be connected? Tammy pulled up the local news archives, scanning for anything unusual around that time. Her father’s voice echoed in her memory with an Albert Einstein quote he often used: “Coincidence is just God’s way of remaining anonymous.” A small item caught her eye—a photo of Lilly outside the library, boxes of donated books visible in the background. The date matched. Tammy zoomed in, her heart skipping a beat as she noticed something in one of the open boxes—something that looked like a corporate letterhead bearing a familiar logo.

Holbrook Industries.

The discovery sent electricity through her tired limbs. Infused with new energy, she dug deeper into Emily Jones’s background, each new detail falling into place like pieces of a puzzle. The results made her breath catch in her throat which tightened with the recognition of God’s hand at work in the details.

Just then, as if God needed to underline her father’s voice with humor, an email notification from the Weyport Herald popped up on her screen. She clicked on the email, a thrill surging through her veins as she read Editor-in-Chief, Clara Matthews’s, words:

It wasn’t easy to find but I can confirm that Cassandra Miller is a researcher for Emily Jones at the Boston Globe. Emily Jones was working an undercover case when she died.

Tammy jumped up, her hands clasped behind her head in exhilaration. Emily hadn’t been just another newcomer to Weyport. She’d been an investigative journalist specializing in corporate corruption, with a reputation for exposing environmental crimes and financial malfeasance. Her articles had brought down corrupt officials and exposed criminal enterprises hiding behind legitimate businesses. And her last known assignment before coming to Weyport? An exposé on coastal development projects with suspected ties to organized crime.

The truth began taking shape with terrifying clarity, like a prophetic vision slowly coming into focus. Each piece seemed divinely arranged—Emily’s arrival coinciding with Holbrook’s coastal development announcements, Lilly’s subsequent disappearance, Brian Carter’s carefully concealed payments through these shell companies. Tammy’s hands trembled slightly as she plonked back in her chair and opened another database, this one tracking property acquisitions along the New England coast.

There it was. Holbrook Industries had been quietly buying up waterfront properties through various shell companies, creating a network of holdings that stretched from Boston to Maine. But Weyport was different. Here, the purchases had stalled, blocked by environmental protection laws and local resistance. The same laws Emily had been investigating before she appeared in their quiet town.

Tammy’s hands trembled as she dialed Angus’s number. The revelation settled in her chest like a tangible force, undeniable and unshakable. All these threads, woven together by an unseen hand—she could almost hear her grandmother’s voice: “God reveals what man tries to hide.”

“Sheriff? I think I know why Emily Jones came to Weyport. She wasn’t just looking into Holbrook Industries. She was building a case. The coastal development project, the shell companies, the environmental regulations—it’s all connected. And I think—”

A floorboard creaked behind her.

Tammy froze, her heart thundering against her ribs. The station should have been empty at this hour, everyone else out searching the lumber mill. But that sound... She thought of David in the psalms: “Though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death…”

“Tammy?” Angus’s voice crackled through the phone. “You think what?”

Another creak, closer now. Then footsteps, deliberate and unhurried, like a predator sure of its prey.

“Someone’s here,” she whispered, her finger already moving to the silent alarm under her desk. Her other hand inched toward her drawer, where her weapon waited. “I have to—”

The lights went out.

In the sudden darkness, Tammy’s screen cast an eerie blue glow across her desk, turning familiar shapes into looming shadows. Her breath came in short gasps as she reached for the only weapon she had closest to her: the scissors next to her hand. But before her fingers could touch metal, a voice spoke from the shadows—cultured, refined, and chilling in its calm certainty.

“I wouldn’t do that if I were you.”

A businessman’s voice, used to being obeyed without question. Used to holding power over others’ lives. Tammy’s blood ran cold as a figure stepped into the dim light of her screen. Even in the predawn gloom she could tell that his suit probably cost more than her monthly salary. His silver hair caught the blue glow of her monitor.

"Miss Simmons,” James Holbrook said, adjusting his expensive suit cuffs with meticulous care. He carried himself like a man who believed in the divine right of the powerful to shape the world as they saw fit. “It appears we have a small problem here. I understand you’ve been looking into my business affairs.”

Through the phone, still clutched in her trembling hand, she could hear Angus shouting her name. The sound seemed to come from very far away, like a voice calling across a widening chasm.

Holbrook’s smile deepened, a gesture that never reached his eyes. Those remained cold, calculating—the eyes of a man who had built his empire on others’ silence. His hand moved slowly into his jacket, and Tammy’s heart nearly stopped.

But what he withdrew wasn’t a weapon. It was a folded piece of paper, which he laid on her desk with deliberate precision. In the screen’s glow, she could make out the official letterhead and a familiar signature at the bottom.

“Your father’s church,” Holbrook said softly, “has been struggling with its mortgage, hasn’t it? Such a shame when historic buildings fall into disrepair. But sometimes…providence provides a solution.”

The implied threat hung in the air between them, heavy as incense in an empty sanctuary. Through the windows, dawn was breaking over Weyport, painting the sky in shades of judgment. But in her office, shadows still held sway, and the price of truth was being measured in souls.

Chapter Twenty-Three

Time seemed to slow as Angus pressed the phone harder against his ear, each heartbeat marking eternal seconds as he listened to the confrontation unfolding at the station. The mill—with its gloom and silence—felt like a tomb. Lilly’s brooch weighed heavy in his pocket, its delicate silver leaf a remnant of simpler times—before darkness had taken root in their quiet town.

Through the phone’s connection, he could hear Tammy’s controlled breathing—the kind that came from years of handling difficult situations at the station, though never anything like this. Beyond that, Holbrook’s cultured voice carried veiled threats about her father’s church. The words themselves were almost gentle, but they carried death in their implications.

“Tammy,” Angus spoke firmly into the phone, “we’re coming. Just—”

The sharp crack of gunfire shattered the early morning quiet. A sound that would haunt his dreams—something—maybe Tammy’s phone—clattered against the floor tiles. Then silence.

The connection died.

“Miguel!” Angus was already moving toward the exit. “Call for backup at the station. Now!”

But before he could reach the door, movement caught his eye.

Angus’s hand went to his weapon, every sense straining against the shadows as he shone his flashlight towards the noise. The truth was here, somewhere in this abandoned temple of industry. And someone was willing to kill to keep it hidden. Wielding his gun offered cold comfort against the growing certainty that they’d stepped into something far darker than a missing person case.

Behind him, gravel crunched as Miguel returned with the bolt cutter. But before either of them could move, a phone rang—not one of theirs. It came from somewhere in the darkness above. Three rings, then silence.

A signal.

Suddenly, floodlights blazed to life, blinding them. Scout barked sharply as multiple doors slammed in rapid succession, the sounds overlapping like gunshots. By the time their vision cleared, the mill was silent again, but the air hummed with invisible tension.

Angus aimed his gun as a figure emerged from an area they hadn’t yet searched—Brian Carter, his hands raised in surrender, his expression haunted. The timing felt too perfect, like Judas appearing in the garden.

Miguel maintained his position near the door, his body language telegraphing the same suspicion Angus felt. Every instinct warned that this was wrong.

“Sheriff,” Carter said softly, “I can’t let you leave. Not yet.” His voice carried the weight of secrets too long buried. “You need to understand what’s really happening here.”

Angus kept his weapon trained steadily on Carter, years of experience screaming warnings about convenient confessions—Carter appearing just when they needed to leave, offering answers like poisoned fruit. “People are going to die, Brian. Whatever game you’re playing—”

“This isn’t a game.” Carter’s laugh held no humor. “Emily Jones thought it was at first. Just another story to chase. Like any good investigative reporter would. She and Catherine Mills both thought they could expose the truth. That’s why they had to be stopped.”

Angus felt the ground shift beneath his certainties. Emily Jones—a reporter? The truth landed like a stone in still water, rippling outward to disturb everything they’d assumed about her murder. In that moment, he understood how the prophets must have felt when divine revelation changed their understanding of the world. All this time, they’d been looking at her death as a local mystery, when she’d actually been investigating something far deeper.

“Catherine Mills?” Miguel’s voice carried careful neutrality, though Angus could hear the same shock in his partner’s tone. “The reporter who disappeared in Boston? It was all over the news.”

“Disappeared?” Carter’s smile was bitter as wormwood. “No. She went underground. Resurfaced as her colleague, Emily’s researcher, Cassandra Miller. The two of them thought they could fool us.” He took a step forward, then stopped when both officers adjusted their aim. “They were getting close to the truth about Holbrook’s coastal developments, about the environmental studies that kept failing. They got what they deserved. I mean, they didn’t leave us much choice.”

At the station, Tammy kept her breathing steady as she faced Holbrook across her desk. The morning’s first light caught his silver hair like a mockery of a halo, while shadows played across his expensive suit. Her hand hovered near the silent alarm under her desk, knowing that even if she managed to trigger it, help might come too late.

“Your father’s church,” Holbrook said, his voice carrying the confidence of a man who bought souls in bulk, “has been struggling with its mortgage, hasn’t it?” He placed a folded document on her desk. “Such a shame when historic buildings fall into disrepair.”

Tammy’s mind raced through options, through angles and exits. She could hear Angus’s voice calling her name through the phone she’d cleverly set face down. But any sudden move would give Holbrook’s men—she’d caught glimpses of at least two in the hallway—the excuse they needed.

“Whatever you’re offering,” she said carefully, “it’s not worth the price.”

Holbrook’s smile deepened, never reaching his eyes. “Everything has a price, Miss Simmons. Emily Jones learned that. So did Catherine Mills, though she proved…more resilient.”

Tammy’s brows twitched as confusion settled in response to a name she didn’t recognize. Holbrook smirked.

“Oh, don’t be so hard on yourself, Miss Simmons. I’m sure you would have figured it out soon enough. But I’ll put you out of your misery and save you the trouble of digging through more newspaper articles.” He sneered, half-sitting on the corner of her desk. “Cassandra Miller was her alias. Smart, but not smart enough to fool me. She should have backed down when she had the chance.”

Movement in the doorway caught Tammy’s attention—another suit-clad figure, hand reaching beneath his jacket. Time compressed to a single moment of crystal clarity. Her grandmother’s voice echoed in memory: “When darkness comes, child, be ready to stand in the light.”

Back at the mill, Carter’s story spun out like silk from a spider’s web. “The permit denials weren’t failures,” he explained, taking another subtle step forward. “They were deliberate. Build up a pattern of environmental concerns, then when the properties get rezoned for ‘sustainable development’—”he made air quotes with still-raised hands—“nobody questions it. The land values skyrocket. Millions in profit, all perfectly legal on paper.”

Angus watched Carter’s movements with growing unease. The man’s story fit too perfectly, like a key crafted for a specific lock. And with each word, each step, he was drawing them deeper into the mill’s shadows.

“And Lilly?” Angus pressed, buying time as he noted Miguel’s position, calculating angles. “How does she fit into this?”

“Emily was smart.” Another step, almost imperceptible. “She knew she was being watched, so she hid her evidence where someone would find it—someone who knew how to read between the lines. Someone who collected secrets.”

“The library donations,” Miguel offered, playing along while adjusting his stance.

Tammy saw the moment Holbrook's expression shifted—the instant he realized she wouldn't bend. His mask of civility cracked, revealing something ancient and cold beneath. Through the station's window, she caught the familiar silhouette of Deputy Blake Shepherd's cruiser pulling into the gravel lot. A fragile hope rose—Blake approaching, unknowing, and vulnerable, walking into a crucible of violence.

Her heart quickened: part relief, part dread. Blake, with his steady gait, might be her deliverance or her unwitting companion in catastrophe. She had a heartbeat to decide.

Her hand moved.

Before she could sound the alarm, before she could cry out a warning that would pierce the morning's silence, Holbrook's sidekick pulled the trigger.

The gunshot shattered the station’s dawn silence.

“Lilly wasn’t supposed to be involved,” Carter continued, now barely ten feet away. “But she started connecting dots. Started asking questions about the shell companies, the permit applications. When Holbrook found out—” He swallowed hard, the gesture almost theatrical. “I was just supposed to retrieve the evidence. Keep her quiet for a while. But things got complicated.”

Miguel growled under his breath.

“You don’t understand,” Carter said, his voice rising with urgency as he took another step. “Holbrook isn’t just some corrupt businessman. His reach goes all the way to Boston. Police, judges, politicians—they’re all in his pocket. The same pattern, different towns. Buy the land cheap, manipulate the regulations, sell high. Anyone gets too close to the truth—” He drew a finger across his throat.

The gesture wasn’t quite right. It came a fraction of a second too late, like an actor remembering his mark.

“Spare the theatrics, Carter.” Angus snapped. “Where’s Lilly?”

Carter gave a devilish smile. “She’s here,” he said, gesturing toward the mill’s upper level. “Hidden. Safe. But if we don’t move now—”

The sound of helicopter rotors cut through the silence, growing closer. Carter’s eyes flickered toward the sound, a tell so subtle most would miss it. But Angus had interviewed too many suspects, watched too many lies unfold.

“Make your choice, Brian,” he said, his voice carrying the weight of judgment. “Tell us the truth, or—”

Carter moved with sudden violence, his raised hands dropping as he lunged forward. But Angus had been ready, had seen the tension building in the man’s shoulders. They crashed together as Miguel shouted a warning about movement on the upper level.

The mill’s shadows came alive with purpose.

Through the windows, smoke rose from the direction of the surrounding trees, painting the dawn sky in shades of judgment. Angus grappled with Carter as more figures emerged from hiding, their footsteps echoing off metal walls like hammers on nails.

The trap had been perfectly laid—Carter’s story drawing them deeper into the mill while Holbrook’s men got into position. And now, with Tammy’s fate unknown and Lilly still missing, time was running out.

Daybreak had come to Weyport, but in the shadows of the Holbrook mill, darkness still held sway. And the price of truth would be measured in blood.

Chapter Twenty-Four

The impact drove the breath from Angus’s lungs as he and Carter crashed to the mill floor. Above them, Holbrook’s men shifted positions— boots scraping against metal catwalks, shadows moving with lethal purpose through the building’s steel skeleton. Miguel’s warning shout mixed with the echo of their struggle, his weapon trained on the figures emerging from hiding.

Carter fought with the desperate strength of a cornered animal, but there was something wrong about his movements—a hesitation in his strikes, as if he were playing a part rather than fighting to kill. When Angus drove his knee up, Carter rolled away, creating distance between them with almost theatrical grace until they were out of the line of sight of Holbrook’s men.

“Wait!” Carter’s voice carried an edge of genuine panic as he scrambled backward, hands raised in surrender. “You need to see something first!”

“No more games,” Angus growled, weapon steady despite the ache in his ribs. Dawn’s first light filtered through high windows, painting harsh lines across Carter’s face—lines that spoke of sleepless nights and agonizing choices.

“It’s not a game.” Carter’s eyes darted toward a heavy metal door half-hidden behind ancient machinery. A door they’d missed in their earlier search, its edges blending seamlessly with the wall’s industrial panels. “She’s here. Lilly’s here,” he said quietly, his expression as sincere as the tone of his voice. “I’ve been keeping her safe in the old supervisor’s office. But if Holbrook’s men reach her first—”

Miguel kept his weapon trained on the catwalks above, where shadows still shifted with deadly intent. “He’s stalling, Sheriff.”

“No.” Carter’s denial held the force of desperate truth. “I had to make it look good, don’t you see? Had to make them think I was still loyal. But Lilly—she found out what was really happening. Offered to help me escape. The money was—”

The sharp crack of a rifle cut through his words. The shot sparked off metal near Carter’s head, sending him diving for cover. More figures appeared on the upper level, their tactical gear marking them as professionals—Holbrook’s real cleaners, coming to tie up loose ends.

“Time’s up!” Carter shouted. He lunged toward the hidden door, producing a key from his sleeve with practiced smoothness. “Choose now, Sheriff! She dies anyway if Holbrook’s men reach her first!”

Angus felt the enormity of the choice press down like stones on a condemned man. Every instinct warned against trusting Carter—the man who’d broken into Lilly’s house, who’d taken her when his deal went wrong. Yet something in his desperation rang true.

“Miguel,” Angus called, his decision crystallizing. “Cover the upper level.”

They moved in tandem, years of partnership evident in their synchronized advance. Miguel held a position behind a massive gear assembly, his weapon tracking shadows above while Angus followed Carter toward the hidden door. The space between them and the door felt endless, exposed, each step a gamble of trust and betrayal.

The hidden door opened onto a narrow corridor, its metal walls still displaying old safety notices. Twenty feet in, the passage doglegged left, leading to what had once been the mill supervisor’s office—a fortress-like room with thick walls designed to withstand industrial accidents. The perfect place to hide someone when your plan had spiraled beyond control.

The lock yielded to Carter’s key, and metal groaned against metal as he pulled it open. Stale air carried the scent of rust and recently disturbed dust. A battery-powered lantern cast weak light across the cramped space, revealing a camp bed, bottled water, and fresh takeout containers. Not the setup of someone planning long-term captivity—more like a desperate man buying time to figure out his next move.

“Miss Cooper?” Carter’s voice barked softly. “It’s time.”

Movement stirred in the shadows. Then Lilly Cooper emerged from behind a metal desk, her clothes dust-streaked but her bearing dignified. Six days of confinement had left dark circles under her eyes, yet she moved with the steady purpose of one who had chosen her path. Her gaze met Angus’s directly, despite her obvious exhaustion.

“Lilly! Are you hurt?” Angus reacted instinctively, his weapon still trained on Carter.

“I’m not a monster, Sheriff,” Carter snapped before she could answer. “She’s fine.”

“I’m okay, Sheriff,” Lilly’s voice was hoarse but clear. Her fingers worried at the empty spot on her collar where the silver brooch should have been. Concealed under the soft fabric of her dirty cardigan, the outlines of the diary were barely visible.

Carter’s arm swept around her before she could finish, pulling her close as his weapon appeared. The motion was fluid, practiced, yet somehow lacking the casual cruelty of a true hostage-taker. He angled his body to protect her from the threats above. “Back up,” he ordered Angus. “Slowly.”

Above them, boot steps marked time with mechanical precision. Miguel’s voice carried across the space, “Multiple tangos moving, Sheriff. Getting into position.”

“They’re here to clean up,” Carter said bitterly with the knowledge of personal experience. “All of us. Can’t leave witnesses to what Holbrook’s really doing.” His grip on Lilly shifted, almost protective.

A shot cracked through the vast space. Concrete dust spurted near Carter’s feet, forcing him back toward a rusted stairwell. His features hardened with decision as he guided Lilly with him, keeping himself between her and the threat above.

“Brian,” Lilly spoke softly, her voice carrying neither fear nor judgment. “This isn’t what I offered to help you do.”

“It’s the only way left.” Something cracked in Carter’s voice—the sound of a man seeing his last hope fade like evening light–raw with the stress of too many compromises. “Eight years watching Holbrook destroy lives. Eight years helping him bury the truth. The ten thousand was my chance to make it right, to walk away and let you expose him. But Holbrook found out about our deal and he can’t risk either of us talking. Now there’s only one way—"

More shots ricocheted off metal around them. Miguel returned fire, forcing the shadows above to duck back. But they were professionals, moving with the patience of those who knew time was on their side.

“Carter!” Angus kept his weapon trained on him, though his finger rested lightly on the trigger. Years of experience told him this wasn’t a simple hostage situation. The way Carter shielded Lilly from the gunfire, the lack of bruising on her wrists, the tension in his face that spoke more of protection than threat. “Whatever Holbrook has on you, we can help.”

“Help?” Carter’s laugh echoed hollow against steel walls. “Like you helped Emily? Like they helped Catherine Mills? The system’s rigged, Sheriff. Holbrook owns too many pieces.” His eyes darted toward another exit, calculation warring with desperation. “Sometimes the only way to fight corruption is from inside. That’s what Emily understood. It’s why she planted the evidence where she knew it would be found. She knew if she could get the rumor mill going it would get eyes on Holbrook. But Lilly sat on it too long. They were going to kill her if I didn’t take her first. Lilly offered me a chance to get free. To disappear from Weyport and away from Holbrook forever.”

Understanding bloomed in Angus’s mind like divine revelation. The ten thousand dollars hadn’t been ransom—it had been salvation. A chance for redemption bought with numbered bills and desperate trust. Until Holbrook discovered their arrangement, forcing Carter’s hand.

Carter backed toward the rear exit, each step measured with the precision of a man walking between worlds. Lilly moved with him, her posture suggesting neither captive nor conspirator, but something more complex—like Ruth following Naomi into uncertain exile, bound by shared purpose rather than force.

“Sheriff,” Miguel called out, his voice tight with tactical assessment. “They’re closing in on us, setting up a crossfire position. Whatever we’re doing, we need to do it now.”

Carter’s eyes darted between the approaching shadows above and the promise of escape behind him. Years of service to Holbrook had carved deep lines in his face, each one a deadly deal that had led him here. “You don’t understand,” he said, his voice raw with truth. “There’s evidence—in the diary Lilly has and in Boston. Proof of everything—the environmental crimes, the bribes, the disappearances. Catherine Mills found it before she had to run. Before she was forced to become Cassandra Miller. That’s why Emily came here, why she left those records for someone to find. Someone like Miss Cooper. But they found and silenced Emily just like they did Catherine. Just like they found me even with my changed name. And Lilly was next. I couldn’t let them get away with it. Not this time.”

“Then help us expose him,” Angus exhorted, keeping a firm grip on his weapon while his mind spun through the possibilities. “The right way.”

“The right way?” Bitter laughter scraped from Carter’s throat. “There is no right way. Not with men like Holbrook. You play by the rules, they bury you. You try to fight the system—” His grip on Lilly shifted, almost apologetic. “They bury everyone you ever cared about. Catherine and I had a future once, but Holbrook stole that from me.”

Another gunshot rang out, slicing through the air, closer this time. Carter pulled Lilly deeper into shadow as Miguel returned fire, forcing their unseen attackers back. But the net was tightening. The professional killers sensed their prey was trapped.

“Time’s up,” Carter said, reaching behind him to push open the fire exit. Early morning light spilled through the gap, beckoning toward a path of possible salvation. “I’m sorry, Sheriff. But sometimes survival means choosing the lesser evil.”

The door opened wider, revealing the mill’s loading dock beyond. There was a clear shot to the tree line, to whatever escape route Carter had prepared. But something in his expression had changed—a flicker of doubt, as if he’d finally glimpsed the true cost of freedom.

“Brian.” Lilly’s voice carried neither fear nor condemnation, but the quiet strength of one who had found truth worth dying for. “You know this isn’t the answer.”

For a brief instant, Carter’s mask cracked. Beneath the desperation and guilt, something else showed through—a longing for redemption that transcended mere survival. But before he could respond, Holbrook’s men moved with new purpose, and Miguel’s warning shout carried urgency, “Sheriff! They’re—”

The rest was lost in a burst of gunfire that sent concrete dust spraying from the walls. Carter pulled Lilly down behind a stack of rusted barrels, his body shielding her from the worst of the debris. The gesture wasn’t theatrical this time—it was pure instinct, protection overriding escape.

Through the settling dust, Angus caught a glimpse of tactical gear on the catwalks—mercenaries closing in with mechanical efficiency. Time had run out. Whatever choice Carter would make, whatever path to redemption might still lie open, it would have to come now.

But as Carter raised his head to survey their options, something shifted in his eyes. Conviction took shape, sharp and final. He resolutely looked at Lilly, then at the spot where the diary was hidden under her sweater—evidence of Holbrook’s corruption—then at the approaching shadows of judgment.

The price of freedom lay before him, measured in metaphorical pieces of silver and paths of escape.

And in that moment between damnation and grace, Brian Carter made his choice.

Chapter Twenty-Five

Carter’s decision manifested in a single fluid motion. He spun Lilly toward Angus, practically throwing her away from himself as gunfire erupted from above. “Get her out!” he shouted. “Catherine’s diary—his voice caught on her name, eight years of guilt and loss bleeding through—has everything—all of it. The real estate fraud, the environmental crimes, the people who disappeared. Everything she uncovered before Holbrook forced her into hiding. Emily brought it here, hid it where she knew someone would find it. Where a person who collected secrets would understand what it meant.”

Time narrowed to fleeting moments of pure instinct. While Angus lunged forward, catching Lilly as she stumbled, Miguel provided covering fire that cracked through the space, forcing Holbrook’s men to duck back from the catwalks. Through the chaos, Carter’s voice carried a strange note of peace, “Catherine would have wanted this. To finally have her truth told.”

“Brian, don’t—” Lilly started, her hands pressing the leather-bound volume tight against her chest through her cardigan. But Carter was already running in the opposite direction, his movement deliberate, calculated to draw attention.

“East exit!” Miguel shouted over the gunfire. “I’ve got your six!”

Angus guided Lilly toward the open door, keeping his body between her and the threat above. The diary pressed against his arm where she concealed it, Catherine’s final testimony suddenly more precious than ever. Behind them, Carter’s voice rang out again, challenging, “Is this the best Holbrook’s money can buy?”

More shots answered, the hired guns adjusting their focus to the new threat. Carter ducked and rolled, leading them away from the others’ escape route. His movements were different now—precise, professional, the act of incompetence finally dropped.

“He was special ops,” Lilly gasped as they ran, her voice tight with emotion. “Before Holbrook. That’s how he met Catherine—”

A bullet sparked off metal near their heads, cutting off her words. Miguel returned fire, his aim careful despite their movement. “Contact high right!”

They reached the already-open exit, cold morning air rushing in around them. The loading dock stretched before them, offering a clear path to the tree line—the escape route Carter had already scouted. But Lilly resisted, turning back.

“The evidence,” she said. “Brian knew. About all of it. Everything. We can’t just leave him. He protected me, kept me alive when Holbrook’s men would have—”

More gunfire interrupted, closer now. Different weapons—Holbrook’s men adjusting positions, trying to cut off their escape. Miguel appeared beside them, reloading with practiced efficiency.

“Two more coming down the west stairs,” he reported. “We’re about to be boxed in.”

Angus felt the tactical situation shifting, options narrowing with each passing second. The tree line offered cover, but the open ground between held no protection. Behind them, Carter was still drawing fire, buying them time with his life.

Through the doorway, they caught a glimpse of him ducking behind a support beam. His expression was focused, almost peaceful, like a man who’d finally found his true purpose. When he saw them hesitating, something hardened in his eyes.

“Go!” he shouted. “Catherine died trying to expose this. Emily died. Make it count!”

Then he did something that changed everything.

Reaching into his jacket, Carter withdrew a small remote detonator.

Understanding hit Angus like a physical blow—Carter hadn’t just been buying time. He’d been positioning Holbrook’s men exactly where he wanted them.

“Should’ve checked the building better,” Carter called out, his voice carrying an edge of grim satisfaction. “Eight years doing Holbrook’s cleanup work…you learn a few things about demolition.”

In one smooth motion, Carter shoved something into his jacket and stepped out from behind the support beam, directly into the line of fire. But instead of shooting, he raised his empty hands high. “Tell Holbrook I’ve got what he wants!” he shouted, his voice carrying to the tactical team above. “All his dirty secrets, all of them! But if you kill me you’ll never find the rest!”

The gunfire hesitated. In that moment of confusion, Carter’s eyes met Angus’s, conveying volumes in a single look. A slight nod toward the exit. A tactical truth that needed no words: a target in the open was more valuable than those in hiding.

“Miss Cooper was just the messenger,” Carter continued, drawing their full attention as he took another step forward. “But Catherine’s diary? That’s got everything. Every deal, every payoff, every body.” He reached slowly into his jacket, movements deliberate. “You want it? Come get it.”

“Hold position!” A sharp command came from above. Boot steps shifted on metal catwalks as Holbrook’s men adjusted their aim, focusing on the more valuable target.

“Go,” Carter mouthed silently to Angus, never breaking his performance. “Now.”

Angus grabbed Lilly’s arm, pulling her through the doorway while Miguel provided cover. The diary, the real one, was making its escape with them while Carter played out his deadly distraction with whatever he’d shoved into his jacket.

They were halfway to the tree line when the first explosion rocked the mill.

The blast wasn’t massive—precise charges, strategically placed. Metal screamed against metal as sections of the upper catwalks gave way. Carter had turned his years of demolition work for Holbrook against his own men, using their focus on him to trap them on failing supports.

“Keep moving!” Miguel shouted as they heard debris raining down. Through the chaos, they glimpsed Carter diving behind machinery as Holbrook’s men fought for stable ground.

The second explosion came just as they reached the trees. This one took out the mill’s eastern wall, sending up a cloud of dust and memory. When it cleared, the building’s skeleton stood broken against the morning sky, its secrets finally exposed to light.

Angus found Carter ten minutes later.

He lay where the last blast had thrown him, one hand still gripping the decoy he’d used to draw their fire—an old maintenance log wrapped in leather. His other hand held the detonator, finger still on the trigger. His eyes were open, focused on something distant, and his lips held the faintest trace of a smile.

Angus knelt beside Carter’s body as sirens approached in the distance. The man had died as he’d lived—playing a role, keeping his true purpose hidden until the perfect moment. But in the end, he’d chosen a different path. He’d chosen truth over survival, redemption over escape.

Miguel stood guard at the tree line while Angus closed Carter’s eyes. Around them, the mill’s dust settled like absolution on fresh snow. Somewhere in the wreckage, Holbrook’s men lay injured or dead, their precision and power brought low by the very skills they’d trusted Carter to employ.

“He planned everything,” Lilly whispered to Angus when he returned, the real diary clutched tight against her chest. “All those years helping Holbrook bury the evidence…he was learning how to expose it, how to bring it all down.”

“We need to move,” Miguel said softly. “Holbrook will send more.”

Lilly’s fingers traced the diary’s worn cover—Catherine’s final testimony, preserved by Emily’s foresight and Carter’s sacrifice. “He said to make it count.”

Duty settled around Angus like armor. Carter had given them something more valuable than evidence. He’d given them time—time to get the diary to safety, to bring Holbrook’s sins into the light. It was time bought with the highest price a man could pay.

Dawn painted the sky in shades of revelation as they moved around the building to where Angus had left his truck, leaving Carter to his final rest. He’d chosen his moment of redemption. Now they would choose what to do with the truth he’d died protecting.

Behind them, the broken mill stood as witness, its steel bones laid bare by the man who’d finally found the courage to break his chains. And somewhere, perhaps, Catherine Mills would know that her truth had not died with her.

It had found its way home.

Chapter Twenty-Six

Scout’s bark greeted them as they approached Angus’s truck, still parked where they’d left it when they’d first entered the mill. The border collie’s tail wagged frantically at their return, but his excitement died quickly, picking up on the tension radiating from his master. In the distance, smoke still rose from the mill’s wreckage, carrying with it the price of Carter’s sacrifice.

“We need to get to the station,” Angus said, helping Lilly into the back seat while Miguel kept watch.

“What about Lilly?” Miguel asked. “We have no idea what we’re walking into at the station.”

“I know, but, after everything that happened here, after Carter’s revelations about how deep Holbrook’s influence runs, I can’t trust anyone else with her safety or Catherine’s diary. Whatever is in that diary has already cost three lives—Emily, Catherine, and now Carter. We can’t lose anyone else. Better to keep her and the diary close, even if it means taking her into whatever danger is waiting at the station.”

A visibly shaken Lilly Cooper settled into the backseat. Scout, who had just hopped back in after a quick bathroom break, licked her hand, ostensibly sensing her emotional turmoil.

“Good boy,” Angus said as he slipped behind the wheel before steering his truck toward the station.

The drive through Weyport’s awakening streets felt endless. Dawn had fully broken, painting the world in harsh clarity that seemed to mock their urgency. When they rounded the corner to the station, Miguel spotted it first.

“Sheriff—Blake’s car.”

Deputy Blake Shepherd’s cruiser sat at an odd angle, driver’s door flung wide. Impact marks scarred the hood where someone had been thrown against it. Fresh blood glistened on the windshield, and shell casings littered the ground—signs of a firefight that had started in the parking lot and moved inside.

Angus studied the scene before them—Blake’s bullet-riddled cruiser, the shell casings glinting in the early light, the ominous silence from the station. Every instinct screamed “trap”.

Angus guided the truck to a defensive position with clear sightlines to the station entrance then jumped out. “Miguel, take up a position here with Lilly and Scout. Keep the diary safe and call for backup.” Angus checked his weapon and tested his earpiece. “I’ll do a sweep. See what we’re dealing with.”

“Sheriff—” Miguel started to protest.

But Angus cut him short. “That diary’s got everything we need to bring Holbrook down, Miguel. We can’t risk it or Lilly. Not after what Carter did to protect them. You’re all I’ve got right now. I need you out here until our backup comes. I’m counting on you to keep them safe.”

Miguel nodded as he took up a position next to the truck. Angus was right. They’d lost too many people already. They couldn’t risk losing the evidence they’d died to protect. “I’ve got your back, Sheriff,” he added before Angus walked toward the station.

“Backup’s four minutes out,” Miguel spoke through his radio into Angus’s earpiece as he approached the entrance. “I’ve got eyes on all exits.”

“10-4,” Angus replied as he stealthily entered the station.

The front desk was empty, dispatch radio silent. Papers scattered across the floor marked a path of violence leading deeper into the building. Following his training, Angus cleared each room methodically until he found Blake.

The deputy lay crumpled near the dispatch desk, one hand still gripping his service weapon. Blood pooled beneath him—too much blood—but his chest still rose with shallow breaths. His uniform was soaked crimson. The wound was high on his chest suggesting the bullet had missed his heart by inches.

“Came in early,” Blake managed, each word a struggle. “Heard voices…Holbrook had Tammy…Tried to…” He coughed, red staining his lips. “Caught them burning files. When I drew my weapon…”

“Hold on, Shepherd.” Angus said quietly, texting Miguel on his cellphone. “Need medical. Blake’s down, GSW to the chest. Tell them to stay at your position until I clear the building.”

A crash came from the records room. Moving toward the sound, Angus heard raised voices. He edged along the wall, using the building’s layout he knew by heart. Through his earpiece, Miguel’s voice provided updates on approaching units, positioning them to cover all exits.

The records room door stood half-open. Through the gap, Angus saw Holbrook standing near the windows, two armed men flanking him while he held Tammy firmly by the arm. Her lip was split and a bruise was darkening on her cheek where someone had struck her. Papers littered the floor—evidence of hasty searching. A small fire smoldered in a metal trash can, the smoke detector above it dangling from the ceiling where they had broken it.

“It’s not here,” one of Holbrook’s men said. “We’ve been through everything.”

“Keep looking,” Holbrook snapped. “That diary has to be—”

“Looking for the diary?” Angus stepped into view, his weapon trained directly on Holbrook. “Drop your weapons. You’re not walking away this time.”

Holbrook’s cultured laugh held no humor. “Sheriff Reid. Come to play hero?” His grip tightened on Tammy’s arm. “I had hoped to conclude my business here before you returned from the mill—assuming of course, that you’d make it out alive. Your deputy’s unfortunate timing complicated matters.”

“Blake’s still alive,” Angus said, noting how both gunmen tensed. “Unlike Carter. Unlike Emily Jones and Catherine Mills. Unlike all the others you’ve had killed.”

Something flickered in Holbrook’s expression at the mention of Carter. “The loyal guard dog finally turned. Pity. He could have had such a comfortable retirement.” His smile never reached his eyes. “But some people never learn to accept the natural order of things. Progress requires sacrifice. Development demands…accommodation.”

“Murder,” Angus said flatly. “Fraud. Environmental crimes. All of it documented in Catherine’s diary. Which isn’t here, by the way. It’s safe with people who’ll make sure the truth comes out.”

One of the gunmen shifted position, trying to get a clear shot around the filing cabinets. Angus kept Holbrook centered in his sights, knowing the businessman was the real threat. Through his earpiece, Miguel’s voice was steady, “Backup’s almost here. State police ETA two minutes.”

The standoff stretched, measured in tense seconds and held breaths. Then Tammy moved.

It wasn’t much—a slight shift of weight, a strategic stumble. But it was enough to throw off Holbrook’s balance. In the same instant, she drove her elbow back and ducked.

The room erupted. Both gunmen opened fire but had to adjust their aim to avoid hitting their boss. Angus put two rounds into the nearest shooter’s shoulder, sending him down. The second man’s shot went wide as Tammy’s stumble carried her and Holbrook into him.

Angus used the chaos to close distance, knowing he had to end this fast. The second gunman recovered, bringing his weapon around, but Tammy’s continued struggle with Holbrook kept him from getting a clean shot.

Through his earpiece, Miguel’s voice carried urgent command: “Sierra One has eyes on the target through the west window. Do you want me to give the green light?”

“Negative,” Angus responded between shots. “Too much crossfire.” He dove behind a filing cabinet as bullets sparked off metal. “Where’s our backup?”

“Thirty seconds out.”

The second gunman was good—professional grade—but having to protect Holbrook limited his options. When Tammy managed to wrench free, it gave Angus the opening he needed. Two more shots put the gunman down.

But in the chaos, Holbrook had slipped away like smoke.

“I’ve lost him, Miguel!” Angus informed.

“Target moving, north exit,” Miguel’s voice crackled. “State units in pursuit.”

With the immediate danger past, Angus moved to help Tammy. Her hands shook as she touched her split lip, but her eyes were resolute. “I’m okay,” she insisted. “Blake—”

“Medical’s incoming.” He keyed his radio. “Miguel, send them in. Scene is clear.”

The next hour dissolved into controlled chaos. State police secured the perimeter while medical teams rushed Blake into surgery. The wounded gunmen were treated, cuffed, and transported under heavy guard. Evidence techs swarmed the records room, documenting the aftermath of Holbrook’s hasty search.

Angus coordinated with tactical teams setting up roadblocks, but he realized it would be futile. A man with Holbrook’s resources wouldn’t be found unless he wanted to be. The real question was why he’d risked coming to the station himself. What had been so important?

“Sheriff.” Tammy appeared in his office doorway, steadier now though exhaustion lined her face. “State police captain’s here. He needs to know what we’re dealing with. How deep this goes.”

Miguel looked up from the security footage he’d been reviewing. Lilly sat nearby, Catherine’s diary still clutched tight, Scout alert at her feet. They’d lost too many people trying to keep that diary safe. Now it was time to understand why.

“Tell him to give us an hour and then come back in here. I need all hands on deck,” Angus said, closing the door of the briefing room before turning to face Lilly. “Show us what Catherine found. What she and Brian died protecting.”

Lilly set the diary on the desk, her hands trembling slightly as she opened it. “It’s all here. I managed to decode most of it—there’s evidence of the real estate fraud, the environmental crimes, everyone who disappeared trying to expose it…” Lilly’s voice caught as she opened to the first page. “Catherine was one smart woman.”

The weight of what they were about to read settled over the room like gathering storm clouds. So many lives lost, so many secrets buried, all leading to this moment.

Through the window, Angus watched state police units establishing a perimeter around the station. Soon they would want answers, explanations, evidence. But first, his team needed to understand exactly what they were dealing with. What had driven Holbrook to risk everything by coming here himself.

He glanced at each member of his team as they focused on the diary—Miguel alert and watchful, Tammy bruised but unbowed, Lilly holding Catherine’s final testimony. Together, they were about to step into something bigger than their small town, bigger than any of them had imagined. Whatever darkness they uncovered in these pages would change everything.

Catherine’s neat handwriting filled their vision. The time for secrets was over. The truth was finally ready to see light.

Chapter Twenty-Seven

The investigation board dominated the station’s briefing room, its surface a maze of photos, timelines, and connecting threads. Light seeped through the blinds, painting stark lines across evidence that spoke of buried secrets finally surfacing. Angus stood before it all, marker in hand, while his team gathered around the table, each face eager to solve this mystery.

“Start from the beginning,” he said quietly, uncapping the marker. Scout settled at his feet as Lilly pushed Catherine’s diary to the middle of the table, its pages heavy with truths that had already cost three lives that they knew of.

Tammy touched her split lip gingerly, still tender from her encounter with Holbrook’s men. “The diary entries go back years,” she said, leaning forward to study Lilly’s careful translations of Catherine’s coded messages. “She documented everything—every shell company, every falsified environmental report.”

“Not just documented,” Lilly added, her fingers tracing the neat handwriting that had survived years of hiding. “She found the pattern. How Holbrook identified pristine coastal areas, then deliberately triggered environmental concerns through fake development proposals. When the properties were rezoned for ‘sustainable development,’ land values skyrocketed.”

Miguel’s jaw tightened as he added another photo to the board—Emily Jones, caught in surveillance footage outside the library just days before her death. “And anyone who got too close?”

“Disappeared,” Tammy finished, spreading out more files. “Whistleblowers, activists, local officials who wouldn’t cooperate. All gone without trace.” She glanced at Lilly. “Like Catherine, until she was forced to become Cassandra Miller. Like Emily, when she started asking questions.”

“That’s why Carter protected you,” Angus said to Lilly, understanding flowing like a river. “He’d seen it happen before. Known what Holbrook would do once he realized you had the diary.”

Lilly nodded, touching her collar where the silver brooch had once rested. “Brian spent eight years helping bury Holbrook’s crimes. He couldn’t live with another death on his conscience.”

The scope of it all was staggering. Page after page revealed the architecture of corruption—shell companies with names like Coastal Heritage Development and Green Future Properties, all leading back to Holbrook through layers of corporate veils. Bank transfers in the millions, each one carefully disguised as legitimate business. Maps marked with planned developments that would destroy entire ecosystems. All designed to profit Holbrook Industries.

“The failed permits weren’t failures,” Lilly continued, turning another page filled with Catherine’s precise documentation. “They were groundwork. Creating a paper trail of environmental issues so the rezoning would look legitimate. Every denial was planned, documented months in advance.”

“Along with the bribes,” Tammy added, pointing to columns of dates and dollar amounts. “Judges, politicians, planning commissioners. Each one bought for a specific purpose. He won’t stop,” Tammy continued quietly, unconsciously touching her split lip again. “Blake, Carter…they’re just the latest victims. There will be more.”

News had come that Blake was out of surgery, critical but stable. Small victories. But they all felt the cost mounting, the price of truth measured in blood and sacrifice.

“No,” Angus said with certainty. “There won’t be more victims. Catherine died trying to expose this. Emily died. Carter died making sure we got this evidence.” He turned to face his team—Miguel steady and professional, Tammy bruised but unbroken, Lilly determined to protect Catherine’s testimony. “This time, we use it. This time, Holbrook faces justice in the light.”

“He owns too many people,” Miguel warned, gesturing to Catherine’s list of bought officials. “Too many departments, too many courts.”

“Then we go higher.” Angus’s voice carried steel now. “State level. Federal. We do this right, make it too big to bury. Catherine’s diary gives us a roadmap straight through his whole operation.”

“He’ll come for us,” Lilly said, but her voice held no fear. “All of us. Just like he came for Emily and Catherine.”

Angus nodded, watching through his window as crime scene techs worked the parking lot, marking shell casings where Blake had made his stand. The deputy had taken a bullet trying to protect Tammy. Carter had died protecting Lilly and the truth. The cost was already too high.

“Let him come,” Angus said quietly. “We have what Catherine and Emily died trying to get—proof. Every piece of his corrupt empire documented by the woman he tried to silence.”

Outside their small town of Weyport, James Holbrook was surely planning his next move, gathering whatever resources his money could still buy. But for the first time since Catherine Mills had started documenting his crimes, truth stood ready to break through darkness.

They just had to be ready for what that light would reveal.

A knock at the briefing room door pulled them from their contemplation. The state police captain stood in the doorway, his weathered face betraying no emotion as he surveyed their makeshift war room. Captain James Morrison—twenty years on the force, decorated twice for valor, and now a potential ally or enemy depending on how deep Holbrook’s influence ran.

“Time’s up, Sheriff Reid,” the captain said, his voice carrying the quiet authority of command. “I need to know what we’re dealing with.”

Angus studied the man, doubt gnawing at his certainty like rust on steel. Catherine’s diary had revealed how deep Holbrook’s corruption reached—judges, politicians, law enforcement at every level. Trust had become a luxury they couldn’t afford. Yet here he stood, about to share everything with another person in authority.

He closed his eyes briefly, a prayer rising in his mind. Give me wisdom to see truth from lies. Show me the path through this darkness.

When he opened his eyes, he found himself looking not at the captain’s rank or position, but at the man himself. He saw the same bone-deep weariness he felt in his own spirit, the same weight of responsibility that came from standing between innocence and corruption. More importantly, he saw something in Morrison’s eyes that spoke of choices—of moments when doing right had cost more than doing nothing.

“Sir,” Angus began, his decision made, “what I’m about to show you goes beyond anything we imagined. This isn’t just about local development or environmental regulations. We’re looking at organized corruption on a scale that crosses state lines.”

The captain’s eyes narrowed as he stepped into the room, closing the door with deliberate care. “Show me.”

For the next hour, Angus watched the evidence unfold through Morrison’s eyes. Lilly’s hands remained steady as she turned the diary’s pages, but Angus noted every subtle reaction from the captain—the tightening of his jaw at the lists of bribes, the slight narrowing of his eyes at the pattern of disappearances. Most telling was his silence. A corrupt man would have been quick to dismiss or deflect. This silence felt like judgment gathering.

The captain’s expression remained carefully neutral, but his fingers tightened on his notepad as the evidence mounted. When they finished, silence filled the room like smoke before a fire catches. In that silence, Angus felt the depth of discernment settle over him. They’d placed their trust—and their lives—in this man’s hands. Now they would see if that trust had been well placed.

“You understand what you’re asking?” Morrison said finally, his voice low and grave. “Going after someone like Holbrook…he’s got friends in every department, every courthouse from here to Boston.”

“That’s why we need to go higher,” Angus replied. “Federal task force. Joint investigation across jurisdictions. Make it too big for his influence to contain.”

The captain studied the investigation board, his gaze lingering on the photos of Emily Jones and Carter. Fresh deaths added to Catherine’s years-old crusade. “I’ll need copies of everything. Certified and secured. And your people—” he looked at each of them in turn, “—will need protection. All of you.”

“With respect, sir,” Miguel said, his voice carrying the weight of recent experience, “protection didn’t help Emily. Or Carter. Or Catherine Mills.”

“No.” The captain’s voice hardened like tempered steel. “But this time we do it right. This time we have what they died trying to get—proof.” He turned to Angus. “I’m calling in the FBI’s Public Corruption Division. Until they arrive, this station becomes a secured facility. No one in or out without clearance.”

As if to punctuate his words, Scout’s head snapped toward the window, ears pricked forward in alert attention. Outside, more tactical units were arriving, their black vehicles gleaming in the morning sun as they set up a perimeter that would turn their small-town station into a fortress.

But they all knew the truth. No fortress was impregnable. No secret was completely safe. Not from someone like Holbrook, who had spent decades building an empire on buried bodies and broken lives.

The captain headed for the door, already pulling out his phone to coordinate with federal authorities. But before he left, he paused, something vulnerable showing through his professional demeanor. “My father was a judge,” he said quietly. “Thirty years on the bench, never took a bribe. Said justice was like light—it either illuminated everything or it wasn’t really justice at all.” His eyes met Angus’s. “We won’t let them bury this one, Sheriff. Whatever it takes.”

As Morrison’s footsteps faded down the hallway, Angus gathered the diary and his notes, feeling the weight of command settle over him like a mantle. “Miguel, coordinate with tactical on station defense. Tammy, get some rest—you’ve been through enough.” His gaze found Lilly, seeing not the timid librarian she’d been but a woman transformed by her encounter with truth. “Stay close to Miguel. We’re not losing anyone else to this.”

They moved with purpose now, each understanding their role in what was coming. Outside, morning had burned away the last shadows, but new ones gathered on the horizon. Holbrook would be preparing his countermove, gathering whatever resources his money could buy.

But for now, they had walls of steel and procedure around them. They had Catherine’s testimony and Emily’s sacrifice. They had truth, finally ready to break through the darkness.

And sometimes, truth was the strongest weapon of all.

Through the window, Angus watched tactical teams taking position, their movements precise and coordinated. Scout pressed against his leg, offering steady comfort as prayer rose again in his heart. Not by might, nor by power, but by my Spirit, the ancient words echoed. Light was coming to Weyport, ready to pierce shadows that had festered too long in darkness.

The war for truth was about to begin.

Chapter Twenty-Eight

Lilly stood in the breakroom doorway, watching tactical teams deploy outside while trying to ignore how out of place she felt in this space that wasn’t hers. Years of collecting secrets had taught her to read patterns in human behavior—how information flowed, how whispers spread, how knowledge could be twisted into power. But standing here now, observing federal agents coordinate with local police, those patterns felt hollow, like the empty promises of all those foster homes.

The quiet hum of the breakroom fridge drew her attention as she waited in this unfamiliar space. Her eyes caught on a simple magnet, its words stopping her cold:

Whoever keeps his mouth and his tongue keeps himself out of trouble.

She almost turned away, the old bitterness rising like bile in her throat. God had turned His back on her long ago. Left her alone, unwanted, collecting other people’s secrets to fill the void where faith should have been. But something about these words held her, speaking to wounds she’d thought long scarred over.

The truth of them settled over her like morning dew, heavy with implications she didn’t want to face. Was this His way of reaching for her, after all these years? Through a simple magnet in a police station breakroom, of all places? The irony might have made her laugh, if her throat wasn’t so tight with unshed tears.

Her silver brooch was gone, lost somewhere in the chaos at the mill, but she could feel its phantom weight at her collar. Another loss to add to her collection—the mother who’d abandoned her, the families who’d rejected her, the man who’d left her standing alone in church. She’d spent decades building walls with other people’s secrets, thinking whispered confessions could fill the emptiness inside. Each carefully gathered morsel of gossip had been another brick between her and the pain, another false comfort in a world that had never wanted her.

The teams outside moved with practiced coordination. Once, she would have watched them like a spider in its web, gathering threads of information to weave into her tapestry of influence. Now their movements blurred through tears she refused to let fall. “They won’t find Holbrook,” she whispered to the empty breakroom, her voice rough with emotions she’d rather not name. “Not like this.” Through the doorway, she could see Angus in his office across the hall, pacing as he coordinated the search. The burden of command rested heavily on his shoulders as he studied the deployment maps spread across his desk. Years of watching people had taught her to read their movements, their worries. But for the first time, that knowledge felt like ash in her mouth. She stepped out of the breakroom, the scripture’s words following her like persistent light.

“Sheriff Reid.” Angus looked up from his maps, something in her tone making him pause.

“What is it? You okay?”

“The tactical teams,” she said, fighting to keep her voice steady. “They’re looking in the wrong places. Searching with the wrong kind of power. They won’t find him,” she said softly, her voice rough with emotions she’d rather not name. “Not like this.”

Something in her tone made Angus pause his pacing to study her face. “What do you mean?”

She turned away, really seeing the office for the first time. Evidence boxes waited to be transferred to federal custody. Catherine’s diary lay sealed in plastic on Angus’s desk. All these collected truths, gathered at such cost. And suddenly, with a clarity that felt almost divinely inspired, she understood.

“I spent so many years thinking knowledge was power,” she whispered, the words carrying the weight of confession. “That knowing everyone’s secrets would make me belong.” Her fingers traced patterns on the cool glass, remembering all the doors that had closed in her face, all the rejections that had driven her to become the keeper of whispered things. “But it was all wrong, wasn’t it? Everything I thought I knew about connection, about belonging…”

“Lilly?” Angus’s voice held concern, and something else—understanding that made her want to turn away.

The scripture on the fridge seemed to pulse in her peripheral vision all the way across the office, each word a hammer striking old wounds. She’d walked away from faith the day she learned she’d been abandoned at St. Michael’s, left there like discarded trash while the morning bells rang over an empty courtyard. Yet, here it was again, reaching for her through simple words about keeping tongue and mouth from trouble.

“He’ll come to us,” she said, the certainty in her voice surprising her. “Because he’s trapped in the same lie I was. Thinking control of information means control of life.” She met Angus’s gaze, seeing not pity but patient waiting. “Like measuring your worth by how many secrets you can hoard.”

Scout’s low growl disrupted the moment, drawing their attention to the south lot. Through the windows, they watched tactical teams converging on a dark SUV that had just pulled in. The vehicle’s tinted windows revealed nothing, but its very presence felt deliberate. Calculated.

Through his radio, Miguel’s voice crackled with professional tension: “Multiple heat signatures. Three subjects inside. Team Two moving to flanking positions.”

Lilly watched the teams move into position, remembering all the times she’d observed people from similar vantage points, gathering their stories like broken pieces that might somehow make her whole. But something about the words on the fridge had cracked open a door she’d thought forever sealed, letting in light she wasn’t sure she wanted.

“He’s here,” she said softly, the words carrying truth beyond Holbrook’s arrival. “All these years of hiding in plain sight, building his empire on buried truths. But he can’t hide anymore.” Her voice caught. “None of us can.”

The SUV’s back door opened with measured slowness. James Holbrook emerged, his expensive suit incongruous in the tactical team’s crosshairs. Two security men flanked him, their hands raised in surrender even as their eyes scanned for opportunities. He moved with the calculated grace of a predator who knew the boundaries of law were mere suggestions—each step a declaration of impunity, shoulders squared with an almost theological certainty of his own inviolability. His posture spoke of a man who had long ago decided that consequence was a fiction meant for lesser beings, who walked through the world as if an invisible carapace of privilege shielded him more completely than any mortal defense. It reminded her of people who’d promised family and delivered only emptiness.

"Primary target secured," Miguel reported through the radio. But Lilly noticed how Angus’s hand stayed near his weapon, sensing the same unease she felt in Holbrook’s too-easy capture.

“It’s not surrender,” she said, understanding flowing like a tide she couldn’t stop. “He’s here because he has to be. Because the truth Catherine died protecting, that Emily sacrificed everything to expose—it’s bigger than any of us realized.” Her fingers brushed the empty spot where her brooch should have been. “Like a voice that keeps calling even when you’ve stopped listening.”

Angus studied her face, seeing something she wasn’t ready to name. Like a shoot breaking through concrete, reaching for light she’d denied needing for many years.

“What do you mean?”

Her fingers brushed Catherine’s diary, feeling the significance of the testimony in its pages. “Every secret Holbrook buried, every life he tried to silence—they’re all connected. Like a pattern I should have seen before.” The scripture magnet’s words seemed to burn in her mind, speaking of a different kind of power than the one she’d spent her life pursuing. “He thinks controlling information means controlling power, but…”

She trailed off as Scout’s head snapped toward the windows again. Through the glass, they watched tactical teams leading Holbrook toward the station entrance.

“Miguel,” Angus spoke into his radio, “full security protocol. I want every entrance covered, every room swept. Something’s not right here.”

“10-4,” Miguel responded. “Team Two securing the perimeter. No other vehicles in the area.”

Lilly stood straighter, feeling a strange peace settle over her. Not the false peace of gathered secrets or the bitter comfort of walls built from others’ shame. This was different—like water in a desert she hadn’t known she was crossing.

“I’m ready,” she said simply.

Angus turned to her, a question in his eyes.

“To tell the whole truth,” she explained, the words carrying a significance she was only beginning to understand. “Not just about Holbrook’s crimes, but about everything. All the secrets I’ve kept, all the whispers I collected thinking they’d fill the emptiness inside.” Her hand touched her collar once more, but the gesture felt different now. Not nervous habit but conscious choice. “It’s time to let the light in. All of it.”

The words on the fridge had somehow taken root in her soul, the simple truth still echoing in her heart. All these years of running from abandonment, she’d thought she was gathering power, building connections. But real truth, she was beginning to understand, worked differently. It didn’t hide in shadows or speak in whispers. It grew like a vine, breaking through walls she’d carefully constructed, always reaching toward light.

Inside the station, evidence boxes waited for the contents to tell their stories. Catherine’s diary held a testimony of corruption ready to be exposed. But Lilly Cooper stood on the threshold of a different kind of revelation—one that would transform not just their small town, but every soul who had tried to find life in the shadows of buried truth.

Perhaps, she thought, God hadn’t turned His back after all. Perhaps He’d been waiting, patient as the morning light, for her to stop running from the very thing she needed most.

Chapter Twenty-Nine

The interview room’s fluorescent lights cast harsh shadows across James Holbrook’s face as tactical officers secured him to the steel chair. His capture had been swift and precise—the culmination of careful planning by the tactical team who’d surrounded his SUV in the station’s south lot. Even now, with his expensive suit creased from the takedown, he carried himself with the careful poise of a man accustomed to controlling every situation.

Angus watched through the one-way glass, noting every microexpression that crossed Holbrook’s features. Behind him, Miguel coordinated with the tactical team, confirming building security and processing the two security men who’d been in the SUV with Holbrook.

“Background check on the security detail,” Miguel reported quietly. “Both former private military contractors. Worked for one of Holbrook’s shell companies providing executive protection.”

Angus nodded, his attention fixed on their primary suspect. Something about this felt wrong—like a chess player sacrificing a piece for position. “What else did you find in the vehicle?”

“Three phones, two laptops, multiple flash drives. Tech team’s processing them now.” Miguel paused, choosing his next words carefully. “Sir…it’s like he wanted to be caught. Like he brought us everything we’d need to build a case.”

Angus nodded. “Yeah, something feels very off.”

He stepped out of the interrogation area and looked down the hallway, suspicion building in his chest.

In his office, Tammy worked with federal evidence technicians, carefully documenting and sealing each piece of evidence. Catherine’s diary lay in its clear container, already tagged and logged, its secrets now under official protection.

Scout’s low growl drew his attention back to the interview room, where Holbrook had shifted slightly in his chair. The movement was subtle—a predator testing his restraints—but the dog’s instincts confirmed Angus’s suspicion that their prisoner was far from defeated.

Angus studied Holbrook through the glass, seeing not just the polished exterior but the carefully constructed layers beneath. Like the whitewashed tombs Jesus had warned about—pristine on the outside, rotting within. “What’s his play here?”

On cue, Holbrook looked directly at the one-way glass, his smile carrying all the warmth of a serpent’s greeting. “Whenever you’re ready, Sheriff Reid,” he called out, his pretentious voice dripped with insincerity. “Time is a commodity we both value, I believe.”

In his years of law enforcement, Angus had learned to read the currents of truth and deception that flowed beneath the surface of human interaction. Right now, that discernment and instinct warned him that Holbrook was still playing a deeper game.

Miguel’s radio crackled with updates as more federal units arrived. The station hummed with controlled tension, every officer and agent moving with purpose. But beneath the professional coordination, Angus felt something deeper unfolding. Like watching shadows recede before approaching light.

“Sheriff.” The FBI’s lead agent, Bridget Clark, appeared in the doorway. Her presence carried the quiet authority of someone used to uncovering buried truths, her badge catching the fluorescent glare like judgment made manifest. “Evidence processing is underway. We’re ready.”

Angus nodded, squaring his shoulders. Something in Clark’s bearing reminded him of the federal judges he’d testified before—that same unflinching commitment to truth, however costly it proved. He turned to Miguel. “Miguel, coordinate with tactical. I want eyes on every entrance. And,” he said quietly, “coordinate with the FBI team. I want every piece of evidence from that SUV catalogued and secured. And get me everything they found in Boston. Agent Clark and I will handle the interview. Oh, and leave Scout with Lilly.” He bent down to rub his dog’s ears before he handed Miguel the leash.

“10-4.” Miguel moved to the command center they’d established.

The interview room door opened with a soft click. Holbrook looked up, his smile was cold, calculating, and sinister. “Sheriff Reid. And if it isn’t Agent Clark.”

A slight frown twitched above Angus’s eyes at the familiarity between them.

Holbrook snickered. “Yeah, we go way back, Sheriff Reid. Practically friends, if you ask me.”

Agent Clark’s face was as cold and impassive as the steel table between them. “Pay no attention to him, Sheriff. His intimidation tactics stopped working on me a long time ago.”

Holbrook’s smug face held his bluff. “Shall we discuss terms?”

“The only terms,” Clark replied, her voice holding the firm authority of a federal agent, honed by years of pursuing justice, “are how many federal charges you’ll face.”

Holbrook’s laugh held no humor. “Come now. We both know this isn’t about criminal charges. This is about order. About controlling the chaos that truth unleashes when it’s not properly managed.”

Clark’s eyes narrowed as Holbrook had obviously hit a nerve. For the next fifteen minutes, Angus observed a back and forth tennis match of clever wordplay laced with unresolved tension between them. Neither backing down. Neither winning. And as time stretched on, he noticed his growing unease that Holbrook was biding time.

Down the hall, Lilly watched through Angus’s office window as the team set up checkpoints. Through the glass wall of the evidence room across the corridor, she could see technicians carefully preserving and documenting each piece of evidence that would expose Holbrook’s empire. Letting go of those secrets, trusting them to official custody, had felt like the first step on an unfamiliar path—one that whispered of different kinds of truth than she’d spent her life collecting.

For as long as she could remember, she’d harvested secrets, using them as conduits to fill the empty spaces that loneliness and rejection had left behind. But somehow, along the trail of evil Holbrook had created, a God she once turned her back on was pursuing her and not letting go. It was as if the words on the fridge magnet had somehow penetrated her soul, laying bare wounds she had covered up with gossip and a desperate need to be loved. And for the first time in her life, she tasted freedom. Real freedom.

Scout’s head bumped at her leg, snapping her into the present.

“I brought you one of our most trusted soldiers to keep you company, Ms. Cooper,” Miguel said smiling as Tammy took a break from the evidence room and joined them.

“Everything okay in there?” Tammy inquired.

“I have no idea. Sheriff thinks Holbrook’s up to something.”

As if to underscore that statement, a message beeped on Miguel’s phone. When he read it, every nerve in his body suddenly went on high alert.

Chapter Thirty

Miguel hastened back to the interview room.

“Sheriff,” Miguel said, his voice tight as he popped his head through the door, beckoning Angus to step out.

“I’m fine,” Agent Clark assured when Angus hesitated.

Outside in the hallway Miguel’s news was grim. “Strike teams just raided Holbrook’s Boston office. Found everything wiped clean. Like he knew they were coming. I think you’re right, Sheriff. Holbrook’s up to something.”

His words were barely spoken when the lights went out.

In the sudden darkness, Angus’s hand moved to his gun, unclipping it to ready a draw. Prepared for anything they burst into the interview room. Emergency lights flickered on, casting the room in an eerie red glow that transformed Holbrook’s smile into something predatory.

“Well,” he said softly, “it seems we’re about to have company.”

The backup generator kicked in with a low hum, but nothing happened. Someone had disabled the system. Through Miguel’s radio, Angus heard tactical teams reporting multiple breaches—professional infiltrators who’d used the SUV transport as cover to get into position.

“Miguel, get Lilly and the diary out through the secondary exit,” Angus ordered, his weapon already drawn.

But Holbrook’s threatening smile only widened. “It’s already too late,” he said softly as Miguel ran for Lilly. “Did you really think I’d let Catherine’s evidence survive? That I’d let her final testimony see the light of day?” His hands moved suddenly, the handcuffs falling away—the lock picked during the momentary darkness.

The attack came from multiple directions at once. Flash-bangs detonated in the corridor, their concussive force rattling the windows. Smoke grenades followed, filling the air with calculating confusion. Through the chaos, Holbrook moved with unexpected grace, revealing the steel beneath his sophisticated veneer. Caught off guard, smoke blurring their vision, Holbrook seized the moment and disarmed Agent Clark. A second later he had the gun pointed at her head, his other arm holding her in front of him like a shield.

“Take him out, Reid!” she commanded, her wrestling futile against Holbrook’s grip.

“Let her go, Holbrook!” Angus yelled, his gun pointed at the target.

Agent Clark’s radio announced tactical teams engaging the infiltrators, their disciplined response buying precious seconds.

“Like I said,” Holbrook called through the smoke, his voice carrying an edge of frustration. “This was never about money. It’s about order. About control.”

“No,” Lilly’s voice rang clearly through the haze, unwavering despite the danger. “It’s about pride. About thinking you can play God with people’s lives, burying bodies and souls in numbered accounts and shell companies.”

A gunshot popped through the smoke, missing Lilly by inches. Miguel pulled her behind a filing cabinet as Scout’s warning bark gave way to fierce growling. Through the emergency lights’ red glow, shadows moved with precision—Holbrook’s men, trying to cut off their escape.

But they hadn’t counted on Scout. The border collie’s intelligence combined with his loyalty made him more than just a guard dog in training. He darted through the smoke, harrying the infiltrators’ movements, disrupting their careful choreography. His barks echoed off the walls, making it seem like there is more than one dog, buying time for the station’s tactical teams to respond.

Angus used the confusion to close the distance to Holbrook, knowing the businessman was the key. Take him down, and his men’s carefully planned extraction would fall apart.

As if sensing Angus’s thoughts, Agent Clark’s stern voice blasted through the smoke. “Take him down, Reid. That’s an order!”

But Holbrook’s position prevented Angus from getting a clear shot without risking Agent Clark’s life.

Another announcement crackled over the radio: Holbrook’s men had been apprehended.

“It’s over, Holbrook,” Angus said with certainty. “Drop the weapon. There’s no way out of here now.”

Something shifted in Holbrook’s expression—not fear, exactly, but the dawning recognition that his carefully constructed world was crumbling. Like Nebuchadnezzar seeing the writing on the wall, understanding came too late to change the judgment.

“You have no idea what you’re unleashing,” he snarled, his cultured accent slipping. “The forces you’re disturbing. The powers that—”

The rest was lost as Scout launched forward and bit Holbrook’s leg. Agent Clark took advantage of the moment to overthrow him as Angus moved in. The businessman fought with desperate strength, but years of boardroom manipulation had left him soft. Within moments, Angus had him secured—properly this time, with reinforced restraints.

Through the clearing smoke, Miguel’s voice triumphantly announced, “Building secured. All infiltrators contained.”

The emergency lights flickered and died as main power returned, flooding the room with harsh fluorescent truth. Holbrook lay face down, his expensive suit stained with the same dust that covered them all. Like death, some things were the great equalizer.

“The diary,” he managed, twisting to look at Lilly where she now appeared behind Miguel. “It means nothing. Just a bunch of scribbles by a dead woman. You’ve got nothing on me. You have no idea who you’re—”

“And you don’t know what I’m capable of,” Lilly cut him off, her voice gentle despite everything. “I’ve already deciphered Catherine’s cryptic notes and it’s told us everything. We know exactly what you’ve done.”

“You’re out of your league, Miss Cooper. You don’t have a clue what it’s about.”

Lilly moved out from behind Miguel. “Oh, I understand, more than you know. It’s about pride, and power, and the difference between hiding truth and protecting it. About how secrets can be like poison in the soul, killing slowly from within.” She touched her collar, a habit now transformed into reminder. “But mostly I understand about grace. About how bringing things into light isn’t just about exposure—it’s about healing.”

FBI tactical teams moved in to take custody of Holbrook, their federal authority adding new impact to the charges. But Lilly’s words hung in the air like the lingering dust, carrying truth that went beyond criminal proceedings and corporate corruption.

In the end, it hadn’t been strategic superiority or federal jurisdiction that had brought down James Holbrook’s empire. It had been something simpler and more profound: the quiet courage of those who chose light over darkness, truth over power, restoration over control.

As they led Holbrook away, Angus caught Lilly’s eye. She stood straight now, no longer burdened by the weight of collected secrets. He reached into his pocket. “I think this belongs to you,” he said, holding out her silver brooch.

Lilly’s eyes settled on the piece of silver in his hand. “I don’t need it anymore, thanks, Sheriff.”

The brooch, just like Catherine’s diary, was no longer just evidence but testimony—proof that even the deepest buried truths would eventually find their way to light.

Scout pressed against her leg, his earlier fierceness replaced by gentle watchfulness. Through the windows, the sun painted the sky in shades of revelation, marking the end of one kind of darkness and the beginning of something new.

The battle was over, but its implications were just beginning to unfold. Like a vine breaking through concrete, truth would keep growing, keep reaching for the light. And in its growth, it would transform not just evidence rooms and court proceedings, but every heart that had tried to find life in shadows.

James Holbrook’s carefully constructed world of buried secrets had crumbled, but from its ruins, something stronger would grow. Something rooted not in control and fear, but in the fertile soil of truth finally set free.

Chapter Thirty-One

The federal investigation moved like a cleansing tide along the Atlantic coast and through Weyport, uncovering layers of corruption that had lain hidden beneath the surface of their quiet coastal town. Each new revelation confirmed Catherine’s careful documentation—the shell companies, the environmental crimes, the network of corrupt officials who had been paid off to protect Holbrook’s empire for so long.

A manila envelope arrived at the station a week after Holbrook’s arrest, addressed to Sheriff Reid in unfamiliar handwriting. Angus opened it carefully, Scout watching from his usual spot by the desk. Inside, he found a single photograph and a handwritten note, along with meticulously photocopied bank statements that cast a damning light on James Holbrook's corruption. The documents were a precise accounting of illicit payoffs—proof of bribes funneled to high-ranking officials, a ledger of betrayal that Becca had risked everything to expose.

The photo showed a woman, sitting at an outdoor café somewhere with mountain peaks rising in the background. It was Becca Lane, her face bearing the careful watchfulness of those who had learned to live in shadows, but also something else—peace. The date stamp showed it had been taken four days before it arrived on Angus's desk.

The note was brief, written in Becca’s precise hand:

Sheriff Reid,

I’m safe. I have found refuge in a place where Holbrook’s influence never reached. Your exposure of his empire has finally given me freedom to stop running. Catherine and Emily didn’t die in vain. The truth they discovered and helped protect has finally found light.

Thank you for finishing what we started.

- Becca Lane

Angus's fingers traced the bank statements, connecting the threads that were unraveling more by the day. In recent days, he had learned that Becca's past as a bookkeeper's assistant at one of Holbrook's shadowy Millbrook enterprises had led to her downfall. She had been a quiet witness, a ledger-keeper who had become an unlikely messenger of justice. Holbrook had discovered her betrayal—because of her whispers to Emily and Cassandra—and in his vindictive panic, had driven her underground.

Angus studied the photograph again, seeing in her expression the burden of years spent in hiding—but also the liberation that comes with truth finally being spoken.

He carefully placed the photo, note, and statements in an evidence envelope, logging it properly before securing it in the case file. Outside his window, the sun was already sitting low, its autumn rays settling over Weyport’s streets.

The ringing of his phone broke through Angus’s contemplation. Agent Clark’s name flashed on the screen, and something in his spirit told him this call would change everything.

“Sheriff Reid. The federal task force just finished their preliminary investigation into Holbrook’s network. I think you need to see this.”

An hour later, Angus stood in the temporary FBI command center that had been established in a vacant office building. The walls were covered with interconnected diagrams that looked like vines, spreading corruption with each branch leading to another hidden sin which was now exposed to light.

“Seventeen judges across three states,” Clark said, gesturing to one section of the display. “Forty-two high-ranking police officials, including three quarters of Boston PD’s command structure. Six state representatives. Two federal prosecutors.” Her voice carried both triumph and grief. “All compromised. All on the take.”

Angus studied the evidence boards, his jaw tightening at familiar names. “Commissioner Sullivan?”

“Rolled over yesterday,” Clark confirmed. “Gave us everything—every case Holbrook influenced, every officer on his payroll, every ‘accident’ that wasn’t.” She pulled up financial records on her laptop. “The money trail goes back fifteen years. Environmental permits denied or approved based on bribes, not science. Development contracts steered to shell companies. Whistleblowers systematically silenced.”

Angus traced the web of connections, seeing how each thread led back to Holbrook’s carefully constructed empire of shadows. Each line represented a choice—someone who had traded truth for profit, justice for power. The scope of it staggered him, yet somehow God had used the careful notes of one brave woman to bring it all into light.

“What happens now?” he asked.

“The federal grand jury convenes next week.” Clark’s voice hardened beneath its professional calm. “First wave of indictments drops tomorrow—thirty-seven officials across multiple jurisdictions. By the time we’re done…” She paused, something like holy justice burning in her eyes. “By the time we’re done, there won’t be a shadow left for corruption to hide in.”

Through the command center’s windows, the sunset painted Weyport’s sky in shades of amber and rose. Angus thought of Catherine’s meticulous documentation, of Emily’s sacrifice, of Lilly’s transformation from keeper of secrets to bearer of truth. Each had played their part in God’s greater purpose, like streams joining to form a river of justice.

“‘For nothing is hidden that will not be made manifest,’” he quoted softly, remembering Sunday’s sermon.

Clark smiled faintly. “Amen to that, Sheriff.” Her expression hardened once more as she turned back to the evidence boards. “The Boston police department will need to be rebuilt from the ground up. Internal Affairs was compromised at every level. We’re establishing an independent review board—every case these corrupt officers touched gets scrutinized now.”

What had started with one woman’s careful notes had grown into a flood of revealed truth, washing away decades of carefully constructed lies.

Tomorrow would bring indictments, press conferences, the machinery of justice chugging into motion. But tonight, standing before the evidence of evil’s undoing, Angus felt peace settle over him. The corruption had run deep, but truth ran deeper still. And in God’s perfect timing, every hidden thing would finally see light.

Chapter Thirty-Two

Lilly sat in her familiar spot behind the library desk, but everything felt different. The morning light fell differently on the shelves, highlighting not secrets to be collected, but truths to be shared. Her silver brooch, recovered from the mill was no longer at her collar, the empty space now feeling like a reminder of transformation—of old things made new.

“Miss Cooper?”

She looked up to find Tommy Miller standing before her desk, a dog-eared copy of The Chronicles of Narnia clutched in his small hands. The boy’s earnest face reminded her of herself at that age, hungry for stories that made sense of the world.

“Yes, Tommy?”

“Mom says you’re a hero now.” His voice held the pure admiration of childhood. “That you helped catch the bad man who was hurting people.”

Lilly felt tears prick at her eyes, but they were healing tears. “No, Tommy. I just finally learned to tell the right kind of stories.” She reached for his book. “Speaking of stories, did you finish this one?”

As she checked out his book, Lilly noticed Margaret Fuller hovering near the reference section, uncharacteristically quiet. The older woman had been subdued since the truth about Holbrook emerged, perhaps recognizing how their shared appetite for gossip had been a poor substitute for genuine connection.

“Margaret,” Lilly called softly as Tommy scampered off to plunk himself on a nearby floor cushion with a book.

“Would you like to join our new reading group? We’re starting next week with C.S. Lewis.”

The invitation hung in the air like an olive branch, like grace extended. Margaret’s eyes widened slightly, unused to being offered participation rather than information.

“I…I’d like that,” she said finally, her usual gossip-hunting manner softened by genuine warmth before she disappeared between the shelves.

The door chimed, admitting Angus. He looked tired but satisfied, carrying the intensity of recent events with the quiet strength she’d come to admire.

“How are you holding up?” he asked, approaching her desk.

“Better,” Lilly answered truthfully. “The federal protection detail is very…thorough.” She gestured toward the window, where agents maintained their discreet presence. “But I’m learning to trust in a different kind of protection.”

Angus nodded, understanding what she meant. They’d both seen how human safeguards could fail, how the strongest walls could crumble. But there was another guard that never slept, a vine that offered true connection.

“Blake’s being released from the hospital tomorrow,” he said, changing the subject. “The doctors say he’ll make a full recovery.”

“That’s really good to hear,” Lilly murmured.

“The FBI finished processing Catherine’s diary,” Angus continued. “The evidence is overwhelming. Holbrook’s lawyers are already talking plea deals, trying to avoid federal charges.”

“And his men?”

“Singing like canaries. Turns out loyalty built on fear doesn’t last when the fear is gone.” He paused, studying her face. “The U.S. District Attorney wants you to testify. About Emily, about what you discovered in the diary. They’re building a RICO case that could take down Holbrook’s whole organization.”

Lilly smiled. “I have no idea what that is but then again, I’m just a librarian.” Her smile faded. “I’ll cooperate in any way I can, Sheriff.” she said simply. “I’ll do it. For Catherine. For Emily. For Brian. For everyone whose stories he tried to bury.”

Gratitude shone in his eyes as Angus took a small box from his coat pocket and slid it across the checkout desk. “For you,” he said.

The unfamiliar gesture brought tears to Lilly’s eyes. “What’s this?”

“Something to remind you that God thinks you are more precious than gold.” Angus smiled as curiosity settled in her face.

Her fingers moved to untie the yellow satin ribbon to reveal a delicate gold brooch shaped in a single vine with three leaves.

“It’s beautiful,” she said as her fingers brushed the delicate gold leaves.

“It represents Jesus Christ as the vine, the branches as His disciples, and God the Father as the gardener. If you ever feel rejected, lonely, or overlooked again, this will remind you that life comes through being connected to the one true vine. And if you stay connected, you will receive nourishment that bears real fruit—the kind that satisfies every need and heals any wound.” He took something else from the bottom of the small box. “It’s a magnet for your fridge. John 15:5.”

A single tear trickled down her flushed cheek as she pinned the brooch to the empty spot on her shoulder, brushing her fingertips over it as she drew strength from it in ways she never imagined. Once, the thought of surrendering her life to God terrified her, repulsed her. But that was before—before Emily’s sacrifice, before Brian Carter’s redemption, before she’d learned that truth was stronger than secrets. Before God broke down her guarded walls and shone His face upon her.

“Thank you for everything, Sheriff.”

Just then, Tommy skipped past them. “I’ll see you for the story next week, Miss Cooper!” he yelled waving as he made towards the exit.

Angus smiled, the expression reaching his eyes. “Speaking of…I should be going. Murphy’s waiting for me.”

His smile was genuine, filling the library with warmth as he stepped outside. Autumn sunlight painted the world in shades of grace, while inside, old wounds began their slow transformation into wisdom. There would be more battles ahead—truth rarely came without cost—but he would help Lilly face them. Because together, grafted into a vine stronger than secrets, they were rooted in soil deeper than shame.

Chapter Thirty-Three

The hospital corridor stretched before them as Angus and Murphy made their way to the records department. Their footsteps echoed against sterile tiles, marking time with the steady rhythm of purpose. Scout padded quietly beside them, his presence a reminder of faithful companionship in dark places.

“Are you sure you want to do this?” Murphy asked softly, her hand brushing his arm. The compassionate gesture spoke of their growing connection, of shared burdens and quiet strength.

“I need to know,” Angus replied, his voice steady despite the tremor in his heart. “After everything with Holbrook, seeing how buried secrets poison everything they touch…Logan deserves the truth. Whatever it is.”

Murphy nodded, understanding. She’d spent the past week carefully reconstructing the cold case file, following threads that led from Logan’s disappearance to darker corners of human nature. What she’d found had kept her awake at night, praying for wisdom about how to share it.

The records clerk recognized Murphy, buzzing them through security without question. In her office, file boxes waited like silent witnesses to years of hidden truth. Scout settled in the corner, alert but calm, while Murphy pulled out a thick folder marked with Logan’s case number.

“I cross-referenced everything,” she began, her professional demeanor softening with concern. “Autopsy reports, witness statements, evidence logs. But something didn’t add up. The timing was wrong, the details inconsistent. So I dug deeper.”

She spread photographs across her desk—crime scene images, medical reports, time-stamped security footage. Each piece added to a pattern that had been there all along, waiting for eyes clear enough to see it.

“The body they identified as Logan,” Murphy continued carefully, “had subtle surgical scars that weren’t in his medical history. Dental work that didn’t match his records. Small discrepancies that someone wanted overlooked.”

Angus’s hands tightened on the back of the chair, his knuckles turning white with tension. “What are you saying?”

“The man they buried wasn’t Logan.” Murphy’s voice carried the quiet certainty of truth. “Someone went to a lot of trouble to make it look like him, to create a paper trail that would close the case. But your brother…I think he might still be out there.”

The words hit Angus like a physical blow, shaking loose years of carefully maintained composure. “Why?” he managed as he slowly sank into the chair. “Who would—?”

“Look at this.” Murphy pulled out another file, one bearing a familiar name—Holbrook Industries. “Logan was working security for one of their subsidiaries when he disappeared. The same division that handled their ‘special projects’—the ones Catherine Mills was investigating.”

Understanding dawned like a winter sunrise, cold but clear. “He found something,” Angus whispered. “Something they wanted buried.”

Murphy nodded. “And when he couldn’t be bought or threatened…”

“They made him disappear.” The words tasted like ashes in his mouth. “Made me believe he was dead so I’d stop looking.”

“But he left a trail,” Murphy said, spreading out more documents. “Small withdrawals from ATMs indicating he was moving west. Burner phones activated in remote locations. He’s someone who knows how to hide, keeping just enough contact to let the right people know he was alive.”

A fragile hope flared in Angus’s chest. “Can we find him?”

“Maybe.” Murphy’s hand found his, squeezing gently. “The FBI’s investigating all of Holbrook’s operations now. If Logan’s out there, if he’s been watching all this time…”

“He’ll know it’s safe to come home,” Angus finished, his voice rough with emotion.

They sat in silence for a moment, letting the full weight of the realization settle around them. Outside the window, hospital staff moved through their routines, unaware of the mysteries unfolding in their midst. Scout’s tail thumped softly against the floor, offering quiet comfort.

“What do we do now?” Angus asked finally.

Murphy gathered the files carefully, her movements precise and determined. “We keep looking. We follow every lead, check every connection. And we pray.” She met his gaze. “Faith and works together, right?”

Angus managed a smile, recognizing the echo of their many conversations about belief and action. “Together,” he agreed.

As they left the hospital, the autumn wind carried the scent of the sea while the sunlight pointed to the possibilities in the world. The truth about Logan felt like both burden and blessing—another mystery to unravel, but also hope rekindled. Somewhere out there, his brother was waiting, watching, perhaps finally ready to come home.

The truth about Logan was out there, waiting to be found. And this time, Angus wouldn’t be searching alone. Their hands met briefly, a touch that carried promise of deeper connection, of shared purpose in pursuing light. Tomorrow would bring its own revelations, its own challenges, its own opportunities for light to pierce shadow. But today, in this moment between chapters, they could rest in the certainty that some mysteries were meant to unfold slowly, like vines reaching through stone toward sun. The search for Logan would come. The next phase of their journey would begin. But for now, standing with Murphy’s hand in his and Scout’s warmth against his leg, Angus felt the peace that came with trusting God’s timing. Like Catherine’s diary emerging at the perfect moment, like Emily’s sacrifice bearing fruit in its season, every truth would find its time to shine.

Behind them, Weyport settled into peace, its streets and windows glowing with light that pushed back darkness. Before them stretched possibilities yet unrevealed, mysteries waiting their turn to blossom into understanding. And through it all, like living water through fertile soil, flowed the current of grace that had brought them this far.

The time of secrets had ended. The season of truth had begun.

“I am the sprouting vine and you’re my branches. As you live in union with me as your source, fruitfulness will stream from within you—but when you live separated from me you are powerless.”

- John 15:5 (The Passion Translation)

Angus Reid’s hunt for the truth about his missing brother continues, along with a brand-new case, in the 6th Angus Reid Mystery novel.

Want to be first to see the cover and get exclusive updates?

https://newsletter.urcelia.com/signup

Thank you for reading Lilly’s Vine. I pray you were blessed with the faith message woven into the story.

Please help me in my mission to spread the gospel through my books by leaving a positive review. Just a few words or a star rating will suffice. Thank you!

For a full and updated list of all Urcelia Teixeira books, please visit https://shop.urcelia.com/pages/reading-order

Message from Urcelia

Dear Reader,

Thank you so much for taking the time to read Lilly’s Vine. I would like to give all the glory to God who breathed every word through me onto these pages! (Isaiah 51:16)

I pray that God touched you in a divine way, just like He did me while I wrote it. Your support and encouragement mean the world to me and I hope that Lilly’s journey has not only entertained you but also inspired you to reflect on the scriptures woven into the story.

As I continue to strive to bring faith and fiction together, I humbly ask that you help me circulate this novel by leaving a review wherever you bought this copy. Just a few words or a star rating to help others find it will be great!

While you wait for Sheriff Angus Reid’s next mystery to solve, I would love if you connected with me on Facebook and sign up to my newsletter where I share exclusive giveaways, sneak peeks, and release updates. Want to get to know me on a more personal note?

Join my private Facebook Group. (https://www.facebook.com/groups/betweenmypages)

It has been a joy to share this story with you, and I am deeply grateful for your readership. I look forward to hearing your thoughts and hope you continue to enjoy my future works.

Warm regards in Christ,

Urcelia

PS: Turn the page to download your FREE 7-day JOURNAL Bible Plan customized to the faith theme woven into this book.

For a full and updated list of all my books, please visit https://shop.urcelia.com/pages/reading-order

I invite you to deepen your journey with an exclusive 7-day Journal & Bible Reading plan.

Tailored to the faith messages woven into the plot, this reading plan offers 7 daily reflections and scripture passages to enrich your spiritual life.

Download the free plan today.

https://BookHip.com/SPWFQST

BOOK CLUB DISCUSSION QUESTIONS

General Discussion Questions

1. First Impressions

What were your initial thoughts about Lilly Cooper? Did your perception of her change as the story progressed?

2. Title Significance

The title Lilly's Vine plays on the idea of the "grapevine" (gossip) and the biblical connection to Jesus as the True Vine (John 15:5). How do you think this theme was woven into the story?

3. Setting and Atmosphere

How does the small coastal town of Weyport add to the mystery and suspense? Could this story have worked in a different setting?

4. Faith and Redemption

How does Lilly’s journey from town gossip to someone searching for deeper truth reflect spiritual themes of redemption and renewal?

5. The Power of Secrets

Throughout the book, secrets play a major role. How do secrets define the characters, and what are the consequences of keeping them?

6. Character Growth

Lilly is forced to confront her past and her need for connection. How does she change from the beginning to the end of the book?

Plot and Mystery Elements

1. The Diary

The diary is central to the plot. What were your theories about it as the story unfolded? Were you surprised by its revelations?

2. Sheriff Angus Reid’s Investigation

What did you think of Sheriff Reid's role in uncovering the mystery? How does his character complement or contrast with Lilly’s?

3. The Suspense Factor

What moments in the book made you the most tense or engaged? Did you find the twists and reveals satisfying?

4. The Intruder/Antagonist

Who did you suspect was after Lilly at different points in the story? Were you right or surprised by the true threat?

5. The Ending

Without giving spoilers, did you find the ending satisfying? Would you have wanted a different resolution?

Themes and Deeper Meaning

1. Loneliness and Community

Lilly’s habit of gathering and sharing information is both a strength and a weakness. How does the novel explore the fine line between community involvement and intrusion?

2. Forgiveness and Second Chances

How does the theme of forgiveness manifest in Lilly’s relationships with the town, herself, and God?

3. Trust and Betrayal

Trust is a major issue in the novel. Who did you trust, and who did you suspect of hiding something?

4. Faith in Action

Lilly begins the book disconnected from God. How does her faith (or lack thereof) influence her decisions, and how does she change spiritually by the end?

5. God’s Guidance

Sheriff Reid prays for wisdom and guidance. How do you think the novel portrays faith as a source of strength in difficult times?

Personal Reflection

1. Relating to Lilly

Did you see any part of yourself in Lilly? Have you ever struggled with gossip, loneliness, or finding where you belong?

2. Lessons from the Story

What moral or spiritual lessons did you take from Lilly’s Vine? How does it compare to other faith-based mysteries you’ve read?

3. Favorite Quotes

Were there any lines or passages that stood out to you? Why?

What’s Next?

If you could ask the author to write a follow-up or a deeper exploration of one character or theme, what would it be?

Continue your discussion in the author’s private Facebook Group. Go here and ask to join: https://facebook.com/groups/BetweenMyPages

Support My Mission

Whatever I tell you in the dark, speak in the light; and what you hear in the ear, preach on the housetops!

Matthew 10:27

This was the verse God placed on my heart the day I switched from writing secular fiction to Christian fiction. It has been my mission ever since to weave Spirit-led messages of faith and redemption into my books.

Here are Free ways to help me!

Tell a friend.

Please leave a review on your favorite book site.

Share my books on your social pages

More books by Urcelia Teixeira

Angus Reid Mysteries series

Jacob’s Well

Daniel’s Oil

Caleb’s Cross

Hannah’s Halo

Lilly’s Vine

Adam Cross series

Every Good Gift

Every Good Plan

Every Good Work

Jorja Rose trilogy

Vengeance is Mine

Shadow of Fear

Wages of Sin

Alex Hunt series

The Papua Incident (FREE!)

The Rhapta Key

The Gilded Treason

The Alpha Strain

The Dauphin Deception

The Bari Bones

The Caiaphas Code

PICK A BUNDLE FOR MASSIVE SAVINGS exclusive to Urcelia Teixeira Store subscribers!

Save up to 50% off plus get an additional 10% discount coupon.

Visit https://shop.urcelia.com

More books coming soon! Sign up to my newsletter to be notified of new releases, giveaways and pre-release specials.

About the Author

Award winning author of faith-filled Christian Mystery Thrillers that won't let you go!™

Urcelia Teixeira, writes gripping Christian mystery, thriller and suspense novels that will keep you on the edge of your seat! Firm in her Christian faith, all her books are free from profanity and unnecessary sexually suggestive scenes.

She made her writing debut in December 2017, kicking off her newly discovered author journey with her fast-paced archaeological adventure thriller novels that readers have described as 'Indiana Jones meets Lara Croft with a twist of Bourne.'

But, five novels in, and nearly eighteen months later, she had a spiritual re-awakening, and she wrote the sixth and final book in her Alex Hunt Adventure Thriller series. She now fondly refers to The Caiaphas Code as her redemption book. Her statement of faith. And although this series has reached multiple Amazon Bestseller lists, she took the bold step of following her true calling and switched to writing what honors her Creator: Christian Mystery and Suspense fiction.

The first book in her newly discovered genre went on to win the 2021 Illumination Awards Silver medal in the Christian Fiction category and the series reached multiple Amazon Bestseller lists!

While this success is a great honor and blessing, all glory goes to God alone who breathed every word through her!

A committed Christian for over twenty years, she now lives by the following mantra:

"I used to be a writer. Now I am a writer with a purpose!"

For more on Urcelia and her books, visit https://www.urcelia.com

To walk alongside her as she deepens her writing journey and walks with God, sign up to her Newsletter - https://newsletter.urcelia.com/signup

or

Follow her at

Goodreads icon Goodreads

Facebook icon Facebook

BookBub icon BookBub

Instagram icon Instagram

Pinterest icon Pinterest