I check the screen, expecting a routine update from Emmett, but my gut twists when I read his message.
Got something on your deputy. Call me. Not pretty.
I ease away from the workshop and find a quiet spot behind the barn, dialing Emmett as I go.
“Tell me,” I say.
“Your deputy?” Emmett’s voice is low and tense. “He’s got a different name in Tennessee. And Beck? It ain’t pretty.”
I move deeper into the shadows, eyes drifting back toward the workshop where George is still bent over the hood of the truck, oblivious.
“Two complaints of excessive force against women, both mysteriously dropped. One ex with a restraining order who suddenly left town. And get this: a sealed complaint from a fellow officer filed before he transferred out.”
My spine goes rigid. “No one else found this before?”
“No one was looking until now,” Emmett replies. “I had to use old military backchannels and cross-reference sealed personnel files from two counties. He buried it deep. But I dug him up.”
My free hand curls into a fist. “And now he's here. With his sights set on George. He must have a fucking death wish if he thinks he can manipulate her right under her father’s nose.”
“Predators like Marcus Wade are experts at blending in and manipulating authority figures. That’s part of their pathology,” Emmett says. “He's probably banking on Lucas being too emotionally compromised or distracted to see the threat. That's the blind spot Wade exploits.”
He pauses. “But you? You’re the wildcard. He probably thinks you’re just another hot ranch hand passing through.”
His chuckle is wry, but there's no humor in it. “Listen, I’m not sending this shit electronically,” he continues, more serious now. “Too risky. It's all hard copy, and I don’t trust anyone else with it.”
“Where?” I ask, already knowing.
“The Honey Pot. Use the side entrance. I want this quiet.”
It’s a two-hour drive to Silverpaw Hollow. An hour or two to go through what he’s found. Two hours back. I hesitate because leaving George right now feels like cutting the wrong wire with a timer ticking.
“I don’t like being away from her this long,” I admit.
“Then lock it down before you leave. Make sure she’s somewhere safe,” Emmett says. “Because the system won't stop him, Beck. You'll have to.”
I nod even though he can’t see me.
Emmett’s right. I recognized the possessive, dangerous look in Wade’s eyes the first time I laid eyes on him. His pleading tactics with George reeked of coercion. Classic abuser behavior.
He thinks his badge is armor. That his charm buys silence. That no one sees him coming.
But I see him.
And I’m going to collect the proof to make damn sure everyone else sees him too.
I thank Emmett and end the call, the need to protect George burning through my veins like wildfire.
But George is stubborn and brilliant and would throat-punch me for assuming she needs saving. She survived before me; she'll survive after.
The thought of “after” twists painfully in my chest.When did she become necessary?
What I feel for George is powerful and unexpected. And for a man who has built his life on discipline, it’s like plummeting into the unknown.
How do I tell George that the man with a badge and her father's trust is a predator without sending her running—from him, from me, from whatever this is between us that feels like falling and flying at once? How do I tell her that I've fallen for her harder than I meant to? That being with her makes me want impossible things?
I stare at the phone, then dial the sheriff's number. Despite Emmett’s doubts about law enforcement’s ability to handle this, he needs to know my suspicions. I need to give him the opportunity to handle this the right way.
Sheriff Lucas answers on the third ring. “Lawson.” His voice carries the weight of authority even at this hour. “Something better be on fire.”
