Page 80 of Beckett
“Yeah, we can be there in twenty,” he said into the phone, his voice carrying clearly in the barn’s acoustics. “No, she’s here with me now.” A pause while he listened to whoever was on the other end. “Understood. See you soon.”
He ended the call and crossed to where I stood, still clutching the pitchfork like a weapon. His boots made soft sounds on the ground, and I caught his scent—coffee and the cedar soap he used—as he got closer.
“That was Lachlan,” he said, voice gentle like he was approaching a spooked horse. Which, I supposed, wasn’t far from the truth. “He wants us to come in, look at the security footage from the grocery store. See if you recognize anyone.”
My stomach dropped, breakfast threatening to make a reappearance. “Now?”
“He also needs an official statement from you. For the record.” His eyes were steady on mine, reading every microexpression. “I know it’s not what you want to do, but the sooner we do this, the sooner Lachlan can help.” Beckett continued to study me.
“We’ll have Coop keep an eye on things here,” he added, and I nodded, though my chest tightened at the thought of leaving Jet behind. The German shepherd whined softly, as if sensing my distress.
“I’ll be back soon, boy,” I promised, scratching behind his ears. “I’m not leaving you for good. I promise. Where’s your T-shirt?”
Jet trotted over to get it and soon was carrying it softly in his mouth.
The pitchfork handle creaked under my grip. Going to town meant leaving the relative safety of Pawsitive. It meant being out in the open where the stalker had found me before. The thought of those streets, those buildings, all the places he could be watching from…
“Hey.” Beckett’s hand covered mine on the handle, his callused palm warm against my white knuckles. “We’ll be together the whole time. In and out, quick as we can.”
I forced myself to nod, to release the tool. It clattered against the wall where I leaned it, the sound too loud in the quiet barn. “Okay.”
The drive into town in Beckett’s truck should have been peaceful. Morning sun slanted through the windshield, painting the Montana landscape in golds and greens. The mountains rose in the distance, their peaks already touched with snow even though it was still early fall.
But with every mile that passed bringing us closer to Garnet Bend’s main street, my muscles wound tighter. The welcome sign—“Garnet Bend. Population 2519”—made my chest constrict. The first gas station on the outskirts of town. The diner with its flickering neon sign.
“You’re safe,” Beckett said, reaching for my hand in my lap. His thumb rubbed circles on my palm, the repetitive motion soothing.
“I know.” But I didn’t. Not really.
I could feel it. Feel him. Like eyes on the back of my neck, that phantom sensation that made the scar there seem to throb. I knew it wasn’t really throbbing—scar tissue didn’t work that way. But my brain didn’t care about logic.
“You’re not alone in this,” Beckett said, squeezing my hand. “Never again alone, remember?”
I managed a small smile, grasping his words like a lifeline. He’d said that yesterday, while holding me in the cabin. Never again alone. Such a simple promise, but from him, I believed it.
Sheriff Lachlan Calloway met us in the parking lot of the sheriff’s station, his expression serious but kind. He looked more official in his uniform than he had at dinner the other night, the badge catching the morning light. The easygoing friend who’d joked with Beckett at Draper’s had been replaced by a professional lawman ready to help.
“Audra,” he said with a nod. “Beckett’s told me a bit about what’s been happening. We’re going to do everything we can to help.”
“Thank you,” I managed, though my throat felt tight.
He walked us inside, the small station feeling cramped after the openness of Pawsitive. The fluorescent lights were too bright after the morning sun, making me squint. The smell of coffee and old paper made my stomach turn. A deputy looked up from his desk, nodded at Lachlan, then went back to his paperwork. Normal. Everything so normal while my world tilted on its axis.
“We’ll take your statement first,” Lachlan said, leading us to a small interview room. It had that institutional green paint that every government building seemed to favor and a table that wobbled when I leaned on it. “Just tell me everything in your own words. Take your time.”
I told him. Every city, every escalation, every moment of terror. Seattle, where it started. Spokane, where I’d thought I could disappear in the rain. Missoula, where he’d found me within a week. The small towns that blurred together, each one ending the same way—with me running.
Lachlan listened without interrupting, occasionally making notes in precise handwriting, his expression growing darker with each detail. When I got to the part about my friend beingmugged, about theaneye for an eyemessage, his pen stopped moving.
“So it’s personal for him,” he said quietly. “This isn’t random stalking. He believes you’ve wronged him somehow.”
“But I don’t know how,” I said, frustration leaking into my voice. “I’ve gone over and over it. I can’t think of anyone I’ve hurt that badly.”
Beckett sat beside me through it all, his hand on my back, steady and warm. Sometimes his fingers would move in small circles, reminding me he was there.
When I finished, Lachlan set down his pen. “I’m sorry you’ve been going through this. No one should have to live in fear like that.”
There was a moment of silence while I tried to pull myself back together. Beckett squeezed my shoulder gently. “Would it be all right if we looked at the footage now? Or do you need a break first?”
