Chapter 26

TWENTY-SIX

The morning was a bruised palette of grays, the sky heavy with clouds that pressed down on the land. Last night’s deluge had turned the earth into a sodden mess, mud clinging to the wheels of Tuck’s Tahoe as it rolled to a stop. The V8 idled low, a steady rumble that barely cut through the thick quiet of the morning gloom.

From the passenger seat, Hatch surveyed the house. Peaceful, maybe, but the kind that comes before a storm. Her fingers brushed the grip of her Glock. Fifteen in the mag, one in the chamber. Her gut told her that it might not be enough.

Tuck opened his door with a soft creak, the sound swallowed by the damp air. He adjusted his Stetson, eyes locked on the house. "Stay put," he muttered, his tone calm but firm.

Hatch’s gaze remained transfixed on the house and the potential threat lurking within. "Watch your six."

He nodded and his boots squelched in the wet ground, deliberate steps through the mud. The Tahoe’s engine thrummed behind him as he moved up the gravel path, each crunching footfall echoing in the otherwise silent landscape.

From inside the SUV, Hatch cataloged every angle, every shadow. Her eyes swept across the windows, noting possible exits, entry points, cover. She cracked the window, letting the cool air slip in, carrying the smell of wet pine and earth. Her fingers drummed a quick, steady beat on the armrest, matching the cadence of her heart.

Tuck reached the porch, his movement casual, like a neighbor stopping by for a chat. He paused, throwing a glance back at her. Hatch slumped deeper into the seat.

He rapped on the door once. Hollow. Unanswered.

Tuck knocked again, louder. “Evelyn? It’s Roy. Got a minute?”

The only response was the soft drip of water off the eaves, punctuating the silence that stretched around them. Hatch’s eyes narrowed, scanning for any flicker of movement. A shift of a curtain. The faintest hint of a shadow. Nothing.

Third knock. Tuck’s voice remained calm but carried more weight. “Sheriff’s office. Anyone home?”

And then, a faint creak. The kind of noise a house makes when it's not empty. Tuck’s posture shifted, shoulders tensing as his head angled toward the sound. Hatch caught the movement, her own muscles coiling tighter, ready to spring.

Tuck stepped back from the door, his eyes finding Hatch’s through the windshield. A silent exchange passed between them in an instant. Someone was inside.

Hatch’s grip on the Glock tightened, her finger hovering just off the trigger. Not yet. She had to let Tuck play it out, see what they were really dealing with.

Tuck turned back to the door, voice steady and calm. “Evelyn, it’s important. I need to talk to you.”

The wind stirred the pine trees, whispering secrets through the branches. Water dripped from the roof, ticking away seconds as if counting down to something unseen. Hatch leaned forward, her senses keyed in, her breath slow and controlled. Whatever happened next would set the tone, would dictate the play.

One wrong move, and all hell would break loose.

Bishop didn’t need to speak. His sharp nod was enough. He slashed the bindings from Evelyn’s wrists, leaving red welts behind. His eyes met hers—a silent warning etched in steel. One wrong move, and this would all go south.

Knuckles rapped on the front door. Once. Twice. “Evelyn? You home?” Tuck’s voice was friendly but carried an edge, like he was probing for more than conversation.

Evelyn’s legs trembled as she rose, her pulse a wild drumbeat in her chest. Behind her, Bishop melted into the shadows, his Sig Sauer held steady, ready to act if needed.

With a deep breath, Evelyn approached the door. She forced her face into a calm, welcoming state and prayed it looked natural. The last thing she wanted was to expose Roy to the man inside. She could only imagine the fallout. She shuddered at the thought. Her fingers curled around the doorknob, and the door creaked open, revealing Tuck, concern etched on his weathered face.

“Morning, Evelyn,” Tuck greeted, his tone warm but his eyes searching. “Everything okay? Meant to stop by yesterday, but didn’t get a chance. After the craziness, I was tied up for longer than I would’ve liked. Thought I’d check in.”

“Nice of you to stop by. But not a good time right now.” Evelyn’s facade wavered. She steadied, reminding herself of what was at stake. “Chloe’s not feeling well.”

“Sorry to hear that. Need some help?”

Evelyn shook her head, a faint smile crossing her lips. “No. She just needs some rest.”

Tuck’s frown deepened. His eyes scanned the space behind her, lingering on the shadows. “Happy to run to the pharmacy if you need anything.”

“No. We’re good,” Evelyn replied too quickly. Damn, he was being persistent. She wished he’d been this pressing when it came to asking her on a date. “Thanks. I’ll give you a call later.”

Tuck nodded but didn’t move to leave. “You seem a little off, Evelyn. You’d tell me if something wasn’t right, wouldn’t you?”

The question hung in the air, heavy with tension. Behind her, Bishop’s presence was a silent threat. Her heart pounded so loudly she wondered if Tuck could hear it.

“Nothing’s wrong,” she said, forcing the words out evenly. “Chloe’s just got a bug. I was up with her all night. Tired is all.”

Tuck’s eyes lingered on hers, studying her, searching for any cracks in her story. He opened his mouth as if to press further, but then stopped.

Evelyn’s hands tightened on the door, gripping it as though it were the only thing tethering her to the moment.

Finally, Tuck sighed, stepping back. His easy demeanor had hardened just slightly, but he wasn’t ready to push. “If you’re sure ... I’ll head out. But if you need anything—anything—you don’t hesitate to call. You hear?”

The tension coiled tighter in her chest. “Thanks, Roy. I appreciate it.”

For a moment, Tuck’s eyes stayed locked on hers, as if he were reading between the lines of her words. But then he gave her a barely perceptible wink before turning to leave. “You take care of yourself.”

The door closed with a soft click, and Evelyn held her breath. She waited, listening to the sound of his boots crunching on gravel, the low rumble of Tuck’s engine starting, and finally, the retreating hum of his SUV pulling away.

Her breath escaped in a shaky exhale. She turned, her body trembling with adrenaline, to find Bishop standing by the window, his jaw clenched and his eyes hard as they tracked the sheriff’s car leaving the driveway.

“Too close,” he muttered, his voice tight with frustration.

Evelyn’s hands still shook, her body thrumming with the aftershock of fear. “I got rid of him,” she shot back, her voice sharper than she intended. “You don’t get to tell me how to handle my friends. I kept you hidden, didn’t I?”

Bishop’s eyes flicked toward her, something unreadable flashing across his face. For a moment, it looked like he might have said something more, but he turned back to the window, his grip on the curtain loosening but not dropping. The tension in his posture remained, wound tight.

“I’ll leave soon,” he muttered, more to himself than to her. “Should’ve been gone by now.”

The sheriff’s visit had clearly rattled him. Evelyn could sense the delay had made him more dangerous, more unpredictable. He was on edge, and now she really had to tread carefully.

The house fell into an uneasy silence. The sun had fully risen, but its light did little to lift the oppressive atmosphere weighing on her. Bishop might have promised to leave by daybreak, but now his plans had been derailed, and he was still here. And they were still his hostages.