Chapter 11: The Wolf at the Perimeter
Chapter 11: The Wolf at the Perimeter
The local sheriff arrived forty minutes after my call. Two deputies in a muddy Ford Explorer swept our gravel driveway with high-powered flashlights, their boots crunching on the wet stone. They found nothing in the woods behind the barn—only flattened fern fronds and a shallow set of boot prints that the heavy Oregon rain was already washing away into the mud.
"Could be a hunter, Mrs. Bennett," the older deputy said, wiping water from his brimmed hat as he stood in our entryway. He looked at the photograph on my phone, squinting. "Or a drifter. It’s dark out there by the tree line. Hard to tell when or where this was taken."
"It was taken tonight," I said, my voice dead and flat. "And it isn't a hunter. It’s my sister."
Ethan stood beside me, his arm wrapped tightly around my shoulder. His skin was still pale from the moment I had walked out to the barn and shown him the image of himself through the window. "We have a permanent restraining order out of California, Deputy. Vanessa Bennett. She’s dangerous."
The deputy took down the information, looking sympathetic but ultimately powerless. "We’ll put an extra patrol car on this route for the next few days. But without a face in the camera or a positive ID on a vehicle, there isn’t much a judge can do for an arrest warrant. Keep your doors locked. If you see a strange car, call us immediately."
When they left, the farmhouse felt different. The high ceilings and exposed beams, which had once felt airy and free, now felt exposed.
I spent the rest of the night sitting on the stairs, staring at the front door. Every creak of the old wood under the wind sounded like a footstep. Noah woke up once around 3:00 a.m., crying from a nightmare about a shadow in his closet. I held him in my lap for an hour, rocking him, whispering promises that nothing would ever hurt him, all while my eyes remained fixed on the window.
The next morning, I didn’t open my laptop for client work. Instead, I called Marcus Vance.
"She's out, Claire," Marcus said the moment he answered, his voice crackling with the sterile background noise of an airport terminal. "I was going to call you when I landed in Seattle. She was released twenty-two days ago on a mandatory parole restructuring program. Her defense team argued that with Diane deceased and the assets fully liquidated, she was no longer a flight risk."
"She’s here, Marcus," I said, holding the phone against my ear with a trembling hand while watching Noah play with his toy cars on the rug. "She sent me a photo of Ethan. She was standing in our yard."
There was a long pause on the line. "Did you call the police?"
"They can't do anything without proof. But she touched the old Evergreen account. She deposited $9,500. Where did she get that kind of money if she’s broke?"
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"That’s what I’m tracking," Marcus said, his tone turning sharp and professional. "Diane didn't just have the Cayman account, Claire. Before she died in that medical facility, she had two private visits from an old friend—a woman named Evelyn’s former nurse. I think Diane gave her a physical ledger or a set of bearer bonds she had hidden before the cops raided her house. Vanessa isn't acting alone. She has a fallback fund we missed."
"Then find it," I whispered. "Because if you don't find the source, she’s going to use it to finish what she started on the stairs."
