Page 47 of Logan’s Way

“Hey.” Miguel’s voice carried something Angus recognized immediately—the particular weight of a deputy who’d handled something difficult and wasn’t entirely comfortable with how it had gone. “You got a minute?”

“Sure. What’s going on?”

“Remember the Carver situation? The domestic case we were monitoring before your leave?”

Angus remembered. Rachel Carver, mid-thirties, married to a man with no official record but a pattern anyone with experience could recognize. Escalating control. Financial isolation. The kind of abuse that didn’t leave visible marks but destroyed people just as thoroughly. She’d come to the station once, asking about restraining orders, then changed her mind before filing anything. Standard procedure said you couldn’t force protection on someone who wouldn’t request it formally. But Angus had been keeping an eye on the situation, checking in periodically, making sure Rachel knew she had options if things got worse.

“What happened?” Angus asked.

“She came in last week. Filed for a restraining order. Her husband had escalated—nothing that left evidence, but she was scared enough to finally move forward.” Miguel paused. “I processed everything correctly. The order was granted. Her husband was served. All by the book.”

The weight in Miguel’s voice suggested that following the book hadn’t been enough.

“But?” Angus prompted.

“She’s in the hospital. He showed up at her workplace yesterday morning. He didn’t violate the order technically—he stayed the required distance, didn’t make contact. Just stood across the street where she could see him. Waiting. Watching. She called us, we responded, but there was nothing we could charge him with. He was complying with the order’s letter.”

“And then?”

“She left work early. She was walking to her car when he approached her in the parking lot. Still didn’t touch her, still didn’t threaten her verbally—he just got close enough to make it clear the piece of paper didn’t mean anything. She panicked, ran, and fell down the stairs trying to get away from him. Broken wrist, concussion, bruised ribs.”

Angus closed his eyes. “Is she safe now?”

“She’s staying with her sister in Portland. The husband’s been charged with violating the restraining order—prosecutors are arguing intimidation and stalking. But the defense will say he never touched her, never spoke to her, and just happened to be in a public place. They’ll probably get it down to a misdemeanor.”

When Angus sighed quietly, Scout nudged Angus’s leg gently, sensing the heaviness in the stillness.

“You followed procedure,” Angus said quietly.

“I know. I did everything I was supposed to do.” Miguel’s frustration was evident. “But you would have done more. You’d have talked to her employer about adjusting her schedule, coordinated extra patrol past her apartment, maybe even called in a favor to have patrol increase its presence near her work. You would have made it harder for him to do what he did.”

“That’s not procedure.”

“No. But it would have worked.”

The statement hung between them—not accusation, just acknowledgment of a gap that existed between following rules correctly and ensuring the outcome those rules were supposed to produce.

“I’m sorry I wasn’t there,” Angus said, meaning it.

“You’re on leave. You’re dealing with your mom’s death. This isn’t on you.” Miguel’s tone was firm, professional. “I just … thought you should know. Rachel asked about you. She wanted to know if you were coming back soon.”

“What did you tell her?”

“That you were taking the time you needed. That the department was still here to help.” A pause. “She said you would have known what he was going to do. That you would have stopped it.”

The words weighed on him like stones, sinking him into a quiet discouragement. Not accusation—Rachel didn’t blame him for not being there. It was just recognition that his absence had created a gap someone had fallen through. That the system, followed correctly, had still failed to protect someone who needed protection.

“Thanks for calling,” Angus said.

“Yeah. See you when you’re ready to come back.”

The call ended. Angus set his phone on the counter and stood in his kitchen, Scout pressing warmly against his leg, and felt the understanding settle over him like winter cold, finding every gap in weatherproofing.

He hadn’t been there. He’d chosen to remain on leave, to sit with the conflict over Logan, truth, and obedience—to wrestle with what faithfulness looked like when both action and restraint caused harm.

And while wrestled, Rachel Carver had tried to protect herself through proper channels, had done everything the system told her to do, and had still ended up in the hospital because the person who would have filled the gaps between procedure and protection wasn’t there to fill it.

Weyport was his town, his responsibility, the place where people trusted that calling the sheriff’s office meant someone would help them. Where the system was supposed to work not just technically but practically, not just legally but morally.