Page 49 of Logan’s Way

The realization passed over him without heat, without panic, just the cold recognition of a truth he’d been avoiding: He hadn’t escaped choice. He’d only delayed it.

The world didn’t stop because Angus was trying to figure out what faithfulness looked like. It kept moving. And people kept falling through the gaps he usually filled.

Chapter Eighteen

The woman was already on Angus’s porch when he opened the door to let Scout out.

She stood with her arms wrapped around herself against the cold, without a jacket despite January temperatures, eyes red from crying, lack of sleep, or both. Angus recognized her immediately—Lena Torres, early twenties, who worked at the diner on Main Street. He’d seen her serving tables, always polite, always tired-looking, always careful in a way that suggested watchfulness had become second nature.

“Sheriff Reid?” Her voice was quiet, uncertain. “I’m sorry to bother you at home. I know you’re on leave. But I didn’t know who else—” She stopped, swallowed. “Miguel said you might be able to help.”

Scout pushed past Angus’s leg, tail wagging at the prospect of going outside, then stopped when he sensed the visitor’s distress. The collie stood between them, protective instincts engaged but awaiting instruction.

“Come inside,” Angus said. “It’s too cold to talk out here.”

She hesitated, glancing back toward the street as if checking whether she had been followed, then stepped into the warmth of Angus’s house. Scout stayed close to her, his presence offering comfort in that uncomplicated way dogs often do for people who need it.

Angus closed the door and gestured toward the living room. “Sit. Tell me what’s going on.”

Lena perched on the edge of the couch, hands clasped together so tightly that her knuckles turned white. “My boyfriend—ex-boyfriend—Derek. He’s been … it’s gotten worse since I left him. He’s not breaking any laws technically, but he’s everywhere I go. Shows up at work, at my apartment, at the grocery store. Always just watching. Never close enough to violate the restraining order, but close enough that I know he’s there.”

The parallel to Rachel Carver’s situation struck Angus immediately. Different people, same pattern. Men who understood exactly where legal boundaries lay and operated just inside them while still accomplishing the real goal: control through fear.

“You filed a restraining order?” Angus asked.

“Two weeks ago. It hasn’t helped. If anything, it made him angrier. Last night he was parked across from my apartment for three hours. Just sitting in his truck, watching my window. I called the police—they came, talked to him, but he wasn’t technically doing anything illegal. He left when they asked him to, but he came back an hour after they were gone.”

“Where is he now?”

“I don’t know. That’s why I’m scared. He wasn’t outside my apartment this morning, which means he’s somewhere else. Maybe at the diner waiting for my shift to start, maybe at my mom’s house.” Her voice cracked. “Miguel said there’s nothing more the department can do unless he actually violates the order. He said I should document everything, stay aware of my surroundings, have someone with me when possible. But that’s not—I can’t live like this. And Miguel said you would understand what Derek is going to do before he does it. That you could help.”

Angus felt the added weight of that expectation settle onto shoulders already carrying too much. Lena had come to him because Miguel—competent, by-the-book Miguel—had reached the limit of what procedure allowed and recognized that procedure might not be sufficient to keep Lena safe.

Miguel had recognized that Angus would see the pattern he couldn’t yet see, would anticipate how men like Derek escalated, would understand that waiting for an actual violation meant waiting until harm had already occurred.

Scout settled at Lena’s feet, offering his warmth and presence. She reached down absently to touch the dog’s head, the contact seeming to steady her slightly.

“What do you want me to do?” Angus asked quietly.

“I want him to stop. I want to feel safe in my own home. I want to not jump every time a car drives past or someone walks behind me at work.” She looked up, meeting Angus’s eyes. “Miguel said you’re on leave because of your mom’s death. I’m sorry about that. But he also said you’re the only one who really knows how to handle situations like this. That you don’t just follow the rules, you actually keep people safe.”

The distinction landed hard: following rules versus keeping people safe. As if they were somehow different, as if one could exist without the other, as if the space between them was where people fell through whenever sheriffs weren’t paying attention.

Angus thought about Logan. About the pattern he’d documented—predators removed, victims freed, networks disrupted. About intervention that happened where the law couldn’t reach because reaching legally required time, evidence, and proof that came too late for those who needed help immediately.

If Logan were here—if he were the one Lena Torres had come to—intervention would already be underway. Not through legal channels. Not through proper procedure. But through methods that would make Derek understand that watching Lena’s window carried consequences the law couldn’t impose.

And Lena would be safe. Not because the system had protected her, but because someone had operated outside it to accomplish what the system couldn’t.

The thought disturbed Angus more than it should have. Not because it was wrong—he still believed it was, still trusted that justice required boundaries to mean anything—but because he couldn’t deny that Lena needed protection the system wasn’t providing, and someone with Logan’s approach would provide it immediately.

“I’m still on leave,” Angus said carefully. “I can’t act in an official capacity.”

“I’m not asking you to arrest him. I’m asking you to help me figure out how to stay safe until the system catches up.” Lena’s voice was steady despite the fear visible in her expression. “Miguel said you’d know what Derek is planning. That you could tell me what to do before he acts.”

Angus stood and walked to the window, looking out at a town just beginning to wake up. A town where people trusted that calling the sheriff meant getting help, not just following procedure.

He thought about restraint. About the choice he’d made to stop pursuing Logan, to protect people depending on his brother’s invisibility, to accept that some truths caused more harm than their absence. That choice had felt like obedience—difficult, costly, but ultimately right.