Chapter 6 #2
Carson forced himself to focus on Eugene’s background check. There had to be something he’d missed. Some connection that would prove Eugene was the stalker.
Francis Whitmore, 34. Real name on his driver’s license, but he’d been using “Eugene Morrison” at the apartment building. Why the alias?
Carson pulled up Eugene’s family history. Father: Robert Whitmore, deceased. Died by suicide ten years ago. Mother: Linda Whitmore, living in Portland. No siblings.
Robert Whitmore. The name triggered something in Carson’s memory. He opened a new search window and typed in the name plus “Blackridge” plus “embezzlement.”
A news article from fifteen years ago popped up. Local Accountant Arrested for Embezzlement Scheme.
Carson’s pulse quickened as he read. Robert Whitmore had worked at Morrison & Associates—Nora’s firm—and had been caught stealing from client accounts. The accountant who’d discovered the theft and reported it?
Daniel Bell. Nora’s father.
“Shit,” Carson muttered.
“What?” Nora looked up from her laptop.
Carson turned his screen toward her. “Your father was the one who caught Eugene’s father embezzling. He’s the reason Robert Whitmore was arrested.”
Nora’s face went white. “No. No, that can’t be. My dad died when I was eight. That was twenty years ago.”
“The embezzlement was fifteen years ago. Your dad didn’t work at the firm then.” Carson scrolled through the article. “The accountant who reported it was...Daniel Morrison.”
“Morrison.” Nora stood, moving to the table. “That’s why Eugene uses that name? Because of who caught his father?”
“Maybe. Or maybe...” Carson’s mind raced, connecting pieces. “What if Eugene has been targeting people connected to the firm for years? Different names, different approaches, but the same goal—revenge for what happened to his father?”
“But my dad didn’t even work there when—” Nora stopped. “Wait. My dad worked there before we moved to Seattle. That was when I was seven. He left the firm right before we moved.”
“Why’d he leave?”
“I don’t know. I was too young to understand.
But I remember...there was something wrong.
Some kind of problem at work. Dad was stressed.
Mom wanted him to leave, start over somewhere new.
” She looked at Carson with wide eyes. “What if it was connected? What if Dad knew something about Robert Whitmore?”
Carson was already pulling up more records. “If your dad left right before the embezzlement was discovered...maybe he suspected something. Maybe he’d started investigating.”
“And Eugene blames him too.” Nora sank into the chair next to Carson. “That’s why he’s targeting me. Because of something my father did twenty years ago.”
“It’s a theory. I need to prove it.” Carson typed rapidly, pulling up more background on both Daniel Bell and Robert Whitmore. “But if I’m right, this isn’t random. Eugene has been planning this for a long time. Waiting. Watching. Getting into position at your building.”
“How long has he worked there?”
Carson pulled up the employment records he’d gotten earlier. “Eighteen months. Started three months before you moved in.”
“He was waiting for me.” The horror in Nora’s voice made Carson want to put his fist through something. “He knew I’d moved back to Blackridge. Knew where I worked. Got a job at my building specifically to get to me.”
“That’s what it looks like.”
Nora stood abruptly, wrapping her arms around herself. “I need air. I need to—” She broke off, breathing too fast.
Carson recognized the signs. Panic attack incoming.
He stood and moved to her, hands hovering near her shoulders but not quite touching. “Nora. Look at me.”
She didn’t respond, her breathing getting faster.
“Nora.” Firmer this time. “Look at me. Right now.”
Her eyes snapped to his, wide and terrified.
“Breathe with me,” Carson said, keeping his voice steady and authoritative. “In through your nose. Four counts. You can do this.”
He demonstrated, and after a moment, she followed. They breathed together—in for four, hold for four, out for four. Again. Again.
Slowly, the panic in her eyes receded. Her breathing steadied.
“Good,” Carson said. “That’s good. You’re okay. You’re safe. I’m right here.”
“I’m sorry.” Her voice was barely a whisper. “I shouldn’t fall apart like that.”
“You’re dealing with a stalker who’s been planning this for months. You’re allowed to fall apart.” He finally let himself touch her—just his hand on her shoulder, grounding. “But I need you to hear me, Nora. This is good news.”
“How is any of this good news?”
“Because now I know why Eugene is targeting you. I know his motive. And that gives me leverage.” Carson’s hand tightened slightly on her shoulder.
“I’m going to use this. I’m going to dig into every aspect of Robert Whitmore’s case, find every connection to your father, build a case against Eugene that his lawyer can’t block. ”
“And if you can’t?”
“I will.” The conviction in his voice was absolute. “Because Eugene made a mistake. He let this become personal. Let his need for revenge make him sloppy. And that’s going to be his downfall.”
Nora looked up at him, so close now he could see the gold flecks in her brown eyes. Could smell her shampoo—that floral scent that had haunted him since she’d first walked into his life.
“You’re always so sure,” she said softly. “How do you do that? Stay so confident when everything’s falling apart?”
“Because giving up isn’t an option.” Carson’s voice dropped lower. “Because I’ve lost someone I couldn’t save, and I’ll be damned if I lose someone else. Because you trusted me to protect you, and I don’t take that lightly.”
Because you matter more than you should, he didn’t say. Because somewhere along the way, this stopped being just a case and started being about you.
The air between them shifted, charged. Nora’s eyes dropped to his mouth, then back up. Carson’s hand was still on her shoulder, and he could feel her pulse racing under his palm.
He should step back. Put distance between them. Remember every reason this was a bad idea.
But Nora leaned closer, and Carson forgot how to breathe.
“Carson—”
His phone rang, shattering the moment.
Carson stepped back, dropping his hand, and pulled out his phone. Patterson’s was name on the screen.
“I have to take this,” he said, his voice rough.
Nora nodded and moved away, heading toward the guest room. Carson watched her go, trying to ignore the way his heart was still racing.
He answered the call. “Black.”
“We’ve got a problem,” Patterson said. “Someone broke into Nora Bell’s apartment tonight. Trashed the place. Left a message on the wall.”
Carson’s blood ran cold. “What message?”
“Two words, written in red spray paint: ‘Found you.’“
***
Carson stood in Nora’s apartment an hour later, staring at the words on her bedroom wall.
FOUND YOU.
Written in crimson spray paint, the letters dripping down the white wall like blood. The rest of the room was destroyed—clothes torn from hangers, drawers emptied, mattress slashed open.
This wasn’t just a break-in. This was a message. A threat.
And it meant Eugene knew Nora wasn’t here. Had come looking for her and found the apartment empty.
Which meant he’d escalate. Start searching. Get more desperate.
Get more dangerous.
“Building security didn’t see anything,” Patterson said, appearing at Carson’s side. “Cameras were down for maintenance from eight to nine PM. Convenient timing.”
“Eugene arranged it.” Carson’s jaw clenched. “He still has access to the security system.”
“We brought him back in for questioning. He’s at the station now with his lawyer. Alibi for tonight is he was home alone. No witnesses.”
“Of course not.” Carson photographed the message, the destruction, every detail. “But this is good for us. This shows escalation. Shows intent. Judge might grant the search warrant now.”
“Captain wants to see you,” Patterson said carefully. “About the Bell woman staying at your place.”
A muscle in his jaw jumped. “I’m sure he does.”
Carson finished processing the scene and headed back to the station, dreading the conversation waiting for him.
But he’d stand by his decision. Nora was safe at his apartment. That was all that mattered.
***
Holloway was waiting in his office, expression grim.
“Close the door.”
Carson obeyed, preparing for the fight.
“Eugene broke into Nora’s apartment tonight,” Carson said before Holloway could start. “Left a threatening message. This proves—”
“I know what it proves. I read the report.” Holloway leaned back in his chair. “What I want to know is why you thought bringing a victim to live in your apartment was appropriate.”
“Because someone in this department is leaking information to Eugene. Because the hotel was compromised. Because she needed to be somewhere completely secure.”
“And you thought your apartment was the answer?”
“Yes.”
“Carson.” Holloway rubbed his temples. “Do you understand how this looks? A detective brings an attractive young woman to his home, claims he’s protecting her—”
“She’s not just—” Carson stopped, forcing his voice to stay level. “This isn’t about attraction. This is about keeping a victim safe when every other option has been compromised.”
“Is it?” Holloway’s eyes were sharp. “Because from where I’m sitting, it looks like you’re getting personally involved. Again. Like you’re crossing lines you shouldn’t cross.”
“I’m doing my job.”
“Your job is to investigate. Not to play bodyguard. Not to bring victims into your home.” Holloway’s voice softened slightly.
“Son, I know you think you’re helping. But you’re putting yourself and this case at risk.
If Eugene’s lawyer finds out she’s living with you, he’ll claim impropriety.
Bias. The whole case could be thrown out. ”
Carson’s hands clenched into fists. “So what do you want me to do? Throw her into some victim shelter where Eugene could find her? Leave her vulnerable while I follow proper procedure?”
“I want you to think about what you’re doing. About where this is heading.” Holloway stood. “Because right now, you’re one step away from losing your objectivity completely. And when that happens, people get hurt.”
The words hit too close to home. Carson thought about the moment earlier tonight—Nora looking up at him, leaning closer, the way he’d almost—
“I’m in control,” Carson said.
“Are you?” Holloway studied him. “Because I’ve seen you obsess over cases before. I’ve seen you push boundaries and bend rules and lose yourself in saving people. But I’ve never seen you risk it all for anyone like you are for Nora Bell.”
Carson said nothing. Couldn’t say anything. Because Holloway was right.
“Be careful,” Holloway said finally. “That’s all I’m asking. Be careful with her. With yourself. With this case. Because if you lose your objectivity, you lose everything.”
Carson left the office without responding.
Because he didn’t know how to tell his captain that it was already too late.
He’d already lost his objectivity.
And he wasn’t sure he wanted it back.