Chapter 27 #2
"You tracked down a federal witness in protective custody," Gabriel said. "You obtained sealed crime scene photos and used them to harass an innocent woman. You've been surveilling private citizens. That's multiple felonies, Detective."
"Former detective," Holloway corrected bitterly. He was quiet for a moment, then the chain rattled and the door opened fully. "Fine. Come in."
The room was a disaster. Empty bottles, fast food containers, and papers everywhere. On the wall above the bed, he'd taped photos—crime scene images of Eva, surveillance photos of Ronan, and recent pictures of Aria.
My blood ran cold. He'd been watching her. Photographing her.
"Jesus Christ," Gabriel muttered.
Holloway followed our gaze. "I'm not crazy. I know what I saw. Adam Rowland murdered his wife, and he got away with it because the FBI needed him more than they needed justice."
"The evidence cleared him," I said. "Multiple investigations—"
"The evidence was wrong!" Holloway's voice rose. "I was there. I saw the scene. I interviewed the neighbours. That wasn't suicide."
"Then why did the medical examiner rule it as such?" I kept my tone calm, cross-examining. "Why did the toxicology show lethal levels of pills in her system? Why were there no signs of struggle?"
"Because he's smart. Because he knew how to make it look right." Holloway grabbed a folder from the bed and thrust it at me. "Look at this. The angle of the body. The placement of the pill bottle. It's too perfect. Too staged."
I took the folder but didn't open it. "So you decided to take justice into your own hands. You tracked him down, found out about his new life, and tried to destroy it."
"I tried to warn that girl!" Holloway said. "She deserves to know what kind of man she's involved with. What he's capable of."
"You terrorised her," Gabriel said, his voice hard. "You made her think the man she loves is a murderer. You violated her privacy, her safety, her peace of mind. For what? Your own vendetta?"
"It's not a vendetta, it's the truth!"
"It's your version of the truth," I corrected. "And you don't get to force it on other people through harassment and intimidation."
Holloway's shoulders sagged. He suddenly looked old, defeated.
"I gave thirty years to the job. Thirty years of catching bad guys, putting them away.
And the one time it really mattered, the one time I knew—I knew—someone was guilty.
.. they took it away from me. Made me look like a fool. Forced me out."
I almost felt sorry for him. Almost.
"I understand you believe you're right," I said. "But belief isn't evidence. And even if you were right—which you're not—this isn't how justice works. You know that."
"Justice," Holloway laughed bitterly. "There's no justice. Not for Eva. Not for me."
"There's justice for Aria," Gabriel said. "The woman you've been stalking. She gets justice. And that means you face consequences."
Headlights swept across the window. Car doors slammed.
"That'll be the FBI," I said. "Here's what's going to happen.
You're going to cooperate fully. You're going to turn over every photo, every file, every piece of information you have on Adam Rowland and his current life.
You're going to sign a statement admitting what you've done.
And in exchange, I'll recommend a plea deal that keeps you out of federal prison. "
"And if I don't?"
"Then you go to trial, and I will personally ensure you spend the rest of your life behind bars." I leaned forward. "I'm very good at my job, Detective. You don't want me as an enemy."
A knock at the door. "FBI. Open up."
Holloway looked between us, then at the photos on his wall, then back at us. The fight went out of him.
"Okay," he said quietly. "Okay."
Three hours later, Gabriel and I sat in my car outside the motel, watching as FBI agents loaded boxes of evidence into their vehicles. Holloway was already gone, taken into custody, his obsession finally ended.
"Think he'll take the plea?" Gabriel asked.
"He'd be stupid not to. The evidence is overwhelming." I rubbed my eyes, suddenly exhausted. "But yeah, I think he will. He's not a bad man, just a broken one who couldn't let go."
"Broken men can still do damage."
"True." I looked at Gabriel. "Thank you. For working this with me. For not letting it go."
"Are you kidding? Someone threatened our family. Of course I wasn't going to let it go." He smiled slightly. "Besides, cop and lawyer? We make a good team."
"We do."
My phone buzzed. A text from Noah: *Where are you? Aria's asking.*
I showed it to Gabriel. "We should tell them. They deserve to know it's over."
"Your place or Noah's?"
"Noah's. Everyone's probably there anyway."
They were all in Noah's living room when we arrived—Noah, Ronan, Ethan, Julian, and Aria. The kids were asleep upstairs. It was late, past eleven, but no one looked tired.
They looked worried.
"What's going on?" Aria asked immediately, standing up. "You both disappeared, and then you wouldn't answer your phones—"
"It's over," I said. "The person who sent you those photos. We found him. He's in FBI custody."
The room went silent.
"What?" Ronan's voice was barely a whisper.
Gabriel and I explained everything—the investigation, Nathan's discovery, Detective Holloway's obsession. When we finished, Aria was crying, and Ronan looked like he might break something.
"He was watching her?" Ronan said. "Taking pictures of her?"
"Not anymore," I said firmly. "He's facing federal charges. He'll never get near any of us again."
Aria crossed the room and wrapped her arms around me. "Thank you," she said into my chest. "Thank you for not letting it go."
I held her close, breathing in the scent of her shampoo. "I'll always protect you. All of you. That's a promise."
"We all will," Gabriel added. "That's what family does."
Noah stood and pulled us all into a group embrace—awkward and crowded and perfect. This strange, beautiful family we'd built.
"It's really over?" Aria asked.
"It's really over," I confirmed. "You're safe. We're all safe."
She let out a shaky breath. "Okay. Okay."
***
Later, after everyone had gone home and Aria had fallen asleep in Noah's guest room, I sat in my car outside my own house, staring at the dark windows.
Mila was inside, asleep in her bed, safe and unaware of the danger that had been circling our family. That's how it should be. Children should feel safe, should trust that the adults in their lives will protect them.
I'd spent my career in courtrooms, arguing cases, seeking justice through the system.
But tonight had reminded me that sometimes justice required more than legal briefs and closing arguments.
Sometimes it required action, risk, the willingness to step outside the comfortable boundaries of procedure.
I'd do it again in a heartbeat. For Aria. For Mila. For all of them.
My phone buzzed. A text from Aria: *Can't sleep. Thank you again. For everything. I love you.*
I smiled and typed back: *I love you too. Sleep well. You're safe now.*
And she was. They all were.
I'd make sure of it.
I got out of the car and headed inside, ready to check on my daughter, ready to sleep soundly for the first time in weeks.
The case was closed. The threat was neutralised. My family was protected.
In the courtroom, I'd call that a win.
In life, I called it everything.