Chapter 4
Four
Alex stared at her, his pulse hammering, jaw tight. “Charlotte.” His voice came out low. Controlled. Too controlled. “Tell me about the case.”
She didn’t answer.
“That wasn’t random.” His voice stayed even, but the edge was there, just under the surface. “They knew I was here. They knew I’d answer.”
Charlotte dragged a hand across her forehead. “This is what they want, Alex. They want us rattled.”
“Well, it’s working,” he muttered, gaze shifting to the photo still lying on the table.
The Polaroid. He studied it. Charlotte, younger by thirty years, sitting in an interrogation room. Across from her, a man in shadow. The lighting obscured most of his face, but something about the posture, the build, tugged at Alex’s memory.
Charlotte wasn’t in uniform. This wasn’t a casual visit. It was one of her cases. And whoever called just now wanted them both to see it.
He scanned the corner of the photo. The date stamped at the bottom: 1994.
His brain went cold. South Dakota. Mid-90s. Violent crime was at a peak then. He didn’t have to be a cop back then to remember the headlines. He’d been twelve, but he remembered the tension, the fear in the air.
He looked up at her, watching carefully. “This guy,” he tapped the edge of the photo, “he’s someone you put away, isn’t he?”
She didn’t speak, just clenched her jaw. That was enough.
Alex leaned back, his mind working fast. “Ninety-four…” he murmured. “That was the year of the zombie home invasions.”
A flicker crossed her face. Most people wouldn’t have caught it. His stomach dropped. “The ones that left the victims alive but broken,” he added.
Still, silence.
And then the name clicked. “Gideon Ward.”
Her eyes closed. Just for a second. Long enough to confirm everything.
“Son of a bitch,” Alex breathed.
He looked at the photo again. Charlotte leaning forward across the table, posture tense, focused. He knew that look now. He could look that way too when he had a suspect in the box. He could read it clear as day: restraint. She hadn’t just been leading an interview. She was holding something back.
“That’s him, isn’t it?”
Charlotte exhaled. “Yes.”
Alex scrubbed a hand across his face. “He’s been in prison for thirty years.”
“I thought that meant it was over.”
“But now someone wants you to think it isn’t.”
She nodded. “Yes.”
He stared at her. Thirty years. She had carried this that long.
And never told him. Never even hinted she’d been involved in taking down one of the state’s most dangerous serial predators.
He learned about this case in the academy.
She told him about other arrests. Why did she lock this away, never to mention?
He swallowed the bitterness rising in his throat. “Why didn’t you ever tell me?”
She met his eyes, face unreadable. “Because it was over. Done.”
Alex leaned in, voice sharp. “It was a huge victory. You told me about others.”
She closed and opened her eyes again.
“Well, someone wants you to think it’s not over. Someone just called this house. They knew I’d be here. They wanted me to hear it.”
She didn’t deny it. Couldn’t.
The silence stretched between them, too full, too heavy. He pushed back from the table, the scrape of the chair quiet, final. By her pale face, he figured she was waiting for him to walk away.
But he didn’t. He stepped in front of her, stopping just inches away. Her shoulders were still rigid, braced. Always braced. He reached out, brushing his fingers against her jaw. Her skin was cool beneath his touch. “Charlotte,” he said, softer now. “Talk to me.”
She closed her eyes. Her throat moved like she was swallowing something hard. “I don’t know what to say.”
He bent his head, resting his forehead against hers. She didn’t pull away. Didn’t push him out. That was something. He moved his hand to the back of her neck, holding her gently. She breathed in shakily and let herself lean into him.
He stayed still. Let her find her breath. “I’m calling Waverly Junction PD and Brad.”
Her body stiffened. “Alex.”
“No.” He stepped back enough to meet her eyes. “Someone broke into your house. They stood over you while you slept. You woke up to this—a photo from a thirty-year-old case. I want forensics in here.”
“I checked everything,” she said.
“And I want someone else to check too.” His thumb brushed her cheek again. “Let Waverly Junction and Brad’s team go through it. Please.”
She rested a hand against his chest, tension still coiled in her shoulders. “Alex.”
“And tell the girls.”
That stopped her cold. “No.”
“Charlotte.”
“No.” Her voice cut sharper this time. “I’m not bringing them into this.”
Alex’s jaw flexed. “They are already in. You have five daughters. If this is personal…”
“They’re grown,” she snapped. “They have their own lives.”
He didn’t back down. “That doesn’t mean they don’t deserve to know if their mother’s in danger. Besides, cops gossip. Olivia and Molly will find out. Do you want them to find out from a secondary source?”
She turned away, planted her hands on the table like she needed it to keep standing. He watched her, felt her shutting down again. Closing the door like she always did. So he came up behind her and lifted her from her seat, wrapped his arms around her waist and pulled her in. She didn’t resist.
He pressed his lips to her shoulder, her neck. Felt her breathing shift. “Let me help keep you safe,” he whispered.
She didn’t answer right away. Then, finally, “Call the PD. Call Brad,” she said. “Let them go through the house.”
He exhaled slowly, relief washing through his chest. He turned her gently in his arms, resting his hands at her hips.
“Thank you.” He paused. “And the girls?”
Her voice came quieter. “I’ll think about it.”
He nodded. Didn’t push. Just reached up and cupped the back of her neck again. He pulled her in close and kissed her—steady, certain. He wasn’t going anywhere.