Chapter 7
Seven
The evening air hung thick as Charlotte pulled into Molly’s driveway. Alex sat quietly beside her, the headlights casting long shadows across the lawn.
Lights glowed from inside the house, silhouettes shifting behind the curtains. They were all here. Isobel had called them.
Brad had told her about Victor Graves/Gideon Ward. And Isobel, being Isobel, had put the family meeting together faster than Charlotte was ready for.
Charlotte cut the engine, gripping the steering wheel for a moment before stepping out.
Alex didn’t say anything, but she knew he was watching her. He had been watching her all day.
She walked inside, feeling the shift the moment she crossed the threshold. Molly’s house always felt warm, filled with the quiet hum of family, the scent of dinner lingering in the air, sweet baby Wyatt babbling in the background.
But tonight, something was different.
Ethan Hayes, Molly’s husband and Special Agent in Charge of the FBI’s Resident Agency in Pierre, leaned against the back of the couch, his expression unreadable.
Jackson Reynolds, Olivia’s fiancé, sat beside her, steady and silent, but his firefighter instincts were on alert.
Noah Kaldor, Alex’s partner and Ruth’s fiancé, stood near the kitchen, arms crossed.
He hadn’t taken his eyes off Ruth since Charlotte walked in.
Sophie was perched on the arm of the couch, her fiancé, Tristan Blackwell, beside her, his hand resting lightly on her knee. Isobel sat stiffly at the center of it all. Brad, a commander with South Dakota’s Highway Patrol Division, sat next to her.
Charlotte had spent her life keeping them out of her work in the police department. Now, it was too late.
Isobel’s sharp eyes locked onto hers. "We need to talk."
Charlotte nodded, stepping farther into the room. Alex followed her. She exhaled. "Where do you want me to start?"
Isobel leaned forward, hands clasped. "How about the beginning?"
Charlotte hesitated. She hadn’t spoken these words in thirty years. She forced her spine to straighten. "Gideon Ward, alias Victor Graves…" There it was. The name that had been clawing its way back into her life.
The room reacted as one. They all knew the basics of the story, like they knew about the Son of Sam or Ted Bundy.
Sophie frowned. Molly reached for Wyatt’s tiny hand. Ruth exhaled slowly, absorbing the name the way a lawyer absorbs evidence.
Olivia spoke first. "The home invasions. The bodies. The women who never spoke again."
Charlotte nodded.
Tristan, always clinical, nodded. "Dissociative catatonia."
"Yes," Charlotte said.
Olivia shifted in her seat. "You caught him, though."
Charlotte nodded. "I arrested him." Catching him? She wasn’t sure how much he let it happen. “He is currently serving a life sentence without the possibility of parole, though Brad told me his attorney has petitioned for a compassionate release because he is dying.”
Isobel spoke next. "And now someone is bringing the case back."
Brad exhaled. "Someone who knows too much."
Ethan crossed his arms. "What do we know?"
Alex answered before Charlotte could. "Last night, someone broke into Charlotte’s house. They left a Polaroid of her interrogation with Ward on her nightstand. No sign of forced entry, no security footage, and no fingerprints. They drugged Bailey. They must have been inside before she locked up."
Ruth swore under her breath.
Olivia’s expression hardened. "Damn it, Mom. You lied to me about Bailey.”
“They were watching you?" Molly asked.
"I suppose." Charlotte felt Alex move closer to her.
Brad grimaced. "And then there was the registration card between her mattress and boxspring.”
Alex nodded. "Holloway Motel. Where Ward lived and kept his trophies."
"Jesus." Jackson exhaled. “Where was Bailey? You said he was drugged?”
Charlotte paled. “Asleep in his bed. The intruder left an empty vial of ketamine.” She took a breath. “The vet said he’s fine. Just has to sleep it off.”
“Charlotte, did you get your own blood drawn?” Tristan asked.
“I wasn’t drugged,” she insisted.
Alex and Brad glared at her.
Molly let go of Wyatt’s hand and left the room. She returned with an orange bag marked Medical Examiner. "Mom, if you inhaled something, it can make you sick. There are three doctors in this room. Pick one of us.”
Charlotte exhaled through gritted teeth and rolled up her sleeve. Molly, the county’s medical examiner, opened the bag and, after slipping on some gloves, drew four vials with different-colored tops. Additionally, Charlotte exhaled into a special plastic bag, and Molly sealed it.
Noah finally spoke. "They’re recreating the fear, but they didn’t want to physically harm you. They had that opportunity."
A chill ran down Charlotte’s spine. That was exactly what it was. This wasn’t about Ward. This was about what Ward did to his victims. And now, someone wanted to do it to her.
Sophie’s voice was quiet. "Are there any suspects?"
"Not yet," Brad admitted. “Forensics are being processed.”
"Are we sure it isn’t Ward?" Tristan asked.
"He’s locked up, and dying," Brad said. "He’s in the prison hospital, unable to get out of bed. We’re working on tracing his cellmate who was released six months ago.”
"That we know of," Olivia muttered.
“As of one p.m. today, no one but his legal counsel visited from the outside. His attorney was at Disney World with his grandkids at the time of the break-in,” Brad added.
Ethan’s jaw flexed. "We need to look deeper. See if there’s anything that suggests he’s been communicating through someone on the inside."
Brad nodded. "Already on it. We’re running down prison staff.”
Charlotte scanned the room, taking in the concern in their faces. She hated it. They shouldn’t be looking at her like this. Like she was a victim.
Alex, sensing her shift, stepped forward. "Whoever is doing this wants Charlotte afraid. They want her doubting herself."
"Then they don’t know Mom very well," Ruth muttered.
Alex let out a short laugh. "No, they don’t."
But she could see it happening. Even if she wasn’t doubting herself. She was dreading what this meant for them.
Molly’s voice was soft but firm. "Mom, what do you want us to do?"
Charlotte looked at them. Her daughters. The men who loved them. The man who loved her. God, Alex. Her family. Her world. She had spent thirty years protecting her girls from this monster.
She squared her shoulders. "You’re going to let me handle this."
Olivia snorted. "Yeah, that’s not happening."
Charlotte sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose. "Liv?—"
"No," Olivia said, standing. "You don’t get to do this alone. Not this time."
Molly nodded. "We need to know what we’re dealing with."
Sophie exhaled. "We need a plan. We are adults. We can help."
Ruth, always practical, crossed her arms. "We need to know who we’re up against."
Isobel sat quietly, her hands in her lap. “Where is Ward incarcerated?”
“South Dakota State Penitentiary,” Ethan answered.
Isobel reached for Brad’s hand. “I want to interview him.”
Charlotte’s eyes widened. “Under no circumstances are you going near that man.”
Brad appeared to simmer. “Isobel, we will discuss this at home.”
Isobel met his gaze. “Fine.”
Charlotte let out a slow breath. She looked at Alex.
His gaze was steady. "Let us help," he murmured.
She hesitated, then exhaled. "Fine." Her tone was the same as Isobel’s.
Alex looked up at the ceiling, closed and opened his eyes, and let out a breath.
She looked back at her daughters. "I’m not putting you in danger."
Olivia cocked her head. "We already are, but we’re Everharts, Mom."
"Danger has never stopped us before," Isobel added.
Charlotte swallowed, pressing her lips together. She hated this.
Alex followed Charlotte into the pet-friendly Hotel Waverly Junction fifteen minutes after they picked up Bailey, his hand hovering just at the small of her back.
She hadn’t argued when he told her he was paying for the night, hadn’t fought him on it the way she normally would have.
That alone told him how much this had shaken her.
She was afraid—and Charlotte Everhart didn’t do fear. He hated that more than anything.
He wanted to take her to his place, but it was still being repaired. The damage was greater than first reported. Each of the girls offered space, which Charlotte adamantly refused.
The hotel was quiet, night settling into the polished hallways and soft overhead lighting.
He checked them both in, took the key card, and led her to the elevator.
Neither of them spoke, but Charlotte’s eyes flicked to the shadows in the corners, her instincts working overtime. Bailey was also awake and alert.
Alex wanted her to sleep tonight. He wanted her to feel safe. At least for a little while.
Inside their king room on the eighth floor, Charlotte set her overnight bag on the chair and exhaled. Alex slid the deadbolt into place before turning the secondary lock. That wasn’t enough. He took the desk chair and wedged it under the door handle. Then he checked the entire room.
After setting up a bowl for Bailey in the bathroom and placing his bed by the door, Charlotte sat on the edge of the bed and watched as Alex literally took the place apart with Bailey instep with him.
He checked for a physical intruder first—in the bathroom, under the bed, inside the closet.
Then he checked for an electronic one—examining ceiling tiles, outlets, the coffee maker, the alarm clock, the hotel phone.
Every drawer and every conceivable hiding place.
Charlotte didn’t tell him to stop. She just let him work.
When he was finally satisfied, he exhaled and turned back to her.
Charlotte watched him carefully, her face unreadable. "Feel better?"
Alex sat beside her. "Bailey seems to.” The dog curled up in his bed, his chin resting between his two front paws. “But I don’t.”
Her lips curved slightly. "Didn’t think so."
He shook his head, reaching for her hand. "Charlotte…"