Chapter 8
Eight
Tuesday
Alex reached out, brushing a hand over her cheek, his fingers slow and deliberate. "Last night wasn’t just about the case, was it?"
He had known Charlotte for a few years. She wasn’t the kind of woman who needed saving, nor to admit she may want it.
But last night, she let him hold her. She let herself need him.
And for the first time since he had fallen for her, Alex felt the shift.
Maybe, just maybe, he wasn’t competing with the grief for her dead husband anymore.
Charlotte exhaled, flattening her palm against his chest. "I didn’t want to be alone."
Alex pressed a kiss against her fingertips. "You never have to be."
A knock at the door shattered the moment. Bailey stood, his coat ruffled, with a feral growl from deep in his throat.
Charlotte tensed immediately. Alex sat up and reached for his gun on the nightstand, slipping out of bed in one smooth movement.
She moved just as fast, pulling on the hotel robe, her eyes sharp and alert. They exchanged a glance before Alex approached the door, stepping around the dog to check the peephole.
“Brad.” Alex let out a slow breath before moving the chair. While holding on to the dog, he unlocked the door.
Brad stepped inside, his expression unreadable. "Didn’t mean to interrupt.” He leaned down and stroked the now happy Bailey’s coat. "We found something." He carried a cardboard cup holder with three cups of coffee and handed it to Alex.
Charlotte tightened the belt around her robe. "What?"
Brad pulled out an evidence bag from his jacket. Inside was a small metal key attached to a plastic key chain.
Alex frowned. "A Master Lock padlock key. What does the key chain say?”
Brad nodded. "Key ring belongs to a storage unit company. They have a unit registered to a Victor Graves. The storage company stated that the rental fees have been paid without interruption. Apparently, when the Holloway Motel shut down, the belongings left behind from each room were stored there. They held the contents for a year, and after that, if the unit remained unpaid, the contents were sold at auction. This unit has been paid continuously since.”
"That’s impossible. Gideon had a rented unit at the time of his arrest, but we emptied it. And the owners tore it down about twelve years ago and built a drive-thru pharmacy," Charlotte said, her voice low.
Brad slid the key across the table. "Clearly, whatever their game is, it’s been in motion for a while.
Alex’s blood ran cold. “Where was the key found?”
“U.S. Postal Service. It was delivered to your house in yesterday’s mail, addressed to Victor Graves in care of Charlotte Everhart.
” Brad pulled out a second evidence bag with the yellow mailing envelope inside.
“I left the rest of the mail on your kitchen table. I picked this up from our crime lab on my way over here. No prints or DNA.”
Charlotte didn’t move.
Alex watched the shift in her posture, the way her breath came just a fraction faster. The past was flooding back.
"Where is the storage unit?" Alex asked.
Brad slipped his hands into his pockets. "We traced it to a place an hour outside Waverly Junction in the warehouse district.”
Charlotte exhaled. "Then we need to go."
Alex’s jaw clenched. "You’re not going. You’re not a cop anymore." It fell out of his mouth before he could control it. His desire to protect her was growing more intense by the minute.
She met his gaze, something unreadable flickering in her eyes. "I most certainly am."
Alex grabbed his jeans off the chair and pulled them on. “Not alone.”
Charlotte’s lips pressed into a thin white line. “I didn’t plan on it.” She glared at him.
“I’m sorry,” he muttered.
Brad turned for the door. "I have to pick up the warrant. I’ll notify Waverly County Police Department. Then, I’ll call Liv and Ethan. We’re going to need hands we can trust on this one. I want complete control over the scene." He looked between Alex and Charlotte. “You two okay?”
“We’re fine.” His brow rose. “I’ll call Noah,” Alex added.
Charlotte grabbed her clothes, moving with efficiency to the bathroom and shutting the door. But Alex saw it, the slight hesitation, the way her fingers trembled just slightly as she grabbed her bag. Something about this key had unsettled her more than she was letting on.
Alex reached for her wrist when she exited the bathroom dressed, stopping her. She looked up, and for the first time since yesterday morning, he saw it.
Fear. It had returned. Her pulse hammered, and a fine sweat broke out over her top lip.
Alex squeezed her fingers. "I’m with you."
Charlotte licked her lips. “I know."
This time, she didn’t pull away.
Alex drove. First, they dropped off Bailey at the house. Charlotte stared out the window, her expression flat. Noah followed behind them, his unmarked SUV keeping pace, Brad in the passenger seat. Olivia and Ethan were en route about fifteen minutes ahead of them.
The key sat between Alex and Charlotte on the center console, a quiet reminder that the past had never truly died.
Alex tightened his grip on the wheel, glancing over at Charlotte. "Talk to me."
She was thinking. Processing. Finally, she exhaled.
"Storage units are supposed to be cleared out after nonpayment. Once he was arrested, there were no payments going out from Ward. The Holloway Motel was demolished, and they moved the contents of the rented rooms to storage. He was arrested in 1994. We emptied his rental under the name of Victor Graves and checked for anything under Gideon Ward. There were no other units. There should never have been a new unit.”
Alex nodded. "You were keeping track, weren’t you?”
She shot him a look but didn’t answer.
“Someone made sure this unit was taken care of,” he said. “It’s been paid for ever since. We need to know if this unit has been held since Ward’s arrest, or is this a fresh rental. Hopefully, we will find a clue."
Charlotte’s jaw flexed. "Someone wants us to find something.”
Alex didn’t like what that implied.
The drive to the facility took just under an hour, long stretches of open highway giving way to industrial lots and commercial buildings.
The storage facility was isolated, tucked within an old freight yard.
Rusted trailers dotted the property, the kind of place no one noticed unless they wanted to.
Alex pulled into the lot, parking beside Noah’s SUV. Olivia and Ethan were standing near the gated entrance, talking in low tones. Noah got out of the SUV, adjusting his holster as he stepped up beside Alex.
Brad joined them, flipping through his notes. "I pulled the rental records. This unit was last accessed four days ago."
Charlotte frowned. "By whom?"
Brad exhaled. "That’s the problem. Once you have a key, no one keeps track. No ID, no verified payment method. Just monthly cash deposits, using their drop box under Graves’ name. The warrant gives us access to the unit as well as any registration paperwork.”
Olivia crossed her arms. "Great. A ghost account."
Brad frowned. “Maybe we will find a fingerprint.”
Ethan checked his weapon before glancing at Charlotte. "You ready for this?"
She nodded once.
Noah opened the door to the office and the front desk. The young man, who appeared to be college-age, greeted them.
“I’d like to speak with the manager,” he said, flashing his badge. "South Dakota U.S. Attorney’s office. We need access to unit 308. We have a warrant."
The young man paled and started to shake.
“You’re not in trouble.” The corners of Noah’s lips turned up. “That is, unless you committed a crime. Did you?”
The kid ran toward the back.
Alex chuckled. “You couldn’t resist, could you?”
The manager, a tired-looking sixty-something man with nicotine-stained fingers, walked through the door behind the desk. “I hear you want to see a unit.”
Brad placed the search warrant on the desk. “Number 308.”
“You sure you wanna go in there? People leave weird shit in these places."
Brad gave him a pointed look. "We’re sure. The warrant includes any paperwork for the rental.”
The man grumbled, “308,” and opened a file drawer. “I need to make a copy.”
“We want the originals.” Noah held an evidence bag open.
With the paperwork confiscated, the manager said, “Follow me.”
The team followed the manager down a long walkway. “308.”
“Thanks, we’ve got it from here,” Alex said.
With Waverly County Police at the periphery, Noah and Ethan stood on either side. Brad sandwiched Charlotte and Olivia with Alex, who took point.
Alex held up the key. "Moment of truth." He double-checked that Charlotte and Olivia were behind him. He inserted the key into the lock and turned. The hasp clicked open. He pulled the lock free and rolled up the door. A stale, dusty smell hit them immediately.
Alex blocked Charlotte as Noah and Ethan quickly cleared the unit for any obvious danger. Charlotte stepped forward, her gaze sweeping the small, claustrophobic space, breath held tight in her chest. The room wasn’t empty — not really.
A lone fluorescent light buzzed overhead, throwing a sickly pallor over the clutter.
In one corner, battered metal shelving bowed under the weight of medical journals and textbooks.
She caught glimpses of titles—Human Experimentation and Ethics, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorders: A Clinical Study, The Evolution of Electroconvulsive Therapy—their spines cracked and greasy with age.
Beside them, a battered examination table, stained and rusted at the joints, loomed like a monument to things better left unspoken.
And in the center: a single metal chair, restraints dangling from each leg like limp hands.
A crate stamped with a bright banana logo sat next to it, absurd against the rest of the horror.
Charlotte flexed her gloved fingers once, then crossed the room. She could feel Alex and Noah behind her, silent and tense.
Noah let out a disbelieving snort. "That’s it?"
Alex moved past him, eyes scanning the floor, the walls. "This isn’t just a message. It’s a setup."
Charlotte didn’t answer. Couldn’t. Her throat was closing in. She crouched by the crate, heart hammering, and slowly lifted the lid.
Inside—files, sealed with twine. And beneath them, a heap of photographs, loose and jumbled like trash. She reached for the first one, fingers trembling despite herself.
The image cut straight through her defenses: a crime scene. One of Ward’s victims. She remembered this girl—the way her body was displayed, the obscene precision of it.
Charlotte swallowed hard, carefully pulling more photos free. They were stacked thick, one horror layered atop another, every wound documented in forensic detail. She handed the first file off to Olivia, who immediately started slipping each photo into an evidence bag, face pale.
Then Charlotte saw it—another photo tucked deep in the pile. Not a victim. Not blood or death.
Herself.
She froze. For a long, breathless second, she couldn’t move, couldn’t think.
It was her—captured in brutal, vivid color.
Crossing a parking lot. Then another of her eating lunch at her kitchen table.
One of her sitting alone on a bench at the edge of a park.
Unaware. Unprotected. All recent. Some from last week.
Alex noticed first, lunging toward her as she began to sway. He plucked the photographs from her rigid fingers and pulled her into him. She let him, too stunned to resist.
"Son of a bitch," Noah muttered, leaning closer to the photo.
Olivia’s voice shook. "Someone’s been following you."
Brad grabbed the open file, flipping quickly. "They’re all Charlotte. Every single one. If anyone else is in the frame, their face is blacked out." He whistled low. "There are... hundreds."
Ethan ripped open another file. His hands weren’t steady either. "Some of these—these are sealed court records. These aren’t copies. They’re the originals."
Charlotte’s skin crawled. The walls leaned in, pressing her down.
Alex let her go just enough to find her hand and link his fingers with hers. His grip was a lifeline, rough and grounding. "Who the hell had access to all of this?"
Charlotte’s mouth felt dry, voice barely a whisper. "Someone who wants me to remember."
And she did. Not everything. Not yet. But pieces of it. Enough to know whoever did this wasn’t bluffing. They knew exactly where to cut her open.
Alex’s jaw locked tight, fury radiating off him.
Noah rubbed his temple. "Two problems. One—someone’s waking up cases that were buried deep. Two—they’re always one step ahead."
Charlotte stared at the crate again. Beyond the fresh photos, beyond the evidence, she caught a glimpse of something handwritten. There were notes scribbled in the margins of journals. The neat, clinical language of a mind dissecting a human specimen. She tightened her grip on Alex’s hand.
He leaned in close, voice low and rough. "We’re going to find them. We’re going to end this."
Charlotte met his gaze, steady and unflinching. “Damn right we are.”
The fire in her voice didn’t match the hollow ache twisting in her gut, but she didn’t let that show.
Doubt whispered in the corners of her mind, but she shoved it down, burying it under something harder.
Her rage, resolve, memory. She’d survived worse than fear.
And if they wanted a war, they picked the wrong woman to haunt.
Alex turned back to the evidence, the tension in his shoulders taut like a bowstring. He didn’t see it yet—not the pattern, not the message. This wasn’t just a threat. It was a blueprint. Every move calculated, every piece chosen to hurt her in the most personal way possible.
But Charlotte saw it. She saw exactly what it was.
And she was already thinking four moves ahead.