Chapter 23
Twenty-Three
Thursday
Charlotte woke to the smell of coffee. Strong.
Fresh. The kind Alex made—none of that watered-down machine brew.
Then came the unmistakable sound of bacon sizzling, the rhythmic clatter of a pan shifting on the stove, footsteps across the kitchen floor.
For a moment, she just lay there, eyes still closed, letting herself absorb it.
Normalcy. A man downstairs. Coffee. Breakfast. A heartbeat in the house besides her own.
She sat up slowly, her body stiff from too little sleep and too many ghosts.
The bedroom was still in recovery mode, boxes stacked against one wall, the photo of Chuck and her propped back on the nightstand.
The scent of the coffee pulled her forward.
She glanced out the window. Early light. Just past seven.
Of course he was already up. Showered, judging by the faint smell of his aftershave.
She knew Alex well enough to know he kept a go bag in his car—pressed shirts, clean slacks, toiletries, backup everything.
He was always prepared. It made him a great investigator. And a hard man to catch off guard.
Charlotte showered fast, dressed faster. She didn’t like the feeling of someone else waiting on her, even if it was just breakfast. When she came downstairs, Alex was plating eggs and toast, moving like he belonged there—not entitled, not intrusive. Just present.
“You didn’t have to do this.” She reached for the coffee mug already waiting at her spot on the counter.
“Yesterday was a long day,” he said over his shoulder. “Figured this was a good place to start.” He set the plate in front of her. Scrambled eggs, bacon, sourdough toast with a smear of butter. Her favorite, though she never remembered telling him that.
He poured himself a cup of coffee, leaned against the counter, and sipped.
She took one bite. The food was perfect. Of course it was. “I appreciate this.”
He nodded. Then his tone shifted, just a touch firmer. “But if I’m going to keep helping you, we need to be clear.”
Charlotte froze mid-bite. “I’m listening.”
He set his cup down and met her eyes. “I’m not here to play backup. I’m not here to get left behind while you chase ghosts in the dark. You want me on this, you loop me in. Every step.”
She raised an eyebrow. “I’ve done fine without?—”
“No, you haven’t,” he cut in, calm but sharp. “You’ve survived. You’ve isolated. You’ve buried everything until it boiled over. And now someone’s digging through your life and leaving bodies in your backyard.”
She didn’t answer.
“I have the badge, Charlotte. I have the clearance, the clout, and the people. You want to chase Ward’s ghost? You want to protect your girls? Then don’t freeze me out.”
She opened her mouth to argue.
He raised a hand. “Who got you in to see Ward?”
She snapped her jaw shut.
“Exactly,” he said. “We do this together. Or not at all.”
She studied him for a long moment. Not out of defiance. But because part of her hated how much she needed him. Trusted him.
“Okay,” she said quietly. “Together.”
He nodded once, grabbed another slice of toast, and tossed it on her plate. “Good. Eat up. Because we’ve got work to do.”
She smiled into her coffee. Just a little. For the first time in a while, she didn’t feel isolated. And that was terrifying. But also—hopeful.
They finished breakfast quickly, then Charlotte rinsed her plate and poured a second cup of coffee to go. Alex stepped out onto the back porch to make a call, and she watched him through the screen door, phone pressed to his ear, posture tense.
She sipped her coffee and braced herself. When he came back in, his expression hadn’t changed, but she could read the fatigue in his eyes.
Charlotte exhaled, jaw tight. “We’re still flying blind?”
Alex grabbed his keys from the counter. “Let’s check in with the task force. The tech center at the college is where they're set up. Ethan and Brad are already pulling resources. My team is there too. You can share what you learned at the prison.”
They got in her SUV. She insisted on driving, and, within minutes, they were heading down the old highway into town. The early light cut through the trees in gold streaks, but neither of them said much. Just the road, the hum of tires, and the unspoken urgency tightening around them.
As they approached the college, Alex finally spoke. “There’s something you need to know,” he said. “Day before yesterday, just before Byron showed up on your porch, highway patrol picked up a woman walking along Route 83. Catatonic. Didn’t respond to her name.”
Charlotte frowned. “Name?”
“Mara Dwyer. She’s been missing six months. Vanished from her apartment in Spring Hill. No signs of struggle. No leads.”
Charlotte felt the hairs on her arms rise.
“She’s not showing any awareness of basic needs,” Alex said, glancing at her. “She won’t even use the bathroom without assistance. She's being evaluated at the Blackwell Institute.”
Charlotte gripped the steering wheel a little tighter. “Ward wasn’t working alone.”
“No,” Alex said. “He wasn’t.”
She nodded slowly. “His last words… He looked me in the eye and said, ‘It’s not me. It’s them.’ Then he died.”
Alex said nothing.
“We searched the cell,” she went on. “Warden swore there was nothing there, but Graham and I went in anyway. Underneath the top bunk—he had the bottom—he’d written everything. In blood, or something like it. A message.”
“What kind of message?”
“Like a journal. A guide. He listed his methods. And thirty-eight names.”
Alex turned his head slowly. “Thirty-eight?”
She nodded. “We need to run them down. Byron wasn’t on the list.”
Alex leaned back in his seat, jaw tense. “Then that’s where we start. After the task force briefing. We take that list and start finding out who’s still breathing—and who’s not.”
Charlotte pulled into the college parking lot. The building was already swarming—marked cruisers, unmarked SUVs, officers coming in and out with laptops and evidence boxes.
She parked and shut off the engine.
“You ready?” Alex asked.
Charlotte looked at him. No. She wasn’t. Not for this. Not for what they might uncover. Not for the truth she'd buried when she walked away from the county police department.
But she nodded. “Let’s go.”
Charlotte and Alex walked into the conference room, the door swinging closed behind them with a soft thud. Alex carried a box, worn and taped at the edges, full of the Ward interview tapes, films and files—each one a fragment of the case that had clawed its way under their skin.
Noah, Brad, and Ethan were already there, each posted up in a corner with their own version of control: notebooks, printouts, laptops glowing with half-written thoughts. They’d staked out their space like they knew the work ahead would get messy.
And then there was Graham Cullen.
He was sitting beside Ethan, speaking low, gesturing with one hand like he was trying to thread a needle through facts too tight to tug apart.
His presence wasn’t expected, and Charlotte stiffened the moment she saw him.
Alex caught it—just a flicker in her posture, but he kept his expression flat, his own thoughts filing themselves away in the background.
Ethan looked up as they entered. A quick nod to both, eyes sharp but unreadable. He walked to the head of the room, and just like that, the low hum of conversation dropped out.
“Alright, let’s get into it.” Ethan’s tone was clipped, all business, something tight in his delivery—like he was keeping things close to the chest. As he went through updates and new directions, he finally mentioned the list of names—ones Graham and Charlotte flagged during their death bed visit with Gideon Ward.
But that was all he said. No breakdown, no process, no explanation. Just a brief nod to the work, and then he moved on.
Alex felt it immediately. The omission. The distance.
Ethan didn’t want him involved in that side of things.
When he started handing out assignments, the message got clearer.
“I want Brad and Alex on Mara Dwyer.” He stepped in close enough to keep the conversation private.
“Brad, your temperament—your presence—it might break through. Alex’s initial report said she appears like everything has been wiped clean.
I spoke with Tristan; she seems incapable of any task.
I would love to give her all the time in the world to heal. We just don’t have it.”
Brad nodded, arms crossed, giving a short grunt of agreement.
Then Ethan turned to Alex. A glance, a beat longer than needed. “You good?”
Alex didn’t answer right away, then gave a simple, “Yeah.” It wasn’t defensive, but it wasn’t open either.
“I’m putting Noah and Charlotte on the Ward tapes,” Ethan continued. “Graham’s going to join them. He brought in his notebooks as well. I want eyes and ears on every angle. Maybe Noah can see something they missed.”
And just like that, the room shifted again.
Alex didn’t show it, but inside, he felt it settle—solid and cold. Ethan didn’t want him near Graham. Didn’t want him working with Charlotte on this piece of the case.
Fine.
He turned toward the door, where Brad was already starting to gather his things. But before they could leave, Graham stood and crossed the room.
“Alex.” He offered his hand. “Graham Cullen.”
Alex shook it, meeting his eyes.
“I’ve heard good things,” Graham said with the kind of warmth that was practiced but not fake. “I know my showing up might feel a little… abrupt. Just wanted to say—I’m not here to step on toes. I respect what you’ve built. I’m just trying to add to it.”
Alex gave a slight nod, measured. “Alright.”
Graham smiled—small, genuine—and didn’t press further. Then he stepped back, giving Alex space, and turned toward Charlotte and Noah.
Alex watched him go. He didn’t distrust Graham. But he didn’t trust him either.
Brad tapped him on the shoulder. “You ready?”
Alex gave one last glance at the team forming across the room. Then he grabbed his pack and followed Brad out.