Chapter 23 #2
He pulled out his phone, tapped the screen a few times with weathered fingers, then turned it toward us.
The video was grainy, black and white, clearly from a security camera with a wide-angle lens that distorted everything at the edges.
It showed Main Street at night, streetlights casting pools of sickly yellow illumination, most businesses dark except for their security lights.
Then a car appeared, moving slowly down the street, much slower than normal traffic.
It creeped along like the driver was looking for something until it pulled to a stop directly in front of my boutique and just sat there with the engine idling for what the timestamp said was four minutes and thirty-seven seconds.
Even in the poor quality footage, even through the distortion and darkness, I recognized the vehicle. Morgan's silver sedan. Distinctive and absolutely, unmistakably recognizable.
“She just sat there,” Davies said quietly, and something in his voice said he was as disturbed by this as I was.
“Didn't get out. Didn't talk to anyone that we could see on any of the cameras. Just watched. And this was happening—” He gestured at the timestamp.
“—at the exact same time the vandalism was occurring inside your boutique.”
Ice flooded my veins, cold enough to make my teeth chatter. “She knew. She was watching it happen.” Watching someone destroy my life and she just sat there in her expensive car like it was entertainment.
“That's our assessment, yes.”
“So what does that mean?” Connor asked before I could formulate the question through the rage and fear battling in my chest. His grip on my knee had become uncomfortably tight, but I didn't ask him to ease up.
The pressure was grounding, real, proof I was still here.
“Can you arrest her? Charge her with something? Anything?”
Davies shook his head slowly, and my heart sank into my stomach.
“It's circumstantial evidence at best. Suspicious, definitely.
Concerning, absolutely. But not enough for an arrest warrant, not by itself.
She accessed public records, that's not illegal even if it's suspicious and outside her normal job scope.
And being present on a public street isn't a crime, even if the timing is damning.
We can't prove she was communicating with the vandals or coordinating their actions. A good defense attorney would tear it apart.”
“Then what?” The frustration in Connor's voice matched what I was feeling, the helpless rage of knowing someone was guilty but not being able to prove it. “We just let her keep helping these people hurt Harper? Just sit here and wait for the next attack?”
“No.” Davies' voice was firm now, decisive in a way that made me look up.
“We bring her in for questioning. A formal interrogation down at the station.
Put her in an interview room, make her uncomfortable, see if we can get her to slip up, admit to something, give us concrete evidence we can use.
Sometimes people break under pressure, especially people who aren't career criminals.”
The suggestion made my stomach clench with anxiety so intense I thought I might throw up right there on Connor's coffee table.
“Won't that just make her angry?” I asked, my voice coming out higher than intended, thin with barely controlled panic.
“If she is involved with these people, and you interrogate her, if it makes her upset, won't that lead to consequences?”
The fear in my voice was obvious, pathetic. Connor heard it too and his hand moved from my knee to wrap around mine, lacing our fingers together and holding on like he was afraid I'd float away.
“It's a risk we're going to have to take, Ms. Walsh.” Davies' expression was sympathetic but immovable, the look of someone who'd made hard decisions before.
“Right now, we have nothing else to go on.
The blood evidence from the break-in came back with no matches in any database.
The DNA we found at the boutique from where they cut themselves on glass matches the DNA from the break-in here, so we can definitively tie both crimes to the same person.
But the DNA itself doesn't match anyone in the system.
No criminal record. No prior arrests. Whoever we're dealing with is either very careful or very new to this kind of work.”
He closed his notepad with a decisive snap that made me flinch.
“Morgan is our best lead right now. The only tangible connection we have between you and whoever's orchestrating these attacks.
So yes, we're going to question her. And yes, there's a risk it could make things worse in the short term.
But doing nothing guarantees they'll escalate anyway.
These people don't just stop on their own.”
The logic was sound. I knew it was, I could follow the reasoning even through the fear. But that didn't stop the panic from crawling up my throat or make the thought of Morgan being interrogated any less terrifying.
Sheriff Davies stood from his chair, his knees creaking slightly with the movement in a way that said he was getting too old for this job.
“I need to head back to the station, start preparing for Morgan's interrogation.
Coordinate with the prosecutor's office, make sure we have our questions lined up properly. But I promise to keep you updated on anything we learn.”
Connor rose as well, releasing my hand to shake Davies' with a firm grip. “Thank you, Sheriff. For everything you're doing. For not giving up on this.”
“Just doing my job.” But Davies' expression said it was more than that, it said he cared about the outcome in a way that went beyond professional obligation.
“Ms. Walsh, try to get some rest. I know that's easier said than done, but you look exhausted.
When's the last time you slept through the night?”
I don't remember, the thought came unbidden.
But I just nodded and gave him a weak smile that probably looked more like a grimace. “I'll try.”
Jaxon, who'd been leaning against the doorframe throughout the entire conversation, silent and watchful in that way he had when he was assessing threats and calculating worst-case scenarios, pushed off and followed Connor and Davies outside onto the porch.
I could hear their voices through the walls, muffled but urgent, discussing things they probably didn't want me to hear.
Protection strategies, probably. Increased vigilance. What to do if Morgan retaliated before they could question her. Whether I should leave town for a while.
I stared at the coffee table in front of me. The same one where Connor and I had eaten countless meals, where I'd done boutique paperwork while he did ranch accounts, where Chester liked to rest his chin and beg for scraps with those big brown eyes that were impossible to resist.
Nothing felt safe anymore. Every familiar thing felt like a target, like something that could be taken away or destroyed the moment I started to believe in it.
A movement broke my line of sight. Anna settled onto the edge of the coffee table, her blue eyes concerned in that gentle way that made my throat tight, her blonde hair pulled back in a casual ponytail.
I blinked, startled. “Anna…I forgot you were here. I'm sorry.”
She gave me a small, understanding smile and shifted to sit next to me on the couch instead, close enough that our shoulders touched. “Don't apologize. That was intense. Are you okay?”
“I don't know.” The honest answer, the only one I had anymore. “I don't know what okay even feels like anymore. I think I forgot.”
She and Jaxon had come over this morning to talk about wedding plans, I remembered distantly.
Anna had been excited, talking about venues, flowers, and whether they should do a summer or fall wedding.
She showed me pictures on her phone of dresses and centerpieces.
I'd tried to be enthusiastic and engage and ask the right questions, but everything felt muted.
Distant. Like I was watching someone else's life through a foggy window.
Then Davies had shown up, said he wanted to share his news in person rather than over the phone, and wedding plans had been forgotten in favor of discussing my ongoing nightmare.
Guilt twisted in my stomach, sharp and acidic.
Anna had been so happy this morning, practically glowing as she talked about her special day, and I'd ruined it.
Turned what should have been a joyful morning of planning her future into another crisis management session centered entirely around me and my disasters.
She'd driven over here with Jaxon, probably spent hours picking out those dress pictures to show me, and I couldn't even give her one morning without my problems taking over.
I was a black hole, sucking all the joy and light out of every room I entered. Anna deserved better than a friend who was too broken to celebrate with her and too traumatized to focus on anything but her own crumbling life.
I yawned unexpectedly, my jaw cracking with the force of it, exhaustion washing over me in a wave. I shifted deeper into the couch cushions.
"Anna, I'm really tired," I admitted quietly, the understatement of the century. "I don't know if I'll be much help with wedding planning today. I'm sorry."
“That's okay.” She patted my leg gently, her touch careful like I was made of glass.
“We can postpone. The wedding isn't for another three months at least, we have time.
Right now, let's just relax. Maybe eat some breakfast? The guys will be outside talking for a while. We can have some catch-up time. Just us.”
The thought of food made my stomach turn uncomfortably and bile rose in my throat. “I'm not really feeling up for breakfast.”