Chapter 5
Quinn
The metal table between us gleamed under the fluorescent lights, so polished I could see my reflection in it if I cared to look. I didn’t. I kept my gaze fixed on the man across from me—my client.
Amos Anderson was known to the media—to this town—as the Shadow Stalker. Someone who still haunted this place even from behind bars.
To me, he was nothing more than a job. A client I had to serve. I couldn’t allow him to be anything more, or less, than that.
He sat motionless, cuffed at the wrists. A chain was secured around his waist and bolted to the table. Even so, there was something loose about him, like he was comfortable here. Like he could belong anywhere because the world was his.
This was only the second time I had seen him in person after the hearing last week. In the courtroom, he had looked expressively blank. His body language had been neutral, if not slightly passive.
Today was different entirely, and I tried not to let that bother me.
I’d done this before. More times than I could count. I’d dealt with violent offenders, accused killers, and men who swore they were misunderstood. You learned to separate the person from the case. To stay objective. To remember that everyone was innocent until proved guilty.
That was the code I lived by.
Mr. Anderson hadn’t spoken since the guards locked him down and left. The silence stretched thin between us. Finally, I threw my shoulders back and broke it.
“What can I help you with today?”
He smiled—a little too wide, his teeth shockingly white. “I was so impressed with you in that courtroom the other day,” he said, his voice soft but authoritative. As if he were used to people listening to him when he spoke. “You were…captivating.”
I forced myself not to react, uncertain how to take that. Compliments from accused serial killers weren’t exactly comforting.
But in this room, when I was acting as his lawyer, he was nothing but my client. I had to remember that.
“Well,” I said evenly, flipping open the folder set before me, “I’ve been working extremely hard on your case. The firm is giving this their all.”
His smile didn’t budge. “I expect nothing less.”
He leaned forward, eyes raking over me in a way that made a thread of unease shoot up my spine. I ignored it. This was part of the job. I needed him to trust me, to believe that I believed him.
I poised my pen over my legal pad, pretending not to notice how the chain around his wrists rattled when he shifted. “So,” I continued, “what would you like to accomplish with our weekly meetings? What can I do for you?”
His face brightened. “Oh, I’m sure there’s so much you can do for me.” He leaned back again, the metal links scraping against the table. “But mainly, I want you to keep me updated on the case and what you’re working on. That’ll be enough, I think—for now.”
That I could do.
I began going through my notes, outlining strategies the firm was considering, motions the team was drafting, and ways to frame discovery. He listened—or at least, he seemed to. His focus was unnerving in itself, steady and sharp.
As the minutes passed, I began to relax. I lost myself in the technicalities of law, of everything I spent my days working on.
When I allowed a pause to go on a little too long, he finally spoke again.
“How are you liking Ember Hollow?”
I froze, pen hovering above the notepad. “I’m sorry?” I glanced up.
He smiled again, casual, as if we were old friends chatting over coffee. “The town. Do you like it?”
It wasn’t the question I’d expected. Had he been listening at all to anything I’d been speaking about for the last fifteen minutes?
My jaw tightened. “It’s…fine. I’ve been busy.”
Busy was an understatement. It had been a week since I’d arrived, and I was still living out of my overnight bag, waiting for my things to be delivered. I’d almost driven back to Cincinnati more than once, but Preston kept assuring me they were on their way.
I was thankful to Raleigh for letting me use the laundry multiple times and even loaning me some clothes.
It had been absolutely mortifying when I woke up one morning to find her standing outside my door, holding a neatly folded pile and offering them to me.
She’d framed it as if she were getting rid of some old things, but I didn’t really believe that.
She’d probably noticed that I wore the same court-appropriate clothes every single day.
I both hated and appreciated the little bed-and-breakfast. It wasn’t the kind of place where I felt like I belonged, but it was quiet at night and comfortable enough.
Most days, I spent my time working at an isolated table in the library, hidden deep between the stacks of the study where no one would bother me.
I’d only come across Graham a few more times since that first day, and each time, I’d made sure to keep myself occupied with work.
I kept moving until I was too tired to think, or do anything but fall straight into bed.
“I see,” he said slowly. “Are you staying in town?”
The back of my neck prickled. “I am.”
He nodded, lips curling. “I’m sure the Ramseys are taking good care of you.”
The prickle at the back of my neck turned into full-blown chills that trickled down my spine.
He must have noticed, because he chuckled. “Don’t worry. I only presume so because it’s the only real place to stay in town.”
Right. Of course. Heat spread across my chest at the fact that I’d accidentally given him the address of where I was staying. It wouldn’t matter, but I shouldn’t be answering any personal questions anyways. I made a mental note to redirect as best I could when he did.
Before I responded, a sharp knock sounded on the metal door.
A deputy cracked it open, poking her head inside and waiting. My client looked almost disappointed. “Time already?” He sighed. “Ah, well. I look forward to our next meeting, Ms. Carpenter.”
I gathered my notes, forcing a polite smile. “Is there anything in particular you’d like me to have prepared for next time?”
He stood as another officer joined the deputy to unlock the chain from the table, the rattle so loud I felt it in my teeth. My client’s eyes slid over me once more.
“Yes, actually,” he said, voice almost pleasant. “Tell Dr. Ramsey I miss our correspondence.”
Before I could ask what he meant, the deputies were already leading him out.
The door shut with a heavy metallic click, and I was alone again.
Ireturned to the bed-and-breakfast after leaving the jail.
It felt strange to be back so early in the day, but I didn’t want to go to the library and work.
I wasn’t sure what it was, but a deep ache in my bones was exhausting me.
Maybe it was the fluorescent lights, or the sound of the chains rattling, or the way Mr. Anderson’s gaze roamed over me.
Whatever it was, I was drained. I hoped an hour of rest would help get me back on track so the day wasn’t an entire waste.
When I stepped inside, the air smelled faintly of coffee and baked goods. Raleigh was constantly in the kitchen, making breads and cookies and pastries. If I wasn’t careful, my clothes weren’t going to fit…if they ever showed up here. Raleigh was an amazing cook.
I stiffened when I caught sight of him in my peripheral.
Graham sat in one of the armchairs by the fire in the living room, a book open in his lap. He looked so at ease. My skin prickled at his proximity, but I ignored it—and him, like I always did if I ran into him. Without a word, I crossed through the entryway and climbed the stairs.
I stopped short as I opened the door to my room.
Several boxes were stacked neatly inside, off to the right. Relief flooded me so fast I almost laughed. My things had finally arrived. Thank God. I’d started to think they never would.
Too excited to wait, I dropped my bag and tore into them, pulling clothes from crinkled tissue paper and hanging them in the closet. I folded others into the dresser drawers. The clothes were familiar and smelling faintly like home. I could wear something different every day now if I wanted to.
I almost cried.
Reaching for the last box, I froze. A manila envelope was taped to the top, my name written across it in handwriting I didn’t recognize. It wasn’t Preston’s. It wasn’t my assistant’s either.
Confusion creased my forehead. I peeled it off carefully, my pulse thrumming as I turned it over in my hands.
I slipped a finger under the flap and opened it.
Nothing could’ve prepared me for what I found inside.
A single sheet of paper slid out—a scanned image of an old newspaper. My blood ran cold. I recognized it instantly. The local paper from my hometown. The headline had been burned into my brain since the day it was printed: “Local Man Charged in Attack on Sister.”
My hands began to shake. I didn’t read the article. I didn’t have to. I’d lived it.
A smaller note caught my attention, taped to the corner and scrawled in the same handwriting.
Have you always loved monsters?
My throat closed. The room tilted as the air thinned until I had to suck in a sharp, unsteady breath just to keep standing.
My mind shuffled through who could’ve done this and came up infuriatingly empty.
No one at the firm knew about my past. I hadn’t told anyone.
Without thinking, I ran from the room, pulse pounding in my ears.
I stumbled down the stairs, scanning the space until my eyes latched onto him.
I wasn’t sure why it was my first instinct. He was the only one who could be holding a grudge against me for tripping him up on the stand. I wasn’t sure how he discovered my past, but I was going to find out.
Graham looked up from his book, legs crossed, brow furrowing as soon as he saw me. He set his book on the table beside him, leaning forward but not yet standing.
I stood there, breaths heavy as I held up the envelope. “What the hell is this?”
He stood then, his frown sharp as his stare flicked between my face and the large envelope in my hand.
My heart beat wildly against my ribs like a caged animal thrashing against bars. I felt like I might throw up or pass out. I fought against both.
“I have no idea what that is.”
My gaze bore into him. I couldn’t tell whether he was lying. I bit the inside of my cheek, trying to force myself to calm down. To think clearly.
Something was different in the way Graham looked at me; there was less anger and something more…concerned.
“What is it, Quinn?” He stared at the envelope, genuine curiosity in his tone.
Without thinking, I hid it behind my back.
If Graham hadn’t been the one to leave it, the last thing I wanted to do was show him what it was.
Maybe this was Preston’s idea of a joke.
Or some twisted way of reminding me he was still technically in charge.
I hadn’t told him about my history, but I wouldn’t put it past him to go digging.
“It’s nothing.” I turned back to the stairs.
“Wait,” Graham said quickly. I looked back; his expression was tight. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing,” I said too sharply. The sound of it almost made me flinch. He hadn’t done anything wrong. At least I didn’t think he had. I had a sense for when people were lying to me, and there was no malice in Graham’s expression.
I forced another breath, softening my tone. “It’s fine. I’m just…tired. And I smell like the jail. I think I just need to shower.”
I started back toward the stairs, but his voice stopped me again, urgent this time.
“What were you at the jail for?”
I turned, startled to find him standing closer than I expected. He was only a few feet away now, expression guarded.
“What do you think?” I stared at him, incredulous. “I was meeting with my client.”
A beat of silence pulsed between us.
“Alone?”
I resisted the urge to roll my eyes. “I’m the only one from the firm in town.”
“You shouldn’t be meeting with him alone.” His tone was stiff, like he was holding something back.
The words of Mr. Anderson drifted through my mind.
Tell Dr. Ramsey I miss our correspondence.
I wondered what kind of “correspondence” my client had been talking about. What could possibly connect them? Graham had been hired by the state. Anderson shouldn’t have been communicating at all with him.
“He’s my client, Graham.” I shook my head, not wanting to continue to explain myself. “He can’t hurt me. He’s chained to a table.”
He didn’t say anything, but a muscle in his jaw ticced.
I stared at Graham, really taking him in. I hadn’t let myself look too hard since I’d met him in the library that first day, but I allowed myself to now.
He was older than me, closer to forty, but he was in ridiculous shape.
He wasn’t overly muscular like his one brother I’d seen come and go through the house, but he was strong.
His shoulders were broad and arms visibly toned through the button-up shirt.
His facial features were reminiscent of his father’s, but softer somehow.
His blue eyes were all his own, though. Eyes that if I looked too hard or long, I might suffocate in.
He was usually clean-shaven, but he had a shadow of stubble on his jaw.
“Just…be careful,” he eventually said. “There’s more than one way to hurt someone.”
A pang shot through my chest at the truth of that, but I chose not to acknowledge it. I’d spent years building my armor. There wasn’t much anyone could do to break through it now.
“I can take care of myself.”
Then I left him standing there, staring after me as I climbed the stairs, hands clenched into fists at his sides.
Back in my room, I closed the door and locked it.
I stared at the envelope clutched in my hand for a long moment. Instinctively, I reached for my watch, running my finger over the cool glass of the watch face. It wasn’t mine, which was why it was so big on me.
No, it had once been his—my brother. Austin. It was the only thing I had left of him.
My hands trembled as I tore the envelope and the paper inside into small, uneven, confetti-like scraps. I tossed them into the small fireplace on the wall opposite the bed. The original tiles surrounding it gleamed but were cold as I knelt on them.
I struck a match from a glass vase on the mantel, dropped it in, and watched the paper blacken and curl until there was nothing left but ash.