Chapter 25

St. Augustine's humid breeze crept in through a cracked window, wrapping around me like an omen. Later that same night,I sat on the edge of the Airbnb's couch, my skin prickling with the eerie sensation of unseen eyes boring into my back. My hand paused mid-air, the spoonful of ice cream forgotten as I scanned the darkening street outside. The lampposts cast long shadows, and for a fleeting second, I was sure one shifted against the rhythm of the swaying palms.

"Stop it, Eva Rae," I muttered to myself, dismissing the paranoiaand returning to the ice cream I had allowed myself as a reward for my victory. Cases sometimes got under my skinandmade me jump at my own shadow. But this was different—instinct honed from years in the field scratched at my consciousness, warning me not to ignore the feeling.

The sudden crash of the door slamming open shattered the evening's calm, and my heart catapulted into my throat. Detective Larson barreled into the room, his bulky frame filling the space with oppressive energy. His eyes, dark as the night engulfing us, glinted with a fury that rooted me to the spot.

"Thomas!" he barked, his voice a guttural growl.

I set the ice cream aside, standing to face him, my pulse racing yet my voice steady. "What's going on here, Larson?"

"Cut the crap!" He advanced one step, then another, closing the gap between us. His hands were clenched, knuckles white—a tempest barely contained. "You've ruined my life, my career! Go back to where you came from or?—"

"Or what?" I shot back, meeting his glare head-on. Fear clawed at my insides, but I pushed it down, standing my ground. "You'll do what, exactly?"

His breath was hot and heavy, reeking of coffee and something darker, something sour. Alcohol. He had been drinking. We were inches apart, a dangerous dance playing out in the dimly lit room. The walls seemed to close in, suffocating, as the detective's shadow loomed over me.

"I'm not playing games, Thomas." His voice had dropped to a venomous hiss. "This is your last warning."

My hand twitched toward my phone, the urge to call for backup rising like bile. But I needed more than just my gut telling me Larson was dirty. I needed proof, something solid. And if he was willing to storm in here like a raging bull, who knew what else he was capable of?

"Warning heard," I said coolly, locking eyes with him. "Now, get out."

He studied me for a moment, the storm in his eyes swirling with conflict. His eyes narrowed, a dangerous glint surfacing as I remained immovable, an oak amidst his storm.

"Why are you so eager to get rid of me? What are you afraid will come to light?" I asked.

"Me? Afraid?" He scoffed, the sound sharp as shattered glass. "You're the interloper here, Thomas. Poking around where you don't belong."

"Because there's something wrong with this case," I persisted, my voice steady as a heartbeat despite the pounding in my chest. "There was a reason Carol lied, wasn't there?"

Larson's face contorted, a mask of fury replacing any pretense of professionalism. "Are you accusing me of something?" he spat, his words laced with poison.

"Are you telling me I shouldn't be?" I countered, keeping my tone level though my insides roiled with tension.

That was the spark that lit his fuse. In a flash, he was upon me, his hand snaking out, fingers like steel as they clamped around my collar. He shoved me, my back slamming against the wall with a thud that rattled my bones. His breath scorched my face, each word a serrated edge cutting through the air.

"Listen, you meddling little?—"

"Detective," I gasped, struggling to maintain clarity as fear clawed its way up my throat. "This isn't the way."

"Shut it!" The pressure on my collar tightened, his grip unforgiving. "You've been a thorn in my side since you arrived, and I'm done playing nice."

"Assaulting an FBI agent," I managed to choke out, "isn't playing at all."

"Who's going to believe you?" His snarl was right in my ear, his threat unmistakable. "I'll make sure you never interfere again."

I felt the cold press of the wall through my shirt, the hard reality of my situation setting in. This man was desperate, dangerous—a cornered animal with nothing to lose. His eyes, mere slits of unbridled rage, told me everything I needed to know. If I didn't actor find some way out, my story would end here, in this nondescript room, far from those I loved.

"Think about what you're doing," I tried, my voice barely more than a whisper, but every syllable was a defiance, a refusal to succumb to the darkness encroaching on the edges of my vision. "Is it worth it, Larson? Is it really worth your badge, your honor?"

"Shut up!" The violence in his shout shook me to the core. I stared into the abyss of his fury, knowing I was dangling over the precipice by nothing more than his wavering self-control.

"Your call," I breathed, the words slipping out like a prayer, hoping against hope that somewhere within this broken man, a shred of decency remained.

The air hitched in my throat, the world narrowing to the brute force of his grip on my collar. Instincts honed through years in the field surged… a split-second glance at his exposed torso.

Now.

"Ugh!" My foot shot out, connecting with his abdomen. He grunted, the shock loosening his hands for that critical heartbeat.

"Damn you, Eva Rae!" he cursed, recoiling.

I twisted free, stumbling back. Adrenaline surged. Focus. I dove for my phone, skidding across the laminate floor.

"911, what's your emergency?"

"Detective Larson… he's here," I panted, "He attacked me. I need police."

"Stay on the line, ma'am. Officers are on their way."

"Fast, please," I managed, eyeing him, wary of another charge. It came seconds later. But not the way I had thought it would. I pressed record on my phone.

Larson's shadow stretched across the floor like a stain. He bolted for the door, but I was quicker, my body propelled by a cocktail of fear and fury. I intercepted him, blocking the doorway with an outstretched arm.

"Move," he hissed, eyes darting.

"Not a chance," I replied, voice steady despite the drumming of my heart.

Outside, sirens wailed their approach, the sound growing louder, more insistent. Panic flickered across Larson's face, his facade crumbling.

"Damn you, Eva Rae," he spat. "You don't understand. I had to stop her—Carol. She was going to ruin everything."

"By telling the truth?" I edged closer, cornering him. "By admitting she had lied? A lie you told her to tell?"

"Truth?" A bitter laugh escaped him. "She loved Will. Obsessed. When he rejected her after his wife died, she wanted revenge. It was perfect until you showed up. Carol got scaredandsaid she'd confess to the lie. I couldn't allow that."

"Couldn't allow justice?" I pressed.

"Justice?" Larson sneered. "I made sure justice was done! Until you ruined it all. Will killed his wife, and I knew it. But the evidence… it was never enough. I had to ensure it."

"By telling a witness to tell a lie? By killing Carol because she wanted to tell the truth? By framing an innocent man?" My voice cracked like a whip.

"Will is not innocent!" His roar filled the room, but the nearing sirens swallowed his protest.

"Then why tamper with evidence, Larson? Why frame me?"

"Because you were close, too damn close. You always are." Desperation laced his words. "I needed to silence Carol and you and was hoping to get you to go down for her murder. You were ruining my case against Will. He was going to go free. And he did, damn it. Because of you!"

"Then, you confess?" I needed him to say it. "You murdered Carol Rudolph?"

"Confess?" He laughed again, hollow. "Sure, I confess. I got rid of her before she could tell anyone. Just like I'll get rid of you. Happy now?"

"Ecstatic," I muttered, the sirens a crescendo outside.

My thumb hovered over the record button on my phone, my breath suspended. Shock grappled with instinct as Larson's confession twisted in the charged air. I pressed down, a silent click anchoring his words to memory—digital proof of his monstrous betrayal.

The wail of sirens surged, their urgency slicing through the tension. Blue and red lights danced across the walls, an eerie prelude to the reckoning that awaited. Larson's eyes flicked toward the window, then back at me, cornered prey in a trap of his own making.

"Damn you!" His voice was a thunderclap as officers burst through the door.

"Police! Hands up!" they barked in unison.

Larson raised his hands but hurled his fury at me. "This is your fault, Eva Rae!"

"Turn around!" An officer stepped forward, cuffing him with a cold click of finality.

"You ruined me!" He thrashed against the grip of law, spit flying. "If you hadn't stuck your nose where it didn't belong, we'd have him behind bars by now. You think you're so clean? You're a meddler, a?—"

"Save it for your statement," I shot back, heart hammering yet steady.

"I'm taking you down with me—" His threat cut short as he stumbled, forced out by the officers.

"Watch your head," one said dryly, shoving Larson into the car outside.

I stood there, the echo of chaos fading, replaced with a deep silence that hummed with victory and loss. The detective's downfall was recorded on my phone, his curses lingering like ghosts.

The car door slammed shut, echoing down the quiet street. My hand was steady as I extended the phone to the officer still standing in the doorway.

"Here," I said, voice devoid of tremor. "Everything's on there. His confession."

He took it, nodding once, and turned away to listen. The screen's glow illuminated his face—a somber mask as the recorded venom spilled into the night.

"Good work, Agent Thomas," he muttered without looking up.

A shiver darted through me, not from the night air but from what lay within that device—the truth in digital form. My gaze fixed on Larson, now caged in the back seat of a squad car, his silhouette thrumming with silent rage.

"Thomas?" Another officer approached, notebook in hand. "We'll need your full statement."

"Of course." The words were mechanical, a reflex in the aftermath. I felt my neck and the bruises he was bound to have left.

"Take your time. We've got him." He gestured toward the car, where Larson's muffled shouts were barely discernible behind reinforced glass.

"Thank you," I whispered, my gratitude genuine but fatigued.

As they drove the car away, red lights painting the night, my legs buckled slightly, catching myself against the window frame. Relief surged like an adrenaline comedown, leaving my muscles weak and my mind frayed at the edges.

I watched the squad car disappear around the corner, the blare of the sirens fading into the distance. It was over—the threat, the lies, the confrontation—all distilled into the receding pulse of police lights.

"Agent Thomas?" The first officer handed back my phone, his expression unreadable. "I managed to copy the recording onto my computer."

"Call me Eva Rae," I corrected, reclaiming the device, its surface now oddly warm against my palm.

"Sure thing… Eva Rae." He offered a tight smile. "Get some rest. We'll be in touch."

"Rest," I echoed, knowing sleep would elude me, chased away by the shadows of what had transpired.

The officers left, their departure as brisk as their entrance, leaving me alone with the silence of the Airbnb, the memory of violence still clinging to the walls.

I sank into the worn armchair, the clamor of my heartbeat loud in my ears. The detective's confession reverberated through the hollows of my mind, each word a heavy stone in the fabric of the case. Carol's face flickered behind my eyelids—her life, her secrets, all buried under his ambition.

"Damn it," I muttered, rubbing my temples. My fingers trembled, betraying the adrenaline still coursing through me. I needed to calm down, to rest. But first, I had to let him know, let Matt know I was safe.

The phone felt alien in my hand as I dialed, the screen's glow glaring against the darkening room. One ring. Two. Then Matt's voice, a steady anchor in the chaos.

"Matt, it's me," I said, voice thick, a tear betraying my composure.

"Eva Rae? What's wrong?" His concern pierced through the line, immediate and sharp.

"I caught the detective," I managed to say. "But not until after he attacked me. He confessed to everything, though, so that's good."

"Jesus, Eva Rae…." He paused, the weight of his exhale traveling the distance between us. "Are you hurt?"

"Shaken. Not broken." A half-truth; my soul felt cracked at the edges.

"Thank God. I worry about you, you know that?" His voice softened, a balm to the night's violence.

"I'm coming home," I whispered, the words a promise, a plea for normalcy. "Tomorrow, as soon as I wake up."

"Good," he said, relief evident. "We all miss you. You've been gone too long."

"Miss you, too," I confessed, a sob catching in my throat.

"Stay safe tonight," he added. "Please."

"Always," I assured him, though we both knew the promise was as fragile as the silence around me.

Closing the call, I sat motionless, gathering the shards of courage scattered by the night's revelations. Tomorrow, I'd leave this place. For now, I held onto the threads of home, weaving them into armor against the darkness.