Chapter 49

Iwas sitting in the hotel room the next morning when my phone suddenly rang. "Hello?

"Yes, this is Monica Chapman."

"Victoria's grandmother and the mother of Steven Chapman, yes, I remember you. How can I help you?"

"You left your card here when you were here to talk to Victoria, and now she's asking for you. She says she has something important to tell you, something she suddenly remembered, so I thought I'd…."

I sat up straight. "You did the right thing. I'll be right there."

"Thank you."

We hung up, and I grabbed my purse. I looked at Matt, who was napping on the bed with Angel. I had taken the two older kids to school earlier in the morning, but Angel had been allowed to stay home from preschool and Matt to skip his physical therapy—just for today.

Slipping into yesterday"s jeans, lying crumpled on the floor, I fumbled with the buttons, my fingers clumsy with haste. My mind churned, trying to piece together the fragmented puzzle of Victoria"s fractured memories.

Shoes. Keys. Wallet. Each item slapped into my palm as if gravity had intensified, pulling them toward me with the weight of the situation. I left Matt a note, then slid out. The door slammed shut behind me; the warm morning air slapped my face, jolting my senses awake.

The car tires squealed as I backed out of the parking lot, and the car's engine growled in response to my leaden foot on the gas pedal.

Turning onto Monica"s street, the familiar sight of the house, now a sanctuary for Victoria, loomed ahead. It stood solemn and silent, holding its breath for the secrets it sheltered.

I killed the engine and leaped from the car, barely feeling the gravel crunch underfoot as I raced up the path. Every second counted; every heartbeat was a drumroll to revelation.

The door creaked open before my knuckles could rap against the mahogany. Monica"s silhouette filled the frame, her face an ashen mask of worry.

"Thank God you"re here." Her voice was a whisper lost in the cavernous hallway. She beckoned with a trembling hand, and I followed her lead.

The thick carpet muffled our footsteps as we navigated through the dimly lit corridor. Shadows clung to the corners, and the air hung heavy with the scent of antiseptic and something floral, trying to mask the truth of illness.

At the doorway to Victoria"s room, Monica paused, her eyes locking onto mine. "She"s been so fragile… and her eyes are sensitive to the lights lately; that's why I keep her in the darkness, but she's very determined to speak to you."

I nodded, swallowing the lump forming in my throat. Inside, the room was draped in darkness, curtains drawn tight. The light from the hallway cast a soft glow over the bed where Victoria lay, a pale wraith amidst the tangle of white sheets.

"Victoria?" My voice felt intrusive in the hushed stillness.

Her head turned, and for a moment, her wide, clear eyes found mine. The ghost of a smile flickered across her lips as recognition sparked.

"Hey, Agent Thomas," she breathed out, the sound barely more than the rustle of leaves in the wind.

"Hey, yourself." I pulled a chair close, its legs scraping softly against the wooden floor.

Taking her hand—cool and fragile in my grip—I offered a reassuring squeeze. "Monica said you remembered something about the night your father was shot…. Can you tell me?"

Victoria"s chest rose with a deep breath, and her fingers curled around mine, clinging to the lifeline I represented. Her lips parted, and she braced herself to once again confront the shadows of her past.

"Victoria?" My whisper cut through the heavy silence. Her eyes, brimming with unshed tears, met mine.

"Voices," she mouthed, her voice a thread of sound, frayed and delicate.

"Voices?" I leaned in closer, my ear almost touching her dry lips. "Can you say that again?"

"Before… Mama came." Each word was a struggle, clawing out from under the weight of memory.

"Before your mother arrived, you heard voices?" I repeated, ensuring clarity. There was no room for mistakes—not when so much was at stake.

Victoria"s nod was almost imperceptible, a mere tremor through her frail form. "Yes."

"Whose voices, Victoria? Who did you hear?" My heart hammered against my ribcage, each beat echoing her fear, her pain.

"A man…." The word fell like a stone into the room"s stillness, sinking slowly into my consciousness. "My neighbor… Adam."

"Adam?" Surprise lanced through me, sharp and cold. "You"re sure it was his voice?"

"Sure." Her affirmation was a sliver of certainty in a sea of doubts.

"Okay, okay, Victoria. That"s huge." I squeezed her hand gently, a silent promise etched between our fingers.

My pulse quickened, a relentless drumbeat in the cavern of my chest.

"Are you all right?" Monica"s voice sliced through the haze of my thoughts. She hovered at the edge of the bed, her eyes searching mine.

"Fine," I managed to say, though my tone betrayed the turmoil beneath the surface. "Just… processing."

"Of course, it"s a lot to take in." She perched on the armrest of a nearby chair, the fabric whispering under her weight. "But remember, this is about Victoria. We need the truth—for her."

I nodded, feeling the gravity of responsibility settle on my shoulders. Her gaze held mine, steady and unwavering. There was strength in her stillness, assurance in her presence. I drew a breath, letting her certainty anchor me.

"Thank you, Monica." My words felt small in the expanse of what lay ahead. "For Victoria, we"ll face whatever comes next."

Monica"s hand found mine, her grip firm. "We"re here to help," she said.

I offered a tight smile, the knot in my throat loosening enough to speak. "I can"t thank you enough, Monica. Victoria," I glanced down at the fragile girl in bed, her eyes large and expectant, "you"re incredibly brave. This… it"s a big deal."

"Will it help?" Victoria"s voice was a thread, nearly lost in the expanse of silence that followed.

"Every bit helps," I reassured her, tucking a stray lock of hair behind her ear. "You"ve given us something new, a direction. That"s more than we had yesterday."

"Adam…."

"Let me worry about Adam," I said, firm yet gentle. "You just focus on getting better, okay?"

Victoria nodded, and I could see the trust she placed in me, a sacred charge I intended to honor. "I will find out what he was doing there that night. And if he had anything to do with your father"s death, I"ll bring him to justice. That"s a promise."

"Justice," she whispered, her fingers tightening around mine before finally relaxing.

"Rest now," I urged, standing up but hesitant to let go. "We"ve got work to do, thanks to you."

"Be careful," Monica interjected, her voice carrying a mother"s caution.

"I will," I replied with a smile that didn"t quite reach my eyes. The room seemed to hold its breath as I stepped toward the door, acutely aware of the weight of truth and the relentless pursuit of justice that beckoned beyond the threshold.

I paused in the doorway. I turned to see Victoria"s eyes flutter closed, her breath evening out. Monica stood by her side, a sentinel of maternal protection, yet her gaze followed me, sharp and knowing.

The dim light from Victoria"s room spilled into the corridor, casting long shadows as I stepped out. I knew the dangers of what lay ahead; confronting Adam could unearth more than just the truth—it could provoke a predator cornered by his own deceit.

As I went outside, I thumbed my phone screen, pulling up Adam"s contact information. My thumb hesitated over the call button. No, not yet. I needed to be smart about this and approach him with a plan, not just raw emotion. There was a lot to this story, and the pieces were falling into place slowly now. But I had to be clever about it.

The dangers were mounting, the stakes escalating with each passing second. And as I slipped out into the car, the chilling realization settled in my bones:

The hunter had just become the hunted.