Alex made his way back to the kitchen, rubbing the back of his neck.
Charlotte returned her seat at the table, watching him. "You believe me now?"
His jaw tensed. "I never doubted you."
Charlotte let out a slow breath, but the exhaustion in her eyes hadn’t eased.
Alex sat down again, staring at her, what had almost happened settling into his chest.
"You're not safe here.”
Charlotte scoffed, but it was weak. "Alex."
"I mean it."
"You really think I’m going to run?"
He took an exasperated breath. "I think you need to be careful until we know what this is about."
She leaned forward slightly, her gaze sharp. "I’ve been careful my whole life."
His lips pressed into a thin line. She wasn’t wrong. Charlotte had spent decades being careful, making sure she was three steps ahead of everyone. She had to. After Chuck died, she was the widowed mother of five girls.
But that was before someone stood over her bed in the middle of the night and left a message.
His fingers drummed against the table once before he finally spoke again. "What isn’t over?"
She went still.
"Whoever did this," he continued, "wants you to finish something. They want you to question yourself."
Her throat bobbed slightly, but she kept her expression neutral.
Alex exhaled, raking a hand through his hair. "This case," he nodded toward the photo, “who is the man in the photograph?"
Charlotte’s shoulders tensed just slightly.
His stomach dropped. "You weren’t planning to tell me."
Her jaw clenched.
Alex let out a humorless breath, shaking his head. "I wasn’t expecting you to shut me out.”
Charlotte winced. "I’m not?—"
"Charlotte."
She met his gaze, and for the first time, he saw hesitation. Not just that. Fear. Not of the person who left the photo—of telling him the truth. His fingers curled around the edge of the table. "You don’t trust me."
She flinched. "It’s not about trust."
"Then what is it about?" He didn’t mean for it to come out so sharp, but he couldn’t stop it.
She wouldn’t look at him.
That scared him more than the footprints, the knife, the photo, more than anything. Charlotte Everhart didn’t flinch. She didn’t deflect. But now? Now she was pulling away, hiding something big enough to shake her at the foundation. And she wouldn’t let him in.
His mind raced. Who the hell was in that photo? Why now? Why her?
