As Vivienne and Dawn left with their protection detail, Brooks felt the weight of responsibility. He’d made a promise he might not be able to keep. But he’d do everything in his power to make sure Vivienne survived this case—and that when it was over, they’d have the chance to explore what was growing between them.
His phone rang. Porter.
“We got a hit on Winston’s credit card. Gas station in Vermont, used thirty minutes ago. State Police are mobilizing.”
Brooks felt adrenaline spike. “I’m on my way.”
“Negative. This is federal jurisdiction. We’ve got it handled.” Porter paused. “But I wanted you to know. This could be over soon.”
Brooks ended the call and immediately texted Vivienne:
They may have found Winston. Vermont. FBI is moving in. Stay alert but this might be over today.
Her response came quickly:
Thank god. Be safe.
He stared at those two words. Vivienne wasn’t just a consultant or a witness anymore. She was someone who cared about his safety as much as he cared about hers.
Partners. In every sense that mattered.
Now they just had to survive long enough to figure out what that partnership would look like when the case was finally closed.
FIFTEEN
vivienne
Morning lightthrough the shop’s front windows revealed fingerprints on the glass. Reporters had pressed their faces against the panes during the night. But their intrusion meant nothing compared to what she’d discovered in the lamp room yesterday—the hidden metal box containing Lily’s final evidence.
The grimoire lay open on the counter. Mathilde’s maps from the 1920s showed every entrance and exit to the tunnel system beneath Westerly Cove, each passage documented in precise ink lines. Brooks had photographed them before the raid. The FBI had used them to navigate the flooded chambers. Melissa was safe. Two of the Aldriches were in custody.
But the maps were only part of what the grimoire contained.
Vivienne turned to the pages her grandmother had filled—decades of documented deaths, suspicious accidents, convenient disappearances. Names and dates that formed a pattern stretching back to 1950, each entry marked with a small symbol indicating murder disguised as misfortune.
“Seventeen people between 1950 and 1999.” She traced her finger along the timeline in her grandmother’s handwriting, comparing it to the list Brooks had compiled from officialrecords. The names matched perfectly. Each death carefully staged, each investigation quietly buried.
The shop’s front door opened. Martha Morgan entered, her hands steadier than they’d been in years. The discovery of Lily’s remains in the tunnels, Gerald Aldrich’s arrest, the validation of everything she’d known for twenty-five years—it had transformed her grief into something sharper. Purpose.
“I found something else.” Martha spread documents across the counter. “Hidden in my attic. Lily must have given these to me before that last trip to the lighthouse, but I didn’t know where to look until after you found her camera.”
Vivienne examined the papers. More shipping manifests, more coded entries, more photographs of the Aldrich operation. But these were different—they showed connections to other families, other towns, a network that extended far beyond Westerly Cove.
“She was mapping the entire East Coast operation. Not just the Aldrichs, but everyone they worked with.”
“Twenty-five years ago, my daughter understood what we’re only now beginning to see.” Martha’s voice carried a mother’s pride mixed with anguish. “She died trying to expose something much bigger than a local smuggling ring.”
Vivienne’s phone buzzed. Brooks.
Brooks Harrington
Agent Porter wants to brief you on the evidence from the lamp room. Can you come to the station?
She texted back confirmation, then turned to Martha. “Come with me. Agent Porter should see these documents.”
Vivienne called up to her apartment. “Dawn? Can you watch the shop for a few hours? I need to meet with the FBI.”
Her cousin appeared at the top of the stairs, already dressed for the day. “Of course. Go. I’ll handle things here.”
