Total pages in book: 108
Estimated words: 102280 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 511(@200wpm)___ 409(@250wpm)___ 341(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 102280 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 511(@200wpm)___ 409(@250wpm)___ 341(@300wpm)
“I am objective.”
“Are you? Because from where I’m standing, you care about that woman more than is professionally appropriate. And that’s not necessarily a bad thing—she seems to care about you too. But it can’t compromise the investigation or your judgment.”
Brooks wanted to argue, but Sullivan was right. His feelings for Vivienne had grown beyond professional respect into something more personal. Something that made him want to keep her safe even at the cost of the investigation’s progress.
“I won’t let it compromise the case,” Brooks said finally.
“Good. Because we’re close to finishing this. Winston will be caught. The evidence will be processed. Justice will be served. And then you and Vivienne can figure out what comes next without the weight of an active investigation hanging over you.”
Sullivan headed back inside, leaving Brooks alone with his thoughts. They were close to resolution. But until Winston was in custody, Vivienne remained in danger. And no amount of professional distance would change the fact that Brooks cared deeply about keeping her safe.
His phone buzzed. A text from.
Vivienne Hawthorne
Dawn says I’m being paranoid, but I keep feeling like someone’s watching the safe house. Probably just nerves.
Trust your instincts. I’m sending a patrol car to check the perimeter. Detail arrives at noon. Sit tight.
He radioed for a unit to swing by the safe house, then returned to his desk. Mountains of paperwork awaited—evidence logs, witness statements, coordination with federal prosecutors.
But even as he worked through the files, part of his mind stayed focused on Vivienne. On keeping her safe. On making sure that when this case finally closed, she would still be there—alive, whole, and ready to figure out what came next for both of them.
Noon arrived with Officers Daniels and Morales reporting to the safe house as scheduled. Brooks met them there, briefing them on the threat level and protocols.
“Ms. Hawthorne can return to her business, but you maintain visual contact at all times,” Brooks said. “She’s a target for Winston Aldrich, who’s armed and desperate. Any suspicious activity, you call it in immediately.”
Daniels nodded. “Understood. We’ll keep her safe.”
Vivienne emerged from the bedroom with a packed bag, Dawn following. “Ready?”
“Your detail is briefed. They’ll follow you to the shop and set up a rotation schedule.” Brooks paused. “Any concerns, any visions, anything that feels off—you call or text me.”
“I will.” She hesitated, then stepped closer. “This will be over soon, won’t it?”
“Soon as we catch Winston. Every resource is focused on finding him.”
“Good.” She touched his arm briefly. “Because I’m tired of living in fear. I want my life back.”
“You’ll get it. I promise.”
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 light through 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 official records. The names matched perfectly. Each death carefully staged, each investigation quietly buried.