“Stop,” I demanded, as the woman fled back down the driveway on her way out. Jack hit pause, and then let me take over to move back a few frames. “See that?” I jabbed a finger at the screen, where a long lock of hair had fallen out of the hood.
Redhair.
Cayenne fucking pepper.
“Well, shit,” Jack said. “Nice catch, Trouble.” He moved the video back and forth a few times, trying to catch the face along with the hair, but had no luck.
A long time ago when we were kids, Annie had been on a Hitchcock kick, and made me watch all his films. Right then I felt like I was living out the special effects inVertigo, the room zooming in and out around me.
Jack’s hand landed on my shoulder. “Hey, are you okay?” he asked. His voice had the same tenderness from last night, and that, along with a few deep breaths, made my head stop spinning and the nausea in my gut recede.
“That’s Annie,” I said at last. “That’s my sister.”
CHAPTER41
MILLER
After my stunning revelation,Jack just rubbed my back and said nothing.
“I really think it is,” I insisted.
“Miller,” he said gently, “it can’t be.”
“I know how she moves, the color of her hair—Iknowmy sister, JJ. We might not have had the best relationship, but I know her.” My tone, along with my conviction, was getting stronger. “It’s her.Shit.” I gave a weak laugh.
“She had other redheaded friends,” Jack pointed out.
“You think I’m crazy.”
“Nope,” he said immediately. “I donotthink you’re crazy.”
“But you don’t think it’s her.”
He sighed. “The DNA matched, sweetheart. Remember? And the autopsy said she died at least a week back. This person…she was alive yesterday.”
I got theVertigosensation again. Jack was right, of course. Itcouldn’tbe Annie.
I’d just been sosure…
“Let’s explore some other possibilities for a second.” Jack’s neutral, even tone reminded me of that therapist I’d dumped, and I hated him a little for it. “Who else might it be?”
“I mean, sure, there’s Roxy,” I agreed reluctantly. “But her hair is a totally different shade of red. Darker.”
Jack pulled up Roxy’s Instagram and squinted at her photos, then back at the video still.
It wasobviousto me how different the red hair was. Maybe Jack had mild color blindness or something. But then he pulled up one of the photos of Harper Connelly and sat there, waiting for my reaction.
“Harper’s color is…similar,” I admitted.
“And westilldon’t know where she is. Did Connelly ever know the code to your rooms?”
“I guess she might have known it,” I conceded. “She’s been over there, and she could have seen me entering it.”
“Okay,” Jack said evenly. “So maybe this is a video of Harper Connelly trying to get into your rooms?”
He was right. And I was being stupid. Life wasn’t a movie.
My sister was dead.
