“Did he say anything?” She turned, and fear slipped through the careful control in her eyes. “He said, ‘They know.’ And something about burying it. He wasn’t making sense.”
Cold slid down Jack’s spine.
They know about the locket.
What did Eric know about the locket that would make someone nearly kill him over it? Were they trying to get some information out of him? If so, how long had he kept this secret?
“Jack.” She studied him. “This isn’t just about the locket, is it? You know more than you’re telling me.”
He didn’t want to frighten her. He didn’t want to burden her with shadows and half-buried histories. But he wouldn’t hide what he knew—not from her, not now.
“I don’t know. But what I do know is the Blackwood's have a long, complicated history here,” he said. “Bootlegging. Organized crime rumors. Loads of money and no one is really sure where it came from.”
Her eyes sharpened. “And Eleanor?”
“Yeah.” He nodded once. “Eleanor Blackwood disappeared back in 1927. All the records say she ran away and started a new life because she was having marriage problems and couldn’t legally get a divorce. But there are old diaries and journals and stuff in the library archives that say she never would’ve left her children. The police searched for months but never found her.”
“You think she was murdered?” Jack held her gaze.
“I have no idea, but it makes more sense than her just up and leaving town.”
“Yeah.” He drew a slow breath. “The locket you found belonged to Eleanor. She supposedly wore it everywhere. How is it still here in Fairview? Wouldn’t she have taken it with her?”
Her breath caught.
Silence stretched as Annie stared at the floor, rubbing her lower lip, her mind already moving. He recognized the signs—the way she sorted fear into questions, emotion into patterns.
“What I don’t understand,” he said, “is why they sold it at all. If they knew it was there, why let it go?”
Her head lifted. “Maybe they didn’t know. Not until it was gone.” Her eyes widened slightly. “What if there are other things? Hidden in what I bought.”
This was how they had always worked. One thought opening another. Truth unfolding in careful steps.
“I want to help,” she said. “With Eleanor’s case.”
Fear tightened his chest—not of her curiosity, but of where it would lead. Of what had already followed her home.
“Annie, someone’s already willing to hurt people,” he said. “If we keep digging—”
“They’ll fight harder. I know.” She met his eyes. “But they hurt Eric because of me. Because I found something I wasn’t supposed to find. I can’t walk away from that.”
He drew a slow breath, then made the decision he’d been circling since the ambulance doors closed.
“If this stays what it is right now, I can’t justify bringing you any further into it,” he said. “But this isn’t a normal case anymore. Whoever did this targeted a specific historical object, from a specific estate, tied to a disappearance that was never solved. That makes your expertise relevant—legitimately relevant.”
She stilled. “What are you saying?”
“I’m saying I’m not keeping you on the outside.” He lowered his voice. “I’m bringing this to my captain and to the task force. I’ll request you as a civilian consultant. Officially. Limited scope. Artifact history. Provenance. Estate dispersal. Anything tied to what came out of that Blackwood sale.”
Her eyes searched his. “You’d do that?”
“I already called it in from the stairwell.” His mouth curved faintly. “They agreed we’re past the point of pretending this is a routine assault.”
The weight in her shoulders shifted, not gone, but redistributed—fear edged now with something steadier.
“If we do this,” he continued, “we do it carefully. You don’t go anywhere alone. You don’t confront anyone. You document everything. And if I tell you something is too dangerous, you listen.”
“Deal.”
