I look over my shoulder, my nostrils flaring. Hugo is reading the plate, just as I am, all humor gone from his smug face. That truck is one of Fort’s service vehicles, which Hugo is supposed to be in charge of, but the fucker keeps losing track of them. Kane places a hand on my shoulder, summoning me not to throttle Hugo right this fucking second.
A movement pulls my attention back to the screen as a limping figure—tall, blond—emerges from the other side of the car. I can only see the back of his head, but he looks familiar. He stumbles toward the woman, kneels to cradle her head for a heartbeat, then he’s up again, half running, half dragging himself to the car.
He yanks open the rear door. A girl covered in blood falls out.
If I had a heart, it just exploded in my chest.
“Is that…” Hugo gasps.
“Shut up,” Kane hisses.
I stare at the screen, like my life depends on it. It does. Because if a Fort man did this… My empty chest rises and falls aswe all watch Daniel Etheridge limping on a twisted ankle, carrying Eva.
“Who’s he talking to?” I demand.
“No one,” Filey replies.
“His mouth is moving, prick.” I point at the screen. “There must be someone there.”
“Yeah, I thought so too,” he adds proudly. “But when I ran it through lip-read, it’s just numbers. He’s counting.”
“Counting what?”
Filey stares at me blankly.
“Her pulse,” Kane answers from behind me.
She was dying?
My vision tunnels, fingers turning numb, hanging useless at my sides.
“So, I was right to report it?” Filey looks between us, his excitement barely masking a thread of fear. “I pulled the case file. It was marked as a hit-and-run. But there’s more.”
He clicks through a maze of links and passwords until a page opens—most of it buried under thick black bars.
“All redacted,” he explains. “Except they missed this.”
He scrolls to the bottom, to the list of evidence.
E27: Gunshot residue.
“Gunshot residue?” Hugo asks, as if saying it out loud will change the meaning of what is in front of my eyes.
The accident.
Fort truck.
Gunshot residue.
The picture forming in my mind threatens to buckle my knees.
“Delete the video,” I order. The words come out of my mouth before I fully consider the consequences. Because no other consequences matter. Only one does.
Filey grows red under my glare, then reaches for the keyboard.
“Don’t you dare.” Kane pulls Filey back. “We’re not touching this.”
This motherfucker.
