His silence was telling. It stretched out, filled only by the sound of my own breaths, quick and shallow.
"Okay," he finally murmured, the word laced with resignation and the unmistakable undercurrent of the courage I knew so well. "Okay, Eva Rae. I'll do it. But you’ll owe me."
"Thank you," I whispered, relief flooding through me as I ended the call, my fingers trembling slightly as they brushed over the phone screen. It was a small victory in a larger battle, and with Matt now alongside me, the odds just might have tipped in our favor.
At least, I hoped so.
Chapter 11
I swipedmy ID at the jail's entrance, the beep louder than my thudding pulse. Metal doors clanked open, and I stepped inside the cold, a sharp contrast from the humid air of St. Augustine that clung to my skin only moments before. The guard gave me a nod, familiar with my face but never easing on protocol.
"Empty your pockets," he instructed, his voice as cold as the steel table before me.
Keys. Badge. Phone. Gum wrapper. Each item landed with a clink or a soft thud. They slid my belongings aside and waved me through the metal detector. It squawked approval, and I gathered my things, shoving them back into my pockets.
"Follow me," said another uniform, leading me down the sterile corridor. Fluorescent lights hummed overhead, flickering in rhythm with each step I took. My ponytail swayed, red strands catching the light like threads of fire.
Will Jennings was there behind the glass partition, his eyes two dark pools in a face carved with worry. I had seen that look before—on victims, families, and anyone touched by tragedy. But Will's despair was etched deeper; it came from being accused of the very tragedy that had shattered him.
I sat, lifting the receiver, our reflections mingling on the glass.
"Agent Thomas," he said, his voice barely carrying through the phone line. “Diane said she thought you might come.”
"Mr. Jennings. Will." My reply was steady, a counterpoint to the drumbeat in my chest. His fingers twitched, a visible echo of the turmoil within.
"Thanks for coming," he said, the words fighting their way out.
"Of course." I exhaled slowly, scanning his face for any sign of deceit, finding nothing but raw pain. The chair was cold against my skin as I leaned in, mirroring his posture of defeat with one of unwavering support.
“How are you holding up?”
"Okay, I guess," Will said, a tremor in his voice betraying the calm he attempted to portray. His hands fumbled with the edges of his orange jumpsuit. “I’m here, aren’t I?”
"Tell me," I said, my gaze fixed on his, willing him to draw strength from my resolve. “About the night when it happened.”
"It was Danny…," he started, his eyes darting away before finding mine again. "That’s our son. He screamed, and I have never heard a scream like that before. It went straight through my bones."
"Go on," I urged, my heart hammering with each beat, a metronome ticking down the seconds we had left.
"His screams tore through the night." Will's voice shook as he continued. "I've never heard him like that—pure terror."
My breath hitched, but I kept my face composed, a blank canvas for him to paint his nightmare upon.
"Take me there," I said, my voice a command more than a request. “Where were you?”
“I was asleep. In bed. I thought Angela was sleeping next to me. But she must have gotten up… for whatever reason, I don’tknow. Maybe she needed water? Maybe she couldn’t sleep? I don’t know. I was sound asleep when I heard my son’s screams. It was awful. I jumped out of bed and ran toward the sound. Every step echoed like a drumbeat." Will's eyes were distant, reliving the nightmare. "Those seconds… they stretched into eternity."
"Then?" My question was sharp, a knife edge to slice through the haze of his memory.
"I found her…." His voice was a thread, fraying. "She was just lying there. So still. Angela…."
"Did you touch her? Check for a pulse?"
"I did; there was a pulse. My hands… they were shaking." He closed his eyes, squeezing the image out. "I couldn't… think."
"Will, focus." I leaned closer, narrowing the space between us. "The call—tell me about the call."
"The phone slipped twice out of my hand." Frustration seeped through his creased brow. "Third time, I got it. Dialed 911."
