Madi: Don’t go too long… We’re worried sick. We need to know you’re okay.
Savvy: Love you.
Elle: Be safe.
Madi: Photo sent
“Oh my God.” A smile so big it hurts my cheeks doesn’t match the heaviness that settles over my chest.
“Everything okay?” Valen asks.
I flip the phone so he can see the photo of Madi holding her newborn. I missed it—another thing Terra has stolen from me. “She had her baby.”
Madi: We named him Levi.
Me: Madi! (Crying emoji) He’s perfect. Are you okay? Why didn’t you say anything?
Madi: Everyone’s happy and healthy. We’re just waiting for Auntie Clover to come home.
Swallowing too many emotions, I type one more message.
Me: I love him already.
I hand the phone back to Grant and pull my plate closer just as Chief slides a second one my way. This plate is piled high witheggs, more bacon, and toast. It’s way too much food for me to eat alone, but all the guys stare at me expectantly.
They may eat like a team of football players, but I’m half their size, and they’ll need to readjust their expectations at some point. For now though, I dig into my plates and blink back tears when they release a collective sigh.
They really are worried about me, and it solidifies how important this little family is to me.
Valen’s mouth presses to my ear. “I’m sorry you couldn’t be there for her. I know you wanted to be.”
I nod and force down more food. Letting people down is a character flaw I’m not sure how to correct. No matter how much I wish I could.
By the time I’ve eaten two pancakes, one egg, and most of the bacon, I do feel better. Steadier. Like maybe I can face whatever comes next.
“All right,” Grant says, closing his laptop. “Let’s talk about Terra.” He frowns. “Or Miriam.”
Their names land like a stone in the middle of a lake, sending ripples through everyone here.
“What do we know?” Sterling asks, opening his tablet.
“It’s Terra we’re looking for. She’s alive,” I say, my voice stronger than I expected. “I know it’s her. She either killed Miriam or did nothing to save her.” My creative brain takes over, filling in plot holes as though this is a story I’m crafting and not the clusterfuck of my actual life.
“If we’ve all believed she was dead, then she must have been in hiding,” I say. “But if she assumed her sister’s identity, she wouldn’t have to hide anymore, would she?”
“There’s no record of Miriam’s death,” Grant says.
“If we go by what the lady at the post office said and take an educated guess on the age of the photo, that was Miriam’s corpse,” Valen says before resting his hand on my thigh underthe table. “We can place Miriam’s death somewhere in the last year or so.”
“She’s been planning this for at least a year,” Roman adds. “That stalker wall wasn’t just thrown together. It was meticulous. Organized.”
“If Miriam’s death gave her the prompt she needed to come out of hiding, we can use the photos to narrow down the timeline, I think.” All the men stare at me. “I don’t remember specifically—the images are kind of warped in my head right now—but I think the photos I saw on the wall are all less than a year old. I’d have to see them again to be sure, but I’m guessing the photos of me are all within the last six months.”
“I have photos of the wall,” Roman says cautiously. “If you want to see it again.” He casts a nervous glance around the table. “No one will blame you if you’re not up to it.”
“I—I’ll look.”
They hold a collective breath as I scroll through photos on his screen, confirming my earlier suspicion. They’re all relatively new.
