She looked so much like Rebecca.So much like the woman he'd lost.
Amanda had been next.He'd found her through the magazine too—the Teacher of the Year feature, her photograph smiling out from page thirty-one.The resemblance had struck him like a physical blow.The same profession as Rebecca.The same light hair, the same gentle features, the same warmth in her expression.He'd followed her for days, learning that she took yoga classes on Monday evenings, that she parked in the same spot at the far end of the lot, that she always lingered a few minutes after class to chat with the instructor.
He'd been waiting for her in the shadows when she walked to her car.The gun had convinced her, just as it had convinced Monica.Quiet compliance, the instinctive understanding that resistance would only make things worse.
The freezer at the old Shoreline Diner had been perfect.Empty, accessible, the construction crew's equipment humming away in the darkness.He'd arranged Amanda with the same care he'd shown Monica—hands folded, eyes closed, expression peaceful.Another Rebecca.Another face preserved against the fire that consumed everything.
Sarah had been the hardest.He'd called her, pretending to be a potential client, and she'd agreed to meet him at a coffee shop.The magazine feature about her accounting practice had included a profile of her business philosophy, her innovative approaches, her dedication to helping small businesses thrive.She'd been professional, competent, everything the article had promised.
And when she'd walked to her car afterward, he'd been waiting.
The steakhouse had been a last-minute choice—Harrington's place, closed since December, the utilities still running thanks to some quirk of insurance bureaucracy.He'd brought Sarah there, done what needed to be done, and arranged her with trembling hands.She'd still been warm when he'd left, her skin not yet touched by the preserving cold, but he'd known the freezer would do its work.
Three Rebeccas.Three faces saved from the flames.
But it wasn't enough.It would never be enough.
Jamie opened his eyes and looked at the storefront across the street.Wanderlust Travel.The sign hung in cheerful blue and gold above the door, promising adventure, escape, destinations beyond the gray February world of Duluth.Through the window, he could see movement—someone behind the counter, a flash of light hair, a familiar silhouette.
Grace Hyland.Page nineteen ofI Love Duluth, the winter edition.A feature on local travel agents who were bringing personalized service back to an industry dominated by websites and apps.The photograph showed her standing in front of a wall of travel posters, her blonde hair pulled back in a professional ponytail, her smile confident and warm.
"I believe everyone deserves to experience the world,"the caption had quoted her."My job is to make that dream possible."
Rebecca had always wanted to travel.They'd talked about it endlessly—Paris, Rome, the Greek islands.Someday, they'd always said.When we have more time.When we have more money.When the circumstances are right.
Someday had never come.And now Grace Hyland's face stared out from the magazine like a promise he'd failed to keep.
Jamie reached into his coat and pulled out the worn copy ofI Love Duluth, letting it fall open to page nineteen.Grace's photograph smiled up at him, her blue eyes catching the studio lights, her expression radiating the particular competence of someone who loved her work.
She looked so much like Rebecca.
Not exactly.Never exactly.But the hair was right, the build was right, the age was right.When he squinted—when he let the details soften and blur—he could almost believe it was Rebecca standing in front of those travel posters, planning the adventures they'd never gotten to take.
The freezer would keep her safe.The cold would preserve her, protect her from the flames that had taken everything else.She would be beautiful forever, peaceful and perfect, untouched by the fire that haunted his every waking moment.
One more Rebecca.One more face saved from the ashes.One more chance to look upon her.
Jamie checked his watch.12:04 PM.The storefront had been quiet all morning—a few customers drifting in and out, nothing that required his attention.But his research had told him that Grace usually took her lunch break around noon.Walked to the deli two blocks down, grabbed a sandwich, sometimes ate it in the small park across from her office when the weather wasn't too brutal.
Today the weather was brutal.She'd probably eat inside.
But she'd have to leave eventually.Lock up for the night, walk to her car, head home to whatever life waited for her there.And when she did, he'd be ready.
His hand found the gun in his pocket, fingers wrapping around the familiar grip.He didn't like using it—didn't like the implied threat, the fear it sparked in their eyes.But it was necessary.A tool, like the freezers themselves.A means to an end that justified whatever ugliness came before.
Rebecca would understand.If she were here, if she could see what he was doing, she would understand that this was love.Twisted and desperate and nothing like the love they'd shared when she was alive, but love nonetheless.The only love he had left to give.
The door to Wanderlust Travel opened.
Jamie's breath caught in his throat.Grace Hyland stepped out onto the sidewalk, a coat draped over her arm, her keys already in her hand.She was locking the door—lunch break, just as he'd predicted—and she was alone.
Perfect.
She was more beautiful in person than she'd been in the photograph.The blonde hair caught the pale February light, gleaming softly, and her face held that same warmth he'd seen on the page.Professional, competent, alive in a way that made his chest ache with longing.
Rebecca.The name rose in his mind unbidden.She looks just like Rebecca.
Grace turned from the locked door and glanced up the street, toward the deli.She hadn't noticed him.People never noticed him—that was his gift, his curse, the particular invisibility of a man no one thought to look at twice.Average height, average build, the kind of face that slid out of memory the moment you looked away.
