Brian did. The porch light. The open cabinets. The methodical search of every room. The untouched valuables. Diaz listened without interrupting, her pen moving steadily across the notepad.
"Any signs of forced entry?"
"None that I saw. Door was locked when we got here."
"Who else has a key?"
Brian thought about it. "Just us. And the Calloways, technically. They're the previous owners. Older couple, moved away after they sold. But they wouldn't..." He trailed off. "The property management company. They had a key from when the cottage was a rental. I actually don't know that they have one, but potentially they do."
Diaz's eyebrows rose. "That’s the same company that double-booked Dr. Callahan?"
"Yeah."
"Interesting." She made a note. "I'll follow up with them. See if anyone's accessed the key recently, or if it's been copied."
"You think that's how they got in?"
"I think it's a place to start." Diaz tucked the notepad into her jacket. "Let me take a look inside. Crime scene tech will be here in about twenty minutes. I know it's late, but I want prints and photos before anything gets contaminated."
She disappeared into the cottage, and Brian and Tessa were alone again. The night seemed quieter now, the earlier peace shattered by the violation of their home.
"I keep thinking about what they touched," Tessa said quietly. "My clothes. My things. Someone was in our bedroom, going through our stuff, and we were at Hank and Bree's, eating lasagna and laughing like everything was fine."
"Don't." Brian took her hand. "Don't let them get in your head. That's what they want."
"Too late." She laughed, but there was no humor in it. "They're already in my head. They've been in my head since Chicago."
He turned to face her fully. "Listen to me. Webb is in custody. He's not getting out. Whoever did this, they're not him. They might be connected to him, might be working with him somehow, but they're not the same person. And that means they don't know you. Not really. They don't know how strong you are, how stubborn, how absolutely impossible it is to break you."
"You sound very sure about that."
"I am sure. I've watched you for two months. You showed up at this cottage with nothing but a suitcase and a prayer, and you refused to let anything break you. Not the rental mix-up. Not Webb showing up at the concert. Not any of it." He squeezed her hand. "You're not going to break now."
Tessa was quiet for a long moment. Then she leaned into him, her head on his shoulder, and some of the tension went out of her body.
"I love you," she said.
"I love you too." He pressed a kiss to the top of her head. "And whoever did this is going to find out exactly what that means."
Diaz emerged from the cottage a few minutes later, her expression unreadable. "I've got a few questions. Mind coming inside?"
They followed her into the living room. Brian noticed she'd closed all the cabinet doors in the kitchen, restoring some semblance of normalcy to the space.
"I want to show you something," Diaz said. She led them to the bedroom and pointed at the nightstand on Tessa's side of the bed. "Notice anything different?"
Tessa studied it, her brow furrowed. "I... I'm not sure. It looks the same."
"What about this?" Diaz opened the drawer and pulled out a small notebook. "This yours?"
Tessa's face went white. "No."
"Never seen it before?"
"Never." Her voice was barely a whisper. "What is it?"
Diaz held it up, opened to the first page. Brian stepped closer to look.
The page was filled with handwriting, neat and precise. Dates. Times. Locations.
