CHAPTER 6
Micah went still.
The truck was the same make and model as the one belonging to Travis Henderson.
But it was too far away for Micah to see the plates, and there were plenty of red trucks in Virginia. Henderson wasn’t the only man who drove one.
But the way it was parked—backed into the space, facing out, like someone who wanted a clear line of sight and a fast exit—that wasn’t nothing.
His hand drifted toward his sidearm. He didn’t draw it. He just wanted it closer.
Naomi’s door opened, and Micah stepped closer, putting himself between her and the truck without making it obvious.
He scanned the rest of the lot one more time. He saw no movement. No headlights turning on. No one sitting in the cab that he could see from this angle.
But his gut—the part of him that had kept him alive this long—was louder than it had been all day.
“You okay?” Naomi asked, picking up on something in his posture.
“Yeah.” He forced his voice to remain even. “Let’s get inside.”
Naomi squared her shoulders as if bracing herself. Micah caught the subtle tremor she tried to hide and respected her more for it. She was a strong woman.
He knew very little about her past—only that she’d moved here from New York City after some kind of incident had happened there. He was curious about the details, but she hadn’t shared. Maybe one day she would.
Or maybe that was too personal. Maybe it was better if she didn’t.
They walked toward the entrance, and Micah reached for the door. He paused, a flicker of unease tightening his gut even more.
He glanced behind him, looking for trouble one more time.
He saw no one.
But that didn’t mean trouble wasn’t close.
The hospital smelled like antiseptic and old coffee, a combination that made Naomi’s stomach tighten the moment she stepped inside.
Her mind drifted back in time to three years ago. The smell was the same. The lights were the same. The hollow, echoing sound of her own footsteps on tile, moving toward something she didn’t want to face was the same.
Sarah . . .
The memory surfaced without warning. Memories like these didn’t fade no matter how many years passed.
Walking through those wide, too-bright hallways. Her mom’s hand gripping hers so tight it hurt. The nurse saying words that didn’t make sense at first.
She has severe head trauma and is in a medically induced coma. We’ll know more in the next forty-eight hours.
In the coming hours as they sat in the waiting room, Richard had explained what happened. He’d called 911 himself. Had told them he’d come home from the hardware store and found Sarah at the bottom of the stairs. Said she must have tripped. Fallen.
The security footage from the hardware store had backed him up. It had been time-stamped, placing him there—buying plywood and screws—right around the time Sarah fell. And he’d been careful. He’d thought of everything.
Except Sarah hadn’t tripped.
Naomi had known it the moment she heard what happened. She’d known Richard was somehow responsible.
But Richard was smart. He’d staged the scene carefully—and for a long time, it had worked.
What he hadn’t thought of was Sarah’s smart watch.
