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She rewound and watched again.
A figure stood at the edge of the frame, partially obscured by a tree trunk. The person was as still as stone, watching something off camera to the right.
Why did she know that posture?
Kori’s lungs froze.
No . . . it couldn’t be.
But was it?
She rewound the video and watched the person again.
It was him.
It was Bartholomew Beekman.
The man she’d sent to prison.
What was he doing out there?
Her breath left her entirely.
