We have enough to talk. Coming in five. Rafi on video. Kara needs to hear it.
I read the message twice. Then I look toward the bedroom.
Kara appears in the doorway before I call her name, wearing soft shorts and a T-shirt, her hair loose around her shoulders. She looks younger like this. Not in age. In aftermath. Like some shield has been lowered and she has not decided yet whether she regrets it.
She reads my face.
“What happened?”
“Sloane’s coming.”
Her hand tightens on the door frame. “Do they know something?”
“Yes. I think so.”
For one second, pain crosses her face so fast I almost miss it.
Then she nods. “Okay.”
Sloane arrives without knocking, which tells me he is either in a hurry or making a point. Probably both. He has a laptop tucked under one arm and a file folder in the other.
“Good morning, Kara,” he says.
“Good morning, Sloane.”
Sloane sets the laptop on the kitchen table, opens it, and turns the screen so Rafi fills it from The Beacon. He looks less polished than usual, sleeves rolled up, tie gone, three monitors glowing behind him.
“Kara,” he says gently. “I’m sorry.”
Kara’s mouth moves, but no sound comes out. She knows the team is bracing her for something.
I stand beside her, not touching. Close enough that if she reaches, I’m there. Far enough that she knows she doesn’t have to.
Sloane opens the folder. “We’re not presenting this as courtroom proof. Not yet. This is operational. It tells us how we move from here.”
“That sounds like I’m not going to like it,” Kara says.
“No,” Sloane answers. “You’re not.”
Kara’s chin lifts. “Tell me.”
Rafi takes over. “The first burner number, the one that sent the photo of your knife, was activated at a convenience store in Orlando. Camera footage is poor, but we pulled enough to identify the buyer as female. Red-brown hair tucked under a ball cap. Sunglasses. Cash purchase.”
The laptop image changes. A grainy still appears on the screen. My attention goes to Kara, not the image. Her face goes still.
“That could be a lot of women,” she says.
“Yes,” Sloane says. “It could.”
Rafi clicks again. “The rental car spotted near The Sandpiper road was picked up in Orlando using a prepaid card and an ID that does not cleanly verify. We found traffic camera footage near the service road east of your rental cottage. Same car. Same general physical profile behind the wheel. Red-brown hair. Ball cap. Sunglasses.”
Another image appears, and this one is better. Not clean enough for certainty. But enough to make the room change.
Kara steps back once. I move without thinking, then stop myself before I touch her.
“She wears baseball caps,” Kara says. “A lot of people wear baseball caps.”
“Yes,” Sloane says.
