Page 137 of No Good Fight

A heavy sound comes through the phone, like Josh has hit a wall or a counter with the heel of his hand. Nia says something in the background that I can’t make out.

“I knew she was hiding something.” His voice drops until it barely sounds like him. “When we left, I knew something was wrong. I fucking knew it.”

“So did I.”

“You stayed with her, though.”

“I fell asleep.”

The words scrape on the way out because I can still feel her body against mine and remember the way she held on to me. I had interpreted every touch as relief after nearly dying. Now I understand why she wouldn’t let go.

She was saying goodbye.

Josh breathes hard once, then I hear fabric and keys moving on his end. “I’m coming.”

“Bring Casey if he’s at the station or nearby. Mason Ridge has been part of Alex’s redevelopment work, and I want somebody there who understands what the building can do to us if Preston decides fire is still his favorite weapon.”

“I’ll get him.”

The call ends.

I stand in the middle of my kitchen with Alex’s phone on one side of me and the security tablet on the other, and for the first time since waking, I let myself look at the whole thing instead of one task at a time.

She left Preston’s messages open, and the security records intact. She didn’t take her car, either. Alex was smart and took a truck that everyone in town would recognize immediately as mine.

The woman who has spent weeks digging through public records, maintenance complaints, fire reports, property transfers, and every scrap of evidence she could get her hands on has done the same thing with her own disappearance.

She didn’t do that because she expected me to wake up and save her.

She did it because she expects Preston to kill her, and she wants us to prove he did it afterward.

My stomach turns hard enough that I brace both palms against the counter until the nausea passes.

The last thing she said before falling asleep was that she loved me.

She thought she was giving me something to keep after she was dead.

Headlights hit the front windows less than ten minutes later. Josh’s truck comes up the driveway too fast and stops crooked beside the house. The passenger door opens before the engine dies, and Casey steps out while Josh is still reaching for the keys.

They don’t bother knocking.

Josh comes through the door with one boot unlaced and his station sweatshirt thrown over whatever he slept in. Casey is dressed like he either never made it home or got called out of bed and stopped caring halfway through pulling himself together. Neither of them asks where Alex is. They both see her phone sitting in the middle of the table, Preston’s photograph filling the screen, and understand enough.

Josh walks toward it and stops before touching anything.

His eyes move over Mrs. Vance, the broken cane, the straps, then the demand underneath. He reads the location twice before his gaze lifts to me.

“She was looking at this while we were standing right there.”

I nod.

His face twists, but he doesn’t give whatever he is feeling enough room to become words. Instead, he yanks one of the dining chairs away from the table and shoves it toward the wall so hard the legs scrape across the floor.

Casey takes the chair Josh just cleared and drops into it in front of the tablet. “Show me her exit.”

I replay the garage footage.

Josh makes it as far as Alex leaning against the wall to put on her shoes before he turns away. He puts both hands on the back of his neck and walks toward the living room window, where he stands with his back to us and stares out into the dark.