"You don't know that." Her voice is barely a whisper. "She's been gone so long. What if—"
"Don't."
"What if he killed her, Liza?"
The words hang between us, sharp and terrible. I pull her into my arms, feeling her body shake against mine. She's always been the strong one—the woman who held me together whenthings were dicey with Daniel, who taught me how to make lasagna from scratch. Seeing her crumble like this guts me.
"We don't know anything yet," I murmur into her hair. "We're not going to throw the phone into a dumpster. We’ll take it to the police. They'll reopen the case. They'll look into Daniel. This changes everything."
"Does it?" She pulls back, wiping her eyes with the back of her hand. "They didn't care before. They said she ran away. That she was troubled. That she'd come back when she was ready."
"That was before we had proof she was involved with a grown man. An older man who owns her building. A man with a history of—" I stop myself, swallowing hard. "They'll have to listen now."
Colleen nods, but her eyes are hollow. "I should've pushed harder. Should've demanded they investigate. But I believed them. I thought maybe she did just run away. Maybe she wanted a fresh start."
"You couldn't have known."
"I was her guardian. I was supposed to protect her."
"You did everything you could. You loved her. You took her in when no one else would."
She closes her eyes, fresh tears sliding down her cheeks. "I miss her so much. Every day I wake up hoping she'll walk through the door. That she'll tell me it was all a stupid mistake. That she's sorry."
I squeeze her tighter, my own throat burning. "We're going to find answers. I promise."
"Don't make promises you can't keep."
"I'm not." I pull back, gripping her shoulders. "We're going to nail that bastard. For Claudia. For me. For everyone he's ever hurt."
Colleen searches my face, something fierce flickering in her expression. "Okay."
"Okay?"
"Let's do it. Let's take him down."
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
The waiting room looks exactly the same as it did months ago—beige walls, scuffed linoleum floors, the same posters about domestic violence and drug awareness peeling at the corners. My stomach churns as we approach the front desk, the receptionist barely glancing up from her computer screen.
"We have an appointment with Detective Kirby,” Colleen says, voice steady despite the tremor in her hands. "It's about the Claudia McAllister case."
The receptionist types something, then gestures toward the familiar row of plastic chairs. "Someone will be with you shortly."
We sit. Wait. The fluorescent lights hum overhead, and I count the tiles on the ceiling to keep from losing my mind. Thirty-two. Thirty-three. Thirty-four.
"Ms. Singh?” A male officer appears—same guy who questioned me about the robbery. He doesn't seem to recognize me. "Come on back."
We follow him into a small interrogation room. Grey table. Three chairs. A camera mounted in the corner. My pulse hammers in my throat.
Colleen slides the printed texts across the table, hands remarkably calm. "These were delivered to my door. Anonymously. They're from my niece's boyfriend’s phone. She was seeing someone older. A man named Daniel."
The officer picks up the pages, scanning them with narrowed eyes. Minutes stretch. My knee bounces under the table until Colleen's hand covers it, stilling me.
"How did you obtain these?" he asks finally.
"Like I said. Someone left them at my door," Colleen tells him with a straight face. "I don't know who."
He studies us both, suspicion flickering across his face. My heart kicks against my ribs. I force myself to hold his gaze, channeling every ounce of fake confidence I've ever mustered.
