Deck kept staring at the photograph.
At the younger version of the woman now chasing Eleanor across the internet.
“Aye,” he said.
“It matters because that girl sat through every day of that trial watchin’ Eleanor defend the man she believed killed her cousin—and then watched him walk right back out the door.”
Dawson let out a low whistle.
“And now she hosts a true-crime show about missing women.”
Deck nodded once.
“Turned that grief into a brand.”
Dawson folded his arms.
“And now?”
“An’ now she’s happened t’show up in Sylva the moment Eleanor takes another case,” Deck said. “Another missin’ woman. Another man the town wants on a hook.”
Dawson studied him.
“You think she followed her?”
Deck looked back at the screen.
The anger in that young woman’s eyes hadn’t faded with time.
It had sharpened.
“No,” Deck said.
“I think she’s been waitin’. For the right case. For the right chance t’make Nell pay for what she did in Charleston—or what she thinks Nell did.”
Dawson glanced back at the screen.
“You know,” he said slowly, “there were a couple mentions of Harper in her early episodes. Different cases. Different cities. Didn’t mean anything at the time.”
Something in Deck’s face went still.
“Aye,” he said softly. “I expect they meant something to her.”
Dawson leaned back in his chair.
“Well,” he said slowly. “That’s a hell of a grudge.”
Deck stood.
“Aye.”
His expression had gone hard.
“An’ now I’d like t’know how far she’s willin’ t’take it.”
He glanced once more at the frozen image of Lila Allen—Grant now—eyes locked on Eleanor from across time and a crowded courtroom.
“Last time this city got hold of Nell,” he said, “it damn near destroyed her. That was before Lila Allen learned how t’point a camera and call it justice.”
