Already getting photos. Friends say he was “obsessed.” You want me to hold until you look?
Lila stared at the words.
Obsessed.
She could already see the shape of it. Pretty college girl. Missing poster. Boyfriend with a temper, a pickup truck, and a dozen blurry Instagram photos where he looked just wrong enough.
The ache in her chest eased.
A story she understood. A story she knew how to tell.
She closed the Charleston folder. Then the Mercer one.
Her finger hovered over the trackpad for only a second.
Delete.
Delete.
The folders disappeared from the desktop.
Outside, headlights slid across the motel curtains.
Lila stood, grabbed her jacket and camera bag, and snapped the laptop shut.
The digital clock on the nightstand blinked 5:12 a.m.
The motel door opened straight onto the parking lot.
Lila stepped out, keys in hand—and jolted.
He was there.
Leaning against the hood of his truck, parked directly in front of her room. Arms crossed. Hat low.
Watching.
“So ye are headin’ for Tennessee, are ya?” Deck said, the brogue low and rough.
Her breath caught.
She straightened, irritation snapping back into place as she locked the door.
“The story’s over here, Detective,” she said coolly. “I’m sure that’s a relief.”
“Aye,” he said softly. “More than you know… Lila Allen.”
Her name settled between them.
Her chin lifted. “You think that changes anything? Eleanor Harper still stood beside a man the world knew was guilty. I didn’t create that. I just refused to let people forget it.”
Deck pushed off the truck.
“Aye,” he said. “You didn’t let them forget. You kept it alive. Fed it. Turned it into somethin’ it was never meant to be… all because you couldn’t find the man who actually killed your cousin.”
Her jaw tightened.
“You needed a villain,” he said, quieter now. “So you made one out of a woman who was doin’ her job.”
