“Come in,” he says quickly.“I pulled up the camera feeds.”He places a finger to his lips.“We need to be quiet.Gwen is finally asleep and I don’t want to wake her.”
“Thank you.”I step inside.
Chef’s house smells of vanilla and coffee and the lingering scent of garlic and curry.He must have prepared something Indian for dinner earlier.
We move to his home office, a small room off the kitchen lined with cookbooks and framed awards.A laptop glows on the desk, already open to his camera app.
“I haven’t looked yet,” he says.“Frankly, I was apprehensive.”
I nod, sitting beside him.“I don’t blame you.Let’s start with the front door.”
He scrolls through the timeline, his finger trembling just a little.The footage jumps in thirty-second intervals.Midnight.One.Two.Then?—
At 3:04 a.m., motion triggers the camera.
A man in a dark hoodie approaches the porch.He keeps his face downward before moving out of frame.
My breath catches.“There.Stop.Rewind.”
Chef does.We play it again, slower this time.The man doesn’t ring the bell.Just stands there for a second.Then turns toward the side of the house.
“Front yard camera next,” I say.“Then the back.”
Chef switches feeds.For a minute, there’s nothing but stillness—the wind in the trees, a raccoon scurrying across the grass.Then the back door creaks open.
Belinda steps out.
She’s wearing her pink sleep shorts and an oversized T-shirt, her blond hair loose around her shoulders.My heart sinks.
“Oh, God,” I whisper.“That’s her.”
She glances around, clearly nervous, before walking toward the man.They meet near the hedgerow.He bends down to speak to her.She nods, arms folded tight against the chill.
“Can you zoom in?”I ask.
Chef hesitates.“The resolution isn’t great?—”
“Try.”
He adjusts the playback.The image enlarges.It’s still grainy and pixelated, but it’s enough to catch the flash of movement when a breeze gusts through the yard.The man’s hood slips back for half a second, and in that instant, his face tilts toward the light.
Every muscle in my body locks.
“Rewind,” I say, gulping.“Go back.Slow it down.”
He does.
Frame by frame.
And there he is again.Full lips.Strong jaw.Eyes I know as well as my own nightmares.
Diego Vega.
The breath leaves my lungs all at once.
But he’s dead.
Vinnie promised.Had photographic evidence.
So it can’t be.
It can’t.
But it is.
