Page 63 of Knox

Knox

I snapped several shots with my phone, zooming in on the reflection. The quality wasn’t great, but it was something. Proof that someone had been watching Sarah at my mother’s shop. And that this seashell was possibly some sort of calling card.

We spent another hour with Mrs. Lake, going through more of Sarah’s photos and journal entries, taking notes about her movements during those last days. When we finally stood to leave, the older woman pulled Sloane into a tight hug.

“Thank you for doing this,” she whispered. “For not giving up on her. On any of them.”

“We won’t stop until we find answers,” Sloane promised.

I shook Mrs. Lake’s hand, offering what comfort I could. “We’ll keep you updated on anything we find.”

We were halfway down the front walk when I spotted a blue-and-white VW bus parked three houses down, partially obscured by a large oak tree. The same vehicle I’d seen at the party. The same one Sloane had described from the trailhead.

My hand tightened on Sloane’s. “Don’t look. Just keep walking. Get in the Jeep.”

To her credit, Sloane didn’t break stride. “The VW?”

“Yeah.”

We climbed into the Jeep with forced casualness. I started the engine and pulled away from the curb, watching the van in my rearview mirror. It didn’t move. Didn’t follow. Just sat there, silent and waiting.

“He’s here,” Sloane said, her voice tight with fear. “He followed us. He knows we’re investigating.”

“Or he was watching Mrs. Lake’s house.” I circled the block, but when we came back around, the van was gone. No sign of it anywhere on the street. “Son of a bitch.”

I pulled over and called Nash, filling him in on everything we’d learned. And the VW bus sighting.

“I’ll contact their local law enforcement,” Nash said. “Get a description of the bus to Raleigh PD and request a patrol car in the area. But Knox, you need to be careful. It’s not good that this guy is following you.”

“I know. We’re being careful.”

“I think it’s more like you’ve kicked a hornet’s nest.”

Sloane frowned at my dashboard, where the call piped through speakers. “What do you mean?”

Nash sighed. “I reached out to state police with your report of a break-in last night. They’ve taken over the missing hikers’ cases, so I wanted to keep them informed. These are obviously linked offenses.”

“And?”

“The FBI called me this morning.”

“FBI?” My hands tightened on the wheel. “Since when have they been handling this?”

“Since they received the photos you took of that shell. Turns out they’ve been tracking a pattern of missing women along the east coast. Virginia, Maryland, North Carolina. Your shell photo connected to their investigation.”

Sloane’s face went white. “How many women?”

“They didn’t say. But they want to talk to you both. Today, if possible.”

My stomach dropped. Because FBI involvement meant this was bigger than three missing hikers on our island.

I ended the call and turned to find Sloane staring out the window, her hands kneading roughly in her lap. “Hey. You okay?”

“The shell is proof the same guy who took Sarah is the one who attacked me, right?” she asked. “And all I can think about is that he left that at her rental. He was in my house. He was right outside watching us talk with Mrs. Lake.” Sloane’s voice shook. Her eyes were wide, wild with fear when she turned to me. “Oh my God. What if he goes after her now? What if we just painted a target on that poor woman’s back?”

“Raleigh PD will have someone watch the house. She’ll be safe.” I reached over and took Sloane’s hand again, terrified by the news and immeasurably grateful for the upgraded security at her house. “We’re getting close. That’s why he’s escalating. He’s scared.”

“Good. He should be.”