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"No, I'm not," Fiona replied firmly. "It's true. The police are looking all over the city for Mark Jenson right now. If he did kill Matilda, it will all come to light."
Mason let out a shaky breath, and some of the tension in his shoulders seemed to dissipate. "I hope so," he murmured, relief evident in his voice. Fiona watched him for a moment, feeling sympathy for his pain, even if she couldn't condone his actions.
"Trust me, Mason," she said softly. "We'll find the truth."
***
Outside Mark Jenson's house, Jake crouched behind a car parked across the street, carefully observing the darkened windows. A slight drizzle fell from the sky, dampening his hair and clothes, but he paid little attention to the discomfort. His fellow officers were positioned around the perimeter, poised to move in when the time was right.
"Any sign of movement?" Jake whispered into his earpiece, his heart pounding in anticipation.
"Negative," came the response from one of the officers on the other side of the property. "All quiet."
"Stay sharp," Jake ordered, his thoughts racing. Every moment they spent waiting, Fiona was alone at the hospital with a murderer. He knew she was capable, but the thought of her in danger gnawed at him.
As the minutes ticked by, the weight of responsibility pressed down on him. He had been the one to send Fiona to investigate Mason Black, putting her directly in harm's way. And he had been the one to uncover the connection between Mark and Matilda, setting off a chain of events that led them here.
"Focus," he commanded himself, taking a deep breath and refocusing his attention on the house. The darkness stretched on, punctuated only by the occasional sound of a distant car passing or the soft patter of raindrops on the street. Time seemed to slow down, each second dragging on for an eternity.
"Wait," came a sudden whisper over the earpiece. "Movement at the front door."
Jake's body tensed as the front door swung open, revealing Mark Jenson stepping out onto the porch. He glanced around nervously before starting down the steps, seemingly oblivious to the gathering storm around him.
The distant rumble of an engine broke the silence, and Jake's heart rate quickened in anticipation. He watched as a sleek, black car turned onto the street and approached the house, its headlights sweeping across the scene like predatory eyes. This was it; Mark Jenson was finally coming home.
"Remember, we need to apprehend him on suspicion of Matilda Black's murder," Jake whispered into his earpiece. "Proceed with caution, but be prepared for anything."
As the car pulled into the driveway, Mark stepped out, seemingly unaware of the danger lurking just beyond his line of sight. His expensive suit and neatly combed hair gave him an air of arrogant confidence that made Jake's blood boil. How could this man have caused so much pain and destruction without a care in the world?
"Ready?" Jake asked the team through the earpiece.
"Ready," came the unanimous reply.
"Move in," Jake commanded.
The officers sprang into action, converging on Mark from all directions with weapons drawn. Caught off guard, Mark instinctively raised his hands, his face contorting into an expression of disbelief and fear.
"Mark Jenson, you are being apprehended under the suspicion of murdering Matilda Black," Jake announced, his voice cold and firm as he emerged from the shadows.
"Wha- What? You've got the wrong guy!" Mark stammered, his eyes darting between the officers surrounding him.
"Save it for your lawyer," Jake retorted, feeling a surge of satisfaction as he slapped handcuffs onto Mark's wrists. "We have enough evidence to make the arrest."
As the officers led Mark away, Jake couldn't help but feel a twinge of unease. Was this truly the end, or were there more secrets waiting to be uncovered? And what about Fiona? He shook the thoughts away, reminding himself to stay focused on the present.
"Good job, everyone," he said into the earpiece, watching as Mark was loaded into a police car.
CHAPTER TWENTY NINE
With a weary sigh, Jake closed the door to his apartment behind him, flicking on the living room light. The cozy space was dimly lit, casting shadows across the well-worn furniture that held memories of nights spent poring over case files and sipping whiskey into the early hours of the morning. Tonight would be no different. After everything that happened, he had a lot of paperwork to finish.
He stepped over to the window, gazing out at the glittering city lights that formed Portland's skyline. It was breathtaking as always, but tonight it seemed to shimmer with an added sense of victory. The long and stressful case had come to an end – Mark Jenson and Mason Black were finally behind bars, and Fiona was safe. Relief washed over him like a wave, simultaneously draining and invigorating him.
"Time for a drink," he muttered to himself, making his way to the liquor cabinet. He pulled out a bottle of bourbon, its amber liquid gleaming in the soft light, and poured a stiff measure into a heavy glass tumbler. With the first sip, the warmth radiated through his chest and offered a temporary reprieve from the weight of the past week.
As he stood there, savoring the taste of hard-earned solace, his phone buzzed in his pocket, jarring him from his thoughts. His heart skipped a beat as he saw Lauren's name flashing on the screen. Anxiety coiled in his stomach; he'd been trying to reach her for so long, and now she was calling him. Taking a deep breath, he answered with a voice that betrayed his trepidation.
"Lauren?"
