The detective studied the message.
“This could be the opening we need.”
The plan was theirs—not mine.
They wired me. Set up surveillance around the property. Assured me I wouldn’t be alone for even a second.
When I arrived, Kevin was already there.
The dark-haired woman stood near the porch, placing a bag into her car.
Kevin gave me a faint, sad smile.
“I was hoping you would come alone.”
I stopped several feet away.
“Who is she?”
He barely glanced at her. “A friend helping me with paperwork. Leora.”
She got into her car and drove off.
“You talked to Vanessa.”
I said nothing.
He sighed.
“She has spent years turning grief into a story. Emily was unstable near the end. You know that.”
“No,” I said quietly. “I know you wanted me isolated.”
Something shifted in his expression.
Not much—but enough.
“I tried to make this easier for you than it was for her.”
That was the first truly honest thing he had ever said to me.
I stumbled backward.
He reached for my arm.
At that exact moment, officers emerged—from the trees, from the sides of the house—shouting his name.
Kevin ran.
But they caught him.
As they forced him to the ground, he twisted to look at me.
“You should have trusted me,” he said.
Even then.
Even in handcuffs.
The truth came out slowly.
Kevin had taken out policies on Emily.
He had been trying to access mine.
The woman was his girlfriend.
Inside the old house, police found everything.
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