How much of it had been real?
Any of it?
Marcus drove in silence, occasionally glancing at me in the rearview mirror.
“Mrs. Hayes,” he said finally. “Whatever you’re planning—”
“I’m not planning anything. I just need to understand.”
“Understanding doesn’t require driving through the night to confront the people who tried to kill you.”
“No,” I agreed. “But closure does.”
We arrived in Sedona just after dawn.
The address Katherine had sent led us to a small adobe house on the outskirts of town, tucked into the red rock hills. A rental car sat in the driveway.
Richard’s rental car.
My heart hammered against my ribs.
“He’s here,” I breathed.
Marcus put a hand on my arm. “Let me call the local authorities—”
“No.” I was already opening the door. “Not yet.”
“Mrs. Hayes—”
“Five minutes. I need five minutes to hear why.”
I climbed out before he could stop me.
The morning air was cool and dry. Somewhere in the distance, a bird called out. The house looked peaceful, ordinary.
I walked up the gravel path and knocked on the door.
For a long moment, nothing.
Then footsteps.
The door opened.
And my mother stood there, older than I remembered, her face carefully blank.
“Amelia,” she said quietly. “You’re alive.”
Not surprise. Not shock.
Just a flat statement of fact.
“You knew,” I whispered. “You knew what he was going to do.”
My mother’s expression didn’t change.
Behind her, Richard appeared in the hallway.
His face went white.
