Anna stared at the floor.
“No,” she repeated.
“All right.”
Mara did not challenge her.
“May I see your wrist?”
Anna’s head lifted.
For several seconds, neither woman moved.
Then Anna slowly pulled back her left sleeve.
Mara’s face remained professionally still.
Inside the wrist, beneath the watch line, were four dark finger-shaped marks.
Not old.
Fresh.
There was also a thin red scrape curving toward the palm.
Mara’s jaw tightened.
“When did this happen?”
Anna pulled the sleeve down.
“I bruise easily.”
“That isn’t what I asked.”
Anna’s lips trembled.
Outside, faint voices drifted through the kitchen.
Grant’s was the loudest.
Mara said, “Did he do that?”
Anna looked at the door again.
Then at Mara.
“What happens if I say yes?”
“That depends on what happened.”
“He has friends.”
Mara waited.
“In the department?”
Anna gave a tiny shake of her head.
“Everywhere.”
“Anna.”
“He knows judges. Attorneys. Council members. He sits on the hospital board. He funds the youth center. Every Christmas his company buys coats for children.”
Mara had heard the name Holloway before.
Almost everyone in Bellhaven had.
Grant Holloway owned Holloway Civic Development, the firm responsible for half the downtown restoration projects.
His photograph appeared in charity newsletters.
His name was attached to scholarships.
He had donated eighty thousand dollars to the new police training facility two years earlier.
Mara kept her face calm.
“That doesn’t answer what happened this morning.”
Anna pressed one hand to her mouth.
“He thought I took something.”
“What?”
“A key.”
“What key?”
Anna’s eyes filled.
“I can’t.”
“Why?”
“Because if you arrest him and then release him, I’m dead.”
The word hung between them.
Mara did not say anything comforting.
She had learned that vague promises were dangerous.
Instead she asked, “Do you believe he will kill you?”
Anna whispered, “Not because he’s angry.”
A chill went through Mara.
“Then why?”
“Because of what I know.”
Before Mara could ask more, someone knocked.
Three sharp taps.
Anna jumped.
“Officer?” Devon called. “Need you.”
Mara opened the door just enough.
Devon leaned close.
“Chief called.”
Mara’s stomach sank.
“Already?”
“Grant called somebody before we got here.”
Of course he had.
“What does Chief want?”
“He says Mr. Holloway is requesting charges and we should keep the scene clean.”
“Meaning?”
Devon’s expression said he hated the answer.
“Take Rowan in.”
Mara glanced behind her.
Anna had heard everything.
The fear in her face deepened.
Mara closed the door again.
“Listen carefully.”
Anna stared at her.
“I can document your wrist. I can take a statement. I can separate you from him. But I need you to tell me what happened.”
Anna’s eyes moved toward the ceiling as though she were searching for courage hidden somewhere above them.
Then she whispered, “He grabbed me because he found the envelope missing.”
“What envelope?”
“I hid copies of financial records.”
“Financial records of what?”
“Holloway Outreach.”
Mara knew the charity.
“His foundation?”
Anna nodded.
“What kind of records?”
“Transfers. Properties. Names.”
“What names?”
Anna’s voice almost disappeared.
“Women.”
Mara felt the case change shape.
“What women?”
“Women who disappeared.”
A pan clattered loudly in the kitchen.
Anna flinched again.
Mara stepped closer.
“How many?”
“I found fourteen.”
Mara stared at her.
“Fourteen missing women?”
“Maybe more.”
“And your husband is connected to them?”
Anna closed her eyes.
“I think he knows exactly what happened to every one of them.”
At the counter, Caleb Rowan stood in handcuffs.
Grant had insisted.
Devon had complied because the chief’s order left little room for interpretation.
The diner customers had begun whispering.
Grant walked among them as though the room belonged to him.
“Sorry everyone had to see this,” he said. “Obviously the man has problems.”
Harrison wiped the same section of counter three times.
He had owned the diner for twenty-seven years.
He had seen divorces begin over pancakes, marriage proposals over pie, politicians lie over eggs, addicts ask forgiveness, children meet biological parents, and grieving widowers eat the same silent breakfast every Sunday because going home was worse.
He knew people.
Or at least he believed he did.
Grant Holloway had been coming to Harrison’s Grill for six years.
Polite.
Generous tipper.
Always remembered names.
He once paid for an elderly couple’s meal because he overheard them discussing medical bills.
Harrison had liked him.
Now Harrison looked toward the decorative mirror behind booth four.
“Kim.”
The waitress came closer.
“Yeah?”
“Stand where Caleb was sitting.”
She frowned.
“Why?”
“Just do it.”
Kim went to the third stool from the register.
Harrison sat in booth four, where Anna had been.
“Can you see under the table?”
Kim adjusted herself.
Her face changed.
“Yeah.”
“What can you see?”
“Your hands.”
Harrison extended one arm across the booth.
Kim whispered, “Jesus.”
Grant heard.
He turned.
“What?”
“Nothing,” Harrison said.
Grant approached.
“You checking his ridiculous story?”
Harrison looked up.
“I’m checking my mirror.”
Grant’s smile returned.
“You’ve known me a long time.”
“I have.”
“Then you know I would never hurt Anna.”
Harrison did not answer.
Grant’s smile cooled.
“You do know that.”
It was not a question.
Harrison suddenly remembered something from three months earlier.
Anna had come in alone.
That itself had been unusual.
She sat in the corner and ordered tea.
Grant arrived twenty minutes later.
Harrison remembered Anna standing too quickly when Grant entered.
He remembered Grant kissing her forehead.
Sweet.
Affectionate.
Then Grant put one hand around the back of Anna’s neck as they walked out.
At the time Harrison had thought it tender.
Now he remembered how Anna’s shoulders had tightened.
How could the exact same gesture look completely different once you understood the person receiving it?
Harrison said, “I don’t know what happens inside anybody else’s house.”
Grant’s face lost all warmth.
“You should be careful with statements like that.”
Harrison stared at him.
There it was.
Small.
Soft.
Almost polite.
But unmistakable.
A warning.
Caleb heard it too.
“You really can’t help yourself, can you?” he said.
Grant turned.
“What?”
“You need every room to belong to you.”
Devon stepped between them.
“Enough.”
Grant laughed.
“This man is obsessed with me.”
Caleb’s eyes sharpened.
“I’d never seen you before today.”
Grant’s face remained relaxed.
Caleb continued.
“But I’ve seen men like you.”