Chapter 42 Chapter 42: Breaking Point (Doris Vale POV)
I grab my phone, stepping away from the table. Find a corner near the restroom, away from prying eyes and curious ears.
I call him. He answers on the first ring.
"What's wrong?" I ask, voice low.
"Can't talk on the phone. Where are you?"
"Bean & Bone. The café on..."
"I know where it is. Meet me at the back parking lot. Five minutes."
"Eddie, what's..."
The line goes dead.
I stand there, phone clutched in my hand, heart hammering against my ribs. Something's wrong. Something's catastrophically wrong.
I go back to my table, shoving my laptop into my bag with trembling hands. My latte sits half-finished, foam long since collapsed into sad beige swirls.
Mira looks up from the counter as I pass. "Leaving already?"
"Yeah, forgot something. Sorry."
"No worries. See you tomorrow?"
"Yeah. Tomorrow."
Outside, the cold air slaps my face. I walk fast, rounding the building toward the back lot where employees park. It's darker here, the streetlights sparse and sickly yellow. A dumpster sits against the wall, overflowing with trash bags and cardboard boxes.
Eddie's car idles near the far edge, exhaust pluming white in the cold. I can see him through the windshield, hunched over the steering wheel.
I approach the passenger side, pulling the door open. Slide in.
Eddie doesn't look at me. Just stares through the windshield, jaw working.
"Eddie." My voice comes out steadier than I feel. "What's going on?"
He runs a hand over his face, finally turning to look at me. His eyes are bloodshot, ringed with dark circles. "Things are getting hot."
"What things?"
"Everything. The cop, the investigation, the fucking murders." He pulls out a cigarette, lighting it with shaking hands. Takes a long drag. "People are asking questions. About the records I altered. About money moving through offshore accounts."
My stomach drops. "Who's asking?"
"FBI. Internal Affairs. I don't know exactly, but I'm hearing things." He exhales smoke, the car filling with it. "And your name came up."
"What?" The word comes out strangled. "How?"
"I don't know. Maybe they're just fishing. Maybe someone connected dots I didn't know existed." He takes another drag, ash falling onto his lap. "But I'm hearing whispers. About a woman connected to the detective. About someone who moved to town right before the killings started."
Hayes. It has to be Hayes. Or Vanessa Cross. Or both.
"I cleaned the records," Eddie continues. "Scrubbed everything. But if they're already looking at you before I made the changes—if they took screenshots, made copies..."
"Then the alterations look suspicious," I finish.
"Worse than suspicious. They look like someone tried to cover something up." He flicks ash out the cracked window. "Which means they'll dig deeper. And if they dig deep enough..."
"They'll find the contract."
"Or they'll find me." His eyes meet mine, and there's something feral in them. Trapped. "I've got a family, Doris. A wife, two kids in middle school. I can't go to prison."
"You won't. I'll.".
"You'll what? Fix this? How?" His voice rises, sharp and caustic. "You've been trying to stop the Surgeon for months. Fat lot of good that's done."
"I tried to cancel! He wouldn't.".
"Because you hired a fucking psychopath who enjoys his work!" Eddie stubs out his cigarette in the overflowing ashtray, immediately lighting another. "Jesus Christ, Doris. What were you thinking?"
"I was thinking my sister was dead and someone needed to pay!"
"Well congratulations. Someone's paying. Multiple someones. And you're falling in love with the guy you wanted destroyed." He laughs. "You couldn't write this shit if you tried."
I press my palms against my eyes, breathing through the panic. "What do you want me to do?"
"Disappear. Tonight. I can get you new documents, new identity. You'll have to leave everything, the detective, the apartment, all of it. But you'll be alive."
"I can't just..."
"Or you fix this." He turns fully to face me. "End it. Whatever way you can. Because if they come for me, Doris, if the FBI shows up at my door with questions I can't answer, I can't promise I'll stay quiet."
The words hit like a physical blow. "You'd turn me in?"
"I'd do what I have to do to protect my family. Same as you did." His expression hardens. "Don't act shocked. You put us both in this position."
"I know." My voice cracks. "I know I did. But Eddie..."
"No. We're done talking." He reaches across me, opening the passenger door. "Get out."
"Eddie, please..."
"Get. Out." His hand moves to the glove compartment, and the implication is clear.
I get out, stumbling back as he slams the door. The car peels out, tires squealing against pavement, leaving me standing in the parking lot with exhaust fumes and the acrid smell of burnt rubber.
I watch his taillights disappear around the corner. Then I'm alone, the dumpster's fetid smell mixing with cigarette smoke clinging to my clothes.
My phone buzzes. I pull it out, hands shaking so badly I almost drop it.
Text from Donald: Meeting running late. Don't wait up. Love you.
Love you.
The words blur as tears I didn't know were coming spill over. I press my hand to my mouth, muffling the sob that tears free.
Eddie's going to flip. If the pressure gets too intense, if the FBI corners him, he'll give me up to save himself. And why wouldn't he? I'm the one who hired a killer. I'm the one with blood on my hands.
And even if Eddie stays quiet, Hayes is digging. Vanessa's snooping. The walls are closing in from every direction.
I sink against the building's brick wall, sliding down until I'm sitting on cold concrete. My bag falls beside me, laptop probably cracked, but I don't care.
The Surgeon's still out there. Still killing, or planning to kill. Robert, Margaret—who's next? Linda with her hang-up calls? Bethany in her safe house? Donald's brother who texted that apology?
And I can't stop it. Can't reach the Surgeon. Can't call it off. Can't do anything except watch Donald's family get picked off one by one while he looks at me like I'm his salvation.
By the time I reach my building, I'm running. Take the stairs two at a time, fumbling with my keys at the door. Inside, I lock it immediately. Deadbolt, chain, everything.
I lean against the door, breathing hard, staring at my apartment like I've never seen it before.
This is where I've been playing house. Pretending to be Dora, the financial consultant from London. Pretending to have a normal life with a normal boyfriend who doesn't know his girlfriend hired someone to murder his family.
Sarah's photo sits on the dresser in the bedroom. I walk over, picking it up with numb fingers.
"I'm so sorry," I whisper. "This isn't what you would've wanted. You'd hate what I've become."
Her frozen smile doesn't change. Doesn't forgive or condemn. Just watches with eyes that look so much like mine.
I set the photo down and move to the window, staring out at the street below. A car passes. Then another. Normal traffic. Normal night.
Except nothing's normal. Eddie's threatening to flip. Someone knows my real name. The Surgeon's still out there. Hayes is investigating. Vanessa's digging.
And Donald—Donald who just texted "love you"—has no idea the woman he loves is the architect of his nightmare.
I'm trapped. Completely, utterly trapped.