Chapter 32 Safe House Visit (Donald Eric POV)
Sixteen years old and treating this like an inconvenience instead of a threat.
I need to see her. Talk to her face-to-face. Make her understand.
I pull up the safe house address Hayes texted me last week. Forty minutes north. I put the car in drive and merge back onto the road.
The safe house is tucked in a subdivision that looks like every other suburb—identical lawns, identical mailboxes, identical lives. I pull up to the curb, and Officer Miller steps out from the patrol car parked in the driveway. He's young, maybe mid-twenties, hand resting on his belt near his radio.
"Detective Eric." He relaxes when he recognizes me. "Wasn't expecting you."
"Wanted to check in. That okay?"
"Yeah, of course. Let me tell them you're here." He radios inside, then nods toward the door. "Go ahead."
I walk up the path, the front door opening before I knock. My sister stands there, Diane. We've got the same dark hair, same sharp jawline from our father. But where I look worn down, she looks terrified.
"Don." She pulls me into a hug, quick and tight. "Thank God you're here."
"How's it going?"
"She's been quiet since the news. Won't come out of her room much." Diane steps aside, letting me in. The house smells like carpet cleaner and something baking, cookies, maybe. "She saw something online. That reporter's article. The comments."
My jaw tightens. "She's on social media?"
"I took her phone last night, but she got on her laptop before I could stop her." Diane closes the door, locking it. "She was defending you. Got into arguments with strangers. I tried to get her to stop, but you know Beth."
"Where's her phone now?"
"In my purse. She's been asking for it back all morning."
"Don't give it to her."
Diane's eyes widen. "Don..."
"I mean it. No phone. No laptop. Nothing." I walk into the living room, dropping onto the couch. "She shouldn't be on social media right now. It's not safe."
"You think someone's watching her accounts?"
"I don't know. But I'm not taking chances." I rub my face, exhaustion pressing down. "Where is she?"
"Her room. Second door on the right." Diane sits beside me, her hands twisting together. "Don, she's scared. She won't admit it, but I can tell. When she saw those comments, people saying you're a murderer, that she's next—it shook her."
"Good. Maybe she'll take this seriously."
"She's sixteen. She thinks she's invincible."
"Yeah, well, she's not." I stand, heading down the hallway. "I'll talk to her."
Beth's door is closed. I knock twice. "Beth? It's Uncle Don."
Silence.
I knock again. "Beth, I know you're in there."
"Go away."
"Not happening. Open the door."
"No."
I try the handle. Locked. "Bethany, open this door right now."
"Make me."
I take a breath, counting to five. "I'm here to talk. That's it. Just open the door."
A long pause. Then footsteps. The lock clicks, and the door swings open. Beth stands there in pajama pants and an oversized hoodie, arms crossed, face set in a scowl.
"What?"
"Can I come in?"
"Do I have a choice?"
"Not really."
She steps aside, and I enter. The room's small, twin bed, desk, one window with blinds drawn. Her laptop sits closed on the desk. I pick it up.
"Hey!" She lunges for it, but I hold it out of reach.
"This is staying with your mom."
"That's not fair! I need it for school."
"You're not in school right now. You're in a safe house."
"Because of YOUR mess!" Her voice cracks, anger and fear mixing together. "This is your fault, Uncle Don. All of it. And now I'm stuck here with no phone, no laptop, no friends, no life..."
"Because someone's trying to kill you."
The words land hard. She stops, mouth open, then closes it. Her eyes shine with unshed tears.
"Nobody's trying to kill me," she says, quieter now. "I'm just a kid. Why would anyone..."
"Because you're my niece. That's enough." I set the laptop on the desk, turning to face her. "Beth, I know this is hard. I know you're bored and frustrated. But you need to understand, this is real. Robert's dead. Margaret's dead. And whoever's doing this isn't going to stop just because you're sixteen."
"But I didn't do anything."
"Neither did they." I step closer, lowering my voice. "Listen to me. The person doing this? They want to hurt me. And the best way to do that is to hurt the people I care about. That means you."
"So what? I just sit here forever? Miss everything? Let my life fall apart?"
"For now, yeah. Until I catch whoever's doing this."
"And when will that be?" She wipes her eyes with her sleeve. "A week? A month? What if it takes years?"
"It won't."
"You don't know that."
"I do." I place my hands on her shoulders. "I'm going to fix this. I promise. But I need you to stay here, stay safe, and stay offline. Can you do that?"
She doesn't answer. Just stares at the floor, jaw clenched.
"Beth."
"Fine. Whatever."
"I need you to actually listen, not just say whatever to get me to leave."
"I said fine!" She shrugs off my hands, stepping back. "I'll stay here. I'll be a good little prisoner. Happy?"
"I'm not trying to punish you."
"Could've fooled me." She sits on the bed, pulling her knees to her chest. "Mom took my phone. Now you're taking my laptop. What's next? Lock me in a closet?"
"That's not..." I stop, breathing through my nose. "Look. I get it. This sucks. But it's temporary."
"You keep saying that."
"Because it's true."
"Or because you're lying to make me feel better."
I crouch in front of her, forcing her to meet my eyes. "I don't lie to you, Beth. Ever. When I say this will be over soon, I mean it."
She holds my gaze for a moment, then looks away. "Okay."
"Okay?"
"Yeah. Okay." Her voice is small, defeated. "Can you go now?"
"Beth..."
"Please. Just go."
I stand slowly, grabbing the laptop from the desk. "Your mom loves you. Officer Miller's here to keep you safe. And I'm doing everything I can to end this. You believe me?"
"I guess."
"Not good enough. Do you believe me?"
She looks up, eyes red-rimmed. "Yeah. I believe you."
"Good." I head for the door, pausing at the threshold. "Stay off social media. I mean it."
"Yeah, yeah. I heard you the first ten times."
I leave, closing the door behind me. In the hallway, I lean against the wall, closing my eyes. The weight of it all presses down—Bethany's fear, Diane's worry, the murders, the press conference, Vanessa Cross's smirk.
My phone rings. I pull it out, glancing at the screen. Rachel.
"Damn it," I mutter, heading back to the living room.
Diane's in the kitchen, pulling cookies from the oven. "How'd it go?"
"She's upset. Understandably." I hold up the laptop. "Keep this locked away. And her phone too. No screens until this is over."
"Don, she's going to lose her mind."
"Better bored than dead." I set the laptop on the counter. "I'll check in tomorrow."
"You're leaving already?"
"Yeah. Got a call I need to take." My phone's still ringing, Rachel's name flashing. "Keep the doors locked. Don't let her leave. Not even for a walk."
"We won't."
I head for the door, nodding to Officer Miller as I pass. He's leaning against his patrol car, coffee in hand.
"Everything good, Detective?"
"Yeah. Just keep an eye on them."
"Will do."
I get in my car, phone still buzzing. I answer before I can talk myself out of it.
"Rachel."
"Don, thank God. I've been calling for twenty minutes."
"I was busy. What's up?"
"I saw the press conference. Are you okay?"
I start the car, pulling away from the curb. "Define okay."
"That reporter was brutal. The way she cornered you..."