Page 27 of Single Mom's Bodyguards
Sean shakes his head. “Not enough to put him away. David’s not stupid—he’ll hire someone two layers removed from him. By the time you get to him legally, the trail’s cold.”
“And you want to wait until when?” Huck asks.
Sean doesn’t answer right away.
I tap the next print into place. “Look at the reflection in this one. There—” I point to a faint smear in the corner, a warped shape caught in the shine of the glass. “Left hand on the camera body, right adjusting the focus. That tells me left-eye dominant shooter, six-foot range. Black nitrile gloves.”
Sean’s eyes flick to me. “Anything we can use?”
“Not unless he’s stupid enough to be in a database for something else.”
“So we’re back to square one,” Huck says.
I shake my head. “Not exactly. He left this to be found. The point wasn’t selling these to a tabloid—it was letting us know we’re being watched. That’s the real message.”
“From David,” Huck says flatly.
“Yeah,” I admit.
Sean exhales through his nose. “Then we make it stop.”
“That’s where we split,” I tell them. “You want to go legit—lawyers, paper trail, maybe a restraining order. I want to send something back that makes him think twice about ever coming near her again.”
Huck glowers. “I want him to stop breathing.”
The room goes quiet.
I rest my fingertips on the edge of the table. “We’re not going to agree on method right now. But we can agree on the why.”
Sean nods once. “Keep her safe.”
“And make sure he knows she’s not alone,” I add.
Huck remains silent, annoyed that he’s outvoted on the murdering-David plan.
The air in the room feels heavier. The photos between us aren’t just evidence anymore—they’re a provocation.
I start sliding them back into their protective sleeves. “We close the blinds for now, but that’s a bandage. He already knows how to cut past it. We need more cameras on the blind angles, and we need to start watching the watchers.”
Sean’s jaw tightens, but he nods. “Do it.”
Huck straightens. “And if we see him again?”
Sean meets his gaze. “We’ll decide then.”
I don’t say it out loud, but in my head, I’ve already decided I am going to ruin David Oswalt. One way or another.
8
HUCK
Bailey doesn’t cry.That’s the first thing I notice.
Wesley lays the photos out on the table like they’re evidence in a murder case—and maybe they are, if you look at them from the right angle—and Bailey doesn’t blink.
No tears. No screams. No cracked-glass gasp of betrayal.
Just silence. Tight and heavy and terrifying.
