Chapter 10 - Across the Street
Rachel was already moving.
She locked the back door, pulled the blinds, and called police.
Claire carried Noah into the interior laundry room, the only space without windows.
Her phone buzzed again.
Another photograph.
This one showed Rachel’s front porch.
Then a message appeared.
You’re making this uglier than it needs to be.
Claire’s hands went cold.
“He’s violating the order,” Rachel said from the hallway.
“Maybe it’s not him.”
“Does that matter?”
It did not.
Police arrived within minutes and searched the street.
No Grant.
No Diane.
But an officer found a black SUV parked two houses down with no one inside. The plates came back to a rental company.
Inside, visible through the window, was a long-lens camera on the passenger seat.
The rental agreement later led investigators to a name Claire had never heard.
Paul Mercer.
Private investigator.
Grant’s attorney confirmed Mercer had been hired weeks before Noah’s birth.
Weeks.
Before the bathroom.
Before the suitcase.
Before the alleged “postpartum crisis.”
Claire sat in Rachel’s living room as Detective Lena Ortiz explained it.
“We don’t know the full scope yet,” Ortiz said. “But this was not arranged last night.”
Claire stared at the sleeping baby in her arms.
“What was he investigating?”
“You.”
Rachel swore softly.
Ortiz slid a printed invoice across the table.
Surveillance dates.
Locations.
Notes.
Grocery store. Pediatrician. Pharmacy. Rachel’s house.
Claire’s workplace, even though she was on maternity leave.
One line made her stop.
Subject observed crying in parked vehicle for approximately eleven minutes. Photographs obtained.
Claire remembered that day.
Noah had screamed through a pediatric appointment. Claire had driven to a parking lot, pulled over, and cried because she was tired.
A normal human moment.
Someone had photographed it from another car.
“What was he going to do with these?” Claire asked.
Ortiz did not answer immediately.
Rachel did.
“Prove you were unstable.”
Claire looked at the invoice again.
At the bottom was the billing contact.
Not Grant.
Not Marcus Vale.
Diane Mason.
Claire’s phone rang.
Blocked number.
Ortiz motioned for her to answer on speaker.
Claire did.
A woman spoke.
Not Diane.
Not anyone Claire recognized.
“Mrs. Mason?”
“Yes.”
“My name is Karen Doyle. I work at Dr. Keller’s office.”
May you like
The woman sounded terrified.
“I think you need to know what they asked me to put in your medical chart.”
