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Fiona observed him closely, noting the strain etched into his forehead, the determined set of his jaw. She remembered something then, a detail from Jake's past that could be significant. "You were supposed to go camping with your dad and brother the weekend your mom was killed, but you stayed home instead," she reminded him quietly.
Jake's eyes snapped to hers, the flicker of realization brightening the brown depths momentarily before doubt clouded them again. "But I can't seem to connect the dots," he admitted with a frustrated sigh, running a hand through his disheveled hair.
"Could it be that the killer thought the house would be empty?" Fiona proposed, her mind racing with the implications. "He wouldn't have expected anyone to be home."
"Maybe," Jake conceded, the possibility taking root. The idea that he might have inadvertently influenced the killer's actions all those years ago was a disturbing prospect, one that added a new layer of complexity to an already convoluted case.
For a long moment, they sat in silence, each lost in their thoughts, the weight of what remained unsolved heavy between them. Then Fiona reached out, placing a reassuring hand on Jake's arm.
Fiona watched as realization dawned on Jake’s face, the gears turning rapidly behind his tired eyes. He straightened up from where he was leaning against the cold metal table, a spark of memory igniting within him.
"Wait," he said, his voice low but urgent. "The postman... I remember now."
Fiona tilted her head, curiosity piqued. She observed him closely, noting the sudden tension in his jaw.
"Gregory Dalton?" she prompted, trying to keep up with his train of thought.
"Yes, that's him!" Jake exclaimed, almost breathless. "He was our postman back when I was fifteen. He always seemed too young for the job, and my mom... she would talk to him whenever he came by with the mail."
"Could your mother have mentioned your camping trip to him?" Fiona asked, already piecing together the implications.
"Quite possible," Jake muttered, raking a hand through his hair again. "She was friendly like that, always making conversation."
Fiona felt a chill run down her spine as the pieces fell into place. It was a fragile connection, yet it held a sinister weight. The atmosphere in the room grew heavy with the burden of what this could mean.
"Jake," she began carefully, her tone steady despite the turmoil swirling inside her. "That might explain why he targets single women now."
Jake’s gaze snapped to meet hers, a mix of confusion and dawning understanding written across his features.
"What do you mean?" he asked, though Fiona could tell he was starting to see it too.
"Think about it," she pressed on, her own pulse quickening. "Your mother was alone because he thought you were away. When he realized he was wrong, that must've spooked him. Ever since then, he only goes after women who are vulnerable... ones he knows won't have anyone coming home."
A heavy silence enveloped them as Jake processed her words. Then his body stiffened, a haunted look crossing his face.
"God, all this time... I might have been closer to catching him than I ever knew..." His voice trailed off, filled with a mixture of regret and resolve.
Fiona reached out, her fingers brushing against his arm, grounding him. They had both been touched by tragedy, their lives intertwined with loss and the relentless pursuit of justice.
"We'll catch him, Jake," she said with quiet determination. "We're close now. We won't let him slip away again."
As Fiona spoke, she knew their next steps would be crucial. They were no longer just agents on a case; they were bound by personal vendettas, seeking closure not only for the victims but for themselves. And with each revelation, they edged closer to the endgame.
CHAPTER TWENTY TWO
The car's engine died with a sputter, and the world fell into silence. Jake stepped out onto the frozen ground, his boots crunching softly in the snow. Beside him, Fiona emerged, pulling her jacket tight against the cold. Their breaths came out in thick clouds that disappeared into the night air, a testament to the biting cold that enveloped them.
Above, the moon was a pale specter casting an ethereal glow over Gregory Dalton's property. It was late, deep into the night, when darkness seemed absolute, save for the light that gave the overgrown greenhouse a ghostly aura. Vines twisted their way across the glass panels, contorting into shapes that might belong to another realm. The house itself stood as a dark silhouette, windows like blind eyes, the dwelling of secrets and silent screams.
Jake's hand hovered near his holster, his movements deliberate and controlled. The chill that crept up his spine had little to do with the winter air. Fifteen years—fifteen years of unanswered questions, of a mother's absence, of a void that refused to be filled—led to this moment. Gregory Dalton, the figure from his childhood now cast as the villain in his life's darkest story, was within reach.
His heart hammered in his chest, not just from the cold or the exertion but from a cocktail of emotions that he'd been nursing since he first found his mother's body all those years ago. Fear mingled with anger; anticipation bled into dread. Each beat of his heart seemed to echo through the stillness around them, a rhythmic reminder of what was at stake.
"Stay sharp," he murmured to Fiona, his voice barely above a whisper yet loud enough in the hush of the night.
As they stood side by side, Jake couldn't help but feel the weight of history pressing down on him. This was it. The culmination of a decade and a half of pain, the opportunity to finally confront the man who had ripped his family apart. Gregory Dalton, once a benign presence with his mailbag and casual waves, now loomed large as the monster in Jake's nightmares.
He clenched his jaw, trying to steady the tumultuous sea of emotions threatening to engulf him. Tonight, there would be no place for recklessness, no room for the hot-headedness that sometimes plagued him. Fiona needed him focused, and so did the memory of his mother. Her unsolved murder, a wound that never healed, demanded justice.
