Chapter 313
Chapter 313:
Chen stepped closer to the largest photo, her fingers lightly touching the image of the woman’s face. “I’m coming for you,” she whispered, hot tears welling in her eyes. The faces of the victims flashed in her mind—a father of three, a honeymooning couple, a retired teacher. People who should be alive today.
“No matter where you run,” Chen promised, her voice breaking with exhaustion and fury, “no matter how deep you hide, I will find you. I will make you face what you’ve done.”
She pressed her forehead against the cold wall, letting the tears fall freely now. This case had burrowed under her skin in a way none other had before. Perhaps it was the senselessness of it all, or maybe it was because she’d spent so many sleepless nights studying Rose’s face that she felt like she knew her—knew the twisted mind behind those eyes.
“You wanted attention,” Chen mumbled, wiping her tears with the back of her hand. “Well, now you’ve got it. The whole country will know your face by sundown.”
She straightened her shoulders and drew a deep breath. The moment of weakness had passed. Now there was only the hunt. And Diana Chen was a hunter who never gave up.
Behind her, the door opened. Morgan stood there, holding two fresh cups of coffee.
“You okay?” he asked, concern etched on his tired face.
Chen nodded, taking the offered coffee. “I will be. When we put her in cuffs.”
“We will,” Morgan said. “She’s smart, but she’s not smarter than all of us.”
Chen looked back at the wall of evidence, the fruits of her sleepless nights and dogged determination.
“No,” she said softly. “She’s not. And her mistake was thinking she could get away with this.”
She sipped the hot coffee, the bitter taste matching her resolve. “Let’s bring her in.”
The hospital room was too quiet. Only the steady beep of monitors and the whisper of the oxygen machine broke the silence. Camille sat beside Victoria’s bed, her hand gently holding the older woman’s fragile fingers. Three days had passed since the bombing. Three days of watching Victoria struggle, hour by hour.
Your escape begins with ga ln ov els . com
The doctors had explained it in simple terms at first: Victoria’s body, already fighting cancer, couldn’t handle the additional strain of smoke inhalation and shock. Her lungs were struggling. Her heart was weakening. Each breath seemed to cost her more than the last.
Camille leaned forward, studying Victoria’s pale face. The woman who had always seemed invincible now looked small against the white hospital sheets. The tubes and wires connected to her body only emphasized her fragility.
“You need to eat something,” Alexander said softly from the doorway. He carried a paper bag that smelled of soup and bread.
Camille shook her head without looking up. “I’m not hungry.”
Alexander moved to her side, placing a gentle hand on her shoulder. “You haven’t left this room in thirty-six hours. You need food. Rest.”
“I can’t leave her,” Camille whispered, her voice catching. “What if she wakes up and I’m not here? What if she…”
.
.
.