Chapter 320
Chapter 320:
But perhaps that was exactly why the promise mattered.
She looked up as a shadow fell across her. Alexander stood there, concern evident in his eyes.
“They’ve found another piece of evidence,” he said without preamble. “A list in Rose’s handwriting. Names and addresses. Your parents. My apartment. Victoria’s home. Your office. All places she planned to target next.”
Camille absorbed this information, feeling oddly calm despite its implications. “She wanted to destroy everything connected to me.”
“Yes.” Alexander sat beside her on the bench. “The FBI believes the hotel bombing was just the beginning.”
Camille nodded, still strangely detached. “That makes sense. Rose never does anything halfway.”
“Camille,” Alexander said gently, “what are you thinking right now?”
She considered the question, searching for honesty beneath the numbness that had settled over her. “I’m thinking that I’m tired. Tired of Rose dictating the course of my life. Tired of reacting to her hatred instead of creating something of my own.”
Alexander studied her face. “What does that mean for what comes next?”
“It means I’m going to keep my promise to Victoria,” Camille said, the words feeling right as she spoke them. “I’m going to rebuild the foundation. Create something even stronger than before. And I’m going to let the FBI handle Rose—”
“Just like that?” Alexander asked, surprised by her certainty.
“No, not just like that,” Camille admitted. “I’m still angry. I still want her caught and punished for what she did. But I won’t let that desire consume me. I won’t let it become what drives me.” She looked up at the hospital building, knowing Victoria was inside, fighting her own battle. “I’ve seen where that path leads. I won’t follow Rose down it.”
Alexander took her hand, his eyes reflecting both pride and concern. “The FBI will find her, Camille. With the evidence they have now, it’s only a matter of time.”
“I know,” Camille said. “And when they do, I’ll face her in court. I’ll tell my story. And then I’ll go back to building something Rose can never destroy, a life defined by creation, not destruction.”
As they sat together in the hospital garden, Camille’s phone buzzed again with another news alert. This one showed a blurry security-camera photo of a woman at a bus station who resembled Rose, but with dyed hair and different clothes. The manhunt had begun in earnest. Across America, Rose’s face would soon be known to everyone, her crimes exposed, her hiding places found.
Rose sat in the dingy motel room, the glow of the television casting harsh shadows across her face. Her newly dyed black hair hung in wet strands around her shoulders, dripping onto the worn carpet. The cheap hair dye had stained her fingernails dark, making them look dirty no matter how hard she scrubbed.
“Breaking news in the Grand Plaza Hotel bombing,” the anchor announced.
Rose leaned forward, breath caught in her throat.
Her own face filled the screen, not her current disguise, but her real face, captured in perfect clarity as she placed an explosive device near the hotel’s kitchen. The footage showed her checking her watch, attaching the bomb, and then looking up briefly, giving the camera a clean shot of her features.
.
.
.