Nowhere To Hide

The road stretched before them, an endless strip of asphalt cutting through Olympia's cityscape. Celeste's fingers clenched the folder in her lap, her mind racing. They had the truth—proof that the fire at the Fairmont Theater had been arson, that it had been part of something far more sinister. But they also had something else.

Enemies.

Adrian drove fast, his knuckles white against the steering wheel. His gaze flicked to the rearview mirror every few seconds. Celeste did the same.

The suited man and his associates hadn't followed them out of the bank, but that meant nothing. Whoever they were, they were powerful enough to erase security footage, send threats without leaving a trace, and intimidate them in broad daylight.

Celeste sucked in a breath. "Where do we go?"

Adrian's jaw tightened. "Not back to the hotel. If they know we were at the archives, they sure as hell know where we've been staying."

Celeste exhaled. "My apartment?"

"No." Adrian shook his head. "Too obvious."

He was right. Her home wasn't safe.

Celeste scanned the streets as they passed through Olympia, trying to think. Then, an idea hit her.

"What about Margaret?" she asked.

Adrian glanced at her. "You think she'd let us stay?"

"She knows what's at stake. And she's the only person left who might actually be able to help."

Adrian didn't argue. Instead, he took the next exit, heading back toward Port Bellingham.

By the time they reached Margaret Holloway's house, the sun was dipping low on the horizon, casting long shadows across the yard.

Margaret answered the door before they could knock, her sharp gaze sweeping over them. "You look like you've seen a ghost."

Celeste held up the folder. "We found it."

Margaret's expression darkened. "Come inside."

They stepped into the cluttered warmth of her home. Margaret shut the door behind them, bolting it.

"Tell me everything," she said.

They sat at her worn kitchen table, the folder spread out between them. Celeste walked her through what they'd found—Victor Langford's legal battle with Nathaniel Wren, the evidence that had been buried, and the horrifying truth hidden in James Holloway's deposit box.

Margaret's face was unreadable as she examined the photos of Evelyn Ross standing with Nathaniel Wren and Richard Vaughn.

"So she knew something," Margaret murmured.

Celeste nodded. "And they silenced her."

Margaret's lips pressed into a thin line. "My father always suspected as much. But this… this is the proof he never found."

Adrian ran a hand through his hair. "The problem is, proof won't mean anything if we're dead before we can use it."

Margaret looked at him sharply. "Did someone come after you?"

Celeste told her about the suited man, the threats, and the fact that they had been followed.

Margaret's expression turned grim. "That means they know how close you are."

Adrian exhaled. "Yeah. And we have no idea how far they'll go to keep this buried."

A heavy silence settled over the room.

Then Margaret stood.

"There's something you need to see."

Margaret led them down a narrow hallway to a small study. It was lined with bookshelves, stacks of old newspaper clippings, and a large wooden desk covered in papers.

She opened a drawer and pulled out a yellowed envelope. "This was my father's. I never knew what it meant until now."

She handed it to Celeste.

Inside was a death certificate.

Celeste's stomach twisted as she read the name.

Victor Langford.

Adrian leaned in. "Cause of death: accident. Drowned in the Puget Sound."

Celeste's blood ran cold. "That wasn't an accident."

Margaret shook her head. "My father didn't think so either. Victor Langford left town suddenly after the lawsuit was sealed. A few years later, he turned up dead."

Adrian clenched his jaw. "They got to him."

Celeste stared down at the document. Langford had tried to expose them. Just like James Holloway. Just like Evelyn Ross.

And now, just like them.

Margaret crossed her arms. "You two are in real danger. You can't go back to your normal lives after this."

Adrian ran a hand over his face. "Trust me, I figured that out."

Margaret hesitated. "There is… one thing I could do to help."

Celeste looked up. "What?"

Margaret sighed. "I know someone. A journalist. He's been trying to dig into Port Bellingham's old money corruption for years. If we give this to him, he can expose it."

Celeste's heart pounded. "Can we trust him?"

Margaret hesitated. "As much as you can trust any journalist. But if you don't want this buried, you'll need the public to see it."

Adrian exhaled. "Then let's set up a meeting."

Margaret nodded and picked up her phone.

They arranged to meet the journalist, a man named Theo Monroe, at a small diner on the outskirts of town.

Celeste's nerves were frayed as they pulled into the nearly empty parking lot. Adrian parked near the exit, ever the strategist.

Inside, the diner smelled of coffee and fried food. Theo sat in a booth in the back, a worn leather jacket over his shoulders, dark eyes sharp and assessing.

Margaret introduced them, and Theo got straight to the point.

"I hear you have a hell of a story," he said.

Celeste slid the folder across the table.

Theo flipped through the documents, his face unreadable. But when he reached the photos of Evelyn Ross, his eyes darkened.

"This is big," he muttered. "Damn."

Adrian leaned forward. "Can you run it?"

Theo nodded slowly. "Yes. But you understand what this means, right? If I publish this, it won't just be about exposing Wren's crimes. It'll bring out every skeleton in Port Bellingham's closet. And the people behind this? They will retaliate."

Celeste swallowed hard. "We know."

Theo looked between them. "Then you need to be ready for what comes next."

They left the diner feeling both relieved and terrified.

Theo had the evidence. The story was in motion.

But they had just declared war.

As they reached the car, Adrian's phone buzzed.

He pulled it out, frowning. Then his face went pale.

Celeste's stomach twisted. "What is it?"

He turned the screen toward her.

It was a text.

From an unknown number.

You were warned. Now it's too late.

A chill ran down Celeste's spine.

Adrian's voice was low. "They're coming for us."

Celeste's pulse thundered. "Then we don't run."

She looked at him, fire in her veins.

"We fight."