You look like hell. Declan observed, handing Nate a coffee. Feel worse.
Nate took a grateful sip. Thanks for coming. Since when do I need thanks? Declan set his bag on the workbench.
What’s going on? Your text had me worried. Nate leaned against the tool cabinet, struggling to frame the unthinkable in words. Hazel’s in the hospital.
Allergic reaction. Shit, man. She okay? Getting there.
Nate’s knuckles whitened around the coffee cup. But the doctor pulled me aside. Said he thinks, he thinks Brielle caused it.
Declan went very still. Come again? He recognized her from a hospital in Georgia years ago. Said she was investigated for hurting her sister something I never knew about, because apparently, she doesn’t have a sister.
It’s called Munchausen by proxy. Parents who make their kids sick for attention. Jesus Christ.
Declan ran a hand over his short cropped hair. You believe him? Nate sat down his coffee, the cup hitting the workbench with a sharp click. I don’t want to.
But things haven’t been right lately. Brielle’s been acting strange, secretive phone calls, unexplained absences. And Hazel’s had these random health issues that come and go.
Declan’s eyes, sharp and assessing, studied Nate’s face. What do you need from me? Surveillance, Nate said without hesitation. I need to know what she’s doing when I’m not around.
I need proof either that she’s innocent or that she’s hurting our daughter. You want me to spy on your wife? I want you to help me protect my daughter. Can you do it or not? Declan’s expression settled into something grim and determined.
For Hazel? Anything. But you need to understand what you’re asking. If I find something, if it turns out Brielle is doing this, there’s no going back.
I know. Nate’s jaw tightened. If she’s hurting Hazel, I don’t want to weigh back.
All right. Declan opened his laptop. Here’s what I can do.
Hidden cameras in the main areas of your house, living room, kitchen, Hazel’s room. Nothing in the bathrooms or your bedroom. I can also set up monitoring on Brielle’s phone if you can get me access for about 10 minutes.
She leaves it charging by her bedside every night. Password’s Hazel’s birthday 0-4-1-7. Simple enough.
When can I install the equipment? Tomorrow. I’ll make sure Brielle’s out of the house. Nate checked his watch.
I need to get back to the hospital before she arrives. I can’t leave Hazel alone with her. You think she tries something at the hospital? Nate’s expression darkened.
I’m not taking chances. Not with my daughter’s life. Declan stood, placing a hand on Nate’s shoulder.
We’ll figure this out. If Brielle’s innocent, great. But if not, he didn’t finish the thought.
If not, Nate said quietly, she’ll regret the day she ever touched a hair on Hazel’s head. One more thing, Declan added as they headed for the door. You should talk to Sheriff Vance.
If this goes south, you’ll want law enforcement on your side from the beginning. Vance? Why specifically? He had some run-ins with the Jensen family years back. Might be useful to know what he knows.
Another piece of Brielle’s hidden past. How many more were there? I’ll reach out. Nate agreed.
Thanks, December. Don’t thank me yet. Declan’s expression was solemn.
This is just the beginning. As Nate drove back to the hospital, rain beating against the windshield, he felt as though he were heading into a storm one that had been brewing for years without his knowledge. But storms could be weathered if you were prepared.
And Nate intended to be very prepared indeed .2 days later. Hazel was released from the hospital with a prescription for antihistamines and strict instructions to avoid latex. Dr. Rourke had pulled Nate aside one last time.
His voice low and urgent. Keep a close eye on her. Document anything suspicious.
And keep my number on speed dial. Nate had nodded, the weight of vigilance settling heavily on his shoulders. I will.
Now, watching Brielle move around their kitchen preparing dinner, while Hazel colored at the table, Nate fought to maintain a neutral expression. Declan had installed cameras the previous day, tiny, nearly invisible devices tucked into smoke detectors, light fixtures, and even Hazel’s favorite teddy bear. His phone buzzed with a text from Declan.
Initial setup complete. Monitoring active. Call when you can talk.
I need to check on a customer’s car. Nate said, standing. Won’t be long.
Outside in his own truck, Nate called Declan. Everything’s live, Declan said without preamble. Cameras are recording to secure cloud storage that only you and I can access.
I’ve also got a tracker on Brielle’s phone and cloned her text messages. And, Nate pressed, needing to know but dreading the answer. Too early to say anything definitive.
But she’s been texting someone named Asher a lot. Nothing overtly suspicious, just frequent check-ins, some flirty stuff. Nate’s grip tightened on the phone.
Asher who, working on it. Based on context, probably a gym trainer. Lots of references to workouts, protein shakes.
The gym membership that had seemed so out of character. Another piece fitting into a disturbing puzzle. I need you to run a background check on Brielle’s family, Nate said.
Particularly her uncle, the one Dr. Rourke mentioned who helped her dodge the investigation in Georgia. Already on it. And I’ve scheduled a meeting with Sheriff Vance for tomorrow morning.
He was interested when I mentioned the Jensen name. Good. Nate stared at his darkened house.
At the warm light spilling from the kitchen window. Keep digging. I’ll check in tomorrow.
That night, after Hazel was asleep, Nate sat in the living room with his laptop. Ostensibly catching up on work emails. In reality, he was watching the live feed from the camera in Hazel’s room.
Monitoring his daughter’s peaceful sleep while Brielle showered. But movement caught his eye. Brielle entering Hazel’s room in her bathrobe.
Hair wrapped in a towel. Nate tensed, watching intently as she adjusted Hazel’s covers. Smooth her hair back from her forehead and pressed a kiss to her cheek before leaving.
A normal, motherly action that left Nate confused and frustrated. If she was capable of hurting Hazel, how could she also show such genuine affection? Unless it wasn’t genuine. Unless everything was an act.