Sheriff Colton Vance’s office smelled of coffee and gun oil. The walls decorated with commendations and family photos. At 48, Vance had the weathered look of a man who’d seen the worst humanity had to offer but hadn’t lost his fundamental decency in the process.
Appreciate you making time, Sheriff, Nate said. Settling into the chair across from Vance’s cluttered desk. Any friend of Declan’s gets my attention.
Vance leaned back, shrewd eyes assessing Nate. He mentioned this concerns the Jensen family. My wife’s maiden name is Jensen.
Brielle Jensen. Something hardened in Vance’s expression. Calvin Jensen’s niece? I don’t know.
Nate admitted. She never talks about her family. Said they had a falling out before we met.
Vance reached for a file drawer, pulling out a thick folder. Calvin Jensen was one of the slipperiest pieces of work I ever encountered. Real estate developer, political connections, rumors of money laundering.
Nothing we could ever make stick. He opened the folder, flipping through pages. Had a niece who was always in the background of functions.
Pretty blonde thing, around 20 at the time. He slid a newspaper clipping across the desk. It showed a younger version of Brielle, standing beside a silver-haired man at some charity gala.
That’s her. Nate confirmed, his mouth dry. What’s your concern here exactly? Vance asked, his tone careful.
Nate outlined the situation Hazel’s mysterious illness. Dr. Rourke’s suspicions. The discoveries about Brielle’s past.
With each detail, Vance’s expression grew grimmer. Munchausen cases are notoriously difficult to prove. The sheriff said when Nate finished.
And if Calvin Jensen is backing her, you’ll face an uphill battle in court. I don’t care how difficult it is. Nate said, his voice low and hard.
If she’s hurting my daughter, I’ll do whatever it takes to stop her and make her pay. Vance studied him for a long moment. Declan mentioned surveillance.
You got anything concrete yet? Not yet. But we’re watching. Keep doing what you’re doing.
Document everything. And Nate. Vance leaned forward, his voice dropping.
Be careful. If your wife suspects, you know. And if she’s really planning what this suggests.
You and your daughter could be in danger. Back in his truck, Nate called Declan. I met with Vance.
He’s on board. But we need more evidence. You’re in luck.
Declan replied. I’ve been monitoring their text exchanges all morning. Brielle’s planning something she’s calling a camping trip next weekend.
Just her and Hazel. Nate’s blood ran cold. What about me? She’s gonna tell you she booked it as a mother-daughter thing.
Special time together. Like hell. Nate growled.
This could be our chance. Declan said carefully. If she’s planning something, this might be when she does it.
We could set up surveillance. Catch her in the act. The thought of using Hazel as bait made Nate physically ill.
No way. I’m not risking Hazel’s safety. What if we had people watching? You and me.
Maybe one of Vance’s deputies he trusts. We’d never let anything actually happen to Hazel. Nate gripped the steering wheel until his knuckles whitened.
Let me think about it. And keep monitoring those texts. Will do.
Oh, and Nate, the cameras caught something this morning after you left. Brielle went into Hazel’s room with what looked like a pair of latex gloves. She was wearing them while handling Hazel’s toothbrush.
Fury blazed through Nate, white hot and consuming. Send me the footage. Already did.
It’s in your secure email. Nate checked the time. Brielle would be at work for another three hours and Hazel was at kindergarten.
He needed to see this footage. Needed to know exactly what he was dealing with. Inside, he opened his laptop with shaking hands.
Logging into the secure server Declan had set up. The footage was their timestamp from that morning. Nate watched as Brielle entered Hazel’s bathroom.
A latex glove on one hand. She carefully ran it over Hazel’s toothbrush. Then replaced the brush in its holder.
Her expression was disturbingly blank. Clinical, almost. As if she were performing a routine task rather than potentially poisoning her own child.
Rage like nothing Nate had ever experienced surged through him. He slammed the laptop closed, breathing hard through clenched teeth. Every protective instinct screamed at him to confront her.
To demand answers. To make her pay immediately for what she’d done. But Vance’s warning echoed in his mind.
Don’t confront her. Not yet. These situations can escalate quickly.
His phone rang. The screen showing Hazel’s school. Nate’s heart lurched as he answered.
Mr. Whitmore, this is Mrs. Davis from Oak Ridge Elementary. Hazel’s developed a rash on her face and hands. She says her toothbrush tasted funny this morning.
Given her medical history, we thought it best to call you directly. I’ll be right there, Nate said, already grabbing his keys. Don’t let anyone else pick her up.
Especially not her mother. 20 minutes later, Nate held Hazel in the back room of his auto shop. Her small face blotchy with an angry rash, but her breathing, thank God, still normal.
He’d given her the antihistamine Dr. Rourke had prescribed, and the medicine was working. The toothbrush tasted yucky. Hazel said, leaning against his chest.
Like balloons. Latex. Just as he’d seen in the footage.
I know, pumpkin. Nate smoothed her hair, forcing his voice to remain calm despite the rage boiling inside him. You won’t have to use that toothbrush again.
I promise. His phone buzzed with a text from Declan. Got new messages.
She’s talking to Langley about getting the girl out of the way and cashing in. Explicitly mentions the insurance policy. Nate froze.
Insurance policy? What insurance policy? He texted back one-handed, the other arm still cradling Hazel. What insurance policy? Declan’s response came quickly. Life insurance.
Two million dollars on Hazel. Taken out three months ago. Brielle is sole beneficiary.
Cold fury washed over Nate. So intense he had to grip his chair to steady himself. Life insurance on a healthy five-year-old.
The implications were too horrific to contemplate that there’s more, Declan added. Asher equals Asher Langley. Trainer at Flex Gym.
Has record for prescription fraud and assault. Been seeing Brielle for at least six months based on text and affair. While that would have been painful enough on its own, it paled in comparison to the life insurance revelation.
This wasn’t just about hurting Hazel for attention. This was potentially something far more sinister. Keep monitoring, Nate replied.
I’m taking Hazel to the hospital, then the station. Have Vance ready dot doctor. Rourke’s face darkened as he examined Hazel’s rash in a private examination room at County Memorial.
Definitely another latex exposure, he confirmed. His voice tight with controlled anger. You said her toothbrush? Nate nodded, keeping his voice low so Hazel, who was distracted by a coloring book, wouldn’t hear.
I have video of Brielle contaminating it this morning. Dr. Rourke’s eyebrows rose. You have actual evidence? Cameras.
Nate said simply. After what you told me, I had Declan install them. That’s proactive.
It’s my daughter’s life, Nate replied. No apology in his tone. Can you document this incident officially? We’re going to Sheriff Vance after this.
I’ve already started the paperwork. Dr. Rourke’s expression softened as he looked at Hazel. She’s lucky to have you, Mr. Whitmore.
Many of these cases go undetected until it’s too late. The words sent a chill through Nate. Too late.
He couldn’t allow himself to think about what might have happened if Dr. Rourke hadn’t recognized Brielle. If the doctor hadn’t warned him. What happens now? Nate asked.
Medically, I mean. I’ll keep her for observation for a few hours. Make sure the reaction doesn’t worsen.
The antihistamine you gave her was the right call. Dr. Rourke made notes in Hazel’s chart. Has your wife tried to contact you? Multiple times.
I told her Hazel was having a daddy-daughter day and turned my phone off. The lie had come easily, but Nate knew it wouldn’t hold for long. Good.
Keep it that way for now. Dr. Rourke glanced at his watch. I’ll have the nurse bring Hazel a snack and I’ll complete the medical documentation.
You should call Sheriff Vance. Let him know where we stand. Nate stepped into the hallway.
Keeping the door open so he could see Hazel while he made the call. Vance? The Sheriff answered on the second ring. It’s Nate Whitmore.
We’ve got a situation with Hazel. She had another reaction latex again. I’m at County Memorial with Dr. Rourke.
Damn. Vance’s voice sharpened. You think Brielle’s responsible? I know she is.