Page 15 of Not This Place

For a moment, that man's voice took on a sincere quality.

She studied him. “You’re sure about this?”

“Positive,” he murmured. “He truly loved her. When she left him, he was devastated. I shouldn’t be telling you this… but Jasper isn’t a bad sort. He’s ambitious, and cold… but he’s not evil.”

The guard rambled this all off rapidly, and then hesitated, looking embarassed that he’d spoken at all.

Rachel nodded, taking it all in. "I see," she said, her voice neutral. "Anyone else you can think of who might have wanted to hurt Cheryl?"

The guard hesitated, his gaze darting momentarily to the screen before returning to Rachel's steady stare. "No one comes to mind. Cheryl was... well-liked."

Rachel studied him for a moment. "If you remember anything else, Rick, that might be helpful in this investigation, you let me know."

Inwardly, though, she wasn’t so sure. Men like Hargreaves didn’t get their hands dirty, and what were the odds, that late at night, he’d be so visible to the camera.

Almost as if he’d known he would need an alibi.

She needed to dig deeper. Look closer.

She nodded to herself, smiling at Rick but revealing nothing she was thinking. “See you later, Bob,” she said.

The guard grinned. “It’s Timothy.”

She rolled her eyes and turned, moving to exit the small room. Over her shoulder, she called, “I need a copy of that footage. Send it to the number I called from.”

And then she left, moving hastily back towards where Ethan was waiting for her.

Part of her wanted to go back and confront Jasper more firmly, but now she realized he’d brought her here just to play. The fake guard names. The busted gate. Isolating her away from her partner… Jasper thought he could win by playing this way.

But Rachel had her own games she could play.

And right now, her reticle was targeting Jasper Hargreaves and his multi-billion dollar family business.

CHAPTER FIVE

Hours, she’d watched.

Patient, unmoving, unrelenting. She always had a knack for patience. When hunting big game, even the slightest sound might clue the creature into the threat.

She leaned out the car’s window, her left side aching where it pressed to the sill.

Rachel’s grip tightened on the scope, her breath measured in the still night air. Beside her, the interior of the unmarked car was a capsule of quiet intensity. Outside, the Hargreaves residence loomed, a dark silhouette against the starless sky.

"Anything?" Ethan Morgan's voice sliced through the silence, barely above a whisper.

"Quiet." Rachel's reply came with a sharp edge.

She adjusted the focus, the lens narrowing on the sprawling mansion. Windows stared back at her like blind eyes. Her gaze swept from one to the next, seeking a flicker of life, a shadow of movement. Each corner of the property lay under her scrutiny; every inch of the manicured lawn fell within her sight.

A porch light snapped on. Rachel's pulse quickened. She held her breath, waiting, watching. But nothing stirred. No figures emerged. The light seemed an empty threat in the vastness of the estate.

The night wore on, seconds stretching into minutes, each moment laden with expectation.

The scope felt heavy in Rachel's hands, but her arms did not falter. Her heritage had taught her how to endure, how to remain steadfast when others might crumble. And tonight, she would need every ounce of that resilience.

"Movement," she finally declared, her voice a low growl of triumph. A curtain twitched, a brief dance of fabric against glass.

“Is it Jasper?”

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