Page 44 of In Her Sights

“You suspect the librarian?”

Jenna swallowed down a knot of anxiety.

“No, that would be crazy,” Jenna said, trying to sound steadier than she felt. “Emily has been part of my life for as long as I can remember. She was always there in the library, pushing me towards new books, challenging me to explore different worlds through reading. It’s absurd to think she could be connected to this… madness.” Yet the seed of doubt had been planted, sitting in her gut like a dead weight of irrational dread, and it refused to be ignored.

Jake, seated beside her, considered her words with a measured calmness. “Look, the hunches we don’t like, the ones we wish we didn’t have—well, in my experience, they’re the ones we’ve really got to listen to. You’ve got to trust that instinct of yours.” His eyes met hers briefly before returning to the road ahead. “It’s gotten us this far, hasn’t it?”

Jenna let out a deep breath and nodded. Jake’s faith in her intuition was a steadying force. But right now, she wished her intuition was telling her anything but this.

Jake continued, his voice carrying the weight of experience. “Back in Kansas City, I came across all kinds—people who hid their true selves behind masks of charm and goodwill. Some of them turned out to be the most skilled manipulators, sociopaths who had fooled everyone for years. Tell me, what do you know about Emily’s past? Has she always lived here in Trentville?”

The question sent a shiver down Jenna’s spine. “No, she moved to Trentville from somewhere else, but I never really knew about her life before that.”

“Maybe it’s time we look into it,” Jake suggested gently, his gaze lingering on Jenna with an unspoken understanding. They were crossing into territory where neither of them wanted to tread, but the path of duty was rarely a comfortable one.

She and Jake stepped out of the car into the warmth of the late morning, the sun high above Trentville, offering no reprieve from the relentless churn of their thoughts.

They entered the office, stepping into the familiar hum of air conditioning and the automatic greetings of those manning the front room. Jenna made her way to her private office, the room small but functional. Jake moved past her to boot up the computer, his fingers deftly moving across the keyboard as he navigated through security protocols he understood better than she did.

“Let’s start with public records, social media footprints, anything that predates her move to Trentville,” Jake suggested, his voice steady and methodical. Jenna watched as he opened multiple windows, his approach systematic yet swift. It was digital sleuthing—public databases queried, social networks skimmed, background check services engaged. His familiarity with the virtual trails left by human lives was something she admired, even envied at times.

“Here we go,” Jake murmured, adjusting his posture as he zeroed in on a particular entry. A news archive site yielded results, displaying a headline that caused Jenna’s heart to skip a beat. It was an article dating back decades, detailing an appalling case of child abuse in Detroit.

The screen showed a grainy image of a young girl, her eyes wide with a mix of fear and defiance. The accompanying story chronicled the harrowing ordeal of Emily Carson, just ten yearsold at the time, who had suffered at the hands of her own parents. Chained in the basement without water, she had been left to endure an unimaginable nightmare before her rescue.

“Four days…” Jenna whispered, her voice trailing off as she absorbed the information. The article went on to describe how Emily had nearly succumbed to dehydration, the brink of death averted only by the timely intervention of authorities. The revelation of foster care and the conviction of her parents for child endangerment added layers of background. The story also indicated that the child had possibly been mistreated before. The social workers had been contacted five years earlier when a neighbor had noticed the child’s seeming absence and her parents’ apparent avoidance of the topic. That time she had been rescued from what had seemed to be accidental entrapment in a room in the parents’ basement, with no real evidence to the contrary.

The article on the screen was a window into a past so bleak it seemed to cast shadows in the bright confines of Jenna’s office. Jake watched from over her shoulder, his presence a silent support she hadn’t realized she needed until now.

“Jake,” she started, her voice barely audible, “could Emily be…?” She couldn’t finish the question, the implication too monstrous to give voice to.

“Jenna,” Jake said, his tone measured, “we can’t jump to conclusions. But this—it could be significant. Childhood trauma, especially that severe, it can leave marks on a person. Marks that don’t always fade.”

She nodded, but her mind churned with turmoil. Emily Carson had been a fixture in Jenna’s life, a constant since those early days when Piper would drag her along to the library. To think of that gentle librarian, who had sown seeds of curiosity and knowledge in so many young minds, as a killer was almost beyond comprehension. And yet, the pattern—the victims, alllovers of literature, all connected to the library in some way—it was a path that twisted back toward Emily, no matter how much Jenna wanted to look away.

“Let’s keep digging,” Jenna decided, her voice steadier now. “If there’s more, we need to find it.”

“Right,” Jake agreed. “I’ll see what else I can uncover about her time before Trentville.”

They worked on, the silence punctuated only by the clicks of the mouse and the soft hum of the computer. Jenna’s gaze kept sliding back to the grainy photograph of a young Emily, her eyes hauntingly familiar. The feeling of betrayal sat heavy in her chest, like a stone dropped into still water, sending ripples through her entire being.

“Look at this,” Jake said after a while, breaking the silence. He’d pulled up records tracing Emily’s journey after foster care—schools, a scholarship, a move to Trentville where she seemingly remade her life. It was the story of someone who had overcome incredible adversity—but now with a sinister undertone.

“Any criminal records?” Jenna asked, hoping for a clean slate that might dispel her doubts.

“Nothing,” he replied. “Clean as they come.”

“Of course,” Jenna murmured. “You wouldn’t expect less from a sociopath, would you?”

“Jenna…” Jake began, but she held up a hand.

“Let’s not kid ourselves, Jake. If Emily is our perpetrator, then she’s been hiding in plain sight, manipulating everyone around her for a long time. Including me.” Jenna’s voice cracked, the weight of her realization threatening to shatter her composure.

“Jenna, let’s step back,” Jake suggested softly. “Emotions are high, and we’re dealing with a lot of ‘ifs’ here. We need concrete evidence before we can proceed.”

She knew he was right. They needed more than a tragic childhood and a series of coincidences to make an accusation. But they had to find out quickly if they were going to save Sarah Thompson from a horrible fate.

CHAPTER TWENTY THREE

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