Page 46 of For Blood

"I told myself I was wasted," he continued, his voice barely above a whisper."That I couldn't trust what I saw.That it wasn't real."

Sarah leaned forward, her steely eyes never leaving Gregory's face."But you weren't drunk, were you, Gregory?"

He flinched at her words, feeling the weight of her scrutiny pressing down on him.The silence stretched between them, thick and suffocating.

Finally, Gregory lifted his gaze to meet hers.In that moment, something inside him crumbled.The facade he'd maintained for two decades came crashing down, leaving him raw and exposed.

"No," he admitted, his voice cracking."I wasn't."

Sarah's expression remained impassive, but her eyes glinted with a mixture of triumph and sympathy."Tell me what really happened that night, Gregory."

He took a shuddering breath, his shoulders sagging as if a great weight had been lifted from them."I'd only had one drink," he confessed."Just one.I was clear-headed when I found Lucas."

Gregory's mind raced back to that fateful night, the memories he'd suppressed for so long rushing to the surface.The coppery smell of blood, the sound of retreating footsteps, the unmistakable silhouette illuminated by a nearby streetlight.

"It wasn't Whitaker," he said, the words tumbling out now."I saw him, Sarah.Clear as day.It was Andrew Keller."

As the admission hung in the air between them, Gregory felt a strange mix of relief and dread wash over him.He had finally spoken the truth he'd buried for so long, but in doing so, he'd shattered the illusion of safety he'd built around himself.

In the oppressive silence of the holding cell, with Sarah Winters' unwavering gaze upon him, Gregory Phillips faced the reality he'd been running from for twenty years.And he wondered, with a chill running down his spine, what consequences this long-overdue confession might bring.

Gregory's brow furrowed as a new, unsettling thought crept into his mind.If Andrew Keller had been the killer all those years ago, and Keller was now dead, then who was responsible for the recent murders?The question gnawed at him, twisting his insides into knots.

He locked eyes with Sarah, and the fury etched across her face made his blood run cold.The intensity of her gaze seemed to pierce right through him, and Gregory suddenly felt acutely aware of how alone they were in the small, confined space of the holding cell.

"If it wasn't Whitaker then, and Keller's dead now," Gregory said, his voice barely above a whisper, "who the hell is doing this?"

Sarah's jaw clenched, her nostrils flaring."You tell me, Gregory," she hissed, leaning forward."You're the one who's been lying all these years."

Gregory's heart hammered in his chest.He pressed his back against the cold cement wall, trying to put as much distance between himself and Sarah as possible."I-I don't know," he stammered."I swear, I don't know anything more than what I've told you."

Sarah's eyes narrowed dangerously."Twenty years," she spat."Twenty years of silence while families suffered, while more people died.And now you expect me to believe you're suddenly an open book?"

Gregory's mind raced, searching for a way to defuse the situation.He could feel the anger radiating off Sarah in waves, and it terrified him."Look," he said, trying to keep his voice steady, "I know I messed up.I should have come forward sooner.But I'm telling the truth now.I want to help."

But even as the words left his mouth, Gregory wondered if it was too little, too late.The fury in Sarah's eyes told him she wasn't interested in his belated honesty.He glanced towards the bars of the cell, wishing desperately for someone—anyone—to walk by and break the suffocating tension.

"Help?"Sarah scoffed, her voice dripping with disdain."The time for help was twenty years ago, Gregory.Now?Now it might be time for justice."

The threat in her words was unmistakable, and Gregory felt a chill run down his spine.He'd thought he was safe here, under police protection.But locked in this cell with Sarah Winters, her eyes blazing with decades of pent-up rage, he realized he might have walked right into another kind of danger entirely.

CHAPTER NINETEEN

The wail of sirens pierced the early morning air, flashing lights painting the streets in a frantic kaleidoscope of red and blue.Morgan Cross gripped the steering wheel tightly, her knuckles white as she sped through the awakening city.Her dark eyes darted from one side of the street to the other, scanning for any sign of James Whitaker.

"Come on, you bastard," she muttered under her breath, the tattoos on her arms seeming to ripple with tension."Where are you hiding?"

The radio crackled to life, startling her from her thoughts."All units, we have a sighting at the Quick Stop on 5th and Main.Suspect is inside, alone."

Morgan's heart raced as she spun the wheel, tires screeching as she changed direction.Her mind whirled with possibilities.Was this it?The moment they'd finally corner Whitaker?

As she pulled up to the convenience store, Morgan saw a sea of police vehicles already surrounding the building.Officers crouched behind car doors, weapons drawn and aimed at the storefront.She jumped out of her car, eyes immediately locking onto the figure visible through the large windows.

There he was.James Whitaker.Standing calmly near the counter, making no attempt to hide or flee.

"What's your play here, Whitaker?"Morgan murmured, her brow furrowing in confusion.

She watched, stunned, as Whitaker gestured towards the door.A young man—the store clerk—bolted out, hands raised above his head.

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