Page 40 of The Hanging Dolls (Zoe Storm #1)

THIRTY-NINE

Zoe blinked as she awoke, her eyes heavy with sleep, the remnants of her nap still clinging to her like a warm blanket. She stretched lazily, her small body sinking deeper into the couch where she’d dozed off.

As she rubbed the sleep from her eyes, the sound of hushed voices drifted in from the next room. Zoe frowned and her curiosity piqued. It wasn’t likely to be her mother on the phone or chatting with a neighbor. Rachel lived an isolated life, not liking to mingle with anyone.

These voices were different—deeper, more serious. She sat up slowly, still groggy, and quietly slipped off the couch, padding barefoot toward the slightly ajar door that led to the living room.

Peeking through the crack, Zoe’s eyes widened at the sight of two men in dark suits standing in the middle of the room.

Their presence was imposing, their expressions stern.

They wore matching badges clipped to their belts, and the way they held themselves, rigid and authoritative, sent a shiver down her spine.

She didn’t know much, but she knew these men were important.

Marshals. She’d seen men like them on TV, and they were always serious.

Rachel stood near them, her arms crossed tightly over her chest, her face drawn and tense.

Zoe’s heart sank at the sight of her mother looking so worried—Rachel was always so strong, so unflappable.

But now, her eyes darted between the two men, her posture defensive, as if she were bracing herself for something bad to happen.

One of the Marshals, a tall man with a square jaw and closely cropped hair, spoke first, “Ms. Sullivan, we need to discuss some developments. We’ve received information that may require a change in your arrangements.”

Rachel’s eyes narrowed, her voice low and controlled. “What kind of developments? I thought everything was under control.”

The second Marshal, slightly shorter but just as imposing, nodded. “We’ve had credible reports that your location might be compromised. It’s possible someone’s been asking questions—nothing concrete yet, but enough to raise concerns.”

Zoe’s heart skipped a beat. Compromised? What did that mean? She pressed closer to the door, her small fingers gripping the edge as she tried to make sense of what she was hearing.

Rachel’s face tightened, her knuckles white as she clenched her fists at her sides. “You said we were safe here. That this place was secure.”

The taller Marshal glanced at his partner before responding “We understand that, and we’ve taken every precaution. But we can’t ignore the possibility that someone’s looking for you. If you’d prefer, we can relocate you—keep you and your daughters safe.”

Zoe felt her heart thump loudly in her chest at the mention of herself. Her eyes widened as she tried to process the gravity of the situation. Were they in danger? What was going on?

Her mother had never told her anything. Could this have something to do with those passports in the attic?

Rachel’s gaze flicked toward the door for just a moment, but she quickly looked back at the Marshals. “No,” she said firmly. “We’re staying here. I’m not uprooting Zoe and Gina again. We’ve built a life here. I can’t—won’t—tear that apart.”

The shorter Marshal exchanged a glance with his partner, then nodded. “We understand, but you need to be vigilant. If anything feels off, you contact us immediately. We’ll have extra surveillance in the area, just to be sure.”

Rachel exhaled slowly, her shoulders relaxing just a fraction. “Fine. But you’d better be right about this.”

The Marshals nodded, their expressions unchanging as they turned to leave.

As they moved toward the door, Zoe quickly stepped back, pressing herself against the wall in the hallway, her heart racing.

She watched as the men passed by, their presence like a dark cloud hanging in the air, before they exited the house, the door clicking shut behind them.

Rachel stood in the living room for a moment, her back to the hallway, her posture still tense. Zoe hesitated, not sure if she should reveal that she had been listening. But something in her mother’s stance made her step forward, her small voice breaking the silence. “Mom?”

Rachel turned, her eyes softening when she saw Zoe standing there. “Hey, sweetie. You’re awake.”

Zoe nodded, biting her lip. “Who were those men? Why were they here?”

Rachel hesitated, then walked over to Zoe, kneeling down so they were at eye level. “They’re just… making sure we’re safe, honey. Everything’s fine, okay?”

Zoe wasn’t convinced. “Are we in trouble?”

Rachel shook her head, forcing a smile. “No, we’re not in trouble. We’re just being careful, that’s all. I promise, everything’s going to be okay.”

But as Rachel pulled Zoe into a reassuring hug, Zoe couldn’t shake the feeling that something was wrong—something big that her mother wasn’t telling her.

Zoe stood under the scalding spray of the shower, letting the hot water pound against her skin.

Steam filled the small bathroom, curling around her like a warm, protective blanket, but it did little to ease the knot of tension that had taken up permanent residence between her shoulder blades since she arrived at Harborwood.

She pressed her palms against the cool tiles, bowing her head, trying to let the heat wash away the frustration and helplessness.

But no matter how hard she tried, the thoughts kept circling, relentless and sharp.

Her mind drifted to her conversation with Keith and the little pieces of information he had given her.

Now it made sense. Rachel had pissed someone off big-time and she must have testified against him or provided some information, which is why she went under witness protection. Perhaps it was because she got pregnant with Zoe that she didn’t go back to Keith.

Heaviness pressed into her chest.

The motel’s showerhead sputtered slightly, the water pressure faltering for a moment before resuming its steady flow. Zoe sighed, rolling her neck to work out the stiffness. Just as she began to relax, a sharp knock echoed through the room.

Zoe’s eyes snapped open, her heart rate spiking as she quickly turned off the water. She stood still for a moment, listening, her senses suddenly on high alert.

Another knock.

It was urgent, insistent. She wasn’t expecting anyone, especially not at this hour—it was midnight. Her mind raced, running through possibilities, none of them good.

Zoe stepped out of the shower, gasping as the cool air hit her wet skin. She grabbed a towel and wrapped it tightly around her body, droplets of water still clinging to her as she moved quickly through the room. The knocks came again, more impatient this time.

She reached for the Glock she kept on the nightstand. Holding the gun low but ready, she approached the door, her bare feet soundless on the worn carpet. She took a deep breath, her grip tightening on the handle as she cracked the door open just enough to see who was there.

It was Scott.

He was leaning heavily against the doorframe. His eyes were bloodshot, half-lidded, and his clothes were disheveled. The stench of alcohol hit her immediately—strong, sour, and overpowering.

“Scott?” Zoe’s voice was low, cautious. “What the hell are you doing here?”

He swayed slightly, his hand slipping off the frame as he tried to focus on her. “Zoe… I… I needed to see you.”

She scanned the hallway behind him, ensuring he hadn’t been followed, then opened the door wider, stepping back to let him in. Scott stumbled forward, almost falling over before Zoe quickly reached out to steady him.

He was a mess, his body sagging with the weight of whatever had driven him here. He smelled like cheap whiskey and sweat, clinging to him like a second skin.

“Jesus, Scott,” she muttered, guiding him toward the bed. “You’re drunk as hell.”

He collapsed onto the bed with a groan, his head lolling to one side as he stared up at the ceiling. Zoe kept her distance, unsure of what to do or say.

“Lucy…” Scott’s voice was slurred, thick with emotion. “Lucy… she’s…”

Zoe froze, her blood running cold at the mention of Carly’s daughter. “I know. I’m sorry.”

She could tell from their interaction at the station that they had a history. The guilt of this unsolved case reaching someone he knew must have driven him to have a breakdown. But then he said something that disrupted her train of thoughts, sending them wayward.

His eyes glassy, unfocused. “She’s mine, Zoe… Carly just told me… She’s my daughter.”

The words hit Zoe like a physical blow. “What? Are you sure?”

Scott let out a bitter laugh, his eyes welling with tears. “Yeah… I’m sure. Carly’s known all along but was so bitter about me leaving her that she didn’t tell… until just now. I couldn’t stop myself. I went to a bar and I?—”

“Scott…” she began, struggling to find the right words, but he cut her off, his voice cracking.

“I didn’t know, Zoe… I didn’t know,” he mumbled, his body sinking further into the bed, his hand coming up to cover his eyes. “What the hell am I supposed to do now?”

Zoe stood there, towel still wrapped around her, the Glock hanging loosely at her side.

“Just… just get some rest, Scott,” she finally said. “We’ll deal with this in the morning.”

Scott didn’t respond, his breathing already slowing as the alcohol took its final toll, dragging him into unconsciousness. Zoe watched him for a moment longer, her mind racing, before she quietly set the Glock back on the nightstand.

This was too much even for her. Another girl was missing.

The biological daughter of the lead detective on the case.

But her thoughts were too mushy and shapeless.

She couldn’t think straight. She was about to call him a cab but the sound of him snoring soon joined the sound of crickets.

She was thinking about crashing on the couch when there was another knock on the door.

Her mind was too preoccupied with Scott being Lucy’s father so she opened the door without thinking. Alarm ghosted down her spine. It was Simon’s wife—Nancy.

“Nancy!” Zoe’s eyes widened. “What are you doing here ?”

Nancy’s hold on her bag tightened. “It wasn’t hard to figure out where you’re staying. I just had to look into my husband’s phone. We need to talk.”

Her brain short-circuited, still trying to absorb the sight of her. “About what?”

Nancy pressed her teeth together, breathing hard and bubbling with frazzled energy. She opened and closed her mouth like a fish before finally spitting out the words, “Stay out of my marriage.”

“Huh?”

“I’ve seen you and Simon at work always laughing and teasing. And then he tells you about his friend dying but not his wife?” Her eyes brimmed with tears. “I checked his phone the other day. He was talking to you and not Dale ?—”

“It is work, Nancy. We only talk about work.”

“Then why did he say your name in his sleep yesterday?” Her voice cracked, her face creased with desperation and hatred.

A sharp, throbbing pain began blossoming in the center of her forehead. “I don’t know what to tell you, Nancy. But I’m not having an affair with your husband.”

Her nose turned red, flaring as she took quick breaths. Then her eyes looked past Zoe into the bedroom, widening at Scott snoring away on her bed. A mirthless chuckle left her. “You’re such a slut. God knows whose husband you’re banging now. You’ll burn in hell one day.”