Page 283 of Faking the Goal

"I know it probably doesn't feel that way."

"It doesn't," I admit quietly.

"It is."

He leans forward slightly.

"Before today, we were chasing someone without knowing how he knew you or what connected him to you. Now we have a specific time in your life, a foster placement, and a first name."

"But I don't remember the family's last name." Guilt twists in my stomach. "Or where they lived. I can't even remember what Charlie looked like."

"That's okay. Those aren't details I expect you to remember after nearly two decades, especially considering the trauma you experienced."

He says it so matter-of-factly that I look up.

"Your placement history will list every licensed home you lived in, along with the dates you were there. Once we identify the household you were placed with around age six, we can determine who lived in that home at the time. If there was a fifteen-year-old son named Charlie, or even a son who used that name, we'll find him."

The tightness in my chest loosens by the smallest degree.

"You can actually get those records?"

"We can request them through the appropriate agency and move quickly given the active threats and the animal sent to your residence." His gaze shifts briefly toward the house. "I'm not going to promise you we'll have an answer today, but this is the strongest lead we've had so far."

Something in me finally gives—not enough to make me cry, because I think I have already cried every tear my body is capable of producing, but enough that I release a shaky breath I hadn't realized I was holding.

Remembering Charlie feels like ripping open a wound that had somehow managed to scar over. Every memory that came back last night hurt just as much as the first time I lived through it, and there are still parts of me that wishes I could shove them back into the darkest corners of my mind where they'd stayed hidden all these years.

But as painful as it is... there's a small sense of relief too.

For months, I've been terrified of a faceless monster. Every man who lingered a second too long, every stranger whose eyes happened to meet mine, every unfamiliar face in a crowd—I couldn't stop wondering if he was the one following me. If he was watching me.

Now, for the first time, we're getting closer to giving that monster a name... and eventually, a face.

Detective Matthews rises from his chair, promising to begin requesting my foster care records as soon as he gets back to the station. Before leaving, he carefully seals the box and everything inside—including the note, the packing materials, and the poor kitten's body—into evidence bags.

"We'll process all of it," he says. "Fingerprints, DNA, trace evidence, the packaging, the shipping label—anything that might point us in the right direction. We may not get a hit, but we're going to examine every inch of it."

I nod, watching him carry the box toward his car.

Detective Matthews leaves a few minutes later with the evidence box carefully sealed inside an evidence bag, promising to contact us as soon as they learn anything from my foster care records or recover something useful from the package itself. Kentaro walks him to the front door while I remain in the living room, watching through the window as the detective places the box in the back of his unmarked SUV before driving away.

The moment the front door closes again, Cody lets out a slow breath. It is almost comical how all three of them have been trying—and failing—to pretend they weren't waiting for the detective to leave before asking questions.

"So..." Cody begins carefully, his usual easygoing grin nowhere to be found. "How are you holding up?"

I glance between him and the twins. Their expressions are unusually serious, the playful spark they normally carry replaced with genuine concern. It still surprises me sometimes how easily these guys can switch from acting like oversized children to becoming exactly the kind of people you'd want beside you when life falls apart.

"I'm okay," I answer honestly. "Or... I'm getting there."

Luke gives me a skeptical look that says he doesn't believe me for a second, while Liam opens his mouth, probably about to ask what Detective Matthews said.

Before either of them gets the chance, the front door flies open.

"Taylor!"

I barely have enough time to turn before Caroline rushes across the room and wraps both arms around me. The force of the hug nearly knocks the breath from my lungs, and Zach, who follows behind her looking just as worried, has to step aside before she accidentally barrels into him too.

"I heard what happened," she says the second she pulls back, her hands immediately finding my shoulders as she scans my face. "I came as soon as Zach told me."