Until I Find You - Rea Frey Page 0,102

feels.

She takes Savi’s hand and leads her inside the station.

46

BEC

Bec waits for Jake outside.

“Bec!” His voice is swollen with relief. His footsteps pound the concrete as he jogs over. “Let me see.”

I maneuver Jackson, not daring to loosen my hold for even a second.

He takes a moment and then exhales a shaky breath. “I really can’t believe it. Come on. Toby’s waiting.”

I charge straight to the back of the police station, not bothering to tune in to sounds or hushed, excited whispers. No one believed me, but I never gave up hope. And because of that belief, my baby is back in my arms.

“Rebecca.” Toby’s voice is apologetic. Someone clears an agitated throat over his shoulder. A figure who’s taller and more in charge from where he’s positioned in the room.

“Chief Holbrook. Please let me apologize on behalf of Elmhurst PD for how this was handled.”

I take his hand and squeeze it firmly—a trait my dad instilled in me from a young age. No limp handshakes here. I can sense he wants to say more by way of an explanation—that he didn’t want to jump the gun, that they have to be certain before they make a missing-person case public—but I don’t care. I want to know why Crystal had my baby. Was she the one following me? Had she been casing me this whole time? As the puzzle pieces start to slip and shift, I realize my cardinal mistake. I trusted her without ever really knowing her.

Mentally, I sort through the facts: I met her at a grief group. I assumed she was an interior designer, but did I have proof of that? She never invited me to her house, but she was always in mine.

I spew my thoughts into the police station, laying a track of her behavior. The men stay silent as I weave my supposed web, and then, finally, Jake interrupts.

“The nanny—Pam Booker—gave her statement. Gave us some insight into what’s been going on.” He rustles a piece of paper. “Apparently, Crystal hired her a few months ago for Oliver and had her sign a nondisclosure agreement.”

I balk. “Why?”

“Paul was a lawyer. Crystal claimed it was standard. The girl is young, probably didn’t want to lose the chance at the job,” Toby explains.

I shake my head, confused. “What does a nondisclosure agreement have to do with anything?”

“It specifically states she is not to discuss the baby or anything that goes on in that house,” Jake says.

I listen, dumbfounded. “What else did Pam say?”

“She said that in all her time working there, Crystal never paid attention to Oliver—she’d look right through him as if he wasn’t there. Completely ignored him. Pam started to get suspicious that something was different about the baby a few days ago, but why would she think twice about some sort of swap?” Toby sniffs. “She thought maybe he was just outgrowing the colic, but when she saw the flyer for the vigil, she knew.”

“So you’re saying Pam had nothing to do with the swap?”

“Not as far as we can tell, no.”

I adjust in my chair. “How is that possible? A nanny would know if they had a different baby.”

“Like I said, she started to suspect something was off, but what was she going to do with that information? She signed that agreement. She wasn’t even allowed to talk to her friends about who she was nannying for,” Toby explains. “We checked her phone records, her texts. Nothing suspicious. Her version is that babies change almost daily. A little far-fetched, if you ask me. But we’ll get to the bottom of it.”

I sigh. “So what now?”

“Crystal just gave her statement,” Jake explains. “She has taken full responsibility for swapping Jackson.”

“What?” My entire body stills. Deep down, I wanted there to be some sort of massive misunderstanding … but I know the world doesn’t work that way. Bad things happen to good people. Good people do bad things. Which one is this? “I thought she was my friend.” The admission is pathetic, but the realization is crushing nonetheless. She never wanted to be my friend—she just wanted my baby. But she doesn’t like babies, I remind myself. Or was that a lie too?

I smear away the unhelpful thoughts as if on a whiteboard. “Is she even a widow?”

“Yes. Her husband died months ago in a car accident.”

“She told me.”

“Did she also tell you about Evelyn?”

I shake my head. “Mistress?”

“Sister.”

“Her sister?”

“No, her husband’s sister. Rose Evelyn Watson. Rose is her legal name. She went by