I parked near the back, under the shade of a spreading oak tree.

I grabbed my purse, ensuring the USB drive and the leather-bound diary were secured inside.

The air outside was cool and damp, smelling of wet earth and exhaust.

I walked through the double glass doors of the library.

The smell of old paper and carpet cleaner hit me immediately.

A woman in a dark gray pantsuit was sitting at a wooden table near the back, a tablet and a manila folder open in front of her.

It was Rachel Miller.

She looked older than she had during our last joint investigation, with thin silver lines running through her dark hair.

Her eyes locked onto mine as I approached.

She didn’t stand, but she gestured to the chair opposite her.

I sat down, placing my purse on the table between us.

“You look tired, Evelyn,” she said quietly.

“I’ll sleep when my daughter is safe,” I replied.

I reached into my bag and pulled out the black USB drive.

I placed it on the wooden table, followed by Emily’s diary.