“Please I have to speak with you,” Becca pleaded, practically jogging to keep up.

He avoided looking at her as he spoke. “You people need to learn to communicate. My lawyer spoke to the detectives already. I told them I don’t care what Maureen did. Unless you came to tell me she’s dead, I don’t care about her at all. So whatever it is you’re looking for, some exclusive tell-all or some movie deal or any of that garbage you’ve come peddling, I’m not interested,” he spat out.

“Mr. Wilson, I’m here to talk about my daughter. She’s in the ICU at Cedars-Sinai, fighting for her life right now and I believe…” She was almost shouting at Paul, trying to get him to hear her. He never broke his stride. In fact, he was moving even faster, darting through parked cars, until he reached an Airstream, a sleek and shiny metallic contraption. Out front was a small herb garden with a Buddha statue and meditation bench tucked into the corner. Less than seven hundred square feet, Becca estimated. A far cry from his multimillion-dollar mansion. Paul reached for the door.

“I’m begging you for five minutes of your time,” Becca pleaded, reaching out to grab him. She could see his hands were shaking, his eyes darting toward the trailer.

“I said I don’t want to talk to you,” he shouted, shoving Becca away. This was an act born out of frustration, not malice. Unfortunately, Becca was operating on very little sleep, and her reflexes were slow. She went tumbling backward, landing hard onto a small bed of rocks. Unable to stop herself, she let out a cry.

“Dad?” a voice called out. The door to the trailer swung open, revealing a teenage boy. He had his father’s tall, athletic build, but he was unmistakably Maureen’s son, with her same brown hair and piercing blue eyes. He was handsome by any definition, even with the deep red burns, angry thick scars that marred the entire right side of his face. Becca remembered Wishard’s words. “There was a fire.” She recalled Christian’s horror that this woman had wanted her own son dad. She hadn’t gotten her wish, but this child was forever scarred.

“Aidan, get back in the house.”

“What’s wrong? Is everything okay? Are you okay?” the young man said, eyeing Becca, confusion and suspicion all rolled into one. She hated coming here, intruding in this peaceful world they’d created, bringing Maureen Wilson back into their lives. It wasn’t fair to him, but Becca was out of options.

“Get back inside, and do not open the door again,” Paul Wilson said. He waited until his son shut the door, and then knelt down beside Becca to inspect her injuries.

“I didn’t mean to… I wasn’t trying to hurt you.”

“I’m okay,” she said. “I just need to catch my breath.”