Isabella tucked the stack of file folders in the crook of her elbow and mashed down on her nerves with all her might. She might have come up with this plan quickly, but she knew it was sound. She knew it would work.

It had to.

“You ready?” Hollister asked, his voice low and his expression more serious than she’d ever seen it, and Isabella answered honestly.

“I am. I can do this.”

“Okay,” Sinclair said, walking down the hallway with a tall redhead in a stylish yet professional suit and heels beside him. “You remember A.D.A. Presley Winston.”

Isabella nodded at the woman. “Thanks for coming down on such short notice.”

“To catch the guy who committed this crime? It’s my pleasure. Your boss has gotten me up to speed.” Presley pushed her glasses higher over the bridge of her nose as she looked through the two-way mirror. “If McManus is guilty, we’re going to need a confession to make this case airtight. I’m sure it goes without saying that any hint of coercion will get whatever he says in there tossed.”

“I’m only here for the truth,” Isabella said. “But don’t worry. I will get it.”

The A.D.A nodded. “I hope you do.”

Isabella reached for the doorknob, her hands steady even though the rest of her wasn’t. Walking into the interrogation room, she shut the door behind her, lingering just outside of McManus’s line of sight long enough for him to give in to the aggravation she’d watched mounting on his face for the last thirty minutes.

“I’ve been sitting here for over an hour! This is outrageous. You have no right—”

His words died abruptly as she walked to the spot across the table from him. “I apologize for the wait. My name is Detective Isabella Moreno, and I have just a few more questions for you before we let you go. Do you mind if I sit?”

“Oh.” McManus stared at her, his shock obvious. Just as Isabella had known it would be. “Well, I suppose not.”

She managed a demure smile, although she had no idea how. “Great, thanks,” she said, settling into the empty chair. “Before we start, I should let you know you’re entitled to have a lawyer present.”

Her fingers tightened over the file folders still in her grasp. She was banking on McManus’s ego being bigger than his brain. Now she just had to pray her gamble would pay off.

“It’s only a few questions, and as I told your colleagues, I have nothing to hide. I’m sure a lawyer won’t be necessary,” he said, but not even the way he’d folded his hands and cleared his throat could hide the sheen of sweat that had just bloomed over his forehead or the way he was still blinking at her as he continued to stare.

Isabella manufactured a look of concern. “Are you okay, Mr. McManus? Can I get you some water?”

“No, I…” He shook his head before firming up his shoulders and seeming to regain his calm. “You look like someone I know, is all.”

Steady, girl. Don’t let him rock you. “Hmm. Must be a coincidence. Kind of like this mix-up with the photos.”

Isabella used her free hand to tap the two eight-by-tens Maxwell had left on the table, and McManus frowned.

“There’s no way you can say with one hundred percent certainty that this is me, and you definitely can’t prove I kidnapped anyone.”

“You’re right about the photo. It’s only a ninety-eight percent match.” She waited for him to pale at the statistic before cranking the vise a little tighter. “As for being able to prove you kidnapped anyone…I’m going to have to disagree with you, there. In fact, I think I can do one better and argue that not only did you kidnap someone, but you repeatedly raped and murdered her.”

“You have no proof of that,” McManus said. But a tiny crack had formed in his smug exterior, and it was exactly what Isabella needed in order to pounce.

“Maybe not for the girl who was murdered last week.” Isabella made sure to punctuate the sentence with an unspoken yet before reaching for the file folder on the top of her stack. “But you haven’t always been so careful, have you? See, I did a little digging, and it turns out you’ve lived in a lot of places since you left town twelve years ago. Memphis”—the top folder hit the table with a firm snap, the others following suit as she listed them off, one by one—“Jackson. Birmingham. Atlanta. Jacksonville. Charleston. Raleigh. And do you want to know what they all have in common besides you?”

“I imagine the list is long,” McManus said, but half of his bluster had given way to unease.

Isabella took full advantage despite the fact that she had more adrenaline in her veins than blood. “Maybe, but the item on that list that I find the most curious is that every single one of these cities has an unsolved kidnapping, rape, and murder of a young woman that happened just weeks before you moved away. And the most interesting part of all is that the M.O. for all nine crimes is exactly the same. Fourteen-year-old girls taken from a city street. Kept for three days. Raped and strangled by someone’s bare hands.”

“That’s a coincidence.”

“An unfortunate one for you,” Isabella pressed. “See, you might have gotten good at this over the years, learning how to hop from state to state to avoid triggers within databases and taking extra measures to blend in and stay off the radar. But that first time, twelve years ago?” Isabella’s heart slammed as she took the last file folder and placed it on top of the others. “You left DNA on your victim when you raped her.”

McManus’s eyes widened as she flipped to the report that backed up her words as the truth, but oh, his survival instinct was made of Kevlar. “This case is twelve years old. Surely the DNA tests from over a decade ago are considered ancient history now.”

“Actually, they’re not. The DNA found on that victim was tested to federal standards, which are not only highly accurate, but they’re the same now as they were then. Thirteen markers in all. Do you want to know how I know?”

He didn’t answer out loud even though his expression told Isabella he knew exactly what she was about to say. Hell, with the way she and Mari had always been mistaken for sisters, he had to have known it since the minute he’d put eyes on her.

I have your back, Marisol.

“I know, because the victim was my cousin,” Isabella said, her voice calm and certain despite the raw, reckless emotion that wanted to make her grab McManus out of his chair and show him what it felt like to be scared for his life.

But this was about justice. Not revenge. Sinclair and the D.A. had trusted her to do her job.

And now, after twelve years, she was going to put Marisol’s murder to rest.

“See, I’ve had this case file memorized for a decade, so I know every tiny detail inside this folder. You kidnapped my cousin twelve years ago, then you raped her and strangled her and left her body in a basement, just like you did to all of these other women. My team is combing these cases as we speak, and we will tie you to every last one of them closely enough to have you arrested before bedtime.”

Whether it was her words or her wildly certain tone, Isabella couldn’t be sure, but McManus had been stunned into silence.

So she continued, “Once you’re arrested, we shouldn’t have a problem getting a judge sign off on a DNA test. You and I both know the DNA will match. Just like we both know I will do every single thing in my power to make sure you’re charged with all nine of these crimes. So really, Gerald. Tell the truth so these families can have closure. The D.A. might go easier on you if you do.”

Isabella sat perfectly still in her chair, forcing herself not to flinch or blink or move for the longest minute of her life.

And then McManus said, “You look so much like her. I remember all nine of them, you know. What they looked like. How they smelled. What they sounded like when they begged me not to hurt them. I remember snapping each of their necks and dumping them in those dark, dirty basements like it was yesterday.”

Oh God. Oh God, she’d done it. He’d confessed.

Isabella barely had time to process the thought before the door opened and Sinclair made his way inside. But rather than taking McManus into custody, he simply handed her a pair of handcuffs.

“This one is yours,” he said.

She’d waited for this day for twelve years. She wasn’t waiting any longer. “Gerald McManus, you’re under arrest for the kidnapping, rape, and murder of Marisol Pérez and the kidnapping, rape, and murder of Brittany Martin.”

She made her way through Mirandizing him with care before cuffing him and handing him off to Maxwell and Garza, who had entered the room with Sinclair. Her heart pressed against her ribs, adrenaline and shock and pure emotion winging through her fast enough to make her dizzy.

“Isabella!”

The familiar voice cut through the haze in her mind, filling her with relief. “Kellan? What are you doing here?”

He stepped all the way into the room to grab her in a firm embrace, but it was Sinclair who ended up answering the question as Kellan let go.

“I called in a favor with Bridges. Thought after this, you might need the moral support. Take all the time you need. And, Moreno?” His steely eyes softened, a small smile framing his mouth. “You did real good tonight.”

Kellan waited until Sinclair had made his way out of the room before turning to look at her. “Did you get the guy?”

“Yeah.” Tears pricked at her eyes as the truth settled in, and she slid her arms around Kellan, holding on tight. “We got the guy.”

And then she leaned on him, letting him hold her up completely as she started to cry.