IT WAS EARLY THAT morning, but Josie didn’t care. She’d been sitting there in her car for an hour, watching the digital clock on her dash like she could will it to move faster as she waited for Rhodes to leave for work.

Her heart skipped a beat when he stepped out his front door. He looked just like anyone else, walking the sidewalk to the bus stop where he’d catch his ride into Manhattan, go to his regular job with people who thought he was a regular guy. They probably figured his pastimes were things like drinking beer and playing golf, not strangling young girls and dumping them into the river.

Her father had called her the night before with news that the print had been processed, and when she’d told him she lifted one of her own, he’d said he already knew. Josie had run her plan by him, and he’d agreed to it, knowing he couldn’t stop her anyway and knowing his hands were tied. They had nothing, not even probable cause.

So, she would go to Rhodes’s house and find a little trash to lift prints from for comparison. If it was on the curb, it was public property. The proof would be enough to convince her father to call Rhodes in as a suspect in the hopes that they could get official prints.

Josie watched the clock until the bus she knew he took was sure to be gone, waiting another twenty agonizing minutes just in case, before grabbing rubber gloves and freezer bags from her passenger seat. She walked around to the side of his house and through the gate where his trash cans stood behind the tall fence.

The neighborhood was quiet, but her heart was a jackhammer, thundering in her ears as she closed the gate behind her.

Josie flipped back the lid to his recycling, digging past cereal and frozen dinner boxes until she found two glass jars and several soda cans. She deposited them into the freezer bags and closed the trash can lid before heading back to her car, glancing around with the loot in her arms, feeling like she’d just stolen the crown jewels.

She raced home with the stolen trash a presence in the car, her thoughts wholly focused on each step to come, afraid of what she would or wouldn’t find, so anxious, she could barely pay attention to drive. When she finally made it into her apartment, she moved with certainty and purpose, unpacking each bag on her bar, lining the containers up neatly on the surface. The area was already prepped with paper towels and her fingerprinting kit, and she sat down in front of the trash, dusting each vessel slowly and meticulously, assessing and noting them as she went.

The jars initially held the most hope with partials on the lids and labels where they had been held while he poured out the contents. Two of the soda cans had a mess of fingerprints, too many to make any sense of. But she found the answer on the final can. There were two solid sets of prints—one with placement from holding the can while it had been opened, the other from pouring it.

Anne’s necklace had a clear, full print so clean that she knew he’d intentionally touched it. There were no prints in the entire apartment with the exception of that necklace, and Josie could only assume that he’d worn gloves. If he had been wearing gloves, then he’d touched her necklace on purpose, which meant the prints were likely from an index finger or thumb.

Discerning which print was which on the can was fairly simple, and she lifted each with precision and care, marking which digit was which based on their locations. Her hands trembled as she laid the prints in her scanner and took a seat at her desk, bouncing her knee as she waited on the machine to warm up, her breath shallow as they pulled up on the screen. She opened them in Photoshop, adjusted the contrast, zoomed in tight, and began the painstaking process of comparing.

Josie started with what she determined to be the thumbprint of his right hand, figuring that would be the most probable match, the most natural way to touch the necklace. Once she located the center swirl, she turned the print from the can so it was the same direction as the one from Anne’s necklace. Starting at the center point, she followed the ring around and out, her pulse beating faster with each match she found.

It was him.

Her hands were numb and cold as she dug out her phone, her fingers trembling as she called her father’s cell.

“Josie. Did you get it?”

She took a breath, her mouth so dry, her lips stuck together. “It’s him.”

Hank sucked in a breath in her ear. “Okay.” He paused. “All right.” Another pause. “What happened?”

“Waited until he left, dug through his recycling. No one saw.” She took a breath and looked at her computer screen in disbelief and relief and fear that he’d somehow slip away. “Dad, he did it. I’ve got proof right here.”

“Is the trash admissible?”

“No. It was in his backyard.”

“Damn. Don’t worry about it, okay? We’re not gonna let him go.”

“I’ll call in the tip when we hang up.”

“All right. As soon as we get the call, I’ll send Walker and Davis to pick him up at work. Come down to the station. I’ll get you into the observation room while we interrogate him.”

“Okay.” Josie could barely comprehend what was happening, but it was happening whether she understood it or not.

“You okay?”

“I really don’t know, Dad. I think I’m in shock. Sometimes I wake up and don’t believe any of it’s real, like I made up the whole thing. Like I fabricated the connections to him just so I had someone to blame. So to be looking at concrete evidence is as reassuring as it is terrifying.”

“I know that feeling. Hurry down here, okay?”

“All right. I’ll see you.”

She hung up and sat back in her chair, composing the call to the anonymous tip line in her mind as she stared at his fingerprints on her monitor. They’d finally caught him.

This is it.

Rhodes waited quietly in the cold, gray interrogation room with his hands in his lap for the detectives to come back. It was a strange feeling—to be picked up at work by cops, to be told they had some questions and that he could come quietly or not. Sitting in that room, he felt like he should be worried, but he wasn’t.

Curiosity trumped all of his emotions.

The door opened, and he looked over his shoulder with a smile at the detectives who walked in with coffee. The one called Davis, he thought, sat across from him and offered a white foam cup while the other, Walker, laid a folder on the table and leaned on the wall behind his partner with his arms folded across his chest.

“Thought you might like a cup of coffee, Mr. Rhodes,” Davis said.

He was in his early forties, if Rhodes had to guess, with blond hair and blue eyes. His sleeves were rolled to three-quarters, and he wore a tie but no coat. He looked casual and friendly.

The good cop.

Walker scowled at him from against the wall. His shaved head gleamed under the fluorescent lights, and his sleeves were also rolled up, but his forearms were covered in tattoos.

Definitely the bad cop.

“Thanks, but I’m fine.” Rhodes didn’t move his hands from where they laid threaded in his lap.

“It’s fresh. Just made it.”

“Can I ask again what this is about?”

Davis took a sip of coffee and nodded. “Sure, sure.”

He flipped the folder open, and inside lay a photo of Hannah. Her hair was so blond, her uniform so red, her smile so bright in what looked to be her yearbook photo.

Rhodes made a sympathetic face, his tone full of compassion. “Oh, I remember when that girl went missing a few months ago. I told you guys everything I knew then, which wasn’t much, I’m afraid.”

“Right, we have your statement here.” Davis handed Rhodes the sheet with his statement on it, and the photo underneath almost broke his facade.

It was another photo of Hannah, but she was almost unrecognizable. Her skin looked like stretched leather, her hair like brass instead of corn silk. The plastic that he’d wrapped her in was pulled back so the photographer could get a shot of her face.

Rhodes didn’t miss a beat. “Whoa, is that what happened to her?”

“Oh, sorry,” Davis said with nonchalance. “I forgot that was there.” He shuffled the papers around, flipping through photographs of different women, ghosts of Rhodes’s conquests.

Rhodes shook his head, his outward appearance and voice innocent even though he could barely hear over the sound of his blood rushing in his ears. “Did the same guy kill all of them?” he asked.

“We think so, yes.” Davis reached under the stack and pulled out a baggie, laying it in front of Rhodes unceremoniously.

Rhodes’s hands clenched in his lap along with every muscle in his abdomen.

Anne’s necklace lay inside, the small bird stamped onto the silver disc staring at him through the plastic. Everything came back to him in a rush. He could see her lying on the ground in front of him, could feel her pulse in his fingers.

He kept his face smooth, only showing an air of mild curiosity. “What’s that?”

“Have you ever seen this before?” Davis’s body language and tone were relaxed, but his eyes probed Rhodes.

Cat and mouse.

“I’m sorry. I can’t say that I have.”

Davis nodded. “We found it today in the window track of an apartment nearby. A girl was strangled to death and raped there on the night we found Hannah’s body. She was an investigator who had been looking into Hannah’s disappearance.”

“Wow. Do you think the same guy killed her too?”

“It’d make sense, wouldn’t it?”

“I guess it would. But I still don’t quite understand what exactly this has to do with me.”

Davis’s cool eyes didn’t leave Rhodes’s face. “We received an anonymous tip today that said you were involved in not only the murders of Anne Martin and Hannah Mills, but a number of prostitutes as well as a girl from your hometown, Jane Bernard. We take calls like that seriously, but those are some pretty wild accusations, wouldn’t you say?”

He let out a soft chuckle. “That’s crazy.”

“I know, right?” Davis said, his tone disbelieving. “Do you know of anyone who would want to defame you? There’s no accounting for crazy people. Maybe one of them called in the tip?”

“Gosh, not off the top of my head.”

“Would you mind giving us a DNA sample and your fingerprints? You know, just to rule yourself out.”

Rhodes laughed wholeheartedly at that one. “Yes, I would mind actually. Am I being charged with anything?”

Davis’s jovial face hardened a touch. “No, no, nothing like that. We just thought that, if you cooperated, we could clear up this whole misunderstanding right now.”

“Do I need to call my lawyer?”

“Well, now, that really is up to you. Let me give you a few to consider it.” Davis stood and jerked his chin at his partner, who pushed away from the wall and walked toward the door, his eyes on Rhodes the whole time.

Rhodes sat back in his seat. The detective had left everything there—the photos haphazardly spread out enough that it looked accidental, the necklace lying on the table in front of him.

The necklace.

His fingers twitched. He was so close. All he had to do was reach out and touch it. Time seemed to stop as the smell of coffee and the old, metallic scent of the station filled his nose, the distant sound of phones ringing and the whir of air conditioning in his ears. He memorized everything before breaking his gaze and pulling out his phone to play Candy Crush, as if none of it fazed him, though his mind and body hummed with such static, he was surprised his hair wasn’t standing on end.

But he would never let them know.

Josie watched Rhodes play on his phone with her face stone cold and her hands clasped behind her back. Hank stood next to her silently, and when Walker and Davis came in, they all stood there, watching Rhodes through the one-way glass.

“He’s about to lawyer up,” Davis said.

Hank nodded. “He’s not going to give anything up, and until we can find something to bring him in on, he’s going to walk free.” He turned to Josie. “I don’t have enough to go on to justify sending a patrol to Weehawken to watch him.”

Josie stared through the glass at Rhodes, who looked like he could have been waiting in line at the DMV instead of sitting in an interrogation room. She didn’t need to rely on the cops. She could watch him herself.

“Josephine,” her father said, the warning clear, “you listen to me right now. Look at me.”

She met his eyes.

“You have got to stay out of this. He knows we’re on to him. Without a partner, you are too exposed, too vulnerable. I need you to promise me you won’t follow him.”

“But, Dad—”

“Promise me.”

“He’s going to run.”

“I’ll send a patrol to drive by his place later, and Walker and Davis will go by in the morning to see if they can get into his house. That’s the best I can do, and I need you to swear to me you won’t get involved.”

She stood there in the cold room with her father’s eyes on her, not sure how she could agree to his request.

Rhodes hadn’t even flinched when Davis put the necklace on the table, but she had seen a flicker under the surface of his facade, a flash of anger. She hoped it drove him crazy to see it with the knowledge that he would never touch it again.

Everything in the room had been wiped in anticipation of his arrival in the hopes that he would touch something they could dust, but there would be nothing to find. He hadn’t touched a single thing—not the cup, not the table or chair. They’d eventually nail him, find a way to get a comparison print, and then it would be over. But if he even had an inkling that they had his print, he would run, and it would be over in an entirely different way.

Could she leave Rhodes alone and let her father handle it? Could she lie to him, make him a promise she wouldn’t keep?

She knew good and well that both answers were no.

“You have to send a patrol to tail him, Dad. He knows it’s only a matter of time, and he will run. I feel it. I know it. If you want me to stay away, you’ve got to send a patrol. It’s the only way I’ll agree.”

Hank looked back at Rhodes and ran a hand over his mouth, silently watching through the glass for a long minute before he spoke again. “Do you realize the hell I’m going to get for putting my resources into this with just an anonymous tip to go off of?”

“But you know he did it.”

He sighed. “I do.”

“Then none of this will matter because we’ll catch him.”

Dita’s fingers rested on her lips as she watched Rhodes walk out of the police station with his lawyer.

“He’s going to run,” she said to no one in particular.

Perry sat in the seat next to her with her mouth open, and Heff leaned forward in an armchair with his elbows on his knees. Apollo’s head shook slowly from the other armchair, and all four of them were silent for a long moment.

Perry spoke up, and her voice was low. “After all this time, for Josie to find the necklace…this can’t be a coincidence.”

Dita turned to her, shocked. “You don’t think Artemis did this, do you?”

“Who else?”

“Why? Why would she do it?”

“I think I know.” Apollo ran a hand through his hair. “The last time I saw her, she said something about getting Josie away from Jon. If Rhodes runs…”

“Josie will chase him. Fuck.” Dita’s mind spun, flustered and out of control, her voice frantic and climbing. “What the fuck? My only shot is for Jon to help her, but how the shit am I supposed to get her to agree to that? I’m not convinced she would put him out if he was on fire.” She looked around the room and threw a hand in the air. “Why would Artemis put them in danger like this? She is so careless with them. Does she even care?”

“She cares, but she doesn’t understand what she’s doing. She’s looking at a postage stamp while we can see the panorama,” Apollo answered.

Dita stood up, livid as she wove around the chairs and coffee table and made for the elevator.

Perry looked mildly distressed. “Dita, you are not allowed to go down there.”

She didn’t stop walking. “Why the fuck not? I have words for her.”

“Hang on,” Apollo called.

Dita stopped in the foyer, furious and ready to fight. “Why?”

Apollo stood and walked over to her, his blue eyes comforting. “Just…look, just ride it out. Maybe Josie won’t leave, or maybe something will happen that you can work to your advantage. What good will confronting Artemis do?”

“It would make me feel a whole lot better to kick her in the teeth.” She pictured herself roundhousing Artemis in the face, and it really did bring a little comfort.

He chuckled. “I’m sure, but it still won’t solve anything.”

“He’s right, Dita.” Heff turned to face her. “You can’t undo any of it, so you’re gonna have to find a way to roll with it. For now at least. Maybe Rhodes will stay in town. We have no idea what’s going to happen.”

“But that’s not the point.” Dita put one hand on her hip, gesturing dramatically with the other one as she ranted. “She is knowingly putting both players in danger when we’re supposed to keep them safe. I’d expect this from Ares, but Artemis?” She shook her head. “I didn’t agree to this.”

Apollo slipped his hands in his pockets. “She doesn’t see it like the rest of us. She thinks Josie’s got everything under control, that Josie’s as invincible as she is. Just give it a little bit of time. Is there an expiration date on bitching her out?”

“No, my rage will keep.” Dita sucked in a breath through her nose. “I’m so, so mad. Maybe it’s just because I haven’t slept in eleventy billion years, but I’m pretty sure I would fuck her up in a serious way right now.”

She wondered if she could somehow turn Artemis’s move around and found consolation in the potential. The look on Artemis’s face when Dita played her would be even better than the sight of her bloody grill.

“Maybe you’re right. I’ll leave her alone. For now.”

Everyone relaxed a hair, but Dita was so wound up, she couldn’t stand it. It was like every molecule in her body was trying to fight its way out.

“I think I need to punch something.”

Heff stood with a smirk. “It would probably make you feel better.”

He made his way around the furniture and into the foyer, stopping in front of her. For some reason, she sometimes forgot how tall he was, and when he flexed his torso, her eyes followed the lines and shadows his forearms and biceps made. She could see his pecs under his T-shirt and chased a fleeting thought about pulling up the hem to get a good look at his abs.

When she realized her mouth was slightly agape, she closed it and pursed her lips.

“Go ahead. Take your best shot,” he said.

“You sure? I mean, I don’t want to hurt you,” she joked.

He laughed, his teeth flashing white and bright against his dark beard. “Yeah, I’m sure.”

“You asked for it.” She felt her face screw up as she wound up and nailed him in the stomach, which was rock solid.

He didn’t even flinch.

She smiled as she shook out her fingers. “My hand hurts, but I feel better.”

“This is why men fight when they’re mad. Go on, knock yourself out. You’re not gonna hurt me.”

Dita took a deep breath, feeling her anger wind around every muscle in her body, and she let it go, let it all out like steam off boiling water. She pictured Ares as she threw all of her weight behind her fist, wishing she could hurt Ares in the ways he’d hurt her—with betrayal and her bare hands. She thought about Adonis, and her grief and guilt washed over her in a wave. She’d killed him with her choices, by her words.

She didn’t realize that she wasn’t as mad at Artemis as she’d thought, not until tears blurred her vision and wet her cheeks, not until her fists no longer flew but clutched Heff’s shirt as she lay in his arms on the floor.

Ares hung an arm on the back of his couch, looking in on Rhodes, who moved through his house with intention as he packed a large duffel bag. He trotted down the stairs of his basement and to his crawl space where he retrieved his jewelry box. Then, he knelt down to lay it inside his bag. Everything he owned was secondary to that box.

Rhodes was implementing his contingency plan and would be long gone before anyone came looking for him. Ares didn’t know what was going on in the game, but he suspected that someone had interfered. He wondered briefly how it would all end, if there would be blood. It could end that way if Josie chased him.

Rhodes wouldn’t go quietly.

Ares didn’t know how the game would be affected, but Dita would adapt. She always did.

He pictured her face as he’d seen her last, saw the dark circles under her wild, fearful eyes and her lip pulled back, baring her teeth. He hadn’t even known what he wanted to say to her. That he was sorry he’d hurt her. That he loved her and wanted her. Wanted her to forgive him. To let him fix it. To prove it. But he wasn’t sure she would believe him, and he didn’t blame her.

He didn’t even know if it was true.

All he knew was that he wanted her. He’d tell her anything she wanted to hear if it brought her back. They belonged together, and they would be together again. It wasn’t a matter of if, only when.

She needed time and space, but he would find a way to edge back into her life as he always did. He would have to work harder than ever to get her back, but once they got through it, there would be nothing left to stand in his way.

Ares thought about how to classify his feelings. He couldn’t call it guilt. He was mad, that was certain, but more over the fact that everything had fallen apart. He felt no remorse for killing Adonis. In fact, the memory still brought him satisfaction. And he didn’t feel bad for lying because it had been his only shot at ridding himself of the human.. But if she hadn’t found out, he would have her still, and that fact made his blood boil.

Rhodes was in his office, flipping through his file cabinet in his desk. He pulled out an unlabeled folder, laid it open on his desk, and thumbed through the contents—a birth certificate, license, a new Social Security card. He’d gotten them just after he killed Anne, knowing he would need a plan. He’d also purchased an ’80s model Civic with cash from a junkyard, a car that sat in his garage, gassed and ready to take him away. He had enough cash to get him to Seattle where the dead man whose identity he’d stolen was from.

Rhodes glanced out his office window and watched the patrol car a few houses down in the alley, wondering how he would get away. He could watch them, wait. He could be patient. The opportunity would—

The patrol car started up, and he stared in shock as it rolled away. He didn’t question them leaving or consider why he smelled spring grass and sunshine and pine, just picked up his papers, packed them in his bag, and zipped it up with finality before he stood and left his home with no fanfare for the last time.

Ares smiled. It had been Artemis, and he mourned not being able to tell Dita what he knew. It would be the perfect, noble way to find his way back to her favor, but it was impossible. He couldn’t get anywhere near her.

As soon as he got the chance, he would try to talk to her again without pushing so hard. He’d need to grovel and beg if he was going to make it convincing—two behaviors that he wasn’t familiar with. But if she got mad, yelled…he couldn’t guarantee that his emotions would stay in check.

She was a burning match, and he was gasoline, and when one touched the other, everything would be devoured until all that was left was ash.

Artemis traced her lips with her fingers as she watched from her tent, elbows resting on the polished table—a slice of a massive tree with hundreds of rings.

Josie was still at the station, and Rhodes was driving west through rural New Jersey. Artemis wasn’t entirely sure she had done the right thing. But the necklace had been her only play, her only chance, and if Josie could get a lead on him, she would catch him and either bring him in or kill him.

Either way, Josie would find closure, and Artemis would win alongside her.

Her tent flap opened, and Eleni walked through with a tray of venison, grapes, and wine, her lips flat and her gray wings folded tight behind her.

“Your supper, mistress,” she said stiffly as she set the tray on the table with a clatter.

Artemis glanced at her with narrow eyes. “Have you something to say?”

“No, no.” Her tone was snide and dismissive. “Nothing you wish to hear.”

“Please, I wouldn’t want you to injure yourself, trying to contain it,” Artemis volleyed, infuriated and combative.

Eleni’s cheeks flushed. “Do not tempt me to speak, Artemis. I gave you my allegiance, promised to follow you, even when you are being irresponsible.”

“Have you no faith in me?”

“When it comes to humans? I have much less faith in you than is appropriate for my station.”

Artemis’s temper flared hot and bright. “I know Josie. Do you not believe that I would protect her?”

Eleni blew out a breath and folded her arms. “You know too little of humans to assume as much as you do. I believe you would protect her, yes, but the competition stands in your way. Should she fall into any danger, you could be helpless to interfere. But none of this matters because you have set your plan into motion with no regard for anyone’s perspective but your own.”

The words bit at Artemis’s conscience, and the niggling doubt in the back of her mind grew stronger and stronger with each argument on the matter.

Her wrath writhed under her skin as she stood and took steps toward Eleni, backing her out of the tent and into the center of camp.

“I do not need your blessing, Nephelai. I am Artemis, Goddess of Wilds, Lady of the Moon, The Huntress, The Maiden, Daughter of Zeus, and your mistress.”

The afternoon sky grew dark as midnight, the stars and moon so bright, they were overexposed. Night creatures woke and sang their songs—crickets and owls, frogs that croaked and hopped into the clearing—as fireflies buzzed in streaks against the tree line.

The nymphs shrank back with their eyes on the sky, and Artemis glowed white and cool as the moon.

“I do not need your blessing,” she said to her camp, her voice booming through the trees. “I do not need your permission. And I will hear no more of this.”

Her wrath ebbed as she turned for her tent once again just as Eleni fell to her knees, trembling in the dust. The daylight returned, the moon gone for the time, and all was once again as it should be.

The sky had grown dark outside Jon’s window, that eerie, ominous dimming of light to dark that came on suddenly, as if the sun had been blotted out. Rain clouds tumbled through the sky, and the low rumble of thunder rolled in the distance. He leaned against the wall with his front chair legs in the air as he eyed the replica of Josie’s evidence wall across the room with one hand rubbing his chin and the other tapping his pencil on his blue notebook resting on his thigh.

The day before had been spent compiling his own version of her wall, and he’d been up almost all night cataloging everything he’d found. He’d started at the beginning, marking each article, every bit of information, getting all of it into a massive spreadsheet before beginning to scour the internet for the articles and police blotters she’d used to build what she had. He’d printed them all to highlight and note them, and as the case had come together in his mind, it had grown until he made one solitary revelation.

Josie was right.

Try as he might, he found no holes other than the lack of substantial, admissible evidence. Rhodes made perfect sense. If he’d killed Jane, Hannah, and Anne, Jon didn’t doubt for a second that he’d killed the other girls too. It was too specific to be a coincidence, not with that many murders.

The question was, what could he do about it?

Josie had information he didn’t. Not all the facts on the wall were fully legible, and some weren’t visible in the photos he’d taken, covered up by other articles or photos. Not to mention, all the details and connections that only existed in her mind. If she’d been shadowing Rhodes at the level he figured she’d been, she’d know his routine, his habits. She’d know Rhodes, maybe better than anyone.

With all that knowledge, there was no way for Jon to walk away. He had to convince her to let him help and wondered if he could win her over by discovering something she hadn’t seen. Hence the wall-staring through the course of the day.

But he knew it was a long shot.

There was no way Josie had missed anything.

The more he learned, the deeper his concerns rooted. Rhodes was dangerous, and Josie was in deep with no one to watch her back.

Jon’s door opened, and Tori walked in with a sandwich and a beer.

“Hey. Brought you a snack.” She wiggled the plate at him.

His stomach gurgled. He hadn’t realized he was hungry. “Thanks. I’m starvin’.” He leaned forward and put all four chair legs back on the ground as he reached for the offered bottle and plate.

“I figured. You’ve barely left your room.” Tori made her way around his bedroom, flicking on lights. When she clicked on the lamp next to his bed, it lit up the wall, and she sucked in a breath when she saw it. “Holy,” she whispered.

“Yep,” Jon said around a mouthful of sandwich.

“I mean, seriously,” she said as her eyes roamed the wall. “She must have been working on this nonstop since Anne died.”

“If I know her, that’s exactly what she’s been doing.”

Tori stared at the wall in stunned silence while he inhaled the sandwich and took a long pull of the beer. He laid the plate on the ground between his bare feet and rested his elbows on his knees, holding the bottle loose in his hands.

“Have you made any sense of it?” Tori asked after a minute.

Jon nodded. “It wasn’t hard. Josie’s meticulous.” He paused with his eyes on Rhodes’s photo in the center. “I think he did it.”

“Jesus. And you said she’s following him?” Tori turned to look at him.

“She is. She’s been staking out his place and who knows what else. I wouldn’t doubt for a second that she’s been in there at least a handful of times.”

“Why would she do that? If he did all this,” she said, motioning to the wall, which was punctuated by photographs of dead girls, “how the hell is she so sure that he wouldn’t do the same to her?”

“Because she thinks she can outsmart him. She’s got a strong invincibility streak.”

“Damn the two of you.” Tori shook her head. “Don’t you have any sense of self-preservation?”

“We do, and a strong one at that, but we also believe the rules don’t generally apply to us.”

“Idiots,” she said with another shake of her head as she ran her eyes over the wall again. “I say that with love.” She paused. “You’ve got to help her. She can’t be safe.”

“I know it. I’m trying to find something new, but it’s probably a lost cause. She’s been staring at this wall for half a year, and I didn’t even know it existed until thirty-six hours ago. There has to be some way to convince her to let me help, but it’s not gonna be easy. I’m about the last person in the world she wants to see.”

“Well, you broke into her house. I’d be pissed too.”

“I had a key. Nobody acknowledges the fact that I had a damn key.”

“Because that makes it okay.” Tori rolled her eyes. “What are you going to do if you can’t figure anything new out? What’s your plan B?”

“I don’t have one.”

“You need to go talk to her. Make her listen.”

Jon chuffed. “Nobody makes Josie do anything.”

“Can’t you just try to talk some sense into her?” Tori asked.

“Sure, until things get tough, and she walks away.”

“Sounds familiar,” Tori scoffed. “You definitely have a type.”

“More like a curse.”

“Ha, ha. There’s got to be some way to get her to let you help,” Tori said, almost to herself. She turned to him. “If you could at least get your foot in the door, you could push it open. You’re sneaky like that.”

“I have nothing to bargain with. She doesn’t need me—or doesn’t think she does at least. Why should she tell me anything?”

“You need an angle.”

He rubbed the back of his neck. “I mean, maybe if I just got her to share information so I could look into it on my own…maybe she would agree to that? Maybe. If I had more information, I could make a little more sense of everything.”

“If nothing else, it might get you back on speaking terms.”

He nodded, relieved at having a plan. “All right. I’ll go to her place tomorrow and see if I can convince her.”

“Good boy.” Tori reached for his plate and gave him a wink as she left.

Jon sat in his room, his eyes on that wall, wondering if there was any way he had a chance and hoping to God he did. Because he couldn’t stand by anymore.