FATAL WOUND

SKY STRYKER SERIES: BOOK EIGHT

MARY STONE

BELLA CROSS

Copyright © 2025 by Mary Stone Publishing

All rights reserved.

No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

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For my son Griffin, whose dream of moving to NYC recently came true. May the city bring you adventure, inspiration, and everything you’ve hoped for—minus the crime, murder, and mayhem I write about. Love you so much. Stay safe out there! I mean it!

DESCRIPTION

He’s a living doll. A dead one too.

Over the past year, true crime writer Sky Stryker has spent too much time inside the NYPD—sometimes as a consultant, sometimes as a suspect. She’s helped them crack impossible cases, including the murder of her own cousin. But now, they want her to walk away from an active investigation.

Even though a killer is still out there.

Even though another body is just a matter of time.

Desperate for a distraction, Sky takes on a missing persons case—a high school boy who vanished without a trace. In a city like Manhattan, the odds of finding him alive are slim. And then he turns up dead. Suffocated. Dressed in a sailor outfit, his face painted like a doll.

The discovery is unsettling, but to Sky’s friend and surrogate mother, it’s devastating.

Former FBI agent Callie Baros has seen this before, and it’s like reliving a bad dream she thought she’d woken from. She sent the killer, dubbed the Doll Collector, to jail years ago. Has he escaped? Is it a copycat crime?

Or has the real Doll Collector been at large the whole time?

As Sky, Callie, and the team dig into the secrets lurking inside the victim’s school, the truth emerges—twisted, terrifying, and far deadlier than they imagined. Because this time, the nightmare isn’t just repeating.

It’s evolving.

Fatal Wound is the eighth book in the Sky Stryker series by best-selling author Mary Stone. Some wounds never heal. Some killers never stop.

1

The afternoon passed in a blur of laughter and camaraderie that Sawyer Parker desperately needed. Staying at home would have meant nothing but lectures about how much he was screwing up his future, a theory most recently supported by his deplorable AP Calculus test score.

Did all parents harp on their kids so much, or was Sawyer one of the lucky ones to have a mom and dad who micromanaged every moment of his life?

Even as he bemoaned the pressure his folks put on him, guilt prickled at the back of his neck. How long had it been since the end-of-day bell rang? Minutes had turned into hours as he goofed off with his buddies, first by the school, now in this pothole-riddled bodega parking lot.

His mom would be expecting him at home. And even if she greeted him with a lecture, she would serve it with a helping of her famous teriyaki chicken and rice. No matter how upset Connie Parker was, she always had a meal ready for her son.

Stomach rumbling, Sawyer nearly gave in and headed home, but an image of his father swam into his vision. His dad had already read him the riot act for the AP Calculus disaster, but there was no doubt more hounding to come. Those stern dark eyes. The wrinkled brow. And the little curl of his upper lip. Sawyer hated the disappointment in Leon Parker’s expression and the gravel in his voice as he listed each of Sawyer’s failings.

Nope. Hungry or not, Sawyer wasn’t ready to deal with his father’s reminders of what a horrible son he was, even if that meant hanging out with a couple of delinquents. He settled for a swig from his water bottle.

Another hour, maybe. Then I’ll go home.

Ryder Thompson and Desmond Plowe, known to the student body and faculty alike as A1 assholes, were two more reasons Sawyer’s parents were disappointed in him. They didn’t—couldn’t—understand why an intelligent young man like their son would waste his time with such vermin.

I do what I have to do.

Balancing good grades with not getting bullied had become Sawyer’s full-time job. High school politics were real and brutal.

Sawyer walked the painfully familiar line as carefully as possible. At times, this meant befriending those who would otherwise have been more than happy dunking his head in the toilet between classes. Better to be dishing out the torment than taking it.

“You see the way Micah flailed when you lifted him up and tossed him over?” Ryder balled his fist and slammed it into the back of Sawyer’s shoulder.

The impact almost made Sawyer drop his water bottle. Ryder easily had twenty pounds on him. He was the buzz-cut, muscle-bound kind of guy you wanted on your side.

Yeah, I saw. Sawyer was filled with regret. But he could never let his “friends” know that.

With a sarcastic snort, Sawyer turned around to face Ryder. “Yeah. Micah didn’t think I’d make good on the threat.”

The six-three linebacker cocked his head with an approving nod. “My boy over here’s got ice in his veins.” Ryder held up a hand for Des to high-five.

Ever the lapdog, Desmond was a gangly blond kid who’d developed his own high school survival methods. What he didn’t have in muscle he made up for with ass-kissing.

Sawyer couldn’t blame him. He and Des were basically doing the same thing, albeit with different tactics. What was the old saying? Keep your friends close and your enemies closer.

Still, he hated having to play the part of the bully. Micah hadn’t deserved to be tossed into a dumpster.

No way in hell was Sawyer going to share that opinion out loud, though. He high-fived the two boys with the enthusiasm he knew they expected.

“I don’t know about you guys, but I could use a drag right now.” Ryder pinched his fingers and put them to his lips, miming hitting a joint.

“That’s what I’m talking about.” Des clapped his hands and rubbed them together before he turned on Sawyer. “You wanna light up with us for a change?”

Dread crawled down Sawyer’s spine as he finished the last of his water and glanced around for a trash can. “Dude, you know that shit gives me insane paranoia. You wanna deal with me bugging out every two seconds?” He’d used the excuse many times, and it had never failed to work. No one wanted to babysit a stoner who was freaking the hell out.

Ryder slapped Sawyer on the back and angled his head toward the alley around the corner from the bodega. “It’s cool, man. You’ll be our lookout.”

As much as he wanted to leave, Sawyer didn’t mind delaying his return home just a little bit.

One D. Still technically passing.

All his father could talk about was how Sawyer was ruining his chances for a scholarship. His parents went on and on about not relying on sports to coast through college. They could have saved themselves the effort after the first dozen times. Did they think he was some kind of idiot?

He wasn’t Des, whose grades always had him on the verge of getting cut from whatever sport he was playing. And Sawyer certainly had a better academic career than Ryder, who’d never bothered to try a single extracurricular activity in his life and had been held back a grade. Twice.

Sawyer was an excellent athlete, but he wasn’t counting on that alone to get him into college. And despite what his father said, a singular low grade on a calculus exam wouldn’t end his hope for a scholarship.

Probably.

Lumbering behind Ryder and Des, Sawyer followed them into the alley and around to the back of the building. A lamp fixed to the corner of the brick structure flickered as if it were barely holding on to life.

Ryder clicked his lighter. “Let’s hit this shit.”

Smoke came out in staccato bursts. Ryder held his hand up, the joint pinched tight between his fingers as he coughed.

Des swiped the joint from his buddy. “That smells like some good weed.” A moment later, he doubled over beside Ryder, coughing and belching out smoke like a chimney.

This was one of the times Sawyer could drop his guard and laugh at the two, but his mind drifted to when he’d given that drug a chance. Time had become a visceral thing, and every movement he’d made, down to the twitching of his eyelids, had been like swimming against the tide in a river of molasses.

He never should have taken that first hit. It had landed him on a foreign planet where everything and everyone had been secretly trying to kill him. Hours had passed before the paranoia lifted, returning him to planet Earth.

Never again. One bad high is one too many.

Pungent, earthy smoke floated in the air as the two boys fell into fits of laughter behind Sawyer.

Maybe if he hadn’t had such a bad experience, he could enjoy a little weed. Des and Ryder certainly did. Hell, half the kids at school liked the stuff. And with recreational marijuana legalized in New York for the twenty-one-and-up club, Sawyer bet a good chunk of the adults did too.

A yellow Mustang revved in the bodega parking lot, catching Sawyer’s attention. His stomach turned as the vehicle cruised past the alley. He couldn’t see the driver as the car roared past, but it looked just like Coach Jackson’s.

Frozen in place, he watched the car peel down the street, disappearing around the corner with another showboating roar of its engine. He didn’t breathe again until the sound was gone.

Nausea washed over Sawyer as a memory rose from the depths of his mind. He’d tried to bury it, but every time he saw Coach Jackson, images resurfaced like hungry sharks in shallow water.

He’d wanted so desperately to be accepted by the popular crowd. Kids had bullied him throughout middle school, and his first year of high school had shaped up to be more of the same. He’d needed to find his niche, his place on the social ladder.

Sophomore year, he’d gotten his chance. After the basketball team’s point guard had injured himself, Coach Jackson had subbed Sawyer in for the final game. It was the moment he’d been waiting for, and after the game ended, Coach had invited him to stick around and hang out so they could discuss Sawyer’s future on the team.

It had all seemed too good to be true…because it was.

A shudder ran up from the base of Sawyer’s spine as Coach scooted his chair even closer, one of his legs now in between Sawyer’s.

Dark-brown eyes stared at him like a jaguar ready to pounce. “The gym is all cleared out now. It’s just you and me.”

Alone. In Coach Jackson’s office. Which seemed like a great opportunity until about thirty seconds earlier.

“I should probably get going now. My parents will worry if I take too long.” The words spewed from Sawyer’s mouth even as he attempted his best nonchalant shrug.

Coach Jackson chuckled, but there was a new edge to the sound. He placed a hand on Sawyer’s thigh. “It’s not time to go yet. We’re not done discussing your role on the team. You do want to be on the team, don’t you, Sawyer?”

Panic sent Sawyer’s mind firing all kinds of warnings, but he froze like a deer in headlights, his body refusing to heed the call. “Y-yes. I do. But I⁠—”

“I think you’re about ready for…initiation. You want to be on varsity next year, right?” The smile on Coach Jackson’s face only amplified Sawyer’s fear. “Kids would respect you. All that bullying…” another squeeze, “yes, I’ve seen it, because I’ve been watching you…” the hand drifted higher, “would stop.”

Sawyer swallowed, contemplating the dread he woke with every day, anticipating another round with the assholes at school. High school was hell because of those jerks, and the faculty didn’t do a damn thing about it.

But freedom from all that misery wasn’t worth whatever Coach Jackson was planning.

“I gotta go.” Sawyer stood, legs trembling beneath him.

“It could get worse, Sawyer.” Coach Jackson rose, placing a hand on his shoulder. “Not only are you giving up a spot on varsity, but you’re making things a lot harder for yourself.” He leaned in so close that his breath brushed Sawyer’s ear. “Those bullies go after whoever I tell them to.”

For a brief second, Sawyer wondered why the bullies would listen to Coach. But current circumstances quickly clarified the answer to that question. They had secrets they didn’t want to come out. Secrets that started right here in Coach Jackson’s office.

“It’s just initiation.” Coach Jackson turned the lock. “A one-time thing. Life will be a dream after this. You just gotta show me how tough you are, JV. Show me you’ve got what it takes to play with the big boys. But if you’d rather leave, maybe I’ll just tell the big boys to turn it up a notch on you…as often as they like.”

Time slowed to a standstill as the threat hit deep in the pit of Sawyer’s stomach. One nightmare now or an infinity of nightmares ahead. Those were his options.

Time had yet to dull the memory of that day or the sensation of Coach Jackson’s rough fingers as he slipped them under the waistband of Sawyer’s jeans. What happened next had lasted an eternity.

Sawyer was too ashamed to ever tell a soul. He’d made varsity the following year. With his place in the high school pecking order secure, no one bothered him again. Just like Coach promised.

Whatever it takes.

A loud screech startled Sawyer back into the present. High above them, a window had opened, and an old lady with pink curlers stuck her head out, peering down into the alley. “Is that pot I smell? You kids better not be smoking that crap. I’m gonna call the cops. Go on. Get!”

Her shrill voice alerted a neighbor two floors down. Another window opened, and this time, a much younger lady popped her head out to take a peek.

“Don’t you worry, Mrs. Barre. I already called. NYPD should be here any minute.” The younger woman’s condescending tone suggested she wasn’t bluffing, although Sawyer figured it would take the cops a couple of hours to respond to something as uninteresting as kids smoking weed.

“Guys.” Sawyer waved at his friends, figuring it was better to be safe than sorry. “We should get going.”

Clearly high as kites, Ryder and Des moved slowly, talking to each other in loud, raspy voices likely intended to be whispers.

“Did your mom make any more of those sugar cookies, Reg? I’d kill for a damn sugar cookie right now.”

“She did. But you gotta promise not to eat all of them again like a freakin’ back-alley raccoon. She’ll totally know we got high if they disappear like last time.”

Des placed a hand over his heart as they reached the end of the alley. “Dude, I promise. I will not be a raccoon.”

“Okay. I trust you, man.” Ryder held out his hand. Des shook it.

Sawyer held in a laugh at the solemn stoner exchange over baked goods as they turned to him.

“Catch you later.” Ryder tried to fist-bump Sawyer, but his clenched hand found only air as he stumbled past.

Even less focused, Des lifted his fist and immediately seemed to forget why. He dropped his hand and flashed Sawyer a smile before disappearing around the corner.

They weren’t going far. Ryder lived only a couple of blocks away. For a moment, Sawyer considered following them, still not ready to go home and face another lecture. But he couldn’t be around those two, especially if they planned to light up again. Being indoors, close enough for his clothes to absorb that skunky smell, would only cause more trouble at home.

Setting one foot in front of the other, Sawyer resigned himself to wander.

The streets were alive with Friday-night energy. People going out for a night on the town, grabbing their last-minute groceries from the bodega, queueing up for the latest trendy restaurant.

Sawyer couldn’t wait to graduate so he could join them. He imagined the freedom of doing whatever he wanted whenever he wanted. Never having to check in with his parents. Never having to navigate the institutionalized hierarchy of high school again.

His thoughts drifted to Micah. Poor guy had it rough. Sawyer warned him to stay away from Ryder. But he didn’t listen. He didn’t play the social pecking order game like Sawyer.

Rounding the corner, Sawyer headed back toward the school. Micah should have extracted himself from the dumpster by now, but he wanted to be sure. Helping the bullied kid was the least⁠—

A car came to a squealing halt alongside him.

The driver, dressed all in black with a ski mask concealing his face, catapulted out of the car and sprinted toward him. Before Sawyer could make sense of what was happening, a metal rod connected with his jaw, sending him plummeting to the sidewalk.

Thick arms wrapped around him, dragging him to the vehicle as his face throbbed and his vision spun.

If he puts me in that car, it’s over. No one will ever find me.

Panic ripped through him. He twisted and writhed, trying to break his captor’s grip. The masked man pulled one arm away, and Sawyer experienced a split second of victory before the rod—a tire iron—barreled into his temple. As the ground rushed up to meet him, a single thought sliced through his agony-filled haze…

At least Mom and Dad won’t be disappointed in me again.

2

Sky Stryker squirmed in a hard plastic chair, wrestling with thoughts of how many times she’d seen the inside of a police station in her twenty-four years. The first was when her best friend Tessa was murdered. Two years after that, the police questioned her when they busted her parents for running a small drug empire. After that, when she lived with her aunt and uncle, her friend Jarrod was killed.

And over the past year, she’d sat in this very room several times, helping the police solve various cases, starting with the murder of her cousin, Megan Nowicki.

Too many.

“Thank you all for coming.” Detective Dante Houghton slid his gaze over Sky and her friends. All five of them worked in some capacity for Hayat Investigations, a private investigation firm. Dante had summoned them to the precinct, presumably to reprimand them for something…again. He’d been pretty angry about the way their last case had resolved. “I’ll keep this as quick as possible, as I’m sure you all have places you’d rather be.”

On Sky’s right, Calysta Baros, former FBI agent and surrogate mother-type, quietly snorted, expressing the “duh” that Sky was thinking.

Callie was the boldest of the group, with a no-nonsense attitude and the bullshit radar to match. She flicked her shoulder-length silvery hair away from her face, hazel eyes locked on the detective.

Dante Houghton, with his wavy black hair and devilishly handsome visage—the single dimple in his left cheek was obnoxiously cute—had recently asked Sky out. In a panic, she’d flubbed her response. Things between them had been awkward ever since.

Sky leaned slightly to her left, thankful that her cool-tempered COO maybe-future boyfriend was by her side. If she and her friends were in for an official scolding from a police detective, Javier’s calm and steady nature provided the pillar she needed to balance out her reactive and often untamed energy.

On the other side of Javier sat Sami Hayat—Javier’s best friend, former military buddy, and licensed private investigator—with his arm wrapped around Delia Shaw. The beautiful ebony-haired model chewed at her lip, appearing nervous enough for all of them.

“In regard to recent events, I think you’re all aware that you overstepped.” Dante worked his jaw, his agitation evident. “You put Ms. Stryker’s life in peril, and she came extremely close to paying the ultimate price for your amateur sleuth antics.”

Sky’s back straightened at the word amateur. Dante might as well have been a character in a Scooby-Doo cartoon, railing about them being meddling kids.

She might have been, but her friends weren’t. Well, Sami wasn’t. And Callie was a professional, albeit retired.

She couldn’t keep her mouth closed any longer. “No one put me anywhere. I volunteered to be the bait, and they all backed me up. I wanted to catch the bastard. You’ll note we did manage to do that.” She winced at the shooting pain in her side.

And I only had to crack a couple of ribs in the process. Could have been worse. Six weeks of healing time is worth putting that asshole behind bars.

Dante glowered down at Sky. “You also managed to interfere in a joint task force operation. You went after a known operative of an organized operation prematurely, which has brought consequences for all law enforcement involved in this case and created an unnecessary hindrance for the professionals handling this dangerous situation.”

“Saving Mariela Navarro’s life was a hindrance?” Sky held the detective’s stern gaze, her pitch rising as she spoke. “Let’s ask Mariela if she feels that way.”

“Sky,” Javier murmured.

But she kept thinking of the video in which Mariela Navarro and Kelsey Vinn, a model friend of Delia’s, had been forced to fight to the death. Mariela’s desperation turned her into a feral animal as she stabbed Kelsey over and over.

If left as a prisoner, Mariela wouldn’t have survived much longer. Sky doubted there was enough therapy in the world to help her recover from that level of psychological scarring anyway.

“Mariela’s rescue, the perpetrator’s takedown, and your survival, Ms. Stryker, have all been taken into consideration.” Dante’s voice softened ever so slightly. “That combination of factors is the main reason none of you are in any official trouble. This time.”

“But?” Callie gently took hold of Sky’s hand. “I know there’s a ‘but’ coming, Detective Houghton.”

He nodded, leaning against the small desk behind him. “But…you are being formally asked to cease all interaction with this case. If we need or want input from your group, we will contact you. This is an official warning.”

Sky glanced at her friends. Callie’s irritation was evident in her arched eyebrow and set lips, while Javier, as per usual, had managed to keep a neutral expression. Delia’s brow furrowed with concern she didn’t even attempt to hide, and Sami’s frown had deepened the creases on either side of his mouth, aging him by a decade.

“Also,” Dante continued, holding a finger up, “you may not discuss the victims or perpetrators involved in this case…dead or alive…with anyone. The NYPD and the FBI will be controlling all information regarding these events.” He pulled out a manila file folder. “We need you to sign official confidentiality agreements, agree to remove yourselves from this investigation, and affirm that you have shared all you know with the investigative team.”

A confidentiality agreement for an exposé writer. Awesome.

With three books under her belt and a fourth in the works, Sky’s tell-all publications had put her on the literary map. And writing about the dirt in the fashion and entertainment industries, much of it witnessed firsthand, paid the bills.

Rubbing his temples as though he could hear her inner protests, Dante zeroed in on Sky. “I get that this goes against every bone in your body, but you need to shift your focus elsewhere. It’s vital to this case that no information is leaked. I need all of you to sign.”

What if I don’t?

He broke his focus on Sky and glanced at each of them in turn, speaking as if he’d read her mind. “If you fail to abide by the confidentiality agreement, you will be held for obstruction of justice. We cannot have any interference in this investigation. None. Zero. Nothing whatsoever.”

“I get it.” Sky held up her hand to stop the detective from finding another synonym. She stole a glance at Javier, noting that despite his usual calm, his expression had tightened.

“With all due respect, Detective, Sky is a professional.” Javier’s chocolate-brown eyes flickered with annoyance. “She won’t say a word. None of us will until we’re given the green light. You have nothing to worry about with this group.”

Dante tilted his head, his lips pressed into a thin line. “History tells a different story. But I’ll take you at your word. And at your signatures.” He handed each of them a pen and their individual agreement.

Again, Sky considered refusing. But the rest of them were signing, even Callie and Sami. Maybe they’d been persuaded by the joint-task force argument. Or the obstruction of justice threat. In the end, Sky signed too, after adding a clause of her own that she was free to write her book once the case was resolved. With a sigh, Dante initialed her addition.

Once he had the signed paperwork in hand, Dante straightened, waving at the door. “The good news is that this meeting is over. Thank you all again for agreeing to be here.”

Like we had much choice.

Standing, Sky pulled her black leather cross-body bag over her shoulder, wincing at the ache in her side. Thoughts of Megan rambled through her mind. Aunt Patty had given Sky Megan’s bag shortly after the funeral. Carrying it made Sky feel as if part of her cousin stayed with her wherever she went.

“Ms. Stryker?” Dante’s voice yanked her back to the present. “Would you mind if I had a private word with you? It’ll only take a minute.”

Javier stiffened at her side, and Sky didn’t need to look at his face to know how irritated Dante’s request had made him. The vexation rolled off him in waves.

Delia gave her a wide smile before leaving the room hand in hand with Sami. Callie vanished after them.

“Hey.” Sky’s face heated as she turned to Javier, reaching up to run her hand down his arm—a clear signal to Dante. “Just wait in the hall for me. We’ll get some takeout, and I’ll let you pick the movie.”

Javier’s posture relaxed. “Fine. But I’m holding you to that.” He planted a kiss on her cheek, lingering for a suspiciously long moment before releasing her.

Javier followed their friends out, no doubt confident he’d left the detective with a different type of warning than the one they’d been issued.

As the door closed behind him, Sky turned to Dante. “What now?”

He took a step toward her. “I wanted to check in on you. Make sure you’re doing all right after what you went through.”

“I’m fine.” Sky crossed her arms, the stab of pain in her ribs making a silent argument. She refused to let him know that, though. “Our murderous friend is hopefully recovering after the ass-kicking I gave him. He has some quality time with the courthouse awaiting him.”

Dante’s face broke into a good-humored smile. “I must say, despite my extreme disapproval of the danger you chose to put yourself in, I was impressed by the takedown you delivered. I suppose I should be thanking Ms. Baros for encouraging your Krav Maga training. It seems to have paid off.”

“I couldn’t agree more.” Both Sky and Delia had reaped the benefits of the self-defense classes in real-life situations that could have ended very differently. “And I’m fine now. Really. A little bit of healing time, and I’ll be good as new. Is that all you needed?”

“No.” Dante’s smile disappeared as he began fidgeting with his fingers. “I noticed that you and Mr. Bainbridge seem to be doing well.”

Oh, no.

“We’re doing…” She fumbled for a proper response. “Good. What are you…why are you…”

Dante held out a hand, as if to touch her, but dropped it. “Listen, I respect that you’re with Javier now. I just needed to reiterate that I never meant to brush you off. And that I respect and admire you.”

Sky hoped to God that Javier couldn’t hear their conversation through the door. “That’s…um…sweet of you. That other stuff…that’s water under the bridge.”

And you’re too late. You’re way too late.

Dante gave her a weak smile. “Thank you. And just so you know, I’m still here. Clearer than ever on what I should have done and what I hope to have an opportunity to do in the future.”

“You’re just going to stand by and wait for us to break up?” The sentiment turned sour in Sky’s mouth. She’d had a hard enough time convincing herself to give Javier a chance. The last thing she needed was some disillusioned police detective rooting against them.

“Of course not. But just answer one question for me.”

Bad idea. Do not hear him out. Leave now.

Sky cursed herself as curiosity predictably won over her better judgment. “What question?”

Dante closed the space between them, not touching her but invading whatever bubble human beings normally reserved for themselves…unless something was brewing between them. “If you ever find yourself available, would you consider giving me a shot? You were interested. You liked me. I’d be willing to bet you still do. Am I right?”

That wasn’t one question.

Swallowing the gigantic lump in her throat, Sky tightened her grip on her bag strap. “I really have to go.”

“Sky—”

But she’d already turned toward the door. “Let me know if there are any developments in the case.”

Sky’s heartbeat pounded in her ears as she entered the hallway and let the door swing shut behind her. What if Javier had overheard their conversation?

But the happy smile on Javier’s face was all the confirmation she needed to be sure he hadn’t. “All good?”

“Yeah. Just more lecturing. Let’s get out of here.” She took his extended hand and eagerly followed him down the hallway toward the nearest exit.

But uncertainty gnawed away in the back of her mind as Javier opened the passenger-side door of his SUV for her.

3

Monday morning, Sky entered the reception area of Hayat Investigations and stashed her bag under the desk. “You back there?”

“Be right out.” Sami’s shout pinged off the hallway walls, echoing as it reached the empty lobby.

Sky’s phone buzzed in her pocket, and she pulled the device out, noting the twinge of pain in her ribs as she did so.

“Hey, kiddo.” The voice of Maria Wagner, her editor, chirped through the phone. “Got some good news for you.”

“I could use that right about now.” Sky tried not to sound too pathetic. Since Dante’s scolding on Friday—she’d chosen to block out the latter part of their conversation—she’d been feeling restless. She would honor the confidentiality agreement, but she wasn’t happy about it.

Thank God for Javier. He’s managed to keep me more than a little entertained.

At the thought, Sky’s mind went straight into the gutter, and she forced herself to tune back in to Maria’s voice.

“And you’ve struck gold. Presales for your next book look stellar. Be prepared for a full tour once this baby’s out.”

Sky tapped her toes on the floor, but she was too jaded to allow herself a bigger happy dance. She knew far too well how the tides could turn. “You think I’ll make one of the bestseller lists?”

“My prediction is yes. You’ll be in the top one hundred once it hits shelves. I’ve already got all the big box stores nationwide placing orders.” Maria’s news was the bright ray of sunlight Sky needed.

“Seriously? That’s amazing. I figured it would be popular here in New York but hadn’t even considered the whole country.”

“Honey. My job is getting your words in front of anyone who can read ’em. You just keep churning out these books. Speaking of, I’ll be sending you back the edits on that last one. You’ll need to do a bit of housekeeping before it’s ready.”

“That bad, huh?” Sky’d expected as much. What with trying to stop a rash of false suicides, most of her mental capacity had been elsewhere as she’d rushed that last book to make her deadline.

“Let’s just say you obviously needed more time to finish it.”

“Sorry.” Sky’s apology sounded lame to her own ear.

“Don’t be sorry. Be a good writer.” Maria’s tone was lighthearted but still carried an edge of reprimand.

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Was that sass?” Maria knew her too well.

Sky chuckled sheepishly. “I would never.”

Maria made a noise in the back of her throat. “Authors who sass their editors don’t get to go to meetings with studio executives interested in optioning their manuscripts.”

Sky’s jaw dropped so far open, the joint clicked. “Are you serious? Who’s interested?”

“Oh, now she perks up.” The edge in Maria’s voice was gone, replaced by full-on delight.

“Way to bury the lede there.”

“I’m not dropping names yet, but a few interested parties have been sniffing around. As soon as I have a firm offer, we’ll go into negotiations. In the meantime, rewrites are your new favorite thing. I’ll need your full attention come release day. My assistant is already drafting up a schedule for your appearances. We’re talking book signings, talk shows, and podcasts.”

Getting a publishing deal had always been a dream. After self-publishing her first book, Sky had wanted to place her future books with a publishing house to tackle the business side of things so she could focus on writing. But she’d never considered what having several books out would actually look like once the marketing side kicked into high gear.

“Did I lose you? Sky? Hello?”

“Sorry.” Sky sank into a chair. “I’m here. I just…um…talk shows?”

“Yeah. You’ve still got a little time. Don’t worry. I’ll have you meet with a media adviser, so you’ll be ready for the camera. But right now, you need to focus on those rewrites. It’s got to be just as powerful and hard-hitting as your others if we’re going to make you a household name.”

Was this really happening? Sky pinched herself and yelped. “Sorry.”

“Listen, kiddo. I have to go. We’ll schedule lunch soon. Until then, write!”

The line disconnected before Sky could reply. She lowered the phone, staring blankly at the screen as it went dark.

Household name? Was that what she wanted? She’d always dreamed of having people read her work but never really thought of them in terms of numbers.

Sky’s head buzzed with a sudden rush of nervous energy. She’d never considered her words would actually make her famous. The way Maria was talking, it was practically a guarantee.

“You okay over there? You look like you saw a ghost.” Sami’s voice stole Sky from her thoughts.

She pushed to her feet, locking her knees so she wouldn’t sink back down. “Yeah. I’m famous. I mean good.”

Sami’s brows knitted together as he stood at the mouth of the hallway. “You sure about that?”

“Yeah. Yes. Maria gave me an assignment to focus on while she preps my book release tour.” She pocketed her phone with an awkward laugh. “I guess I didn’t realize how big this whole publishing thing would be. But the way Maria was talking, it sounds like she’ll have me touring the country once it’s released.”

“Hope you’ll still have time for your old friends when you’re all famous and stuff.” Sami grinned.

“Friends? What friends? Y’all are family.” Crossing the room, Sky threw her arms around Sami and gave him a bear hug before pulling back. “Besides, you know I can’t resist a good case.”

“Because you need fodder for more books?” Sami’s eyebrow arched with exaggerated suspicion.

“I mean, you’re not wrong. Speaking of, got anything new?”

They might have agreed to stay on their best behavior, but Sky was itching to know more about what the joint task force had going on. After Arturo Silva’s arrest for making snuff films involving models and the seeming reemergence of a group also targeting models, Sky worried justice hadn’t been served for her cousin nearly a year ago.

They’d caught the person behind her murder, but they didn’t know why he’d done it or who he was working for. Sky strongly doubted Megan’s death was a random murder…especially since the killer had made an attempt on Sky’s life too.

She pushed the nagging thought out of her brain as Sami responded.

“Nothing juicy at the moment.” He shrugged, looking as frustrated as she felt.

Before Sky could decide what task she would tackle next—writing or prospecting for cases—the front door chimed. She spun around, expecting to see Delia, but came face-to-face with a middle-aged couple instead.

The woman was petite with dark eyes, and the man was tall and slender, exuding a barely contained look of desperation from tight features.

“Welcome to Hayat Investigations.” Sami strolled past Sky, his hand held out as he approached the couple. “How can we help you?”

“I’m Leon Parker.” The man stepped forward and shook Sami’s outstretched hand. “And this is my wife, Connie.”

“We heard you’re the man to come to for missing persons cases.” Connie clung to her husband’s side. “Please. We’ve already talked to the police. They said they would try to find him, but we don’t feel too confident.”

“They suggested our boy Sawyer ran away.” Leon lowered his gaze to the floor. “I should have never told them about the argument.”

“You were just being thorough, dear. Answering the officer’s questions.” Connie squeezed her husband’s arm. “He said every bit of information would be helpful.”

“That’s correct, Mrs. Parker. Even if you had an argument prior to his disappearance, the more information you share with the officer on the case, the better chance they have of finding your son.” Sami gestured to the chairs by the coffee table. “Please, take a seat and tell me what happened.”

Connie gave Leon a little push toward an open chair.

“You say that like it’s a fact, but you didn’t see the dismissive look on the officer’s face after I made that comment. He checked out. Case closed. Just another runaway.” Leon dropped into the chair hard. “His tone changed, and he stopped taking notes. Told us he wouldn’t be surprised if our son was waiting for us on the stoop when we got back.”

“He’s a good kid, our Sawyer.” Connie took the seat next to her husband, one hand still wrapped around his arm. “So much potential. He would never run away.”

Sky wasn’t sure if Connie was acting as moral support for Leon or if she was feeding off her husband’s energy. Either way, coming here had clearly been her idea. She had that look in her eyes. Sky had seen it so many times before. The woman might be putting on a brave face, but she was clinging to that guise of strength by a fraying thread.

The pair had barely been inside Hayat Investigations for two minutes, and Sky already couldn’t bear the thought of not finding the Parkers’ son.

“Sometimes, the officers can seem…well…a bit aloof.” Sami walked around the coffee table and took a seat opposite the couple. “But that’s because they have to be strong. They have to shut off their emotions to do their jobs. I have no doubt the officer hoped Sawyer would be waiting for you, but I can guarantee if you filed a report, the NYPD will look for your son.”

Connie tucked a lock of shiny black hair behind her ear. “I’d feel better if we hedged our bets.”

“Why did I have to be so hard on him? It wasn’t even a failing grade. But I saw him slipping, and…oh, what does it matter?” Leon buried his face in his hands. “He can fail whatever class he wants. I just want my son home safe. Please find him.”

“How about you tell me everything you know about where he was and what he was doing the last day you saw him?”

The Parkers gave the team all the information they could, which was frustratingly meager. Friday, Sawyer got ready for school, went to school, hung out with friends after school. All normal behaviors. But unlike normal, he never came home. They’d had a fight about a bad AP Calculus grade the day before.

“We’ll do everything we can.” Sami was the picture of assurance. “I’ll need you to bring in all of Sawyer’s electronic devices. That’s where the real digging will start.”

Sky had asked for a distraction, and this certainly qualified. Based on the sympathy in Sami’s eyes, he was already emotionally committed to taking this case on.

“Hold on.” Sky stood, her throat choked with empathy. “I’ll get the new case intake forms.”

Rushing toward Sami’s office, Sky couldn’t shake the worry clinging to the back of her mind. A teenage boy didn’t fit any pattern she had investigated before, but she was determined to do everything she could to bring Sawyer home safely. This was exactly the kind of case Hayat Investigations needed right now.

It was time to focus elsewhere.

4

“Where’s my naughty boy?” I ambled down the steps, carrying a stack of freshly folded clothes.

My lovely little doll.

He’d given me such a hard time getting him down to the basement.

Such a naughty thing.

I’d seen the way he lifted that poor bespectacled boy, Micah, and tossed him into the gaping maw of a dumpster. Too bad Sawyer used his strength in such a terrible way.

Sawyer was a fighter. It had taken everything I had to duct tape that plastic bag over his head.

“‘Boys will be boys.’” That was what Mother always said to her friends when she spoke to them on the phone. She laughed and smiled, as if everything I did was pure amusement.

Until she hung up.

As soon as her audience was gone, her laughter became mocking. “Boys must behave, or they will be punished.”

She was right to punish me. I was an ungrateful hellion, just like she always said. I never loaded the dishwasher correctly. My things were always untidy. I didn’t vacuum the living room corners. I left shelves dusty and disorganized.

Once, I put her red blouse in with the whites. She forced me to lie on the bathroom tiles while she dumped the offending laundry in three gallons of bleach in the tub. Then she left me there, breathing the fumes.

Her lessons were effective.

I set the clothes for my new doll on a card table and flicked on the overhead light to get a better look at him.

So many years had gone by since I last played. Mother said boys weren’t supposed to play with dolls. I never understood that rule. Dolls were her idea of perfection. They were calm, quiet, and flawless, never causing chaos or embarrassing their parents. They didn’t make messes or talk back. Exactly how good boys should be.

So I had to make my own.

I leaned in and whispered in his ear, “You won’t tell, will you?” as I pulled the plastic from around his head.

Thankfully, my doll had suffered no visible rips or tears. The lump and the cut on his head from my tire iron were covered by his thick hair. His glassy eyes were fixed, staring forward, in the same position they’d been in when the last gasp of air had left his chest.

“Boys must behave, or they will be punished.” I clucked my tongue as I pulled back to admire the alabaster tone of his skin. Soon, other colors would ruin my work. The purples and blues and spidering veins across bloated skin would turn my dream doll into a nightmare.

But right now, the canvas was pure, a clean slate, perfect for me to make improvements. “There’s always room for improvement. That’s what Mother always said to me. And she knew best. So don’t worry. I have everything necessary to transform you into perfection.”

She’d had quite the collection—all porcelain, all perfect—when she was alive. But she never let me play with her dolls.

“I was like you once.” I tousled Sawyer’s dark hair. “Mother said I embarrassed her with my antics. That was the reason she kept me home. She never wanted to take me out in public. ‘You can’t take an animal to the market.’ That was what she told me, and my goodness, she was right.”

I caressed his cheek, tracing my fingers across the contours of his supple skin. Such a beautiful boy. It was a shame he needed to learn this lesson.

But once I finished with him, Sawyer would be perfect. Just the kind of boy Mother would approve of.

Stepping back, I turned to the table and picked up a crisp button-down shirt. “You see, Sawyer, I was a precocious little scamp. Mother told me I always said the wrong things or asked improper questions. I caused her so much grief with my naughty behavior. Was it too much of her to ask that I simply keep quiet when out in public?”

With practiced efficiency, I exchanged the black t-shirt for the pristine striped one I’d selected for Sawyer to wear. It had navy blue trimming on the sleeves and a double navy stripe at the collar.

“She was right, of course. I just couldn’t get it through my thick skull. Mother did everything for me. She clothed and fed me and put a roof over my head. All she asked in return for her endless care was obedience.” I discarded the dingy shirt. “If I’d simply listened, I wouldn’t have spent all those hours locked in my room. But I was a stubborn, horrid child.”

Sawyer would be my perfect little sailor. I’d even found the matching captain’s hat and an ascot with a golden anchor to complete the set.

“My first doll had an outfit like this. You should feel special.” I hummed a little under my breath. “Even if you don’t, I think you’re special, and that’s enough for both of us.”

Skinny jeans were a fad I never understood. They were the hardest part to remove. Once I freed his legs from those ill-fitting pants, the blue bell-bottoms with brass buttons that I’d selected went on without a struggle.

“All of my dolls are special. When Mother finally gave me one of my very own, she suggested I use it to learn what was expected of me and to practice my social skills. When I did, more dolls followed.

I loved those dolls. My constant friends and companions. My only friends and companions. Aside from Mother, of course.

I stepped back to give him a good once-over. So handsome. But something was missing.

That was it! A spray of freckles across his nose and just a touch of color for those cheeks. “Can’t have my little sailor looking like he’s never spent a day swabbing the deck.”

I crossed the room to my supply cabinet, which housed various clothes, waiting for the perfect dolls to wear them, as well as a few makeup palettes stacked in the back corner.

“You’ll look so good. I promise. Once I’m done, you’ll have achieved the perfection Mother always wanted for me.”

The words were painful. I tried so hard to be my mother’s perfect little gentleman. But try as I might, I never lived up to her exacting standards.

Returning with makeup brushes and all the colors I needed, I set to work transforming the blank canvas into a pristine porcelain doll.

“Why didn’t I reach perfection?” I echoed the question Sawyer would have asked if he could. With a sigh, I shook my head. “I wasn’t the brightest kid. Yet another of my failings. I don’t blame her for leaving me alone all the time. Mother was right to do it. I would have. We can’t have naughty boys ruining things, can we?” I mimicked Mother’s high-pitched voice. “‘Until you learn how to be a perfect little angel, you’ll just have to remain out of sight.’”

I dotted Sawyer’s nose with the eyeliner pencil, peppering him with freckles that popped against his pale skin.

“I realized what Mother wanted from me just a bit too late. She was gone before I fully understood. Fell down the stairs and broke her neck.” Tears burned my eyes as I dabbed the last dark-brown spot onto the tip of Sawyer’s nose. “But your mother is still around. She’ll get to see your transformation into the perfect young man. She’ll be proud of you. Look how far you’ve come in just one day.”

Stepping back, I admired my work. It had been so long since I had a doll to keep me company. They were perfection.

Yet the police and media didn’t share that outlook.

They called me horrible names, offering money to anyone with information about my identity. Every last one of them wanted to lock me away. They didn’t understand. I was helping them. We were on the same team.

These bad boys needed to shape themselves up. I was doing what their mothers had failed to do.

I was fixing them.

Naughty boys shouldn’t be allowed to run amok. Boys like Sawyer, preying on the small and weak, displayed unacceptable behavior. Not only embarrassing for their parents but bad for the whole of society. They had to be punished before they turned into real criminals.

I wasn’t a monster any more than my dear mother was. She’d tried to teach me how to be perfect. I’d failed her, but I could still assist others. Not as often as I’d have liked, but when special cases like Sawyer came along, I couldn’t resist.

My mom would be so proud of me. I hoped she was looking down right now.

This is for you, Mother.

Sawyer was ready to be put on display. I’d transformed him from an ugly caterpillar to a beautiful butterfly. What once was a delinquent, drug-addicted bully now shined like a beacon of hope as a jolly sailor on the seven seas.

“They’re going to be so impressed with you, my friend.”

All I needed was the perfect pedestal for the big reveal.

5

Sky knew the likelihood of finding Sawyer Parker was low. Missing teenagers who didn’t want to be found were hard to track down in this city. There were plenty of nooks and crannies and spare beds to claim, and their friends were old enough to have cars. Sawyer could be halfway to Chicago by now if he caught the right ride.

And if Sawyer had been taken by someone who didn’t want to be found, the odds were even worse.

But she refused to let her mind wander toward negativity. In missing children cases, they had no time to waste.

“Time to get cloning.” Sky stood in the doorway to Sami’s office with Sawyer’s laptop in hand. “Leon Parker just dropped off Sawyer’s computer.”

“No phone or tablet?”

Sky shrugged and headed to the desk. “He would have had his phone on him. And according to Mr. Parker, he didn’t have any other electronic devices.”

Sami’s dark eyebrows rose. “No game system? C’mon. What kid doesn’t have at least one?”

She set the laptop on the edge of his desk. “Don’t need one with this baby.” She patted the top of the case.

“Point taken.” Sami took in the alien logo, recognition in his gaze. “You’d think he would have taken this with him if he ran away.”

She dropped into the chair in front of Sami’s desk, ignoring the twinge of pain in her ribs. “You don’t really think he ran away, do you?”

“No. But I wish he did. That would make our lives easier and his odds better.” Pushing his keyboard aside, Sami made room for the laptop. “I’ll hook this up to my computer and get the cloning started. Hopefully, we’ll be able to make some real progress for the Parker family today. Find some answers.”

Sky sucked in her bottom lip and pinned it between her teeth. “You don’t think this disappearance is connected to the others, do you? To the Mill or whoever Silva might have been working with?”

Sami shook his head. “No. Don’t go there.”

“I’m just saying. Maybe it’s a way to throw us off the scent.”

“Sky, people go missing every day in a city this big. As convenient as it would be for there to be one singular criminal organization committing all the crimes, that’s just not how it works.”

She leaned her head back and looked up at the ceiling. “I know. I just hate having a case with loose ends. We caught Arturo Silva. We found Mariela Navarro. And we at least got some justice for Kelsey Vinn.” She tapped her fingers against her lips. “But what about the other person I heard speaking to Arturo in the warehouse? The police know they were dealing with more than just a one-person operation.”

“And they’re handling it. Detective Houghton assured us he would tell us if they uncovered anything else.” Sami opened a desk drawer and rummaged around. “He also kindly asked us, in very clear terms, to keep our noses out of it for now. Ordered us is more accurate.”

Heat zinged up Sky’s ears at the mention of Dante.

That conversation took awkward to a whole new level.

“What did he want anyway?” Sami’s casual tone was betrayed by the nervous crack in his voice. “When he asked you to stay behind, I mean.”

“Oh.” Sky was a horrible liar, as everyone close to her knew. “He, um, wanted to see how I was doing with my injuries.”

That much was true.

“Nice of him to ask. You know it’s not really my place, but I can’t help noticing the guy seems a little…interested…in you.” Sami ran his hands through his jet-black hair. He was wearing his shoulder-length waves loose today. “Javier certainly isn’t fond of him.”

“Javier shouldn’t worry himself about Houghton.” Sky meant the statement wholeheartedly.

Sami nodded, returning his attention to his computers. “Sounds promising. You know Javier is about as all in as a guy can get. You just have to say the word.”

Her mouth hung slack for a moment. She and Sami rarely talked about relationships and never about their own. She closed her mouth and swallowed hard. Though their passion for each other couldn’t be denied, she and Javier had agreed to take things slow. How much had he told Sami? “Well, if and when I’m ready to say the word, I’ll say it.”

“Anyway.” Sami turned his attention to the project in front of him. “Case stuff. We just have to sit on our hands with the Silva thing until whoever was backing Arturo makes another move.”

While relieved at the change of subject, Sky was beyond tired of waiting. “But that means another victim gets taken and possibly dies. I hate this. I am not a patient person. My parents didn’t give me that gene.”

“I hear you. I feel the same. But we can’t help people we don’t know are in trouble.” Sami pulled a cable from the drawer and connected one end to the laptop and the other to his computer. “Right now, we have to help Sawyer. Focus.”

“What do you want me to do?”

“Open up every social media site you can think of. See if he has a presence on any of them. I’m going to pull his passwords where I can, and maybe we can dig deep enough into his messages and activity to get a lead.” With the laptop connected, Sami pulled a hair tie from the top drawer of his desk and used it to gather his locks into a neat ponytail at the back of his neck.

Sky rose and started for the door. “I’ll get to work. Cases involving kids are even darker than cases involving adults. We need to find Sawyer quickly.”

“That’s the spirit.” Sami flashed her a small smile. “We’ll track down this kid, and the Silva case will get taken care of too. I promise. Focus on the fact that Mariela is safe and Silva is behind bars.” He jabbed his finger at her. “We did that.”

“Thanks.” She glanced back again. “I know Javier and Delia are busy with work today, but Callie said she was coming by in a bit to help. I think she’s bringing food.”

Sami’s smile widened. “Hope she gets here soon. I’m starving. Woke up and came straight to the office today. No breakfast, no nothing.”

“You and me both.” Sky disappeared into the hallway.

The rest of the morning passed in a blur. Sky found herself engrossed in digging through Sawyer’s online presence. With every social-app click, she got a clearer picture of the young man. The teenager seemed…pretty basic. No serious trouble. Good grades. Plenty of pictures of him playing basketball.

As the lunch hour approached, Sky returned to Sami’s office and took a spot on the couch. “This Sawyer is a complicated guy. Publicly, he sounds like a troll. But when I looked at his private messages, I got a different view of him.”

The bell on the outer door dinged, but before either of them could get up, Callie burst through the door. “Lunch is served!” She held up a tray of fresh baked ziti from Ricardo’s. “C’mon, now. I’m betting you’ve been in here for hours. Come take a break, you two.”

Neither Sky nor Sami needed to be told twice.

Callie plucked a breadstick from the tray and took a bite as Sky and Sami dug in. While they ate, Sky caught Callie up on the case, including her findings on the teenager’s social media accounts.

The retired FBI agent shook her head while piling pasta onto her plate. “Sawyer sounds like all teenagers, if you ask me. They’re so busy trying to figure out who they are, it’s impossible to tell from one minute to the next if they’re genuine or putting on a front.”

“I remember. I was in high school, too, once upon a time.” Sky toyed with a bit of pasta on the end of her fork. “Sawyer takes it pretty far, though. One minute, he’s talking crap on some forums. And the next, he’s either apologizing or explaining himself to the person he just trolled in his DMs.”

Callie took the chair in front of Sami’s desk. “That’s well within the realm of possibility for teenage behavior.”

“Teenagers can be jerks.” Sky’s mouth set in a hard line.

“Certainly sounds like he’s putting on a show for both sides to keep everyone happy with him.” Sami shoved a forkful of ziti into his mouth. “I’ll give his parents a call and see if we can get a running list of the friends he actually hung out with in real life. In comparison to his online friends, those are the kids who will know the most about Sawyer’s daily activities. What he liked to do. Where he liked to go.”

Callie speared a bit of pasta and took a dainty bite. “Good call. But no one is doing anything until you eat your lunch. Both of you. I want to see clean plates.”

Her kids are grown up, but she’ll always be a mother.

That was fine with Sky. She had no problem finishing her ziti with gusto.

6

Sky was cleaning up their lunch plates when Sami, who was on the phone with Leon Parker, waved his hand frantically at her. “Turn on the news.”

She patted around the cushions for the remote. “What channel?”

“Doesn’t matter, just turn on the news,” Sami whispered before uncovering the speaker. “I hadn’t seen the news, sir. I’m so sorry. I was calling for another reason.”

Sky couldn’t hear Leon’s response, but Sami’s flustered expression conveyed the intensity of the matter. “I’m so very sorry, sir. We’re going to find out.”

Across the room, on top of a file cabinet, the television came to life. Police were taping off a park bench. Paramedics rolled away a stretcher carrying a white-blanketed figure.

Oh, god. Please don’t let that be Sawyer.

But somehow, she knew it was. Why else would they have been called and asked to watch this news segment? Bile rose in her throat. She couldn’t look away from the screen and the flutter of the white sheet.

Callie drew up next to Sky as they watched the news report.

A stern-faced newscaster with a sparse gray mustache and dark circles beneath his eyes stepped in front of the camera. “Police have not yet released a name but are reporting that the male victim was found unresponsive by horrified passersby early this morning. He was confirmed dead by emergency responders.”

Sami placed the call on speaker and set his phone on the desk. “You’re telling me that this is⁠—”

“Sawyer.” Leon nearly sobbed his son’s name. “The footage isn’t live. I’ve already been to the morgue to identify the body. My boy is gone. Suffocated to death.”

They’d failed. While they were messing around with Sawyer’s electronics, Sawyer had been in the hands of a monster.

Leon continued, the raw pain in his voice making her own throat ache. “And…and some sick freak…dressed him up like a sailor. Like a little sailor doll. They painted his face white and gave him freckles and big, round red cheeks, then propped him on that park bench for all the world to see. What kind of psychopath…”

The cruel details hit her like a physical blow. She thought of Sawyer’s smiling face on his social media posts. He’d been so full of life, even through the computer screen. To hear that someone had painted his face, had left him exposed to the world in such a grotesque way, made her sway on her feet. She steadied herself against the desk corner.

And she wasn’t alone in her surprise and horror.

“What the hell?” Callie’s face went alarmingly pale as her hand came up to cover her mouth.

“Callie? Are you okay?” Sky grabbed Callie’s elbow, alarmed by her stoic friend’s sudden change in demeanor.

“I don’t know.” Callie pulled away and started pacing. Sky had never seen such an agitated look on the woman’s face before. And they’d been through a lot together.

Sami saw it too and took the call off speaker. “We will absolutely do our best to find that bastard, Mr. Parker.” Sadness twisted his voice.

Sky was grateful she wasn’t the one needing to comfort the distraught father. No parent should ever outlive their child, but enduring the public spectacle of how Sawyer was presented added unthinkable insult to injury.

“I’ll do my best, sir.” Sami rubbed his temples. “This is terrible timing, but if you or your wife could email me that list of the friends he hangs with, I could really use it. Names, phone number, addresses. Anything you have.”

“Sorry. With everything going on, I completely forgot about it.” Leon’s startled reply came through loud enough for Sky to hear despite the phone pressed to Sami’s ear. “You think one of those boys did this?”

“No.” Sami blurted out the word. “But I need to establish where he went on the day he disappeared, and friends will know that better than anyone else.”

Callie whirled and headed for the door.

“Where are you off to?” Sky trailed two steps behind her, curious about what had set her friend off.

Callie strode faster, as if shaking an investigative tail. “I need to check on something.”

“Want to share with the rest of the class?” Sami followed both of them into the hallway, apparently having ended his phone call.

“I hope I’m wrong.” Callie’s lips tightened into a hard line, but her steely gaze spoke volumes. She stopped at the front door and grasped the frame, nostrils flaring with a heavy breath. “I don’t know if I should say until I’ve confirmed a few things.”

“You’re the expert with stuff like this. I’m dying to know what’s got you so spooked, but I guess if it has you shaken up, maybe I don’t want to know.” Sky couldn’t imagine what could have someone like tough-as-nails Callie so off-kilter.

“It’s just…I worked on a case like this. Just like this.” She shook her head, wincing, as if the memory were painful to talk about. “I put the killer away. But what if he escaped? Or…and this is worse…” She pressed her hand to her forehead and raked her fingers down her face. “What if I was wrong?”

“It could be a copycat.” Sami put a hand on Callie’s shoulder.

Callie’s expression remained troubled. “I hope you’re right, but I need to check with some of my contacts. That case was one of the last I worked on before retiring.” Her breath hitched. “I’ll check in with you when I’ve got more.”

As Callie disappeared out the door, Sky and Sami exchanged worried glances.

The news blared from Sami’s office, continuing to cover the developing case.

“I need to turn that off.” Sami turned to walk away, but Sky grabbed his arm.

“Are we going to talk about what just happened with Callie?”

Sami covered her hand with his and squeezed. “Let’s just focus on what we know for now. You and I are going to treat this case the same way we were planning to. At least, until something proves we should be doing otherwise.” He gently withdrew his arm from her grasp. “We start with the friends.”

7

Callie locked eyes with Patrick Zimmerman as an officer cuffed the suspect’s hands behind his back. “It’s over, Patrick. No more of your sick games. No more doll collecting.”

Grinding his teeth, the criminal narrowed his hate-filled eyes. “You’re a dumb bitch. I didn’t do shit. I’m not the Doll Collector.”

“Save it for the courtroom. We have evidence. Plenty of it.” Callie took a step toward the seething man. “We have an eyewitness. That’s enough for a judge and jury.”

“You don’t have DNA, right?” Patrick’s raspy voice came out as a plea.

Callie smiled, satisfied to finally see the sick son of a bitch in handcuffs. “You’re right. We don’t. You were very careful about that.” She leaned in, lowering her voice to a whisper. “But you made other mistakes. They may have seemed little at the time, but they were big mistakes. And those are enough. You’ll never be a free man again.”

“I didn’t murder anybody! You’re letting a killer run free.” The veins in Patrick’s neck bulged as his face flushed red with rage. “When he kills again, that blood will be on your hands!”

Callie clenched her fists as she headed off to the Eighteenth Precinct, consumed by memories. The glow of neon signs reflected off icy puddles, and the sharp bite of winter wind stung her cheeks. Overhead, a darkened sky pressed down on the city, its usual chaos subdued save for the occasional honk of a cab or distant shout. She had no time for any of it.

She had to speak with Lieutenant Clark Clarkson.

They’d worked on the joint task force for the Doll Collector all those years ago. Four teenagers across the tristate area had been snatched from their lives and left on display in the city. When they turned up transformed into awful doll-like figures, the killer’s twisted displays had driven citizens into a frenzy. Every parent in New York, New Jersey, and Connecticut had freaked out.

Clarkson had been a calming influence on her during the chaos of that investigation.

He was waiting for her when she came through the front doors, his thinning salt-and-pepper hair sparse as ever in the fluorescent lights. “What did I tell you? Under two hours.” His belly jiggled with laughter as he took a rolled-up bill from the hand of an officer seated at the front desk.

The other officer threw his hands up in mock regret, apparently not too upset at losing a bet.

“Word to the wise.” Callie nodded at the clean-cut younger man with blond hair and a neatly trimmed goatee. “Never bet against the lieutenant when it involves me. He knows too much.”

The young officer gave Clarkson a wry grin. “I shouldn’t bet against him at all. He gets me every time. Knows everything, I guess.”

Callie’s bullshit meter went off at the officer’s slick flattery. “Don’t suck up to him either. He knows that tactic and will take you for everything you’ve got.”

Clarkson stood up to his full height and folded his arms across his chest. “Hey!”

“But if you really want to win him over, especially around evaluation time,” she leaned across the desk and lowered her voice, “he’s a sucker for cream-filled donuts.”

“I’ll have you know I’m on a diet.” Clarkson knitted his brows, placing a hand over his heart in mock offense.

“In that case, hit him with the big guns.” Callie winked. “Bear claws and a two-shot mocha with a drizzle of caramel.”

Clarkson pressed a button on the desk, and the door to his right buzzed. “Get in here, Baros.”

“Use that information for good only. You hear?” Pointing two fingers at her eyes, she nodded at the young officer before turning those fingers in his direction.

With a flourish, the blond officer saluted. “Yes, ma’am.”

Clarkson greeted Callie with a two-arm bear hug when she came through the door. “You doing okay?”

“Tell me it’s a copycat and I will be.” She didn’t need to explain. Clarkson had been on the joint operation.

“Wish I had a way to be certain.” Releasing her from the hug, he waved toward the hallway. “Let’s chat in my office.”

“Nice to be invited back here again.” She fell into step beside him. “Detective Houghton was adamant that my friends and I keep our distance.”

“Only welcome while we need you.” Clarkson gave her a sidelong glance. “Soon as you’re not helpful, we’re shipping you back to wherever washed-up old has-beens go.”

An impressively low blow. Callie couldn’t even be insulted because she was too proud of how quickly he’d come up with that one. “I’ll save your spot.”

“I’ve got plenty of years left in me. Don’t you worry.”

He could take as much crap as he gave, but the man was kidding himself if he thought he had that much time left on the force, especially with his diet. But she held her tongue. Joking about his eating could only go so far before it turned cruel.

“You keep telling yourself that.” Callie entered his office and took a seat. “Enough with the small talk. What do we know about this?”

“Same M.O.” Clarkson plopped into his chair and rested his elbows on the desk. “Victim was a minor. Cause of death was suffocation. Evidence of wrist and ankle restraints. Dressed in sailor-inspired, doll-like clothing. Face done up to enhance the image.” He sighed, pulling a picture from a loose file folder and sliding it to her.

Her blood turned to ice water. Sawyer Parker’s lifeless face looked up at her through drooping eyelids. Garish makeup covered his usually healthy complexion, turning his skin a pasty, unnatural white. Dark freckles crossed his nose and cheeks. A couple of the freckle spots had smeared, leaving strange streaks. She’d seen this before.

Callie turned the disturbing photograph over. Everything about it screamed Doll Collector.

“And we’re sure Patrick Zimmerman is still safely locked away?” Callie didn’t know if she wanted the answer to be yes or no.

If Zimmerman had escaped, they were dealing with a known entity.

If Zimmerman was still locked away, then they might be dealing with a copycat. They’d have to start fresh. Copycats often tried to one-up the criminals who inspired them. The investigative team could be in for a nightmare.

Or, worse, if Zimmerman was still locked away…they might have convicted the wrong man. And the monster had been free this whole time.

Whatever the case, the thought of kids being murdered and displayed like prized possessions wasn’t something she could stomach again.

“That was the first call I made. Zimmerman is right where we left him. According to the warden, he doesn’t get visitors. They can’t keep him in general population due to the nature of his crimes, so he’s pretty isolated.”

Callie sagged in her seat. “So it’s not him.” She didn’t like where this could lead.

Slowly, Clarkson lifted his head and massaged his temples as he met her eyes. “Afraid not.” He dropped his hands onto his desk, clasping them together. “However, Sawyer Parker attended West Side High School. That’s⁠—”

“The same school where Zimmerman worked.” Callie’s jaw worked up and down. “That can’t be a coincidence.”

“If we have a copycat on our hands, it would make sense for him to start right where Zimmerman left off.” Clarkson stared at her across the desk, and that thought thickened the air between them.

After a moment, Callie cleared her throat. “You should know the boy’s parents, Connie and Leon Parker, hired Sami. This was yesterday, prior to him being found.” She expected Clarkson’s already despondent look to sour further, but instead, his right eyebrow arched up high.

“Good. That saves me some trouble.”

Surprised by his response, Callie couldn’t help the quick bark of sarcastic laughter that escaped her lips. “Don’t you mean it gives you more trouble?”

“No. Who knows the Doll Collector better than you do? If I had to pretend you weren’t somehow investigating this case, that would be annoying. Now that you’re on the job, we can save time and get to brass tacks faster.”

She snorted. “Well, there’s a first.”

“You and your crew may have overstepped a bit recently, but I’m not counting you out. As helpful as you’ve been on other cases, you’ve made my life a whole lot easier.” Clarkson’s eyes shifted to the overstuffed inbox teetering on the edge of his desk, ready to topple under the weight of three massive folders.

She followed the trail of his gaze. “You should consider that hefty stack job security.”

“Ha. I do. But job security can be a real pain in the ass.” Clarkson swiped the folder from the top of the stack. It was thin, holding only a few sheets of paper. “Looks like they’ve requested DNA analysis for this Doll Collector copycat case. They found a few stray hairs clinging to the fibers of the pants. Hopefully they can rush it.”

Callie hoped they wouldn’t find it was pubic hair. This case was gruesome enough already.

“Copycat is already making mistakes.” DNA would make their job much easier, assuming it was on file. Callie wasn’t going to jinx anything by saying so out loud, but it did have her breathing a small sigh of relief.

Nodding, Clarkson set the folder back on top of the stack. “Don’t count your chickens just yet.”

“I’ll take whatever I can get right now. How many years did we spend before we finally nailed that bastard?” Callie had been hot on the trail of the Doll Collector—or believed she was—when an anonymous tip led her straight to Patrick Zimmerman’s car.

After that, a witness came forward, and his testimony, along with the circumstantial evidence they discovered after searching Patrick Zimmerman’s property, was essential to nailing him.

Once Zimmerman was put away, the murders stopped.

But now, with Sawyer Parker’s death looming over the city, the specter of the Doll Collector haunted her. She couldn’t shake the feeling that something had gone horribly wrong, that this murderer had lain low, biding his time so the heat would fade before he struck again.

“That’s all you’re getting for now. If this guy plays by the same rules as the last, he’ll go after kids in high school.”

“Super helpful info if this was Mayberry. But considering over nine hundred thousand kids are enrolled in New York City’s public high schools alone, that leaves a pretty large victim pool.” A throb started in Callie’s head, hard and insistent.

Despite the grim outlook, Clarkson managed a half smile. “Needle in a haystack. Your specialty.”

“Don’t remind me.” Groaning, Callie massaged her forehead. This kind of case wasn’t solved by private investigators, retired FBI agents, and their well-meaning friends. A Doll Collector copycat, assuming they were dealing with one, called for the type of forensic expertise better left to the badge.

For once, though, Clarkson seemed to disagree. “We’re going back to basics here, Baros. I need you to work with me. Do you remember anything about the original case that might help us narrow down potential victims?”

Callie drew her hands away from her temples and stared at her flexed fingers, examining the veins stretched beneath her skin. “The Doll Collector’s original kill wasn’t in New York. The Feds took over the case because of the string of multiple deaths across state lines.”

“Yeah, but most of the victims came from the five boroughs.” Clarkson jotted notes into a small spiral notebook.

Other than high school boys…what was special about them? No specific race or physical type. No criminal records.

Callie shook her head. “I’ve got nothing to go on.”

Clarkson set his pen down. “I hate for us to have to wait for another body to drop.”

“We’re supposed to be talking with the victim’s friends tomorrow.” Callie pressed her palms against the desk. “I’ll see if anyone strange was hanging around, maybe find out a little more of what Sawyer Parker’s daily life was like.”

“Okay. It’s not much, but there might be something there.” Clarkson turned to his computer and started to type. “I’ll go through the files I have access to. Come see me after talking with the boy’s friends and family. We’ll touch base and try to narrow things down.”

“Soon as I’ve got anything, I’ll share.” Callie stood and patted the desk. “Even a copycat of the Doll Collector means big trouble is on the way. Let’s get this bastard quickly.”

“You know I can’t promise anything. But I can hope.”

“That was your pep talk?” Again, she leaned back on her old staples of sarcasm and morbid humor. They were the magic combo that kept her from a downward spiral when things looked bleak. “You sure you really want to solve this case?”

He flashed her a brief toothy grin. “I don’t have to if you just solve it for me. I’m not gonna lie, though. This one has me a bit on edge.”

“Right there with you.” Callie turned to the door. “It’s like slipping back into a nightmare you were certain you’d woken up from. But we’ve got to try to stay focused and figure out if we’re onto something. No more moping around.”

“You’re right.” Clarkson gave her a thumbs-up. “This DC copycat is going down.”

Callie’s stomach tightened. “The DC Copycat. Media’s gonna love that.”

Before he could reply, she slipped out of the office and headed down the hall.

Maybe they were wrong. Maybe the doll-like setup of the victim was only a coincidence.

There might not even be a copycat at all. What if we were wrong?

But as the image of Sawyer Parker’s carefully made-up face swam in her mind, she couldn’t keep from spiraling to a much more troubling possibility.

Maybe I put the wrong man in prison and the Doll Collector’s been out there this entire time.

8

Ashley Duncan’s stiletto heels clicked against marble floor as she headed to her boss’s office. She’d stayed off the radar after Arturo Silva’s arrest, just like he’d ordered her to do. And she was losing her freaking mind.

She wasn’t one to lie low, so she’d used her time wisely, keeping tabs on Javier and Sky. From a respectable distance, of course. But close enough to see the little lovebirds and their friends—one of whom was a private investigator—go into the local precinct to meet with a police detective.

Naturally, she relayed that information to the boss, but again, she was forbidden to make a move.

She’d wanted to punch the wall when he told her that, but instead, she’d smiled like a good little girl. However, the complete lack of interest the boss took in the matter unnerved her.

Her boss was a man of action, a person of great importance who never let anyone pull a fast one. His reputation was as frightening as it was impressive. So why would such a formidable man sit on his hands, allowing law enforcement to close in on his operation?

Just when she was on the verge of climbing the walls of her apartment, the boss called her to his Manhattan office like an answer to a prayer. Finally, she would have a face-to-face meeting and get some answers.

Now she found herself approaching his office, swishing her hips as she balanced on her four-inch heels, ready to offer her services and prove how much she was worth to his organization.

Nicky Silva, Arturo Silva’s obnoxious little brother and one of the boss’s thugs, stood outside the office like a guard dog desperate for someone to bite.

She frowned, wishing she could shove the bastard out of the way. “The boss called for me.”

“He calls for many people.” Nicky crossed his arms as he flashed a smug smile. “But only when they’re of use to him.”

As many times as Little Silva had screwed up, Ashley was surprised he was still alive. He had to be doing something extra for the boss to keep his position.

Probably blowing him under the desk whenever they were alone.

With that thought, Ashley perked up. “Well, then, I guess I’m of more use than you. I have an appointment, and you’re just a hallway troll. Move out of my way.”

Nicky shifted aside and waved with a flourish. “Enjoy it while it lasts.”

Something about the way he said that put her hackles up. But determined to put her best face forward, Ashley raised her chin and knocked.

“Come in.”

She twisted the handle and stepped inside, hating how her pulse began to gallop as she walked into his enormous office. At least there wasn’t any plastic lining the floor. She took that as a good sign.

The boss sat behind an old mahogany desk. His arms rested on the desktop. “It appears you were correct about the private investigator meeting with the police detective. Good work.”

Ashley stopped midway into the room, stunned into silence. Praise was something she rarely got from this man.

“The appropriate response when one is complimented is to say thank you, Ms. Duncan.”

“Sorry, sir. Yes, thank you.” With a quick shake of her head, Ashley regained her composure and continued to his desk. Where chairs would rest in any normal office, this one contained only bare floor.

Why make your minions comfortable when you can keep them on their literal toes?

“While your information was helpful, it isn’t enough.” The boss clasped his hands together, leaning forward with a tight smile. “All this interference from Sky Stryker and her obnoxious little group is holding up our operations. Of course, if you hadn’t fucked up the first time I sent you after her, there wouldn’t be a problem now.”

Ashley swallowed the acid rising in her throat. “Dustin Wint was the reason she got away the first time. He was the one who got sloppy trying to kidnap Sky Stryker.” She crossed her arms. “He got himself killed. Not me. That whole assignment went to shit because of him. I would have brought her in.”

The boss steepled his hands on the desk, his steely gaze boring into hers. “And yet you didn’t.”

Heat flushed her cheeks. “But I⁠—”

“Don’t get emotional, Ms. Duncan. I don’t have the patience for your female defects.” The boss’s lip curled up over his teeth as he spoke. “Excuses are not a thing I tolerate. I expect results. You were assigned the task based on the assumption you were up to handling it. Logistics, then, was your business to oversee. That includes managing your people and their tools. Dustin’s failure was ultimately your own.”

Ashley bit back a scream as rage seeped through her veins.

Like hell. Dustin was a loser piece of shit who only proved himself to be a loser piece of shit.

“However.”

Eyebrows arching high, Ashley told herself she was imagining the boss’s softened tone. “However?”

His lips stretched slowly into a grin that was somehow more unsettling than his frown. “You’ve done well in redeeming yourself for that fuckup. Your record is now clean, as far as I’m concerned. And I feel it’s time to give you another chance to prove your ultimate value to the organization.”

Ashley dropped her arms to her sides and bobbed her head with dizzying relief. “Anything.”

“You’re going to go after Sky Stryker again.” His eyes narrowed to slits. “And this time, you will bring her in. There is no option for another failure. You deliver Sky or…well…we won’t touch on the repercussions right now. That’s a rather unfortunate discussion I hope to avoid.”

If he expected a response, she had none to give.

“There is no option for another failure.”

The words swam through her head as she imagined what exactly that meant. Would she be fired…or eliminated?

“And while we’re on the subject of that troublesome woman, shall we mention Arturo Silva? He operated with little oversight until he got busted for assaulting Sky.” The boss leaned back in his chair, stretching his arms behind his head like he was sitting on a beach lounger. “Strange, isn’t it? I certainly never gave him any orders to interact with Ms. Stryker.”

Ashley’s mouth popped open, but no words dared escape.

“Don’t think for a second I’m unaware that it was, in fact, you.” He slashed a finger in the air like a sword, its tip pointing straight to Ashley. The man was scary. “You put Arturo to the task of bringing Sky Stryker in.”

Sucking her bottom lip into her mouth, Ashley bit down. What could she say? Defending herself was useless. He’d see straight through the lies.

Arturo wasn’t worth half of my value. He was just a pawn, so I used him like one. He was replaceable.

She didn’t dare speak her thoughts out loud.

“I found your ability to take initiative refreshing.” The boss broke into another wide smile. “You showed me you’ll do anything to make up for your previous mistakes. To make things right with me. Hence this new opportunity to do just that.”

“Th-thank you.” Ashley’s lips trembled as she attempted to return the smile.

“Nicky.” The boss snapped his fingers. “Get in here.”

The door opened behind Ashley. She didn’t need to see Nicky Silva’s smug expression to know it preceded his punch-worthy face. His cocky arrogance was as thick as the cheap cologne polluting the air when he entered the room.

Bastard probably had his ear to the door the whole time.

“What do you need, boss?” He stood next to her, folding his arms behind his back and standing at attention like the ass-kisser he was.

He was laying it on thick.

“I’d like you to show our visitor out.” Nodding at Nicky, the boss scribbled something onto a small notepad on his desk. “I think we’re done here, Ms. Duncan.”

“That’s it?” She met his cold, calculating eyes, forcing herself to hold his stare. “No other instructions? Just get Sky Stryker?”

His mouth tipped up at the corners. “Precisely.”

“Will do, sir. Thank you for seeing me today.” She allowed Nicky to lead her from the office, keeping a neutral expression on her face until the door closed behind them. As soon as it clicked shut, she ricocheted away from him. “I can see myself out. Get the hell away from me.”

Nicky chuckled, leaning against the wall with apparent glee. “I really hope you fuck this up. You have no idea how bad I’m hoping you fuck this up.”

“There is no option for another failure.”

Had the boss promised Nicky he could dole out the punishment should she fail to bring in Sky once again? Just how much did Nicky know about how she’d screwed his brother over?

Enough to want revenge?

“Don’t hold your breath, you little prick.” Her throat burned with the effort it took to retain the dam of hatred she wanted so badly to release. She flashed him her middle finger before turning on her heel and strutting down the hallway.

There would be no punishment. No consequences. No firing or elimination. She would set the scales right and come out on top, where she belonged.

9

Sky backed away from the door as Frankie Jenkins burst into Hayat Investigations like a person on fire, followed closely by a tall, physically fit, and extremely attractive young man with carefully styled bedhead hair.

“Enough of this sealed-lips bullshit. It’s been too long.” Frankie, Kelsey Vinn’s roommate, was a model Delia had introduced to Sky when Kelsey first went missing. As beautiful as ever, her light-brown curls draped over her shoulders in gorgeous gleaming cascades, contrasting pleasantly against her black cashmere sweater and dark-wash jeans.

But her red-rimmed, bloodshot eyes told a story of suffering.

Her companion raised a clenched fist. “Ridiculously long. And if you think we’re leaving here without some sort of explanation, you’re wrong.”

Frankie slid her gaze from the young man to Sky, appearing to realize that they might have come in too hot. “This is Tyler Cochran. He’s a model too. He’s even closer to Kelsey than I am. We’re both barely functioning while we wait to find out where she is. It’s an ongoing nightmare.”

Sky’s heart twisted as she looked at the distraught pair. “I’m so sorry.”

“Please.” Sami gestured to the lobby. “Have a seat, and we’ll answer any questions we can.”

After a moment’s hesitation, Frankie grabbed Tyler’s hand and led him to the lobby sofa, where the anxious pair huddled together, radiating misery. Sky grabbed an armchair next to Sami and surreptitiously checked the time.

She should’ve been with Javier right now. Canceling their lunch date would be a bitter pill to swallow, and she hoped he’d understand. Their sort-of relationship was fragile, barely taking shape, and the last thing she wanted was to jeopardize it before it had the chance to soar.

“You were looking into Kelsey’s disappearance.” Frankie directed the question at Sami, her hazel eyes shining with tears she was barely holding in. “But we haven’t heard anything in over a week. Not from the police either. What’s going on?”

Sami clasped his hands together like a patient politician. “I wish I had an update I could share with you. As of right now, I do not.”

Way to walk the confidentiality agreement line.

Impressively, Sami had told the truth while revealing nothing at all. Even his facial expression—calm smile, sympathetic eyes, but overall neutral—hit just the right mixture of professionalism and empathy.

“I’m not buying that no one knows anything.”

“Have you tried contacting Kelsey’s family?” Sky figured, quiet investigation or not, that the police would have contacted Kelsey’s next of kin by this point. Maybe Tyler and Frankie could get information they couldn’t.

Tyler glared back and forth from her to Sami. “We tried. Her mom’s not answering the phone. We’re not idiots. No update from the police when someone goes missing is an update in and of itself. None of you think you’re going to find her at this point, do you?”

Sky sucked in a sharp breath. The absolute unfairness of the situation made her stomach turn.

They deserve to know the truth. They deserve closure.

She was saved from answering by Sami, who continued his acrobatic maneuvers. “I can’t speak for the police, of course, but I promise you, I do not give up on cases or people.”

Again, he’d sidestepped just far enough to stay on course and tell Tyler absolutely nothing.

“Right.” Tyler pulled a slip of paper from his coat pocket and slammed it on the coffee table. “This guy. You need to look into him. Nicky Silva.”

Sky’s pulse quickened, and she barely contained a grunt at the name.

Sami picked up the note and searched Tyler’s face. “Okay. Can you tell me why we should look into this individual?”

Tyler’s nostrils flared. Frankie grabbed his hand. “He was all over Kelsey at her last fashion show. Handsy, that guy. And he’s messed around with a few other models who’ve gone missing.”

Not exactly a smoking gun, but Arturo Silva had been working with someone. She’d overheard them talking after he kidnapped her, but she hadn’t gotten a glimpse of the second person.

Could it have been his own family?

“I tried digging into him myself.” Tyler’s cheeks grew red with frustration. “There’s nothing there. You’ll find a lot of recent pictures of him with Manhattan’s elite. He’s always linked to modeling agencies and fashion-house executives in the media. Photographers, magazine editors, designers.”

“So he’s part of the industry.” Sky wondered if Sami was struggling as badly as she was to not blurt out the Silva connection.

Tyler snapped his fingers. “You would think so, but he’s not. Front and center at high-profile fashions shows and after-parties. Always around, making every important guest list. But the guy has no official title or legitimate business affiliation.”

“A wealthy trust funder?” Sky hazarded.

“Not a bad guess.” Tyler nodded, the redness in his face beginning to subside. “But if so, he appeared out of nowhere. You go a year back, and Nicky Silva didn’t exist.”

“Interesting.” Sami put a finger to his chin, considering the information. “So you’re saying this guy just showed up one day, and a society notorious for rejecting outsiders accepted him as one of their own? Just like that?”

“That’s exactly what I’m saying.” Tyler stood, and Frankie followed his lead. “I’ll keep hunting him on my own, but since you’re the private investigator who took on Kelsey’s disappearance, I thought you should have this information.”

Sami exchanged a glance with Sky. “I appreciate it, Mr. Cochran. I want you to know I take Kelsey’s case seriously. And we will be looking into Nicky Silva. I promise you that. As soon as I have any update that I can share, I’ll contact you and Ms. Jenkins.”

Tyler raised an eyebrow, his mouth twisting with a sneer. “‘That you can share.’ That’s exactly what I’m talking about. For someone who isn’t a cop, you sure seem to be owned by the NYPD, Mr. Hayat.”

Sami didn’t get a single word out in response before Tyler turned on his heel and stormed to the front door.

Frankie gave Sky a quick hug, sending a jolting ache through her ribs. “Please help us. This is eating Tyler alive.”

“Of course.” Sky wasn’t sure what she was promising, considering the explicit order they’d been given to not focus on the case, but no way would she stop investigating Kelsey’s murder.

Even if I have to do it in secret. Catching Arturo Silva wasn’t enough. And if Nicky’s involved, getting him won’t be enough either. We need to take down the whole operation.

As the pair tore out of Hayat Investigations, Sky faced Sami. “Nicky Silva? What are the damn odds?”

“We’re going to find out.” Sami worked his jaw, hands clenching into fists at his sides. “Callie will be here soon. You can update her on this meeting and the possible Silva connection, but we need to stay focused on Sawyer Parker.”

“But Kels⁠—”

“Kelsey Vinn…that’s not our lane anymore.” He bolted past his office, calling over his shoulder. “I’m going out back. I need a minute.” A tiny garden backed the office building, making for a welcome respite whenever anyone on the team needed a break while working on a case.

The rear door clicked shut, leaving Sky alone in the empty lobby. She clenched her fist.

I need a minute too.

It wasn’t right, keeping something as big as Kelsey’s death a secret. Her friends were distraught. Sky grabbed her phone from the front desk, skipping through her contacts to Detective Dante Houghton and smashing a finger on the Call button.

He answered after the second ring. “Ms. Stryker? How can I help you?”

“For one, drop the Ms. crap. I think we’re past that, aren’t we?” Venom coated Sky’s words, but she was unable to rein it in. “We just had two of Kelsey Vinn’s closest friends drop in wanting updates about her case. Sami and I had to sit there and pretend we didn’t know that Kelsey is dead while her friends continue to suffer.” She paced the office, her footsteps heavy on the floor. “All they want is closure, Dante. Don’t they deserve that?”

“Okay. First of all, I’ll never call you Ms. Stryker again. I promise.” Dante drew a deep breath. “Second, I’m sorry you had to experience that. Holding back information from loved ones is a part of the job that I’ve grown used to, unfortunately. But you’re not a cop, and it’s an unfair position for you to be in.”

Sky was speechless. Dante’s gentle tone unbalanced her. She stopped pacing and leaned against Sami’s desk. “And?”

“As unfair as it is, the confidentiality agreement is absolutely necessary. And I think you’re wise enough to understand that. We can’t truly give Kelsey justice, or any of her loved ones closure, until we root out the big bad behind Silva. Our ultimate goal is to stop Kelsey’s fate from ever becoming someone else’s.”

Sky dug her nails into the desktop. She did understand. And it didn’t make her feel even slightly better about lying by omission to Frankie’s and Tyler’s faces.

“Silva.” The taste of the name was nasty on her tongue. “Tyler went on and on about a guy named Nicky Silva who’s always around right before models go missing. Rich jackass, from the sounds of it, and really hard to track past a year ago. What if he’s related to Arturo? It can’t just be a coincidence, can it?”

That seemed to pique Dante’s interest. “Only one way to know. I’ll look into it. I don’t remember Arturo having any living family members, but that could be an oversight. Just let me do the research, okay? You have to stay out of this. You swore you would, actually, with that signature.”

“I’ll behave. And I get why the confidentiality agreement is necessary. I just don’t know how I got myself into this situation, and I hate it.”

Dante chuckled. “You’re a tell-all book writer who works for a private investigator on the side. In New York City, of all places. Only a tough individual pursues a career like that. And I believe that’s why you find yourself in this situation. You want the truth at all costs, and now you’re finding out what the price can be.”

His response was like a warm hug. Stern as he’d been when ordering the group to lay off the Silva case, his demeanor now reminded her more of the man he’d been when they first met. Personable and kind.

If you could just pick one personality sometime soon, that’d be great.

“I’ve gotta go.” Having calmed down, she sensed the awkwardness from their last in-person conversation returning. “We’ve got some interviews this afternoon.”

“The Parker case.” Dante popped the name out as if he’d read her mind. “Lieutenant Clarkson told me.”

Sky huffed, sinking into her desk chair with mild annoyance. “Of course he did.”

“Do me a favor with this one, okay?” A distinct note of sweetness in his tenor sent a shiver down her spine.

“What?”

“Stay safe, Sky.”

10

The clock mocked Javier as Tuesday morning crawled toward noon.

Every time he checked it, expecting to see hours had passed, he was disappointed to find it had only been minutes. Though he enjoyed working as chief operating officer of a high-end fashion designer, even the rarified air of Guillermo De Luca occasionally grew tiresome. Like any other job, the daily grind could be tedious.

At least he had lunch with Sky to look forward to. That kept Javier glued to his task, refusing to allow anything to derail his plans for their midday date, which was becoming a regular thing. Just an hour with Sky never failed to revitalize him, and the second half of the workday generally flew by.

He diligently replied to email after email, knowing he still had the department’s monthly budgets to review. A never-ending mountain of work always awaited him, more so now that he’d fired Ashley Duncan.

Lupita Franco, however, was taking up much more of the slack than Javier had expected.

A knock at the door interrupted Javier’s focus. He closed out his email and folded his hands on the desk. “Come in.”

“Sorry to bother you, Mr. Bainbridge.” Lupita entered, hugging a binder and spiral notebook to her chest. She’d tucked a blue pen behind her left ear and stuck a red marker and a hot-pink mechanical pencil into the messy bun of wavy dark hair she usually wore down.

Interesting choice of accessories.

She looked as if she had been hard at work for hours, if the circles under her eyes were any indication. He’d certainly never witnessed such a look of accomplishment and exhaustion on Ashley’s face.

“You’re fine, Lupita. Please come in.” Javier waved a hand at the empty seat in front of his desk.

She collapsed into it and set the binder and notebook on the edge of the desk. “I’ve been going through the digital records for the companies GDL works with. You said Nadine created this system, correct?”

“Nadine came up with that filing system, but the contacts inside those files didn’t all come from her specifically.” Javier could have sworn he’d already gone over this with Lupita at least twice this week.

“I know. I just want to see how old these sources are…if we should keep them. The file creation date is there, of course, but the contacts might go back much further. Is Nadine someone I could contact to discuss it?”

“Nadine might make time for you if you contact her directly and schedule an appointment. She worked for GDL for a long time, and she still maintains good ties with us.”

“Of course. I wouldn’t want to impose. I just…well…I think I can make things better.” She drummed her fingertips on the binder. “But I really need to dig into what others have done.”

“That’s admirable.” Javier expected to see Lupita stand and leave, but she remained seated, as if she anticipated something more.

“Maybe I should contact Miss Duncan too?”

Why would she ask that?

Ashley Duncan had not exited GDL peacefully or quietly, and Lupita had been there to witness the havoc. Ashley would deeply resent—and be unwilling to help—the woman who had taken her job as vice president of operations. Even if it was temporary. Ashley held grudges as if it were an Olympic sport.

“I would rather you didn’t. Especially considering how she left the company.”

Lupita straightened her navy blazer. “Was there another reason you let her go so swiftly?”

Javier considered his words before answering. “Incompetence was always an issue. She was warned several times before you came along.”

“What else did she do?” Lupita leaned in, and Javier didn’t miss the eagerness in her gaze. “I mean job-wise. I just want to make sure I don’t repeat her mistakes.”

“You’re doing fine.” He studied her carefully. “Though I do wonder at your preoccupation with the people who previously held your position.”

“I really want this job, sir. Please.” Lupita placed her hand on top of Javier’s desk. Her short but neatly manicured nails were a welcome change from the talons so many sported these days. “I don’t mean to make a fuss. I was raised to do the job right every time.”

“You don’t need to be so stressed out about your current performance. If there’s an issue, I’ll be sure to bring it up with you so we can discuss. Right now, focus on what GDL is doing now. That’s where I need your head at.”

And stop asking me weird, probing questions.

With a tight smile, Lupita blew out a breath. She pulled out a pen and her spiral notebook. “I’ve double-checked photographers for fashion week, and they are all confirmed. Are there any photographers you have in mind to put at the top of our list for the fall and winter shoots?”

“Those are coming up soon, so it’s a good question.” Javier glanced at his calendar. Hell, time was moving too fast. “Honestly, I have more to do with the department budgets than hiring for individual shoots. That was always an Ashley thing, and before her, a Nadine thing.”

And now, yours. Maybe.

“You see, sir?” She perked up in her seat. “How can I do my job without learning from the past?”

It was a good question, but she was working at a level where she needed to figure out some of this on her own. And she was intelligent and resourceful enough to know that. So why come to him?

Was she searching for reasons to be in proximity to him? He needed to be careful.

“You have access to all Ashley’s business emails from the last year. You should be able to see how she communicated, who she used.” He rapped his knuckles on his desk. “That should be enough for you to fill in any gaps.”

For someone who had initially proven adept at picking up the job, Lupita seemed clueless when it came to taking the reins. Puzzling. A woman that capable didn’t just freeze and suddenly become unable to make decisions. Was there another reason? Something Javier wasn’t seeing?

He narrowed his eyes at her. Was she afraid, perhaps?

Lupita hadn’t been directly involved in the firing. She’d been busy doing the job Ashley should have done. It didn’t make sense for her to be nervous or afraid. But the question remained.

Why did she care so much about how Ashley or Nadine ran the department?

“I’m sorry, sir.” She seemed genuinely chastised, which wasn’t what he wanted. “You said she had multiple instances of incompetence that led to her firing.”

This conversation was beginning to frustrate Javier. He hadn’t intended for it to drag on for so long, and he didn’t like how quickly she circled right back to where she began. He sighed. Maybe Lupita wasn’t right for the job. Sure, she worked hard, but the repeated questions and fixation on employees who no longer worked with GDL were bordering on an obsession.

Perhaps he needed to start putting the feelers out for a real replacement.

“Mr. Bainbridge?” Lupita was still watching him, those dark eyes like lasers pointed at a target.

What does she expect me to say?

He blew out a heavy breath. “Repeating myself is not something I enjoy doing.”

“So sorry if I’m bothering you, sir. It’s not my intention to be a nuisance. Truly.” Lupita gathered her binder and the notebook. As she stood, the pen fell from its place tucked behind her ear. She bent to retrieve it, and the two writing implements on top of her head came free of the bun, releasing a cascade of hair.

Growling under her breath, Lupita bent to the floor again and again. For every item she picked up, she managed to drop something else. The cycle continued until she finally established an iron grip on everything. Just when Javier was about to stand to help her, she came up with the blue pen between her teeth.

The good-natured smile that crossed her face was so funny that Javier couldn’t help but laugh. The pen dropped from her mouth to the floor once more.

Reminding himself that Lupita was likely covering her embarrassment with her grin, Javier attempted to rein in his amusement. “Sorry. I’m sure you’re frustrated, but you’ve got to admit that was pretty funny.”

Lupita’s posture relaxed, and she joined in his laughter. “I guess it was. I get so nervous sometimes. Then I’m all thumbs.”

“Let me tell you something.” Javier waved at the chair again. “We work hard here. And we make a lot of things happen. This floor specifically.”

Lupita clutched her belongings tight to her chest as she resumed her seat. “Yes, sir. I am trying. I want so much to⁠—”

“Stop.” Javier held his hand out to reinforce the word. “That’s what I’m trying to tell you. You’ve been an excellent addition to the team since you arrived. But the moment you took over for Ashley, it seems you lost some of those nerves of steel you displayed before. If the job is stressing you out too much, I’ll rush someone in here so you can return to the executive assistant position you were hired for.”

Her eyes widened, and for a second, he thought all the items would topple to the floor again. “No, sir. I…I want to prove myself.”

“You proved yourself before you stepped up. So stop second-guessing yourself. I’m happy to answer questions if need be, but you also have to trust yourself. And don’t forget, you can also lean on your department. Get with those under you and discuss the ways the department has been run in the past.”

“Okay.” Her cheeks flamed. “I’m so sorry I bothered you.”

Javier gritted his teeth. “No more apologizing. Just get the job done right. That’s all I ask.”

“Yes, sir.” Lupita stood again. The expression on her face wasn’t anxiety. If Javier didn’t know better, he’d say she was annoyed. Like she had some goal that she hadn’t achieved and she was beating herself up for it. She scurried from the office without another word.

Maybe he was overthinking this. The simplest solution was often the correct one. Lupita was probably overwhelmed by the pressure her newfound level of management came with.

She probably needed him to assure her of his willingness to let her learn the job, and instead, he’d brushed her off. After all, Lupita fell under his jurisdiction and was right to come to him for clarity.

He could really use a feminine opinion to reassure him he wasn’t mansplaining when he should be managing.

An alarm buzzed on Javier’s phone as the screen flashed with a calendar reminder for his lunch date.

Finally. Couldn’t have come at a better time.

Grabbing his jacket, Javier shut down his computer and pocketed his phone.

He closed and locked his door and popped his head into his assistant’s office to let her know he was taking an extended lunch. His phone buzzed again with a text message alert as he stepped into the elevator. He opened the message from Sky.

I hate to do this, but I’ve gotta skip lunch today. We just had some surprise visitors show up. They want to speak with us. Something to do with Kelsey Vinn. Tell you more later. Then we’re prepping to interview Sawyer Parker’s friends. Sorry. See you tonight?

Javier sighed, disappointment flooding him as he smacked the door-open button and stepped back into the hallway. “Watch out, vending machine. Here I come.”

11

To keep track of Sky Stryker, Ashley needed a line of sight. Luckily, she found a café on the corner of the next street across from Hayat Investigations. A tad farther away than she’d hoped, but the table by the window gave her a decent view of the front door to his building, and the distance provided some cover.

She could stay there all day watching their comings and goings—as long as she kept her cup filled with coffee.

Snagging a table, Ashley pulled out her tablet and a small stand to prop it up.

She found an outlet under the table. This was her lucky day. A fresh supply of power and a window view to Sami Hayat’s business. The universe wanted her to succeed. She was not going to fuck this up.

She started up the camera on her tablet and positioned it to record the front door activities at Hayat Investigations.

Once she had everything in focus, Ashley started streaming to a cloud server.

With the camera picking up the visual, she began digging into Sky’s associates.

More than once, this team had thwarted the boss’s plans. She was already very familiar with Sky, that constant pain in her ass. Since Javier Bainbridge was her former supervisor, Ashley figured she knew him better than the others. And Delia Shaw wasn’t exactly a deep mystery.

That left two who could be problematic for her. The old lady and the P.I. himself.

She started with Mr. Sami Hayat.

Former military turned private investigator. Did some police work during his tours. Multiple deployments to combat areas. He didn’t seem like the kind of guy she wanted to run into without protection. Another brute. Probably punched first and asked questions later.

Javier had called him in to investigate Megan Nowicki’s death. After Megan’s disappearance, Ashley had been on high alert, eavesdropping on every conversation to hear what people were saying about the damn model. Ashley hadn’t known Javier would take such interest in one model’s disappearance…or her cousin.

That whole situation had been too close for comfort.

She’d come awfully close to wearing prison orange.

“Do they still wear orange in prison?” Sipping her coffee, she casually read through Sami’s bio and checked out the other pages on his website.

Foot traffic was picking up. A swarm of people moved in and out of the coffee shop, and Ashley had to move her tablet a few times to keep the entrance to Hayat Investigations in sight. As she refocused, two people exited the building.

She recognized Frankie Jenkins. The other one, the guy, was familiar too. Tanner. Taylor. Tyler. Some early aughts trendy name like that.

What are they doing at a P.I. firm?

Models and Hayat Investigations always spelled trouble for the boss. And Ashley.

She made a note in her phone of the time and the pair’s movements. But when she looked up from her phone, she realized that Frankie and Tanner-Taylor-Tyler were headed straight toward her.

Frankie opened the door to the coffee shop and headed for the counter. But Ashley had shifted her table too close to the front window, right beside the entrance, and Frankie immediately slammed into the corner of the table. Ashley’s coffee and tablet stand tilted.

“Son of a bitch!” Ashley jumped to her feet as hot sugary coffee spattered all over her coat and bag.

“Oh, my god. Ms. Duncan! I am so sorry.” Frankie’s dumb, mousy voice grated on Ashley’s ears.

Fist balled, Ashley held back the urge to throw a punch. “You’d better hope my tablet isn’t covered in coffee.” She locked eyes on the face of the woman who had just ruined her day, then looked away.

Frankie had recognized her. Did this count as being spotted?

No. It couldn’t. Nothing was out of the ordinary about running into people one knew in coffee shops. Right?

Frankie grabbed a fistful of napkins and started blotting coffee from Ashley’s tablet. Ashley shot a glance at the screen. The only thing currently filming was the tabletop.

“Please. I don’t know what to say. Let me buy you a new coffee. It’s the least I can do.”

Every instinct screamed for Ashley to get the hell out of there. At least until the coast was clear. She couldn’t risk screwing up.

“Stop. Stop with your ‘helping.’ You’re just smearing it everywhere. I just hope the dry cleaner will be able to get this out. Ugh.” Ashley used her own handful of napkins to try to wipe off her coat. “Now I’m going to reek of coffee for the rest of the day, thanks to you.”

She batted Frankie’s napkin-stuffed hands away from her coat.

“Please, how can I make it up to you?” Frankie whimpered, on the edge of tears. Far too much emotion for a simple hit-and-run with coffee. Frankie had to be stressed about something. Maybe Hayat Investigations couldn’t, or wouldn’t, help her.

“Come on, Frankie. Ms. Duncan says she doesn’t want help.”

Ashley’s attention darted to Frankie’s companion. Taylor. No. Tyler. Right? His face looked serious, but she couldn’t read the emotion behind his eyes. She wished she’d paid more attention to the male models. But those guys had been of limited interest to the Mill. A specialty item, as it were.

Of course, male models had become more of a particular interest to her of late.

“Sorry.” Ashley knew she didn’t sound sorry, but it was easier to catch flies with honey and all that jazz. “I was just startled. It’s been a long time since I’ve seen both of you.”

Tanner or Taylor raised his eyebrows. “I guess that happens when one of the larger fashion designers kicks you to the curb.”

“Don’t be a jerk, Tyler.” Frankie wiped at the tears on her cheeks. “Sorry. We’ve had a bad day. My roommate is missing and…wait. You know models. Have you seen Kelsey Vinn recently?”

Ashley bit the inside of her cheek. The last time she’d seen Kelsey Vinn had been in a cell at Arturo Silva’s torture warehouse.

“No…I can’t say I’ve seen her recently.” Ashley offered what she hoped was an ironic smile. “But I’m not seeing many people from the modeling scene nowadays.”

If Tyler felt any empathy, he didn’t show it. He seemed entirely unimpressed with her, and that was okay. She’d gotten what she needed from this duo.

Kelsey Vinn’s name still hadn’t been released to the public. The cops were keeping this one close to the chest. The boss would be interested to know that Kelsey’s friends were looking for her.

“You two have a nice day now.” Ashley gathered her things and took one last look through the coffee shop window. She’d have to come back later for more surveillance of Sky Stryker and her friends. But at least the trip hadn’t been a complete loss.

This job might be easier than she’d originally thought.

12

The subway train was packed as the afternoon edged toward rush hour. Sky didn’t like riding at this time of day, but she and Callie had been forced to wait until after school let out to do their interviews with Sawyer Parker’s friends and their parents.

With their unforeseen visit from Frankie and Tyler dragging out the lunch hour, they’d had just enough time to go over the gist of the conversation with Callie before grabbing a bite to eat and heading off for the interviews. Sami had opted for a burger joint in the opposite direction of the deli Sky and Callie craved, so they’d agreed to meet up at the Thompson apartment, where they’d interview Sawyer’s best friends, Desmond Plowe and Ryder Thompson.

Sky figured Sami had other reasons for going off on his own. Though he’d recovered his calm before Callie arrived, the unfortunate meeting—and Tyler’s comments in particular—had to be bouncing around in Sami’s brain like a haunted pinball machine.

As the train sped through the underground tunnel system, Sky tried to focus all her energy on Sawyer Parker. She wondered how much information the group would be able to get. High school boys weren’t exactly situationally aware. Most of them were oblivious to anything going on outside their own little worlds.

Don’t act like you’re immune to distractions. You definitely weren’t thinking about the case when Javier came over last night.

“We need to make sure Mrs. Thompson is around when we talk to them. Sami already spoke to the Plowes, and they said as long as she was there, we had permission to speak to Desmond.” Callie snapped her fingers several times. “Hey, are you listening?”

Sky met her friend’s gaze, cheeks flushing hot. “Sorry. Yes.”

“Sure you are.” Callie cracked a smile as she nudged Sky with her shoulder, being careful of her injury. “Our stop is next.”

Sky looked up at the screen above their heads announcing the next stop and rubbed her hand over her side, where a dull ache had sprung up from her healing ribs.

Callie pushed her silvery hair back from her face, tucking the loose strands behind her ears. “When it comes to speaking with minors, we can’t cut corners.” She sat straight in her seat, as if actively paying attention to her posture.

Sky couldn’t remember the last time she’d seen Callie acting so rigid. Is she worried about this interview?

“I’m just trying to make sure we have our bases covered.” Callie folded her hands as if in prayer and touched her lips with the tips of her fingers. “We can’t make mistakes.”

“This isn’t my first time questioning people. And you’ve done it a gazillion times…or something like that.”

Sky’s teasing seemed to go right over Callie’s head. “This case is different.”

“Because you think it’s a copycat?”

Callie’s posture went slack. She shook her head. “Just the opposite. Because I’m worried it isn’t.”

Sky stared at her, unsure of how to respond. Callie’s pensive frown and slumped shoulders painted an obvious picture of regret. “What do you mean?”

Callie rubbed a face that seemed to have aged a decade in the past couple days. “I was so certain when I made the arrest all those years ago, but what if I was wrong?” Her voice was barely a whisper over the din of the train car.

Sky patted her friend’s arm as the train slowed to a stop. “You’re never wrong.”

The doors opened, and Sky jumped to her feet, ready to make her exit.

“I wish that were true.” Callie was slower, but as she stepped down, her expression hardened with determination. “Which is why we’ve got to do everything by the book.”

Sky had never seen her friend filled with this kind of doubt. She threw her arm around Callie and squeezed. “You’ve got the right people for the job. I mean, just look at our track record.”

Even on our last case. We may have overstepped, but we still caught Arturo Silva.

They ascended the steep steps and exited the station onto the busy street.

Sky still marveled at how large the city was, even after living here for over a year. They’d ridden the subway for half an hour, yet they still hadn’t left Manhattan Island. And as far as they’d traveled, even here, they were packed in by tall buildings and crowded streets.

Callie motioned to a crosswalk. “I can see Sami waving up ahead.”

“Which way do we go?” Sky glanced around at all the old buildings as they approached Sami standing in front of a corner bodega. She loved the look of the larger brick row houses with the great big stone stoops in front of them.

“Three buildings up. C’mon.” Sami led them down the tree-lined street until they reached an old gray building. Unlike the others, this one had a ground-floor entrance. At the door, they found a buzzer box with five names taped to it.

Sami pressed the button marked Thompson, and a woman’s voice chirped through the intercom. “Yes?”

“Mrs. Thompson, I’m Sami Hayat. We spoke on the phone a bit ago.”

The intercom went silent, but a soft buzzing sound at the door told them they could go up.

The Thompsons lived on the second floor. Mrs. Thompson was standing at the door when they arrived. A slender woman with a mop of honey-colored curls framing her face, she looked like she’d just come from the gym. A matching set of aqua leggings and tank top clung to her toned body.

She thumbed toward the living area behind her. “Both Ryder and Desmond are here.”

Sami extended his hand as he greeted her. “Thank you so much for allowing us to meet with your son.”

She shot Sami a suspicious look before taking his hand. “My boy’s not in any trouble, is he?”

“Oh. No, ma’am. We’re just hoping he or Desmond might know or have seen something before Sawyer went missing.”

She cracked a smile. “Those two? They wouldn’t see a train coming at them from ten feet away.” Her shoulders slouched as she seemed to consider the dire situation. “Don’t get me wrong. I love my son. His friends are a little on the dim side, but they’re good kids. They’re just…well…teenagers. But I really do hope they can help with that poor boy’s…” She pressed a hand to her mouth.

Murder. A hard word to say.

“I was that way once too. Oblivious. We grow out of it, eventually.” Sami bobbed his head. “We won’t take up much of your or Mr. Thompson’s time.”

“Mr. Thompson?” She scoffed. “If you find that deadbeat, you can take up as much of his time as you like. Left me high and dry three months after Ryder was born.”

Sky wasn’t quite sure how to respond to Janice Thompson’s frankness. Luckily, a certain former FBI agent knew how to move through awkwardness.

“Thank you, Mrs. Thompson.” Callie patted Sami on the shoulder and stepped in front of him. “We should get started so we can let these people get back to their regular lives.”

“Oh, please. Call me Janice.” She stepped aside and waved her hand inward. “The boys are inside, playing some zombie-shooter game.” After they all crossed the threshold, Janice closed the door. “Boys, the private investigator is here to talk to you.”

Two young men loped into the living room. The shorter of the two, a pale blond boy, scowled as he came out of the hallway. “You guys gonna find Sawyer’s killer?”

The taller boy had muscles as toned as Janice. He had to be Ryder. “You do that wiretapping superspy shit, right?” He looked relieved to see them.

Janice stepped toward Ryder, hands on hips as her voice came out in a low growl. “Language, Ryder. Unless you’d like to lose your phone for the next month.”

“Jeez, Ma. Sorry.” He lowered his head, taking a step away. “You don’t gotta take my phone. One month is crazy long.”

“I didn’t teach you to use language like that. Especially not in front of company.” She raised her pitch, clearly unaffected by Ryder’s whining. “Apologize right now, or it’ll be gone for two months.”

Ryder held up his hands, glancing at their visitors. “Sorry.”

Desmond snorted, but as Janice turned her angry glare on him, he sucked in a breath and pinched his lips closed.

“You boys go sit there in the living room and give these nice people whatever information you can.” She slashed a finger toward the couch and turned to face Sami. “Please, make yourselves comfortable. Do you want a soda or some water?”

“We’re fine.” Sami smiled. “This won’t take long. We’ll be out of your hair soon.”

Callie took the lead, calmly striding into the living room. She stopped in front of the couch, clasping her hands behind her back. “You boys were the last to see Sawyer, correct? Do you remember any strange people around?”

Sky took a spot on the love seat. Sami joined her.

Desmond shook his head. “We got yelled at by some crotchety old lady.”

“Yeah, she threatened to call the cops on us for hanging out behind the corner store.” Ryder cast his mother a wary side-eye.

Callie stared them down without flinching. “What were you doing out behind the store?”

“Uh…well…” Ryder glanced at Desmond before dropping his gaze to his sneakers. “Nothing. Just hanging out.”

“What happened after you were warned off?”

Desmond shrugged. “We bailed.”

Arching a curious eyebrow, Callie continued with her questions. “How about earlier in the day?”

“We had school. Then they had practice.” Desmond counted off on his fingers. “After that, Sawyer said he didn’t want to go home. Something about his parents giving him grief over grades.”

“We hung out on campus for a bit.” Ryder elbowed Desmond in the ribs. “Then went to the store.”

“Sounds to me like you boys had some fun on campus.” Callie’s expression grew stern. “What did you get up to?”

Sky’s focus ping-ponged between them, enjoying the no-nonsense way her friend picked up on details and controlled the conversation.

Next to her, Sami took notes.

Ryder shrugged and looked down at his shoes. “You know. Normal stuff. Practice.”

“If you want us to find out who murdered Sawyer, you’re going to have to be a little more forthcoming.” Callie lifted her chin. “If you saw something or did something out of the ordinary, that could be a clue for us to follow up on.”

“It’s just…” Desmond’s lips pulled into a tight line as he shifted position. “It makes us look bad if we say it.”

“Yeah. And my mom is right there listening.” Ryder ducked his head, his cheeks reddening.

Damn teenagers. Just spit it out.

Sky gritted her teeth to stop herself from blurting out her thoughts.

“A very bad person ended your friend’s life in a horrific manner. Guess you weren’t that good of friends with Sawyer if you think withholding information is better than finding him justice.” Clapping her hands, Callie shifted her focus to Sky and Sami. “This was a waste of time. Let’s go.”

Desmond sprang from his seat. “No. Wait.”

Ryder tried to swat at him but missed.

The lanky blond maneuvered out of the way. “Hey, man. I want to see that bastard pay for what he did.”

Callie’s eyebrow arched again. “You know who it was?”

“Not for certain. But there’s this nerdy kid. Micah.”

“It’s not him.” Ryder rose to his feet. With a long step, he joined his friend in front of Callie. “Micah was mad, sure, but he couldn’t hurt Sawyer. Micah’s just a scrawny little nerd.”

“Did you guys have a problem with that ‘scrawny little nerd?’” The question came out a little louder than Sky intended.

All eyes in the room seemed to move in unison as everyone turned toward Sky.

Even Janice, who’d been leaning against the kitchen doorway, raised her eyebrows. “What’s this about a scrawny kid?”

“Aw, Ma. No.” Ryder slapped a hand over his eyes. “I don’t want you hearing this.”

“Ryder Alan Thompson.” Janice’s mom voice came out in full force as she crossed the room like an angry viper. “You’d better tell these people what you did, or so help me God…”

“Okay, Ma.” He ducked away from her and resumed his spot on the couch. “Fine. We might have tossed Micah in a dumpster.”

“What?” Janice’s shrill voice went up a dozen octaves.

Sky bit back a snort. Nothing about the situation was funny, but Ryder was certain to get payback from his mother the moment they left. And for dumping a kid in a dumpster, any punishment she doled out would be more than deserved.

“We shouldn’t have done it, okay? I get that. But Micah couldn’t have hurt Sawyer. I mean, think about it. If he could have, would he have let himself be put in a dumpster?”

“Weak people often find bigger friends.” Callie leveled the boys with an icy glare. “He might not have been the one to kill Sawyer, but he might have requested it. Did you consider that?”

Ryder’s jaw dropped.

Desmond winced as though he’d been struck.

Sami peered up from his notes. “Do any of you know how we can find this Micah?”

“He’s probably at chess club right now.” Ryder rolled his eyes. “They meet at the park next to the school every day after the last bell.”

Callie’s nostrils flared. “Are there any other Micahs we need to know about?”

The boys glanced at each other before shaking their heads. Sky didn’t believe them. Not for an instant.

Sami didn’t seem to believe them, either, but like her, he appeared ready to move on and speak to the lead they currently had.

“I think we have enough for now.” Sami closed his notebook as he rose. “Thank you all for your cooperation. If you think of anything else, please let me know.”

Callie flashed Janice a sly smile. “It looks like you’ve got things well in order here. We’ll leave you to it, then.”

“Oh, yeah. Ryder and I are going to have a little…conversation. And then we’re going to visit Desmond’s parents.” Janice’s voice turned sickly sweet, but Sky caught the subtle glare and dangerous smile.

Anyone who ever had a mom would recognize that look. Those kids were in for a world of hurt the moment they were alone with her.

Both boys clearly got the message. Ryder buried his head in his hands while Desmond stood nearby doing a nervous rendition of the shuffle.

Sky pushed up from the cushions and followed Callie and Sami to the door. “Off to the park we go.”

As the door closed behind them, Sky caught the roar of Janice Thompson addressing her son. “Hand over that phone, Ryder. It’s mine now.”

The boys hadn’t given them much, but with any luck, Micah would prove a good lead. And if he didn’t pan out, they could always come back.

Callie strode beside Sky as they exited the apartment building, her back rigid. Sky shot her a sidelong glance. Until they proved that she hadn’t put away the wrong man in the Doll Collector case, there would be no peace for her friend.

13

As they headed back out to the street, Sky pulled up a map on her phone and guided them to a park just a block away, right across from the high school that Ryder, Desmond, and Sawyer all attended.

“Did you hear Janice as we were leaving?” Sky bumped Callie’s shoulder, then winced as a little jolt of pain shot through her ribs.

“Oh, I heard all right.” Callie’s sharp tone left no question as to her opinion on the matter. “If Ryder was my boy, losing his phone would be the least of his concerns. Call me old-school, but tossing someone in a dumpster and laughing about it is an absolutely horrible thing to do.”

Sky could only imagine what punishments from an FBI-agent parent looked like. “I think Janice knows how to get him where it hurts. Kids consider their phones as vital as body organs these days.”

Letting out a harrumph, Callie begrudgingly allowed Sky’s input to stand. “Hopefully, now that Janice knows what her boy and his friend have been up to, she can put a stop to it before their delinquent behavior spirals out of control.”

“Ryder and Desmond made some bad choices.” Sami rounded the corner just behind Sky and Callie. “But they’re young enough to choose better paths for themselves and turn into respectable adults.”

“Absolutely. They can learn from this tragedy and be better for it eventually.” Sky pointed at the trees and landscaped ground up ahead. “This way, guys.”

They came to the edge of the park. Not large by any stretch of the imagination, but it had plenty of trees and a lawn area where several people walked. The far side featured a dog run fenced off from the rest.

Sky scanned the area, hoping to see a group of kids, but most people were tending to their dogs or jogging along the loop of a trail bordering the park.

“Over there.” Callie pointed to a rectangular open pavilion just to the right of the dog run.

Two people sat at one of the tables, but from the distance, Sky couldn’t get a good look at them. “This is supposed to be a chess club, right?”

Callie shrugged. “Two members is better than one. Or none.”

“Never was into chess. Can’t really remember knowing anyone who was when I was in high school either.” Sami took the first step onto the maintained trail. “Never hurts to check it out.”

“You’re right. But we have to be careful about questioning him without a parent present,” Callie reminded them again as they made their way across the grassy field. “This isn’t a legal interview, but I don’t want anything to bite us on the ass later, if anything comes from it.”

As they closed in, the two people at the table came into better focus. One definitely seemed like a teenager, a scrawny young man with glasses and acne. The other person at the table looked to be much older, with a mop of curly salt-and-pepper hair.

Teacher, maybe?

Under the pavilion, half a dozen or so patio heaters were positioned between tables, though they didn’t appear to be on.

Sky and Sami made it over to them first but didn’t engage, as the pair appeared to be in the middle of a game. Callie approached without speaking as the younger chess player moved his white rook up next to the black king.

The boy pumped his fist in the air. “Checkmate!”

Across the table, the man stroked his chin and lowered his face to the board. A moment later, he sighed. “You got me. Good game.” His lips twisted into a crooked smile as he extended a hand to his young opponent. “Same time tomorrow, okay?”

“You know it.” After shaking the man’s hand, the kid stood. He pulled a box from his book bag and began packing the chess pieces into it.

“Are you Micah?” Sky took a seat at the table after the older man walked away.

“I’m done playing for today. Come back tomorrow if you want a game.” He secured the lid back on his box and stuffed it into his book bag once more.

“We were actually here to ask you about Sawyer Parker.”

The boy froze in his seat. He gulped hard as his eyes met hers.

“Do you mind if we ask a few questions?” Sky waved at the seat Micah had vacated, inviting him to sit back down.

He didn’t move. “I⁠—”

“We’re trying to find justice for him.” Callie moved to Sky’s side. “His mom and dad are beside themselves with grief.”

“They should be.” Micah’s voice came out dark and gravelly. He slid back into the chair. “Maybe if they’d treated him better, he wouldn’t have been so angry all the time.”

“We heard you two didn’t have the easiest time with each other.” Sami kept his distance from the teen. “Something about dumpster diving against your will?”

Micah rolled his eyes. “Yeah. I should have known better. Sawyer by himself wasn’t so bad. But whenever he was with his crew, the guy was a real jerk. Always showing off for his friends. He was so desperate to prove he was just like them.”

Sky glanced at Callie. “Why do you think that was?”

Micah hugged his backpack to his chest. “I don’t know. So they wouldn’t beat the crap out of him like they used to. He wasn’t always so cool, and I was an easy target, I guess. I always caught the brunt of it.” He pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose, revealing the pale remnants of an almost healed black eye.

“Some would say that would give you reason to want revenge.” Sky’s tone came out more accusing than she intended. Dammit. She hadn’t meant it like that.

“Whoa, now.” Micah pushed back from the table. His hands flew up in submission. “I didn’t do anything to Sawyer. I might not have liked him when he was with his friends, but I would never want him dead.”

Callie put a hand on Sky’s shoulder. “We don’t think you did anything, Micah.”

“Could have fooled me.” Micah’s knuckles whitened around his book bag strap. “Look, I need to get going. I have homework to do.”

“Sure. Of course.” Callie offered a friendly grin. “But before you go, can you tell me how you got out of the dumpster?”

“I almost didn’t. Those friends of Sawyer must have flipped up the locking latch on me.” Micah gritted his teeth. “Sawyer could be a jerk when he wanted to, but those other guys are the real assholes. Who does that? Locks a person in a freakin’ dumpster?”

Gritting her teeth, Sky was even more pleased Mrs. Thompson had been made aware of what her son had done. Ryder and Desmond deserved whatever punishment their parents chose to hand out. “That is next-level cruelty. But you’re sure Sawyer didn’t do it?”

“Like I said, Sawyer showed off. He wanted them to like him. But he only ever took it so far. Hell, a few times he came to check on me after the fact to make sure I was okay.”

“That’s the impression we got of him too.” Sami nodded from the sidelines. “A kid trying to stay just high enough on the social ladder to avoid trouble.”

“Right. So I don’t think he would have locked the lid on me.” Micah glanced around the park, but no other kids were around to see him narc on Ryder and Desmond. “I banged on the lid and the sides forever before a custodian finally heard and let me out.”

“You know the name of that custodian?” Sami had his notebook out, ready to write.

“Big T. That’s what we call him. No clue what his real name is.”

“Okay.” Callie tapped her finger against her chin. “Big T. I’m assuming he’s a tall guy?”

“No. He’s actually kinda short. It’s like a…joke…I guess.” Micah’s face flushed. “I was so embarrassed when he found me. I kinda took off the moment I got free. Listen. I really gotta go.”

“Of course. You go get your homework done.” Sky smiled, hoping he would see the sincerity in her face and forgive her initial abruptness. “You’ve been more than helpful. Thank you.”

“I hope you guys find the killer.” Micah turned tail and took off toward the street without sparing them another look.

Sky and Sami exchanged glances. The conversations with Micah, Ryder, and Desmond had squashed their hopes of determining if they were dealing with a copycat or the original killer. And on top of that, the boys had failed to provide anything actionable for them to follow up on.

Putting her foot on the picnic table, Sky tied one of her sneakers. “You think he was telling the truth?”

“Yeah.” Callie sighed, her shoulders slumping. “Let’s head back home and start fresh tomorrow.”

“Don’t sound like that.” Sky still held hope in her chest. “We’ll come up with something.”

“At least we have one thing to look into.” Sami tapped his notebook. “That custodian. Big T.”

“You think a custodian is going to go all vigilante after fishing a nerd out of a dumpster?” Sky stood, wrinkling her nose. “That’s really reaching.”

“No.” Sami knitted his brows. “I don’t think the custodian is moonlighting as a justice warrior, but people in those positions see way more than the average Joe. I’m sure we can find out his name at the school’s administrative office.”

He had a point. It was a long shot, but they didn’t have much else to go on.

“Put that on the list for tomorrow.” Callie turned toward the street. “I’ve had just about enough of this emotional roller coaster for one day.”

“Yeah.” Sky was relieved to know she wasn’t the only one ready to throw in the towel for the day. “I need to get to my revisions, or Maria will have me drawn and quartered.”

“Well, we can’t have that, now, can we?” Callie threw an arm around Sky and waved her free hand at Sami. “We’ll be at the office tomorrow morning.”

“First thing.” Sky echoed the promise, flashing Sami a wide smile.

Taking a step back from a case was sometimes exactly what was needed. A good night’s sleep often brought fresh insight.

Sky turned her head away from Callie, hiding the grin that spread across her face.

Assuming Javier lets me sleep at all.

14

The day hadn’t gone as well as Sami would have liked. Hoping one of Sawyer’s friends, or even Micah, might provide a lead in tracking down Sawyer’s killer was a long shot, but it had been the only logical route to take. Yet the boys had given them next to nothing.

But not nothing. Tomorrow we’ll talk to this Big T guy. The custodian could know something vital.

Sami tried to remain positive as he climbed the stairs to his apartment, but images of Frankie’s and Tyler’s desperate faces flashed through his mind. Not being able to tell the distraught pair that Kelsey Vinn was dead tore at his heart.

And Tyler’s accusation that Sami was “owned” by the NYPD, while not entirely true, wasn’t entirely false. Despite working as an independent investigator, Sami couldn’t break a confidentiality agreement, no matter how much he wanted to.

“People deserve to know when someone they love is gone.” As he cleared the last steps to his floor with feet heavy as lead, Sami couldn’t help thinking about his sister, Farah. She’d been kidnapped when she was just twelve, and for an entire year, they hadn’t known her where she was or if she was okay.

Her ultimate fate—death by suicide just six months after escaping her abductor—was a tragedy he’d wrestled with for thirteen years.

Like with Kelsey and Sawyer and so many others, some stories had terribly unhappy endings.

So much for that “stay positive” spirit.

A wafting aroma tickled his nose. Sami’s stomach growled as he reached for his keys.

Garlic, butter, and beef. Salivating at the tempting scent, he realized it was coming from his apartment. Delia occasionally surprised him with a home-cooked meal, but she wasn’t due back until late, if at all, tonight.

Rushing to open the door, he was greeted by more of that delectable aroma permeating the air.

“Babe, is that you?” Delia called out from the kitchen. “You like medium well, right?”

Sami scrambled toward her voice. As he rounded the counter separating the living room from the kitchen, he drank in the sight of her. The woman of his dreams. A natural beauty in every sense of the word. She’d pulled back her short ebony hair with glitter barrettes, and over her sports bra and yoga pants, she wore a hot-pink apron that said, Don’t like it? More for me.

“I just finished searing the steaks and was about to put them into the broiler to finish with the roasted garlic and butter sauce.” She hefted a cast-iron pan from the burner and nodded to a pair of pot holders sitting next to the stove. “Can you come grab these potato wedges for me?”

Sami sprang into action. “Thanks, babe. I was not expecting all this.”

With the steaks broiling and the potato wedges cooling, Delia dusted her hands on her apron before reaching out to Sami. His gaze shifted between the food and his girlfriend’s face. With his focus on the new case—and attempts to ignore the prior one, as per Detective Houghton’s request—Sami wondered if he’d made a critical blunder and forgotten an important relationship date.

It wasn’t their anniversary. Of that much he was certain. But as he continued to search Delia’s face for a clue, he came up short. “Is this a special occasion?”

Delia shrugged. “Nah. I booked enough shoots to pay my rent for the next few months, so I didn’t have to do the last two castings today.” She lifted her head, pride glistening in her eyes. “And I was starving after my workout, so I popped by the store for something quick.”

“That’s where you went wrong.” Sami pulled her close. “Never go shopping hungry.”

“You’ve never been more correct.” Delia planted a kiss on his cheek.

He ran his hand up and down her spine. “Glad you were able to get your bookings done. Bet that takes a load off.”

“You aren’t kidding. I can breathe easier knowing I have steady income for the next bit.”

You could always live here.

The words were primed and ready to fly from his mouth, but Sami stopped himself. Delia already spent more time at his place than she did at her own apartment or Callie’s, where she often crashed when she didn’t want to be alone. And asking her to move in was only part of the much larger request he’d been obsessing over.

An image formed in his mind—a two-carat Asscher Cut diamond engagement ring in white gold. He’d spent months picking out the perfect vintage style to match her classic sense of fashion and taste.

Sami had used every ounce of restraint he possessed not to give the ring to her the moment he brought it home from the jeweler. He’d even taken the extra care to get lab-grown diamonds after he and Delia had watched a documentary on the unethical practices of diamond mining.

He knew she’d love it, but nerves always held him back. There wasn’t a shadow of a doubt in Sami’s mind that Delia was the woman he wanted to spend the rest of his life with. But what if she didn’t feel the same?

Sure, they enjoyed each other’s company to the point of annoying their friends. The sex was mind-blowing and borderline acrobatic. But what if that wasn’t enough for the long term?

Delia was a perfect ten. She could have any man she wanted with the snap of her fingers.

Trying not to go down that rabbit hole, Sami glanced down the hall toward his bedroom.

“Any luck with your new case?” Delia pulled away and began to prep a big bowl of salad on the counter.

Sami shook his head, fighting the frown that was attempting to take over his face. “Not yet. But we just got started. I have faith.”

“Of course.” She picked up the bowl and turned toward the dining area. “Because you’re excellent at what you do. I know you’ll help the Parker family find justice for Sawyer. Not a doubt in my mind.”

He considered updating her on Frankie and Tyler’s surprise visit and their questions about and concerns for Kelsey but decided against it. Delia was friendly with both Kelsey and Frankie. Everything about that case hit different for her. Harder and too close to home.

She’s been through enough. We can talk about that later…when the police know more about Silva’s operation.

“I’m not sure what I did to deserve your faith in me, but I’ll take it. Especially if you keep it coming with a side of steak.”

“Mama always said good food was the way to a man’s heart.”

“You have my heart, food or not.” He wanted to grab her and tell her she had his damn soul, for that matter.

Why haven’t I proposed yet? What exactly am I waiting for?

Nerves be damned. Time to man up.

“No promises on culinary perfection, but I did try.” Delia’s happy voice drifted over to him as she set the salad bowl on the table and fussed with the place settings.

“I’m just going to go clean up. Be out in a minute.” He rushed to the bedroom. Flinging open his nightstand drawer, he plunged his hand beneath the mess of socks and fished around until his hand closed around the red velvet box.

His hands shook as he held up the box and opened it. The center diamond sparkled, instantly catching the light.

Surrounded by the glitz and glamour of the fashion industry, Delia was a practical minimalist at heart and never let herself get caught up in the race to have it all.

She wasn’t materialistic. One of the things he loved so much about her.

But she’s going to love this ring.

“You’d better get out here before I eat your steak,” Delia shouted from the next room.

If I never ask, I’ll never know. And she might just tire of waiting for me to pop the question.

“You can do this,” he whispered, pocketing the ring box.

Just as promised, Delia had already started digging into her overloaded plate. Her knife sliced through the steak with almost no effort, revealing the pink hiding under the sizzling seared exterior.

She caught him staring. With a devilish smile, she speared the bite of steak on the end of her fork and waved it in the air. “You see something you like?”

Licking his lips, Sami nodded, completely entranced. “Two things, actually.”

“You can only have one. And it’s not my steak.” With a giggle, she popped the meat into her mouth and moaned with satisfaction.

Heart pounding, Sami went to her chair and dropped to his knee. “You are always my first choice.” He reached down, fumbling to get his hand into his pocket. “And I’m hoping…what I’m trying to say…is that I love you so much that I can’t imagine you not being part of my life…forever.” Fingers trembling, he removed the box, pried it open, and presented the sparkling ring to Delia.

Her emerald-green eyes grew wide and glassy.

He expected her to look at the ring, but there was no denying where her gaze fell.

On him.

Gulping back the knot in his throat, he lifted the box a little higher. “You’ve already brought so much joy to my life. I shouldn’t push my luck, but if you⁠—”

“Yes!” Delia squealed before Sami could finish. She dropped from the chair onto her knees and wrapped both arms around his neck. “Oh, my god. Yes. All the yeses. I love you so much.”

His heart shifted into high gear as happy tears flooded his vision.

Before he could catch his breath, Delia pressed forward, sending him crashing backward. His back hit the carpet, and Delia came down on top of him, lips first.

The kiss was both passionate and tender. As if she were releasing all the same pent-up emotion Sami had been feeling, her lips soothed as much as they devoured.

When they came up for air, Sami still had the ring box in his hand. “Just making sure I heard you right. You did say yes, right?”

Delia leaned in. “Yes.” The warmth of her breath on his ear sent goose bumps exploding all down his arms.

Smiling ear to ear, Sami plucked the ring from the box. Holding his free hand out, he waited for Delia to offer hers. He brought her hand up to his lips and kissed it before placing the ring on her finger. It was a perfect fit. “I promise to do all I can to make you as happy as you’ve made me.”

Her cheeks flushed as an impish grin crossed her face. “You’d better eat your steak. I have a feeling you’re going to love dessert.”

The heat in her eyes had Sami wanting to skip straight to the end of the meal. But insulting Delia by ignoring the food she’d cooked for him was a mistake he wasn’t willing to make. “As you wish, Future Mrs. Hayat.”

15

When Sky arrived at Javier’s apartment much later than planned, her shoulders sagged with relief. Trying to fit a potential relationship into her overpacked schedule brought a new type of exhaustion she was still adjusting to.

Worth it, though. Right? And it won’t always be so chaotic.

These crazy busy times would pass, as they always did. But not spending time with the person she most wanted to be with made her days endless and full of frustration.

The doorkeeper, by now used to Sky’s presence in the building, let her right up. When Javier opened his door, he raised his eyebrows.

Do I look that bad?

She’d caught a glimpse of the dark circles under her eyes in the mirror earlier, but that had been hours ago. She could only imagine how disheveled she looked now.

“Hi.” She tucked her hair behind her ears and smoothed it down.

He pulled her into his arms. “Long day?”

“You could say that.” She squirmed under his grip, lifting on her tiptoes to plant a kiss on his lips. “But I’m here now, so it’s getting better.”

“It’s about to become awesome.” Javier guided her over to the table. “I picked up all your favorites.”

“Even the egg rolls?” She perked up as she surveyed the collection of takeout boxes and chopsticks.

Javier pointed to the bag sitting at the edge. “Like I would forget those.”

“My hero.” Sliding into the dining chair, Sky was already reaching across the table to retrieve the coveted bag.

He took the seat opposite her as she dug into the containers of orange chicken and fried rice. “Is that all it takes?”

“Yep. I’m starving. I don’t remember eating at all today.” Her plate heavy with various samples of each entrée, Sky licked her lips.

“Tell me everything.” Javier snagged the sweet and sour chicken. “Maybe start with the surprise visit related to the late Kelsey Vinn.”

Sky took a bite of her egg roll and groaned. “Saddest thing in the world. Kelsey’s roommate, Frankie Jenkins, came in to talk to us. She brought one of her and Kelsey’s close friends, Tyler Cochran. They’re still trying to find Kelsey.”

Javier’s expression sank. “And you couldn’t tell them that Kelsey is…has…passed.”

“Right.” Sky tried to block out visions of Tyler’s mournful eyes. “This confidentiality agreement is ridiculous. I feel like Dante is following me around with his hand covering my mouth. People who cared about Kelsey need to have some closure.”

“Detective Houghton is just doing his job.” Javier emphasized the man’s professional name, a detail Sky did not miss. “He has to protect the case to ensure full justice for Kelsey and any other victims they uncover.”

How hard is it to stop calling him Dante?

“I know. And I’m grateful the cops are handling it.” Sky steered the conversation away from the detective as carefully as possible. “It’s just so hard when you see these people whose hearts are breaking, not knowing where their friend is, and you can’t give them any peace at all.”

Javier nodded, though his furrowed brow suggested he hadn’t quite forgotten the mention of the detective. “Peace is priceless.”

“Speaking of, I bet it’s nice and quiet now without Ashley causing drama.” Sky figured the best way to help distract Javier from one pain in the ass was to mention another.

He immediately took the bait.

“Nice, sure. Hardly quiet, though. Lupita is…” His mouth formed a hard line as he let the sentence hang in the air. “Thorough.”

“You say that like it’s a bad thing.” After Ashley’s slacking, how could thoroughness be anything other than a gift from the heavens?

“Oh, no. It’s not bad. But it’s a little exhausting. She asks so many questions. Sometimes I’m not even sure she’s trying to figure out the job. Just feels like she’s gathering dirt on the people who had the position before her.”

“That’s an odd way to put it, but I get it.”

He met Sky’s look, giving a slight tilt of his head. “You do?”

“Yeah. She’s only in the position as a temp, right?”

“Until we find someone more qualified.”

Sky ran a hand through her end-of-the-day tangles. “So if she has ideas of keeping the job, she’ll want to know all the ways that the others before her managed to screw it up.”

“So she doesn’t do the same?”

“Bingo.” Sky picked up a piece of chicken with her chopsticks and waved it around. “You might have already found Ashley’s replacement. Especially if Lupita is doing this thorough of a job making sure she doesn’t repeat everyone else’s mistakes. That’s dedication.” She popped the chicken in her mouth.

He stood and tossed a rice container into the garbage. “When you put it that way, I guess it does sound right. I mean, she’s definitely a hard worker. And she’s been going through old files, trying to familiarize herself with everyone GDL deals with. That’s a level of personal touch I wasn’t expecting.”

“Sounds like a keeper to me.”

“You’re probably right.”

“I usually am.” She flashed him a smile before focusing her attention back on her food. “Speaking of keepers…Maria is going to drop me like burnt toast if I don’t finish these revisions.”

“I highly doubt the person planning your book tour is going to drop you for any reason at this point.” Javier reached across the table and gave her hand a squeeze. “You’re just going to have to lock yourself inside and turn off all distractions. You can do it.”

“It’s so hard to do when we’re working an active case.” Though Sky hated the idea of more time spent away from him, Javier’s suggestion wasn’t a bad one. “And this new one is no closer to being solved. The interviews today didn’t provide us much of anything except that Sawyer and his friends were bullies, and some custodian the kids call Big T helped their latest victim out of the dumpster they’d dropped him in.”

He stabbed a piece of chicken. “Dumpster? I’m guessing if Sawyer was a bully, then the list of unknown suspects just got longer. There’s no telling how many people he’s pissed off.”

“Yeah. That was one of the conclusions we came to before Callie called it a night for us.” Sky sank back in her chair. “Said we all needed rest, and we could reconvene in the morning.”

“Sounds like you have time to get some writing done.”

She sighed and picked up another egg roll. “But my mind is occupied. I can’t focus.”

He flashed her a grin. “If anyone can do it, it’s you. This is your thing.”

Though she appreciated his confidence, Sky’s brain spiraled in a thousand directions, making it hard to even think about writing. “What if I can’t? What if I sit there staring at the screen and can’t string two sentences together?”

“That’s not going to happen. After dinner, you’ll sit there on the couch and spend at least one hour working on your revisions.” Javier flashed her a mock stern look.

That’s a dom expression if I ever saw one.

A laugh bubbled up in her throat as heat spread through her body. “That sounded like an order.”

His chocolate-brown eyes twinkled. “It was.”

16

Every time they showed Sawyer Parker on the television screen, I grew angrier. They should have been displaying my perfect little sailor as I left him. Peaceful and resting on the park bench with his rosy cheeks, pale-as-marble skin, and splash of freckles providing just the right touch of whimsy.

Sawyer was a work of art after my tender loving care. Yet they insisted on showing his generic school picture where he looked like nothing more than a run-of-the-mill adolescent boy.

“A boy well on his way to becoming a bullying monster. What a waste that would have been.”

I grasped a tarnished silver frame trapping Mother’s faded picture behind glass. She was so lovely, with her platinum-blond hair in victory rolls, and always such a class act. This was how I chose to remember her, as the elegant lady always dressed for a day out on the town. In the photo, she wore a vintage 1950s A-line dress with periwinkle flowers, complete with a wide belt and matching gloves.

I’d always longed to go out with her, imagining she’d dress me in a sharp set of knickers with suspenders and a freshly pressed white button-down shirt. I would have given anything to be her good boy back then.

“Are you proud of me, Mother?” Pointing the picture toward the television, I held it so she might see my handiwork. “I fixed him just like you told me. Calm, quiet, and handsome. Not causing chaos or embarrassing his parents. Exactly how good boys should be.”

Somewhere in the back of my mind, she whispered, “Boys must behave, or they will be punished.”

She had to be proud of my accomplishment—I was positive—but not everyone out there appreciated it.

The police and the news people called me a murderer.

They’d called me that years earlier. But, for law enforcement officers, they didn’t seem to understand justice.

My first doll had been from Connecticut. I’d gone for a short road trip and stopped for lunch at a park. Halfway through my sandwich, I spotted him punching a kid much smaller than himself. From what I could gather, the younger, littler boy had kicked the teenager’s soccer ball into a nearby creek.

The idea to teach him a lesson came out of the blue. I followed the teenager as he walked away from the park. Then I taught him. Made him perfect.

“You would have been proud of me. This one was just as bad as that one. He threw a kid in a dumpster. Now he knows better.”

Setting the frame back on its doily, I turned to my little friends, placed in a neat row on the couch next to me, their faces carefully recreated and preserved from memory. And my newest little pal, Sawyer. They all sat in silence as the newscaster on the television painted me as some kind of criminal.

“Would they be so quick to judge if they’d seen what that boy was capable of? Today was bullying, but tomorrow, the next day, and beyond? He might have become another Mussolini.”

My dolls’ silence was confirmation enough.

“All law enforcement can do is react to crimes after they’re committed. Chasing their tails, if you ask me. Mother had it right. Nip it in the bud before bad behavior gets out of hand.”

“If boys do not choose to behave appropriately, they must be made to.”

How many times had I heard her reciting that on the phone to her friends?

I always imagined them as beautiful and classy as my mom. If only I’d been a better boy, maybe she would have taken me out to meet them. She could have paraded me around and shown off how good I was.

But I wasn’t good. I didn’t deserve to be shown off.

Gazing down at my newest little friend with his smart sailor suit and captain’s hat, I grinned with approval. “You would have loved Mother. She was amazing. I bet if Mussolini had had a mother like mine, he would have never committed such horrible atrocities. She’d have set him straight.”

My Sawyer duplicate was a poor copy in comparison, but I’d done my best to capture his mischievous flair in the little doll’s body. The real thing was my masterpiece. A total transformation from a young thug on his way to an unchecked criminal life to the perfect example of what a boy should be. Well-dressed, quiet, calm, and not a danger to society.

How was I labeled the criminal when the culmination of all his unpunished misdeeds led him to disposing of another human being in a dumpster like common trash?

Not a single person—his parents, teachers, or religious leaders—had lifted a finger to alter that boy’s behavior. At any point, he could have been shown the right way to behave.

But the newscasters dared to call me a criminal when I was the one person to step up and do what needed to be done.

At least they used the word copycat.

If the police thought they’d arrested the wrong person all those years ago, that wouldn’t bode well for me.

They’d gotten dangerously close back then.

In my zeal to follow Mother’s ideals, I’d attracted too much attention. The walls had begun to close in around me.

The cops and Feds had refused to give up the hunt for the Doll Collector, and the pressure mounted as I grew certain they were watching my every move.

If only I’d had Mother’s help back then. She would have told me what to do. She always knew how to act, the right things to say, and how best to remove tough stains.

But Mother left me long ago. Stolen in the prime of her life.

Memories of that day stabbed at my heart…

She was on her way out, looking fabulous as ever. I caught sight of her walking past my open bedroom door and rushed into the upstairs hallway. “You’re leaving again?”

“You can’t expect me to stay here in the dark with you.” Even her teeth were pretty and nearly every one of them was visible when she smiled. “I’m a lady.”

For as long as I could remember, our lights would go out randomly, sending the house into shadows I found terrifying. Sometimes the outages lasted hours. Sometimes days.

This time it’d been a week.

Mother always blamed the electric man. He was a naughty fellow and didn’t always do his job very well. At times, he failed to keep our electricity going in the dead of winter, leaving me frozen and shivering in my black-as-night room.

Worse were the summer days when none of the fans worked. Mother said we should be grateful for the sunshine—we didn’t really need the lights on during the summer—but she didn’t understand how horrible the afternoons became. She always left before the worst heat of the day.

I wasn’t allowed to leave. So I sat at home, hating the electric man for what he put my mother and me through. He was the prime example of a bad little boy who’d grown up to be a horrible man.

But today I dared to wonder if the darkness wasn’t somehow Mother’s fault.

“Please take me with you.” I wasn’t supposed to hug her when she was all done up, but I did anyway. “It’s scary here without the lights.”

She pried me off one arm at a time, her lip curled in disgust. “You’re a bad little boy. Look at the mess you’re making. My blouse is wrinkled now.”

“I’m sorry.” I stepped back, horrified at what I’d done. “Please just take me with you.”

“Absolutely not.” Her gentle, ladylike voice was gone, replaced by the domineering growl I knew all too well. “You stay here and think about your behavior, you awful child.”

I understood that life wasn’t fair—especially for misbehaved boys like me. But suddenly, for the first time ever, I thought perhaps it was Mother’s fault my life was so unfair.

“I hate you.” I spit the words out, testing how they felt when set free.

Her red-stained lips formed a perfect O before she struck me across the cheek. “You don’t mean that.”

In that moment, I believed I did. “I hate you!” I repeated, shoving her as hard as I could before turning and fleeing to my bedroom.

I closed the door and hid under the bed, sure that I was in for the worst punishment of my life. If not before she left, she’d dole it out when she returned.

But the house stayed quiet well into the night. I worried that Mother wasn’t coming back at all, not after I’d behaved in an unforgivable manner.

I sobbed beneath the bed, not wanting to imagine a life without Mother—unthinkable!—and eventually fell asleep. When I woke, my stomach rumbled like an angry storm. I wasn’t allowed to pick my own food from the kitchen. Good little boys didn’t scavenge like filthy animals.

Yet the house was still silent, and Mother likely wouldn’t notice if a few crackers were missing when she came back.

If she came back.

I crept into the hallway and took slow, careful steps down the stairs. As soon as Mother returned, I would pour out my deepest apologies. I’d take back what I said, and everything⁠—

That was when I saw her lying at the foot of the staircase.

It had taken me some time to realize that my poor, beautiful mother had fallen. Her neck was broken. She was gone.

I reached for the picture again, gently caressing the old frame, and beheld her lovely face. “No. You never left me. You’ve always been here protecting your little boy, haven’t you?”

Just looking at her likeness filled me with warmth.

Where would I be without your guidance? Mother always knows best.

She’d led me to every one of my dolls. She was the reason they always turned out so perfect. Mother only picked beautiful things.

In the time of my greatest need, as the law closed in and threatened to destroy the wonderful collection I’d worked so hard to curate, the solution appeared, like a sign from heaven.

Mr. Patrick Zimmerman. The overgrown bully. From the moment he was hired, my job became a living hell.

“You slow or something? Look at me when I’m talking to you. What’s with your hair? Never heard of a brush? Bet you don’t have a girlfriend. Not with an ugly mug like that. Hey, snaggletooth, you ever heard of a dentist? How does a hobgoblin like you get a job at a place like this?”

Endless teasing from clock in to clock out. The man was insufferable. But I endured. I was a good boy, like Mother taught me. “Don’t make waves. Don’t cause a scene.”

I had enough on my plate. I couldn’t risk losing my job.

And then one day, Mr. Zimmerman crossed the line by going through my employee locker at work. He found my little friends and paraded them around for our colleagues to see.

“What kind of a freak are you? Hey, guys…what do you call a grown man who plays with dolls?” Mr. Zimmerman’s mocking nearly broke me, but I endured, hoping things would go no further.

They did.

Bullies only stopped when someone forced them to.

The next day, Mr. Zimmerman emptied out all my things and threw them into the dumpster. All the mementos, my tools, and most importantly…

My heart ached at the thought. I gazed down at my collection. My little friends. Replicas of the originals.

Mr. Zimmerman, in a moment of utter cruelty, tossed my friends into the dumpster like garbage. Just like Sawyer had tossed his friend into the trash.

“I’ll never forget the sound of his laughter as I ran to save you all, but I was too late.” An ache pulsed in my chest. An echo of heartbreak and loss. The pain had been almost too much to bear. Even the memory flooded my vision with tears.

One by one, I patted the dolls’ tiny heads. My perfect little friends, who never let me down. Never hurt my feelings.

The lesson was painful, but I needed it to see that Mr. Zimmerman was a gift sent from Mother. Admittedly, I’d always been a bit on the hardheaded side. Only the harshest of lessons ever spurred me into action.

Mr. Zimmerman was a perfect patsy to take the fall for my actions. And he deserved the punishment more than I did.

An anonymous tip and a little evidence planted in his car, his locker, and the garage behind his house was all it took to have him arrested. Once he was safely behind bars, the police were more than willing to listen to my account of seeing him sneak that last victim into his car.

Even better, Zimmerman didn’t have a solid alibi for the night of the last kidnapping.

An open-and-shut case. No one cared how loudly he proclaimed his innocence.

At that point, I obviously had to stop collecting dolls, at least for a little while. Had to make sure the police were secure in their arrest and wouldn’t reopen the case.

They needed to forget the Doll Collector, and maybe I could move on with my life as well.

Years went by. Gradually the urge to collect lessened. I thought I was truly done.

And then Sawyer came along.

Pompous and domineering, with such little regard for his fellow students. When he threw that poor boy into the dumpster, it triggered all the pain I’d buried. Everything came rushing to the surface again. The faces of my lost dolls swam back into focus. Their silent, unblinking eyes pleading for me to save them as they drowned in an endless sea of refuse.

No. I couldn’t let him get away with that. He had to see the error of his ways.

“Boys must behave, or they will be punished,” Mother’s voice roared in my ears.

And, oh, the exhilaration. The feeling of accomplishing each task was like an itch that finally received the blissful attention of getting scratched.

But Sawyer hadn’t worked alone. He’d had friends.

Could I? No. That would be a mistake. Too many, too soon.

That was what got people caught.

I shivered. The risk would be worth it. I was still a free man, after all, and just look at all the dolls I’d collected in my day.

Maybe there would be another Mr. Zimmerman. This world wasn’t lacking in people deserving of punishment. If Mother willed it, maybe she’d send me one. A new patsy who would allow me to take down Sawyer’s horrible little friends.

“What do you think, Mother? We can’t let those other hooligans go unpunished, can we?”

17

Unable to sleep after Javier left for work, Sky arrived at Hayat Investigations just as the sun was peering between the high-rises and threw herself into research.

Though Callie had worked on the previous Doll Collector case, her retirement meant she no longer had access to the old case files with the Bureau. But those weren’t the only source of information. The internet was like an elephant.

It never forgets.

Sky set herself to the task of searching every corner of the web for information, gossip, news reports, true crime blogs, and serial killer-fanboy message boards.

She’d stumbled across the last one after typing in the keywords “doll collector” and “Manhattan serial killers.” As horrible as it was to imagine people idolizing killers, Sky wasn’t surprised at what she found in the search results.

People talked about the case, how they would have done things differently, always covering their asses by claiming they were speaking theoretically. How many of them were willing and able to commit such a heinous act? That was a question Sky didn’t want the answer to.

Somewhere around the fourth or fifth page of forum comments, a link popped out at her. SnoozeLoozer_123 had posted a web address along with, Check this out. The people at that school totally knew this guy was bad news the whole time.

Sky clicked the link, which took her to a short article published months after the Doll Collector had been put away. The feature was really just a collection of quotes from interviews with employees who’d worked at the same school as Patrick Zimmerman.

Margaret Lume, school counselor, was quoted as saying that Mr. Zimmerman had always struck her as a disturbed individual. Lowry Banks, ninth- and tenth-grade English teacher, stated that Patrick Zimmerman had a proverbial chip on his shoulder.

Louise Barry, study hall monitor, mentioned that she never quite felt “at ease” around Mr. Zimmerman. Barb Millet, head cafeteria server, said nearly the same thing, adding that the man “gave me literal goosebumps, and not the good kind.”

Only one colleague defended Patrick Zimmerman in any way, albeit indirectly. George Jackson, varsity basketball coach, had added his own remark. “Men never get a fair shake when it comes to allegations like this. Isn’t Zimmerman innocent until proven guilty? His trial isn’t even over.”

The statement sparked Sky’s interest. In a crowd of employees who clearly thought poorly of Patrick Zimmerman, perhaps George Jackson had known the man well enough to doubt the charges. Of course, once Zimmerman was proven guilty, and especially since the killings ceased with his imprisonment, the coach likely had changed his opinion.

But what did he know about Patrick Zimmerman that made him defend a man everyone else wrote off as a can totally see that happening type of guy?

The front door alarm dinged. Sky jumped, flailing her arms as a squeak escaped her mouth. Her frantic, disjointed movements sent her notebook crashing into her coffee mug before ricocheting to the edge of the desk.

Diving for the coffee so it wouldn’t spill all over her keyboard, Sky let the notebook teeter over the edge. The book landed with a sploosh of pages stretching and bending as it flattened on the floor.

“Maybe we should switch to decaf?” Sami snorted stood in the open doorway, scratching his temple.

It took a moment for Sky to catch her breath. Her heart raced like it was trying to escape her chest, and a sharp zing of pain sliced across her ribs. “I’m fine. It’s all good.” She cradled her mug of liquid energy. “That would just make me cranky.”

“Can’t have that, now, can we?” Chuckling, Sami started down the hallway to his office. “Oh. Delia is coming down in a bit. She wants to help before heading off to her shoot this afternoon.”

“I feel like I haven’t seen her in a minute. I blame you for stealing my best friend.”

Whether Sami heard her or not, Sky couldn’t be sure. But the sentiment remained. Between all Sky’s nights with Javier and Delia often sleeping over at Sami’s, their opportunities to hang out had severely dwindled. The last quality time they’d spent together had been getting lectured by Dante—shit, Detective Houghton—at the police station.

The door alarm chimed again, followed by the perky tones of a bright-eyed Delia. “Don’t you just love Manhattan in the morning?” Sauntering over, she pulled Sky into a quick hug before kissing each cheek in an oddly European greeting. “Everything is so fresh and new. I can’t wait to see what surprises are in store.”

While nice to see her friend in such a good mood, Sky couldn’t help but wonder what was going on. Delia wasn’t a morning person any more than she was. Maybe she hadn’t slept yet. Second-wind energy from an all-nighter often presented as delirious happiness. By that point, a person was either moments from passing out or too wired to sleep again until nightfall.

“You and Sami have a particularly good date night or something?”

“Yeah.” She sighed and fanned herself with her left hand. “I’m so lucky. He’s just perfect in every way.”

“Sure. Sami’s a great guy.” Sky rolled her eyes at her friend. “But I wonder if you might still be a little, um…love drunk. Have you slept yet?”

“I was in bed all night, but no sleeping was going on.” Delia started to giggle but bit her lip and slapped her hand over her mouth before all the sound could escape.

“Nice to hear that your sex life is still as passionate as ever.” Sky’s own recent abundance of intimate sleepovers made it easy to be genuinely happy for her friend.

“The closer we get the better it is.” The blush of Delia’s cheeks grew as her smile widened, revealing her picture-perfect teeth. Again, she fanned herself.

Sky couldn’t remember ever seeing Delia act so strangely. “Okay. Who are you, and where is my best friend?”

“I’m right here, Sky.” Delia slapped her hand flat on the top of the desk. “Only with a little added sparkle.”

The glint caught Sky’s attention, but it took a moment for her brain to catch up to what was happening. “Holy…” The revelation hit her with the force of a truck. “Did he…did you…oh, my god.” Rushing forward, she pulled Delia into a hug. “Congratulations!”

“Took you long enough to notice.” Rolling her eyes as she pulled free of Sky’s grip, Delia brought her hand up between them, displaying the biggest diamond Sky had ever seen. “Some investigator you are.”

Sky grasped Delia’s hand and lowered it so she could take a good, long look. “Damn. That’s gorgeous. Maybe lead with the ring next time.”

Delia scoffed. “Next time?”

Sky winked at her friend as she took hold of Delia’s hand again. The large diamond in the center glittered as each facet took turns reflecting the light. “It’s perfect.”

“It is. But it’s so much more than that. It’s Sami.” Delia’s eyes glazed over with a lovestruck glow.

Delia had been through her fair share of crap, and Sky was glad to see the universe rewarding her for the pain she’d been through.

“I made us steak.” Delia moved her hand, letting the ring catch the light. “Just random. I felt like buying it. Maybe I knew deep down it was going to be a special evening.”

“Won him over with your culinary skills. Nice.” Sky offered her fist.

Delia bumped it. “He already had the ring. I’m surprised I hadn’t come across it.” As if a spell had broken, she dropped her hand and met Sky’s eyes. “Don’t tell Sami, but he’s terrible at hiding things.”

“They all are.”

“Truth.” Delia giggled. “Anyway⁠—”

The door alarm dinged.

Sky spun around as Callie came in, carrying a takeout bag from the bagel place down the street.

With her free hand, she pushed a pair of sunglasses on top of her head. “Am I last to get here today?”

“You’re right on time to hear the big news.” Sky nodded at Delia as she crossed the room to greet her friend and neighbor.

Callie handed the bag to Sky as her gaze shifted to Delia.

Leading with her hand out, Delia crossed the room, blushing a deep pink. “What do you think?”

“I think Fabian did a wonderful job.” Callie leaned in and inspected the ring. “Yep. I told Sami he was the right jeweler for this job.”

“You knew the whole time and didn’t tell me?” Delia’s smile betrayed any attempt to sound upset.

Callie finally let her hand go. “Sweetie, I wouldn’t dare ruin a surprise like that. All I did was suggest Fabian. I’ve had a few custom pieces done over the years and more than a few repairs. He’s always treated me well, and he’s an absolute artist with gold.”

Delia glanced at her hand, her eyes sparkling almost as much as the rock on her finger. “You can say that again. The detail around the side stones is gorgeous.”

Callie glanced over Delia’s shoulder toward the hall. “Speaking of gorgeous, where is your future bridegroom?”

“He said he had a quick phone call to make first thing. I’m sure he’ll be out in a minute.”

Sky would have put money on him calling Javier. As Sami’s best friend, Javier would be the first person Sami would want to tell.

“Well, he’d better hurry up. These bagels won’t stay warm for long.” Callie pointed to the table, and Sky remembered she was holding the bag.

“Carbs.” Sky sighed. “I know what that means.” Crossing between Delia and Callie, she headed for the coffee table to set out the food. “We need all the brainpower we can get, right?”

“Yep.” Callie patted Delia on the shoulder. “Don’t mean to spoil your wonderful news, but we’ve got to get to work.”

“I know. That’s why I’m here. You’ve got me until lunchtime.”

“Thanks, sweetie.” Callie pulled Delia in for a hug. “We’ll celebrate the engagement soon. I’ll whip up a feast and break out the wine.”

“Sounds good to me.”

“Me too.” Sky could never pass up an offer to eat at Callie’s. Not only was she an amazing cook, but her portion sizes were always large enough to guarantee tasty leftovers. But first, they had a killer to catch. “All right, you two.” She waved them over to her computer. “I found an interesting article about the Doll Collector I want to show you.”

18

While Callie read over the article, Sky flipped through the various images Lieutenant Clarkson had provided of the Doll Collector’s victims. They were all teenage boys dressed like dolls and placed in conspicuous locations.

Sky tried not to gag at the unnatural state of the boys. Whoever had done this deserved the worst punishment imaginable. She pushed the folder away. “You witnessed all of these in person?”

Callie nodded. Her gaze was fixed on the computer screen, the muscles in her jaw popping. “Years dull the memory of most cases, but when Mr. Parker described how Sawyer had been left…including the sailor suit and painted face…I immediately thought of the Doll Collector. The possibility of a copycat.” She looked at Sky, her eyes haunted. “The possibility I could have put the wrong man away.”

Sky touched her friend’s arm. Callie had prided herself on her reputation as a top-notch agent back when she was still active with the FBI, and from working alongside her on their own cases, Sky knew that leaving no stone unturned was the older woman’s mantra. This had to be killing her.

Callie turned back to the computer. “There were cases I had to walk away from. Cases that went cold despite my best efforts. I had come to terms with that throughout my career.” She paused, the mouse hovering over Coach George Jackson’s comment. “But I was extra relieved when we put Patrick Zimmerman behind bars. A killer turning his victims into dolls is a special kind of sick. That arrest felt good. I needed to catch the Doll Collector.”

“There’s no reason to believe you didn’t.” Sky squeezed her friend’s arm. She wasn’t sure how much the gesture could reassure. “I’m not a retired FBI agent, but I’ve researched enough about this stuff to know a copycat is a one-hundred-percent viable possibility.”

Callie nodded, but the motion was mechanical, as if she hadn’t heard Sky’s reassurance. She glanced around. “Where’s Delia? Wasn’t she just here a moment ago?”

“In the back with Sami.” Sky rose and went to the bag of bagels. “I’m going to eat these if you don’t.”

“Go ahead. I’m not hungry.” Callie pointed at the screen. “I interviewed most of these people myself. The NYPD assisted us, so my partner and I didn’t speak to every single employee, but our team combed through West Side High School after taking Patrick Zimmerman in. He had recently transferred from another school, and just like the statements in this article say, we gathered he hadn’t made a good impression.”

“And the tip that led you to West Side to begin with?” Sky realized she knew nothing about the tipster.

“Anonymous and vague. But it pointed a finger Zimmerman’s way.” Callie leaned back in her chair and closed her eyes, as if doing so would allow her to relive the hunt. “The murders were so random. Only the fact they were kids seemed to tie them together. None of the victims went to the same school. But it made sense that a high school employee would have more access to the general teenager crowd than the average Joe.”

“Different schools interact at sports, dances, math competitions, spelling bees, fundraisers, and all kinds of other things.” Sky slathered a blueberry bagel with strawberry cream cheese. “Kids from any number of other schools cross paths.”

“Exactly.” Callie let out a shaky breath. “We already had eyes on every school the kids had gone missing from and many more that hadn’t been connected to any DC murders. I felt like we were close. Hot.” She clenched her fists on top of her thighs. “And this tip came in, telling us to look into Patrick Zimmerman and giving us that tiny nudge we needed to home in on our guy.”

Sky perched on the side of her desk, balancing her plate on her hand. Carbs, do your thing. “So you followed up, and…”

“We started speaking to employees. One of them had seen Zimmerman watching the boys’ track practice with his hands near a questionable area of his anatomy. Another, who ended up being an eyewitness to the case, saw Zimmerman convince Malik Reynolds to get into his car.” A crease deepened between Callie’s brows. “Reynolds was the boy who’d most recently been found dead, dressed in doll clothes and strapped to a seesaw. Zimmerman said he never even offered him a ride home.”

“Reynolds went to West Side High?” Sky’s mind flew through the possibilities. “Like Sawyer Parker? Two victims from the same school so many years apart?”

“Reynolds didn’t attend West Side.” Callie gave a quick shake of her head. “But he’d been there for a track meet. And the fact that Zimmerman was caught pleasuring himself while watching boys practice that exact sport was…”

“Sounds like a pretty solid and totally disturbing lead to me.” Sky swallowed a bite of her bagel. She still had a hard time understanding how Callie had dealt with cases that reached this level of ick on a daily basis for her entire career. Even though she wrote about these cases for her own career, she’d never be able to immerse herself in the crimes the way Callie’d had to.

“It was. Zimmerman had the kid’s backpack in the trunk of his car. That was enough to get us a search warrant.” Callie’s tone sharpened. She seemed surer of herself the longer she described the case to Sky. “We found more evidence in his work locker and then in the garage behind his house. Open-and-shut case. My team and I were over the moon.”

“So why the doubt?”

“I made the arrest. If I got the wrong guy, that’s on me.” Callie slapped her hand on her chest. “I could’ve condemned an innocent man to a life sentence while allowing a criminal to continue murdering children.”

Sky set down her plate and looked Callie in the eyes. “You had nothing to do with the actual trial or conviction. You might have delivered Zimmerman to be judged, but you had nothing to do with their decision to put that man away.”

Callie let out a long sigh and slouched in her chair. “The rational side of my mind is aware of that. But it doesn’t change the fact that if I arrested the wrong guy, my actions allowed the actual killer to go free. And in that case, Sawyer’s death was a result…no matter how distant my failure.”

“When Zimmerman was arrested, what was his reaction?”

“They all swear innocence. Then they play the tough guy. Patrick Zimmerman was no different. He lawyered up instantly. We just went through the motions. We had no reason to believe we hadn’t caught the killer.” Callie got up and began to pace, like a lion in a cage. “And on top of all that, the guy was a creep and an asshole.”

“Both things that someone called the Doll Collector would likely be.” Sky wiped her mouth with a napkin. Getting Callie to talk about the case also had the wheels turning in her own head.

“Exactly.” Callie sat back down and stared past the computer, seeming to have forgotten the screen altogether. “When I started speaking to the other employees who worked with Patrick Zimmerman, I got a full picture of just the kind of jackass he was. Apparently, he had it in for one of the other custodians. And he’d been accused of harassing one of the teachers…all within the first month he’d been at that new school.”

“I’m sure you checked out his previous school too.” Sky polished off the last of her bagel and moved to the chair beside Callie before diving into her next questions. “Was he equally hated there? Did he have a record of criminal activity?”

“His arrest record was clean.” Callie scrubbed her face with her hands. “Nothing that ever made it to civil or criminal court, as far as I remember. But, yes, he had a history of harassment.”

“He clearly deserved to get thrown in prison. You’re just worried that maybe it shouldn’t have been for murder. Or at least not the Doll Collector murders.” Sky tapped the closed folder with the pictures of the murdered boys. She couldn’t bring herself to reopen it. “When Patrick Zimmerman was sentenced, did the uneasiness ever go away?”

“Yes.” Callie met Sky’s eyes. “He was convicted. Judge, jury, and all.”

“And this is the first similar murder since you put away Zimmerman six years ago.” Sky understood Callie’s doubt, but her own mind wasn’t made up yet. “The copycat theory makes a lot more sense. If the original killer was still out there, do you think he would just be waiting in the wings for the perfect time to start killing again?”

Callie’s expression darkened. “Never underestimate the mind of a killer.”

“Fair enough.” Despite her best efforts, Sky was losing some of her positivity. “But based on the amount of time it’s been between the last murder and this one…it doesn’t feel like too much time to you?”

Callie chewed her lip. She didn’t answer for a long moment. “It just feels a lot like the last time. And talking to Lieutenant Clarkson didn’t do much to ease that idea. Not that I expected it to. Whether it’s a copycat or the original killer, someone capable of doing these things to a child is seriously messed up in the head. Sawyer’s death is tragic either way.”

“Well, all we can do is look into it.” Sky pointed at the computer. “What did you think of that article?”

“Just echoes of what I already knew.” Cally raised an eyebrow. “But you’re referring to the basketball coach, this Jackson fellow, aren’t you? I didn’t speak with him myself, but he sticks out like a sore thumb with his comment. Not necessarily like he was defending Zimmerman, but just more like he was…”

“Defensive.” Sky knew exactly what they needed to do next. She clapped her hands together, eager to get Callie away from the computer and her self-doubt. “Let’s go to West Side. We talk to the custodian, this Big T guy, and maybe we sit down with Coach Jackson? See where the hell his mind was at when he made that statement about Zimmerman…and men in general.”

“Big T might not know anything past the fact that he fished Micah out of the dumpster. But he could have an opinion or two on Coach Jackson. Custodians see a lot more than people realize.”

Callie was right. Individuals who worked in maintenance and hospitality were often overlooked by the very people they assisted day in, day out.

Wait. Sky narrowed her eyes, holding her hand up. She needed to make sure she understood the characters and sequence of events. “Didn’t you say an employee provided eyewitness testimony on Patrick Zimmerman? Maybe that person still works there too.”

“Maybe. But let’s go talk to this Big T fellow and see if he has any helpful information. And we’re certainly not leaving until we speak with Coach Jackson.” Callie stood, pressing her palms together as she moved to the door. “Go tell Sami and Delia it’s field trip time.”

19

Callie stood with Sky and Sami on the sidewalk outside the entrance to the West Side High School.

As she gazed at the familiar brick facade, a sense of déjà vu washed over her. Just a handful of years ago, she’d stood on these steps, determined to catch a serial killer. She shook her head to dispel the ghosts. “Straight to the administration office. They’re not going to tell us a damn thing until they speak with Clarkson, and he’s standing by waiting for their call.”

“Too bad Delia couldn’t come.” Sky gave Sami a playful shove as they climbed the front steps. “She could have sweet talked one of the teachers into telling us everything in about five seconds flat.”

“No.” Callie waved a hand in the air. “That’s not how we do this. By the book, or we get ourselves in trouble. Again. Clarkson won’t help if he thinks we’re going off-script and making a mess of things.”

Sami eyed her as they reached the front door and pressed the buzzer to the main office. “Didn’t you say Clarkson was happy we were taking on interviewing Sawyers friends and teachers?”

“Yeah.” Sky nodded in agreement. “You said he was happy because you’re so familiar with the Doll Collector case and because his team is buried.”

They were right, of course, but Callie knew better than to let them get complacent. “By. The. Book.”

Inside, the scent of floor wax and teenager greeted them. Even though the lockers were now painted red instead of tan, she recognized the hallways beyond the newly implemented security checkpoint. Unfamiliar trophy cases stood at the entrance like barricades.

School shootings drive a lot of changes.

As promised, she led them straight to the main office, where she asked for the principal and explained the reason for their visit. Principal Mauer, a tall man with slicked-down brown hair, wire-frame glasses, and stress lines on every surface of his face, looked more than a little skeptical.

Mauer hadn’t worked at West Side High School during the Doll Collector case, and the fact that Agent Baros was retired had him hesitating every bit as much as Callie had predicted.

She watched the principal’s face as he spoke to the lieutenant over the phone. Ever the politician when it suited him, Clarkson could bullshit with the best of them, and whatever charming lines he fed the principal worked wonders. Within minutes, they found themselves in an empty classroom.

Mauer glanced at his watch. “The custodians are on break, so we can start there. Big T should be just around the corner.”

“What’s Big T’s real name?” Callie posed the question just as the principal was leaving the room to fetch the man. They had a list, but asking would be quicker.

Mauer tossed the answer over his shoulder as he stepped out into the hallway. “Timothy Santos.”

The world tilted, and Callie clutched the back of a desk to steady herself. She turned to Sky and Sami, her mouth open in shock. “Timothy Santos was the eyewitness in Patrick Zimmerman’s case.”

Their eyes widened in surprise. But before they could say anything, Principal Mauer returned with Santos in tow.

Callie studied Santos as he entered, trying to discern any changes since the last time they’d met. He hadn’t changed much over the past six years. Still short and stocky, still fidgeting, still struggling to keep a polite smile on his face.

Maybe she was imagining things, but she sensed a glimmer of unease—perhaps guilt—that hadn’t been there before. Still, her mind might be playing tricks on her in the wake of Sawyer Parker’s death. She bet everyone would seem guilty to her for the next few days. Santos had been helpful before…there was no reason to think he wouldn’t help them now.

I was a federal agent then. Hopefully he remembers and wants to be as helpful now as he was then.

“Hello, Timothy.” Pulling herself together, Callie stepped forward and offered her hand. “We’ve met before. Former Special Agent Calysta Baros. Do you remember?”

“I do.” Timothy’s palm was clammy. “You helped put Patrick Zimmerman away for those horrible murders. We were all very grateful for that at this school.”

Whether she’d screwed up with the Doll Collector or not, Patrick Zimmerman was a bad man who’d needed dealing with.

“I was glad to help.” She glanced at Sky, who pushed her auburn locks away from her face and studied the janitor with more intensity than Sami’s mild look. Callie made the introductions. “This is Private Investigator Sami Hayat and our colleague, Sky Stryker.”

He bobbed his head at them both. “Nice to meet you.”

“We’ve been hired to investigate a crime, and we’re only here to gather as much information as we can.” She pointed to Sky’s phone. “Do we have your permission to record our discussion, just so we can make sure we don’t forget anything?”

He glanced at the principal before nodding. “Sure.”

“Thank you.” After Sky tapped the button to record, Callie shared the date, time, and the name of each person in the room. She again asked Santos for his permission to record. Again, he mumbled, “Sure.”

After the pleasantries were over, Callie got down to business. “Mr. Santos, I⁠—”

“Please call me Timothy.” He gave her a shy smile. “All my friends do.”

She matched his smile and settled her body into a posture that matched his. “We’re trying to find answers. There’s been a recent murder similar to the ones Patrick Zimmerman was convicted of committing.”

He bobbed his head again, his face filled with sorrow. “I heard about that. Poor Sawyer.”

“I understand that other terrible things happened recently too?”

Santos frowned, and he scratched his temple. “What terrible things?”

Callie leaned forward, resting her elbows on her knees. She wanted all his attention, and she wanted to study his face as he answered her questions. “I heard you pulled a student from the dumpster.”

His face clouded, a mixture of anger and despair. “Yeah. Micah Tullin.”

“Did Micah tell you how he ended up there?”

“He didn’t have to. Kids like Micah get bullied. You see it all the time.” Timothy’s jaw tightened. “Micah’s okay, isn’t he? I don’t remember anything being wrong with him when I got him out of there. He was embarrassed…and definitely didn’t want to talk to me…but he wasn’t hurt that I could tell.”

Dammit. Maybe he doesn’t know a doggone thing. Lightning striking twice was asking too much from the big man upstairs.

“Micah’s just fine, thanks to you.” Callie swallowed her disappointment. “But we’re trying to find out more about the boy who put him in the dumpster.” She pulled up a picture on her phone and held it out to Timothy. “Do you recognize him?”

“Yeah, that’s Sawyer Parker. He’s the kid that…” Timothy’s entire body seemed to shrink. “Oh.”

“Yes, Sawyer is the child who was murdered not long after he put Micah in that dumpster.” She gentled her voice. “Timothy, we need to learn everything we can about Sawyer and about what happened that day. Can you help us?”

As if he’d been poked by a stick, Timothy went rigid, his face a terrified mask. “Is Patrick Zimmerman still in prison, or was he let out? Could he have been the one who⁠—”

Callie held up a hand. “He’s still in prison. I can promise you that. There’s no way he could have hurt Sawyer Parker. But someone did.”

He relaxed a little. “Oh. That’s good.”

She wished she could gauge Timothy without a supervisory influence present, but asking Mauer to leave the room now could throw off the interview with Santos. “You’ve been here for a while, Timothy. Six years, at least. Can you tell me of anything you’ve seen or heard that seemed suspicious or out of place?”

A flash of something like fear and revulsion crossed Timothy’s features, but he glanced down at his feet so quickly that Callie couldn’t be certain. “I’m not sure.”

Callie didn’t believe him. “Anything you can share with us, no matter how small or insignificant it might seem now, might help us enormously.”

Seconds ticked by, and the room was so quiet that Callie’s heartbeat filled her ears.

Finally, Timothy looked up and met her eye. “Yeah, there’s something that seems strange to me.”

In her periphery, she clocked the principal straightening, and she willed him not to interrupt. “What’s that?”

He licked his lips, and his fingers twisted together. “There’s this coach who…”

“Who what?” Callie prompted gently.

Timothy cracked his neck, and the sound was like gunshots in the silence. “I steer clear of that guy, is all. Except for when I have to clean his office. That’s generally after hours, when the staff have mostly left.”

Callie could hardly breathe. “Why do you steer clear of him?” She needed to be careful and not lead him to a conclusion.

“He’s always holding these late-evening meetings with his varsity team, so then I have to circle back hours later and clean his office last thing before I go home.” Timothy wrinkled his nose. “It’s annoying.”

Excuse me. What?

Callie glanced at Principal Mauer, who looked just as surprised as her at this revelation.

“Evening meetings with the entire basketball team…in his office?” Callie’s skin tingled, her sixth sense igniting. “Am I wrong to assume a high school coach’s office is nowhere near big enough to handle that many boys?”

Maybe Timothy Santos was a double jackpot.

“Oh, not the whole team.” Timothy shook his head. “Just one-on-one meetings. I don’t know. Study sessions for their plays or whatever.”

Callie glanced at Sky’s phone, making sure it was still recording. “Timothy, can you please tell me the name of this coach?”

But she already knew.

He met her gaze. “George Jackson.”

And there it was.

Principal Mauer crossed his arms, looking down at Timothy with newfound interest. “One-on-one meetings with the basketball team members? How often, Timothy? How late in the evening are we talking?”

Timothy shrugged. “I don’t know. I start on offices around…seven, I guess. I usually come back to Coach Jackson’s around ten. He’s almost always gone by then. I used to knock and ask if he wanted me to clean it now or come back later, but he always got really mad at me. Half the time, he wouldn’t even open the door. Too busy with his meetings, I guess.”

Part of Callie refused to believe that any school employee would be that obvious about carrying on with high school students behind closed doors on school property—or anywhere else, for that matter—late in the evening. The sessions didn’t just look bad. They screamed wildly inappropriate.

Only an idiotic, pompous ass would think they could get away with such brazen behavior.

Or the coach has nothing to hide and therefore didn’t hide anything. Maybe Timothy’s confused about what’s been going on.

Callie couldn’t jump to conclusions. Couldn’t get tunnel vision. She had to be sure.

Timothy Santos’s eyes and ears had proven to be useful in the past, with solid evidence backing up his testimony regarding Patrick Zimmerman. And in her heart of hearts, Callie couldn’t shake the notion that George Jackson was up to no good.

It’s impossible to tell just yet. I have to actually talk to this coach. See if he’s as creepy as his little one-on-one meetings with students make him sound.

“Thank you, Timothy.” Callie offered the custodian her hand. “That’ll be all for now.”

After another very clammy shake, Timothy bobbed his head a few times, scrambling from the room. Principal Mauer watched him go and closed the door behind him before turning to the group.

“I had no idea that anything of the sort was going on. If Timothy had relayed this same information to me, I would have stopped it immediately. I assure you.”

Callie nodded. “I believe you.”

She wasn’t sure if she did, but nothing would come from calling him a liar to his face or lecturing him on how to run his school. She needed him on her side a little longer.

“I’m assuming you’d like to speak with Coach Jackson after that?”

“We would.” Sky shot to her feet. “This guy is no good. I can feel it. Remember his comment in that article?”

Sami was already heading to the door. “Let’s take him down.”

“No!” Callie stepped between them and the exit. “We’re not jumping to conclusions. Not yet.”

Sky threw her hands up. “But⁠—”

“This is how tunnel vision happens.” She needed to make them understand. “Maybe Timothy’s right about Jackson, and maybe he’s not. We don’t have enough to accuse him of anything, let alone connect him to Sawyer’s murder or the Doll Collector. I’ll call Clarkson. We need to think this through and come up with a game plan.”

Sky sank back into her chair. “Oh.”

“I’d love to believe that Jackson could be our guy too. Believe me. But I’ve been at this long enough to know it’s never that simple.”

Sky and Sami both nodded reluctantly, though frustration radiated off them both. Callie pulled out her phone, tapping Clarkson’s number as the adrenaline rushing through her veins began to settle.

Whatever Jackson was—or wasn’t—she’d find out soon enough. And she’d make sure she got it right.

20

Sky’s stomach churned as she watched Lieutenant Clarkson secure a battery pack to the listening device Callie now wore under her coat. Apparently, Sky’s phone recorder wasn’t good enough for this sting, so Clarkson had told them to wait until he arrived so they could do this “by the book.”

She sure was tired of that phrase.

Time was ticking, and it pained her to the very depths of her soul not to rush to Coach Jackson’s office and kick him in the balls.

How could there possibly be so many disgusting human beings populating the earth? Although the better question was, after all she’d seen and experienced, how could this type of revelation still surprise her?

To be fair, they didn’t know for certain that Jackson was guilty of anything but very poor judgment. Callie was right about that. They couldn’t get tunnel vision.

After what seemed like half of forever, Callie was ready. Clarkson stepped back with Sami at his side, both prepared to listen in on the conversation.

Callie gave Sky a wink. “Do you know what to do?”

Sky bristled. “I listen and I don’t judge.”

Callie waggled a finger at her. “Or interrupt. And remember that we’re officially there because we’ve been enlisted by Sawyer’s parents to investigate his murder. Got it?”

She didn’t like it one bit but nodded. “This by the book stuff is for the birds.”

Callie winked again. “Listen and learn, grasshopper. You might be pleasantly surprised to discover how fun it is to lure a fish in instead of tossing a stick of dynamite into the lake.”

Sky wasn’t sure about that. But instead of arguing, she was ready to witness a true professional do her job. “Okay, sensei, teach me how to fish.”

Callie turned to face Principal Maer. “Lead the way.”

The poor man seemed nervous as they headed down the hallway. “Coach Jackson is in the middle of gym class, but I have a hall monitor ready to step in.” Mauer approached the gymnasium. Indicating for them to stay there, he opened a door. The echoes of kids yelling and laughing along with an ungodly cacophony of shoe squeaks was ridiculously loud.

Hanging back by Callie and Sami, Sky watched through the glass window as the principal approached a portly man in dark shorts and a t-shirt and whispered something in his ear. The coach’s posture immediately straightened, and an angry rut deepened across his forehead as he glared in their direction.

Even though he more closely resembled a cartoon character than a person adept at any sport, he was clearly a man not used to following orders.

Sky placed a hand on Callie’s arm. “He’s coming in hot. I know you can handle it, but…fair warning.”

“I wouldn’t have it any other way.” Callie smiled.

Principal Mauer made the introductions and suggested they go to the coach’s office. Without a word, Jackson turned on his heel and led the way.

As they followed him down the hallway, Sky’s notebook might as well have had a bullseye on it, given how tightly she was clutching it to her chest. She wasn’t the one doing the questioning, but just being there—watching, absorbing—was enough to send her nerves into overdrive.

Callie, on the other hand, moved with easy confidence, like she was on her way to buy groceries rather than face a man who might be a monster.

They entered the coach’s cramped office, and Sky immediately wrinkled her nose. The air smelled faintly of sweat and something she could only describe as “overworked sneakers.” It was exactly how she’d imagined a basketball coach’s “kingdom” to be—cramped, cluttered, and suffocating.

Jackson plopped into an overstuffed chair. He radiated annoyance, his eyes narrowing as they filed in. Though there were several other chairs, Sky chose to stand. If this man had been keeping boys in this very office for reasons she’d didn’t want to think of, she preferred not to touch a single thing.

Callie took her time pulling over a folding chair, positioning it deliberately across from his desk before sitting down. She angled it slightly, and Sky noticed how it made the setup feel casual, conversational, instead of confrontational.

She needed to take notes on that.

“Thank you for agreeing to talk with us.” Callie’s voice and smile were as warm as hot chocolate on a cold day. “I’m Calysta Baros, a retired FBI agent. And this is my colleague, Sky Stryker.”

He jerked his head in a nod and only grunted a response.

Seemingly unphased, Callie leaned back in her seat, mirroring the coach’s exact posture. “Sawyer Parker’s parents hired us to help find the person responsible for what happened to their son.” She paused, letting that sink in. “You’re Coach Jackson, right? May I call you George?”

He stiffened and leaned forward. “I’m Coach around here.”

Callie also leaned forward, resting her elbows lightly on her knees. “Coach, I want to start by saying how sorry I am for your loss. Losing a student like Sawyer…it must be devastating. I imagine the whole school’s shaken up.”

His shoulders relaxed marginally, though his frown remained. “Yeah, it’s been rough.” For all his tough-guy persona, his voice was about two octaves higher than Sky had expected. “The kids are a mess. The staff too. Grief counselors and therapy dogs, you name it. We’re all trying to keep it together.”

Callie gave a small, understanding nod. She didn’t rush to fill the silence, letting him talk. Another trait Sky needed to work on.

“Sawyer was a good kid.” Jackson wiped at his eyes, even though there weren’t any tears. “Damn good player too. Hard worker.”

Callie jotted something in her notebook, her face neutral but attentive. Sky leaned to the side, curious what she was writing, but couldn’t see.

“I’ve heard he was an excellent player. You must’ve been proud of him.”

“Of course I was.” He wiped at his tearless eyes again. “The kid had potential. Could’ve gone far. Whoever did that is messed up bad.”

Callie lowered her voice and leaned in as if they were two friends. “What have you heard about what happened to Sawyer? Not everything, of course, was published in the news.”

Ah…Sky got it. The bait. Callie was testing him.

He squirmed in his seat. “News said some asshole killed him and then dressed him in some little pansy sailor outfit. Creepy as hell. Left him out on a damn park bench, to add insult to injury.” He licked his thick lips, and Sky nearly barfed.

“When was the last time you saw him?”

Jackson frowned. “Practice. The day before it happened. He was fine, you know? Nothing seemed off. Same old Sawyer.”

Callie nodded again, her pen moving lightly over the page. “Did he ever mention anyone bothering him? A classmate? Someone outside of school?”

Jackson shook his head. “No, nothing like that. He was focused on basketball. Never gave me any trouble.”

Sky noticed how Callie kept her tone gentle, almost sympathetic, like they were partners trying to solve the same problem. She didn’t accuse, didn’t push—at least, not yet. Sky experienced a new knot of admiration forming in her chest. This wasn’t like the dramatic interrogations she’d written in her own work. This was methodical, strategic.

Callie shifted slightly in her chair, mirroring Jackson’s posture as he leaned back. “I’ve heard you go above and beyond for your team. Meeting with them after hours, one-on-one sessions. That’s not something every coach would do.”

And just like that, the atmosphere changed. If Jackson had been a dog, his ears would have laid back. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Just that you’re dedicated.” Callie waved a hand. “It’s clear you care about these boys and want to see them succeed. That kind of attention…it’s rare. I imagine some people might not understand it, though.”

His jaw clenched so hard, the muscles popped. “Yeah, well, I don’t give a damn what people think. Those are my boys. My team. I take the time to give them extra attention. Go over plays. Help them be their best. Sometimes, they need to talk about tough stuff they’re going through in life. Some of those boys have no father figure to look to. Is it a crime to want to help? I’m a teacher, aren’t I?”

“You sure are.” Callie licked her lips. “It seems you really care about them.”

His shoulders relaxed a little. “I do.”

A look of confusion crossed Callie’s wonderfully expressive features. “Do you always keep the door locked during those meetings?”

Jackson’s hand curled into fists. “What? Who told you that?”

“A custodian mentioned it.” Callie matched his energy. “Said it was a habit of yours. I get it…privacy’s important when you’re talking to kids about personal stuff. I just wonder if it ever worried you that someone might misunderstand.”

“Kids feel more comfortable knowing they won’t be interrupted in their one-on-ones.” His eyebrows shot up. “How the hell do you know the door is locked anyway?”

Callie tilted her head. “Well, for one thing, you just told me. For another, the evening custodian confirmed it.”

“Santos?” Jackson’s voice shot up another octave. “That fucking guy doesn’t know his ass from his face.”

Sky waited for Callie to say something, but she just sat there, letting the silence eat at the oxygen in the room.

Jackson threw his hands up. “This is some bullshit. My basketball team brings in a good portion of the funds this shitty school needs to survive, and they’re letting any Tom, Dick, Harry, or motherfucking Nancy Drew wannabe in to accuse me of…of…doing something wrong to my boys? To the Parker kid?”

“My boys.” His repeated use of that phrase couldn’t be a coincidence.

The veins in Jackson’s neck started to bulge. “I’m trying to help these kids, and you’re twisting it into something ugly.”

“I’m not twisting anything, Coach.” Callie didn’t flinch. “I’m simply looking for answers. That’s what Sawyer’s parents hired me to do.”

“I didn’t do anything to Sawyer.” Spittle flew from his mouth and landed on his desk. “Or to any of my boys. If you think otherwise, you can shove it. I’m done talking.” He stood abruptly, pointing at the door. “Get out.”

Sky’s pulse quickened, her gaze darting to Callie. But the retired agent didn’t move. She sat perfectly still, her hands folded over her notebook, watching Jackson with a calm, steady gaze.

“Didn’t you hear me?” He stomped to the door. “Get out!”

Callie didn’t move. “We’re not finished yet.”

For a split second, Jackson’s bravado faded, and he looked like he might burst into tears. An instant later, he stomped back to his desk and picked up his phone. “I’m calling my lawyer.”

“That’s your right.” Callie shrugged. “But most people who lawyer up this fast usually have something to hide.”

Jackson’s nostrils flared, but he said nothing. The phone dangled from his hand like a limp dick.

“Tell me, Coach.” The cadence of Callie’s voice changed, becoming almost hypnotic. “What happens behind those closed door? The police are going to ask you too, after they cuff you and stuff you into an interview room. If you talk to me now, I can help. Let me help you, Coach.”

He sank into his chair. “I haven’t done anything wrong. I love my boys. I only want to help them. That’s all.”

Sky couldn’t breathe. He’s about to tell her. He’s⁠—

Bang. Bang. Bang.

“Coach!” The office door whipped open, and a gangly looking kid with hair so orange it didn’t look real ran in…and froze. “Uh, sorry.”

Jackson was on his feet, the spell broken. He pointed at the door, his face flooding with blood. “Get out!”

The boy was gone an instant later, but Sky was pinned where she sat, not certain what to do.

After the longest sigh Sky had ever heard, Callie pushed to her feet. “Are you sure, Coach? This might be your very last chance.”

A flurry of emotions crossed his face, but his expression hardened into only one. Hate.

“I’m not telling you again.” He rushed to the door. “Out!”

21

“Motherf…” Lieutenant Clarkson’s husky voice carried across the sidewalk. Callie stood next to him, going over the game plan.

They’d been so close. Jackson had been on the verge of spilling it all when that damn kid came barging in.

Coach George Jackson had lawyered up so fast, he must have had his attorney on speed dial. They’d be getting nothing more without a warrant, and even then, the police would be speaking with Zeb Brinkley, Jackson’s stiff-suited lawyer.

“What if it’s not enough to get a warrant?” Sky hunched her shoulders. “I mean, all we have is Timothy’s statement about Coach Jackson. And Timothy didn’t even accuse him of anything. Just told us about those unconventional late-night meetings. That doesn’t mean Jackson killed Sawyer Parker, and it doesn’t prove he’s doing anything wrong behind that locked door.”

“But he is.” Sami smacked his palm against his thigh. “The guy reeks of creep. That temper doesn’t match his bullshit story about playing the father figure for those boys. He’s an asshole. Not an overly concerned softy or stand-in parental figure.”

Sky watched as Callie and Lieutenant Clarkson huddled closer together by the lieutenant’s squad car. Their wheels must have been spinning, but at least Callie had gotten the man to calm down.

“I couldn’t agree more. Jackson’s no saint. But without any of ‘his boys’ accusing him of doing anything inappropriate,” Sky fought back a gag, “not only do we have nothing to tie him to Sawyer, he’s going to keep on doing whatever the hell he’s doing.”

Sami grunted his frustration. “He’ll probably be even more careful about it from now on. I don’t know if he killed Sawyer, but he doesn’t need to be alone with any of those boys ever again.”

Sky’s phone buzzed in her pocket. She pulled out the device, expecting an “I miss you” from Javier, only to find a message from Frankie.

Just checking in. You probably don’t have any updates on Kelsey…but a girl can hope. Tyler’s losing his mind. Thinks he needs to take matters into his own hands. Please let us know the second you have something.

“Ugh.” Sky handed her phone to Sami. “Text from Frankie.”

Sami read it and handed the phone back over with gritted teeth. “One of the hardest things I’ve ever had to do as a P.I. Are you going to text her back?”

“Yeah. I just have to figure out what⁠—”

“Ma’am? Sir?” A timid, low voice interrupted her.

Sky and Sami turned to find a tall, lanky boy approaching them warily, dark eyes peeking out from under his shaggy hair.

“Can we help you?” Sami immediately straightened, snapping into P.I. mode in a split second.

“My name’s Jon. I was in gym class today when you guys came in and talked to Coach Jackson. We could all hear him yelling through the walls. But it looks like…I mean, did he get into trouble or not?”

What strange wording. Like he’s disappointed.

“Were you hoping he would be?” Sami asked. “In trouble with the police, I mean. Did you want that?”

Jon glanced around like he might turn tail and run, and Sky worried for an instant that Sami had been too straightforward

She stepped closer to the boy, not wanting the “by the book” people to overhear what she was about to say. “Coach Jackson is being investigated. We have reason to believe he’s involved in some…questionable activity. Illegal, possibly. If you know anything that might help us, we could really use that information right now. Or…he might not be in any trouble at all.”

Jon’s chin jutted out as his lips trembled. “He’s a bad man. He’s done…he does…those meetings in his office aren’t what he says they are. I don’t know about the other guys, but…” Tears streamed down the kid’s cheeks as he avoided eye contact.

“It’s okay, Jon.” Sky ventured another step. “You can tell us. You need to tell us. We can help.”

Jon’s shoulders began to shake. “He makes me do things. He does things to me. All the time. He tells me I’m his favorite.” Tears flooded his face. “You have to make him stop.”

Sky wrapped the boy in a hug as Sami raised his hand and frantically signaled to Callie and Lieutenant Clarkson to join them.

22

Foot traffic grew denser as the minutes ticked by the next morning. Within half an hour, the streets would be filled with people hurrying to their jobs.

Thankfully, the coffee shop hadn’t hit rush hour just yet. Sky popped in and went straight to the counter to place her order. Callie always said caffeine and carbs were the best brain food, and the team needed all the mental stimulation they could get today.

With Jon Terrance’s accusations against George Jackson the evening before, a legal reckoning was coming for the coach today. But while Sawyer Parker had been on West Side High’s varsity basketball team, proving the coach acted inappropriately with the young man—let alone proving he actually killed Sawyer—presented some heavy challenges.

Especially if he didn’t do it.

With uncertainty looming over their heads, any additional help Sky could provide was well worth it.

Plus, she might earn some good karma if she were the one to show up with treats for a change.

Within five minutes, Sky was heading back down the street and around the corner to Hayat Investigations, a bag of muffins in one hand and a tray of coffees in the other.

“Morning.” Her voice echoed around the empty reception area. The lobby lights were on, so Sami was likely working in the office. “Come and get it.”

A door creaked open, splashing light into the darkness at the end of the hallway. Delia drifted out of Sami’s office. Her sluggish pace and heavy-lidded eyes suggested she hadn’t gotten much sleep. “You’re here early.”

Sky held up the goodies. “And I brought treats.”

“Someone’s in a pretty decent mood considering how those interviews at the school went yesterday.”

“I see Sami updated you.” Sky had kept Javier apprised of the developments as well. Although he’d spent most of the night making her forget anything and everything happening outside of his bedroom.

Biting her lip, Sky reined in the smile that came to her face unbidden every time she thought about Javier.

“Yep. That coach sounds like a great candidate for the DC copycat.” The sleepy glaze in Delia’s eyes turned teasing as she closed the distance between them. “Good night at Javier’s, I take it?”

“The best.” Sky refused to gush, but how could she put what she felt into words? She and Javier had a connection unlike any she’d ever experienced before. “I’m just so glad you pushed me to get over myself and let Javier in.”

Delia took the tray of beverages from Sky and set it on the desk. “With talk like that, we might be celebrating your engagement soon.”

“Whoa, now.” Sky stepped back to give herself some space to breathe as a cold rush of anxiety sent her heart speeding. “That’s a little much, don’t you think?”

Delia lifted a sculpted eyebrow as she looked down at Sky. “Okay, calm down. I didn’t mean to scare you.”

“It’s fine. I’m not scared.” She shoved the bag of baked goods at Delia as a distraction from her obvious lie. “Muffin?”

Though she took the bag and fished out a blueberry muffin, Delia kept her concerned gaze on Sky.

“Scared” didn’t begin to describe how Sky felt. She’d mustered every ounce of courage she possessed to even consider pseudo-dating Javier. She didn’t fear commitment. The real terror that gave her heart palpitations was the possibility of soul-crushing agony through loss.

Everyone she let get close to her was ripped away before their time. Her parents weren’t even halfway through their twenty-five-year prison sentences. Her childhood best friend died in her arms more than a decade ago. Then there was Megan’s murder.

And that wasn’t even a comprehensive list of the people who’d been taken from her over the years. She couldn’t handle another loss like that. Throughout her life, she’d learned to keep people at arm’s length. Never letting someone touch her heart kept it safe.

Though she wouldn’t say as much out loud, Sky feared losing Callie, Sami, and Delia as well. They’d all managed to break through her defenses and get close enough for her to be crushed if something were to happen to them.

But Javier? She thought of how his dominance had turned to tenderness last night as he’d cradled her, taking care to not hurt her broken ribs in the throes of their lovemaking. He’d wormed his way into her heart in an entirely different way than her friends. One that made her terrified of the future…of the possibility of losing him.

She shuddered.

Best not to think of the future at all. That was the only way she could avoid the anxiety.

Why did Delia have to mention marriage? Javier and I agreed to baby steps.

Marriage was like step one hundred, and they were only just now getting to step ten.

“Forget I said anything. How about we change subjects?” Delia glanced down the hallway. “Sami! Get your butt out here. We’ve got a case to solve.”

“Thanks.” Sky gave her a tight smile. She knew Delia hadn’t meant to set her off, and the outsize emotional effect of one offhand remark was more than a little embarrassing.

“Is my gorgeous fiancée shouting? At this early hour?” Sami’s voice preceded him as he came down the hallway. “I haven’t even had time to do anything stupid yet.”

Sky broke back into a smile, happy to see her friend and even happier that the marriage talk could now revolve around the engaged pair before her. “Got you a latte. And an assortment of muffins.”

“You’re awesome.” Sami made a beeline for the coffee as if the vanilla aroma were a siren’s song. “Where’s Callie?”

Sky plucked her coffee from the tray and took a sip. “I haven’t seen her yet. I came from Javier’s.”

“That explains the treats.” Sami gave Sky a sly wink before planting a kiss on Delia’s cheek. “I think you guys need to have more sleepovers. Especially when we’re on these tough cases. Anything that inspires free food for me and my girl is a good plan.”

Sky’s face warmed. Time spent with Javier did seem to put her in more of a giving mood.

“So I’m hoping we hear from Lieutenant Clarkson early today about how the police plan to handle George Jackson.” Sami reached into the bag and pulled out an orange cranberry muffin.

Callie burst through the front door. Though her hair was tamed into its usual sleek style, the dark circles under her eyes suggested she’d gotten little sleep the night before.

“Hey.” Sky moved to her, instinctively giving the woman a hug. “Are you okay? You look…not okay.”

Blowing out a long sigh of exhaustion, Callie sank onto the reception area sofa. “I’m not sure. All I know is I have good news, and I have bad news. Which would you like first?” She studied her three colleagues with somber hazel eyes.

“Good,” Sami replied immediately. “Always the good.”

Callie nodded, as if that were the only right answer. “Clarkson called me this morning. It seems Jon Terrance wasn’t the only basketball player on the team having those ‘special meetings’ with Coach Jackson. Clarkson spent the evening speaking with Jon’s teammates and their parents. Several of them broke down with allegations against their coach. One of them even secretly recorded a…session. He explicitly told Jackson no multiple times before being forced to…”

As her sentence trailed off, Sky’s gut wrenched in a knot.

Sami growled, tossing his muffin onto the coffee table. “That sick son of a bitch. We knew it, didn’t we? We could see it.”

“How is this the good news?” Sky put a hand to her stomach.

Callie held up her hand. “Because George Jackson is being charged with multiple counts of statutory rape. He’ll never set foot in West Side or any other high school ever again, and the abuse of his victims…all of them…is over.”

“He’s done for.” Delia stepped close to Sami, wrapping an arm around his back. “You guys made that happen.”

Sky said the name Callie hadn’t yet mentioned. “And Sawyer Parker?”

The retired FBI agent’s shoulders dropped. “The cops will dig as deep as possible to find out if Sawyer was one of the sexual assault victims, but for the afternoon and evening that Sawyer went missing, Jackson has a rock-solid alibi. He was hanging out with his brother-in-law and two nephews, showing off his new car. They live two hours away, and he made it to their place in time for dinner. He couldn’t have taken Sawyer.”

“What about the previous Doll Collector killings?” Sami crossed his arms, unwilling to concede defeat just yet. “Jackson commented on Patrick Zimmerman in that article. Jackson was the coach when Zimmerman worked at West Side High. Maybe he framed Patrick? Or maybe they were in it together?”

Callie shook her head, letting out a frustrated groan. “George Jackson met Patrick Zimmerman when he started at West Side, sure. But the coach went on sabbatical shortly after that. He was out of commission for an entire year due to heart surgery, and a lot of the Doll Collector’s victims went missing during that time. It couldn’t have been him. He has the hospital records to prove it.”

“Okay.” Sky sat next to Callie on the couch and bumped her shoulder. She knew exactly where Callie’s mind had gone after learning this information, and she refused to let her friend wallow there. “So we haven’t caught the copycat, but we’re putting away a child rapist. That’s a victory. And we still have no solid reason to doubt that Patrick Zimmerman isn’t the original Doll Collector.” She patted Callie’s knee. “Don’t start beating yourself up again.”

Callie offered her a weak smile edged with guilt and exhaustion. Sky drew back, gnawing her lip. Her friend always looked vibrant and younger than she was, but at that moment, Callie suddenly looked every bit of her sixty-plus years.

23

The nagging sense of self-doubt plaguing Callie since she’d learned the details of Sawyer Parker’s murder was ruining her capacity to sleep. She’d tossed and turned each night all week.

Every time she closed her eyes, Patrick Zimmerman’s face swam into her mind.

Six years. He’d been in prison for a crime that he might not have committed for six entire years.

After she’d finally managed to drift off to sleep the night before, it had felt like only a moment passed before the sun’s light flooded her room.

Shortly after waking, she’d received the call from Clarkson letting her know, among other things, that Coach George Jackson couldn’t have committed the original Doll Collector killings because of his hospital records.

But at least we’re putting that sick bastard away.

She looked at Sky, Delia, and Sami huddled around the reception desk with their coffees and youthful determination. They hadn’t been obsessed with catching the Doll Collector six years ago. For them, this case was fresh, as were many aspects of life.

Callie clearly saw the age gap between them, large as ever, but she also understood why their group’s dynamic worked so well. Their energy and youthful knowledge, combined with her years of wisdom and hard-earned experience, produced a well-oiled machine capable of covering most bases simultaneously.

This was what she lived for. Tired or not, she had a case to work on. Lives were at stake.

“We focused on the schools back then.” Callie spoke as an idea formed in her brain. “We only narrowed in on West Side High and Patrick Zimmerman because of the anonymous tip.” She moved closer to the group. “And while the staff’s poor opinions of Zimmerman painted an unflattering picture of the man, Timothy Santos’s eyewitness testimony made it possible to charge Zimmerman with the murders.”

“His testimony and the evidence you found in Zimmerman’s trunk.” Sky frowned. “And his locker. And the garage behind his house.”

Callie nodded, cradling her hands around her coffee cup. “Yes. But evidence can be planted. And eyewitnesses can lie. Especially if they’re the ones planting the evidence and making the anonymous phone calls.”

“You think Timothy Santos was trying to throw people off the scent?” Sky cocked her head.

Callie lifted her shoulder. After meeting Santos, she could understand why the man hadn’t raised any eyebrows for the group. He was odd, but not in a creepy way. More socially awkward than threatening.

Sami gulped the last of his latte and tossed the cup in the recycling bin. “I’m pretty sure you would have turned that rock over six years ago if you thought it had merit. I can’t really wrap my mind around Timothy being a murderer. That man does not give off serial killer vibes.”

“He saved Micah, right? Why would he save one kid and kill another?” Delia tilted her head, emerald eyes boring into Callie. “If you’re a killer, you don’t really stop to be the hero, do you?”

“Listen.” The trio focused on Callie, waiting for her to explain her point. “We have to entertain all ideas at this stage. Lean into what we have. Even if what we have is a seemingly mild-mannered custodian doing a good deed.”

“Multiple good deeds. If he was the anonymous caller who tipped off the Feds,” Sky’s scrunched nose told Callie she wasn’t anywhere near convinced, “that puts him two for two in the good guy category. He saved a kid and helped the Feds catch a criminal.”

“Did he?” Callie’s eyebrows arched as she took a sip from her coffee. “Just playing devil’s advocate here. We were getting close to the Doll Collector when we got that tip. I could feel the heat, and that means maybe the killer could too. But the best way to throw someone off your trail is to blame someone else.”

“So Timothy Santos decided to frame someone nobody liked.” Sami brushed bits of muffin from the placket of his shirt. “And meanwhile, he was there the whole time. That’s what you’re suggesting.”

Callie could hear the doubt seeping from Sami’s voice, even as hers took on a defensive tone. “We did look into Santos. Obviously. We had to. Start date, position, address, and phone number. Standard stuff, all with standard results. Nothing that seemed unusual. He’d worked as a school custodian for fourteen years, and that was pretty much the main event of his life.”

“Uninteresting. Polite. No obvious personal vendettas or criminal history.” Sky nodded slowly. “Timothy was just background noise compared to Patrick, his reputation, and the evidence you found.”

“Obviously the judge and jury agreed with you.” Delia dropped onto the sofa. “And the murders stopped after he went to jail. You had no reason to doubt yourself.”

“Right. And that’s exactly how the real killer may have slid under the radar. How I screwed up.” Callie had always prided herself on leaving no stone left unturned. But what if she’d been wrong six years ago? Would she be able to right that wrong?

“But you said it yourself. Zimmerman fit the profile, and there were witnesses. Anyone would have followed your reasoning.” Sky came around and hugged Callie from behind. “And a judge and jury agreed.”

Callie stiffened. She meant well, but Sky didn’t understand the burden weighing on her. She’d put a person away for life. Taken away his freedom. Given him the title of murderer.

Even if he was released, that was enough to ruin him. Patrick Zimmerman might have been messed up before he was locked away, but having to bear that scarlet letter for six years could just twist him from a run-of-the-mill pervert into the bloodthirsty monster he was accused of being in the first place.

And the blame for that would rest on Callie’s shoulders.

Sami held up a hand as if to stop her train of thought. “Still. Six years is a long time to hold off from killing. Especially after the spree the Doll Collector went on prior to you making the arrest. And even if we ignore that fact and still point the finger at Timothy, why would a killer who worked at a school filled with kids hold off for that long before starting up again?”

Sky popped the last bit of muffin into her mouth and washed it down with a healthy gulp of coffee. She looked back and forth between Callie and Sami. “Something could have triggered him.”

“We need to talk to Timothy again.” Callie stood and backed away toward the door. “But I have to do something else first.”

“What?” Sky reached out and grabbed her arm, brow furrowed with concern.

Callie gently slid her arm out of Sky’s grasp. “I need to speak with Patrick Zimmerman.”

24

Callie slid into a cold metal chair on one side of a small steel table. She glanced back at the large mirror hanging on the wall behind her. Though she couldn’t see her, she knew Sky was observing this interview with her ever-watchful eyes. Her unseen presence was comforting.

Lieutenant Clarkson took the seat next to her. On the other side of the steel table, a chair that was bolted to the floor awaited the arrival of Patrick Zimmerman.

Within minutes, two guards entered and ushered a scrawny bald man into the room, sitting him down in the chair and linking his handcuffs to the underside of the table. Zimmerman grinned at each of his visitors in turn, showing two missing teeth.

“Sure haven’t missed you, Agent Baros.” His dark eyes locked on Callie. “Although I guess it’s former Agent Baros, right? Retired old lady Baros, from what I’ve heard.” He shifted his gaze to Clarkson for a brief second before focusing back on her. “Still clinging to the NYPD’s balls, though, I see. It’s hard to settle down and do nothing but wait to die, isn’t it?”

Callie pasted a bland smile on her face as she calmly met Zimmerman’s gaze. She wasn’t surprised he’d go straight for her jugular the instant he saw her. “Nice to see you again, Patrick.” She kept her voice level. “Thank you for taking the time to speak with us today.”

“Like I had a choice.” Zimmerman growled his reply, slouching against the back of his metal chair. “Despite being an innocent man, I was forced to come to this hellhole. Don’t have a choice about staying here. Wasn’t given any option other than meeting with you today. So what do you want? You here to tell me I’ve killed more people I didn’t kill?”

His anger rolled off him in waves Callie was determined not to get swept up in. She took a deep breath. “I delivered a man…you…to a judge and jury, based on strong evidence and eyewitness testimony. It wasn’t for me to decide if you were guilty or not.”

“Fuck off.” Zimmerman’s bald head gleamed in the overhead fluorescents. “You did this to me, you bitch.”

“Watch your mouth,” Lieutenant Clarkson barked across the table.

Callie held her hand up. Clarkson had agreed to let her take the lead on this interview, and if he thought that a little cursing was going to rattle her, he didn’t know her at all.

Zimmerman glowered at Clarkson for a moment before returning his attention to Callie. “Why are you here?”

Pulling a file folder from her bag, Callie fished out a photo and slid it across the table. “This is Sawyer Parker. He was suffocated and left like this on a park bench. Sailor suit. Makeup. Very reminiscent of the Doll Collector. A copycat, possibly.”

“I’ve seen the news.” Zimmerman snorted, barely glancing at the photo before shrugging as much as his cuffs allowed. “You dumb shits are finally paying for putting the wrong man away. Looks like your real killer finally got bored and decided it was time to play again.”

Callie fought the urge to squirm in her chair. She refused to give Zimmerman the satisfaction of knowing that she was starting to agree with him.

She tilted her head. “By definition, a copycat…a good one…would have that effect. So what’s your opinion, Patrick? Is this killer pulling it off? Do you feel as though your work is being honored or disgraced?”

Zimmerman gritted his teeth. “I never killed anybody. Six years in prison isn’t going to change that. And I’ll die here before you ever get me to say I did something I didn’t do.”

Callie pressed her palms against the edge of the table, letting the chill of the steel bite into her skin. Since day one of his arrest, Patrick Zimmerman had never sung a different tune other than his innocence. She’d dealt with many killers in her time with the agency, but most of them eventually relented and confessed, especially once they were behind bars for life.

Now she walked a doubled-edged sword. If she proved his innocence, she had to accept she’d been wrong six years ago. And if she didn’t, she had another monster on the loose to catch.

“I don’t want you to admit to crimes you didn’t commit.” Callie stuck the picture back into the folder. “You’re maintaining that Timothy Santos’s eyewitness testimony was false?”

“Yes.” Zimmerman narrowed his eyes, aggressively leaning forward. “That little shit lied from day one. He never saw some kid get into my car, because I’m not that fucking stupid and it never happened.”

Callie narrowed her eyes at him. Zimmerman hadn’t exactly said that he would never try to be alone with a high school boy. Just that he wasn’t dumb enough to take on the endeavor in the broad light of day.

She dropped the folder into her bag. “Why would Timothy make up such a lie? You two didn’t get along. We know that. He accused you of being a bully. But those are reasons for talking to your boss, which he did. Not reasons for getting someone convicted of murder. It doesn’t make sense.”

“It does if you’re the nutjob who did the killing to begin with.” Zimmerman tugged at his cuffs to no avail. “I’ve done a lot of thinking about this. Nothing else to do in here, right? I always thought Santos lied because he hated me and wanted me gone. Maybe I picked on the bastard a little. But the longer I’m here, the harder I think. And the harder I think, the more I’m sure Timothy was the one who killed those kids to begin with.”

That was exactly the theory the gang had been working on.

Callie’s stomach did a little flip. She could feel Sky’s gaze boring into the back of her neck from behind the mirror.

Lieutenant Clarkson turned to Callie. “This isn’t new material. Zimmerman accused Timothy of covering his own ass, being the murderer himself, during the trial.”

Zimmerman leaned forward, nostrils flared. “Yeah. I did. But I didn’t think he was actually capable of it. Not then. Little mouse of a man.”

“So what changed?” Despite her best efforts, her voice hitched at the end of the sentence.

“Just little things that clicked over time. Memories.” Zimmerman’s expression sank with defeat. “Stuff I should have remembered back then. Might have saved me these last six years of hell.”

“Such as?”

“The freak was crying into his locker one morning. I gave him crap about being a big sniveling baby at work until he said his mother died, and she was going to be cremated because no one in the family could afford a proper funeral.” Zimmerman rolled his eyes. “Even assholes like me have mothers, so I laid off, only to find out after I was behind bars that his mother died when he was a little kid.”

Callie didn’t let her disappointment show. “Grief remains long after the person is gone.”

“He told me she was getting cremated in a couple of days.” Zimmerman raised his voice to nearly a shout. “When it had obviously happened years before. It was like he was still a little kid when he talked about her. Lips trembling. He said he didn’t know what to dress her in just to be cremated. Lace or pearls. Kept asking me how a lady should look when she goes into the oven. It was creepy then but disturbing as hell after I found out how long ago it had all taken place.”

“Hardly solid evidence there, Zimmerman.” Lieutenant Clarkson’s gruff tone suggested he was tiring of the conversation.

Callie was too. Maybe this trip had been for nothing.

“A few weeks before I was arrested, Santos started calling me ‘the naughty boy.’” Zimmerman hurried on, as if he could feel his window of opportunity closing. “I got tired of that real quick and told him I’d kick his ass if he didn’t stop. He did, but not before telling me that his mother never would have stood for my behavior. She would have turned me into a gentleman because naughty boys get punished, and that’s how they become perfect.”

A chill ran down Callie’s spine. She shifted to the edge of her chair. “You didn’t think to mention this then?”

Zimmerman lifted his shoulders again. “Thought the guy was loony. Told him to get his head checked. Next thing I know, the little twerp is accusing me of taking some kid in my car. All this evidence just appears, and I’m screwed. Didn’t start putting the weird-as-shit pieces together until later. Santos is fucking insane.”

Sawyer was bullying Micah right before he was taken.

“These boys are being suffocated…possibly for bad behavior…and then turned into perfect little dolls.” Callie spoke slowly, turning it all over in her head. “Bad boys into gentlemen.” She twisted to look at Clarkson. “If our eyewitness in the Doll Collector case is a grown man obsessed with his dead mother and turning naughty boys into perfect angels…we might have something worth looking into.”

“While you’re doing that,” Zimmerman shook his head in disgust, “maybe look for a time machine too. Gimme back the last six years of my fucking life.”

Lieutenant Clarkson pushed open the prison’s front door, and the three of them tumbled out into the sunshine. “You can’t put too much stock in what a caged rat says six years after the fact. He’s desperate. Wants out. Zimmerman will tell you anything he thinks might get him back to the free world.”

“No lectures needed.” Callie shook her head. “I know Zimmerman’s type. But talking to Santos again won’t hurt anything. I’ll ask him about his mother. Poke around there and see if Zimmerman was exaggerating.”

Sky held up her phone. “I’m looking up the details of her death right now.”

Callie patted Sky on the back. “That’s my girl.”

“I’m not trying to lecture you.” Clarkson’s tone softened a fraction. “I’m only saying that…” He cursed under his breath and grabbed his phone from his coat pocket. “Hold on. Have to take this.”

While the lieutenant stepped away, Sky nudged Callie. “You were great in there. I know that couldn’t have been easy for you.”

Callie allowed herself to lean into her young friend for a moment. While she wasn’t entirely convinced Zimmerman was innocent, the cloud of doubt inside her had grown so thick that it nearly choked her. But before she could say anything, Sky’s phone buzzed.

Pulling it out of her pocket, Sky groaned. “Another text from Frankie. Asking about Kelsey.” Her fingers flew furiously over the screen of her phone. “I’m texting Dante. Even if he doesn’t have any developments in the Silva case, they need to announce Kelsey’s death to the public.”

“Agreed.” Callie looked up as Clarkson walked back to them.

Something close to a smile spread across his face. “Forensics found DNA on Sawyer Parker’s body that does not belong to Sawyer Parker. No match coming up in CODIS either.”

“Well, it’s certainly not Patrick Zimmerman.” Callie waved her hand at the building looming over them. “He’s in the system, and he’s in a prison cell.”

“Right.” Clarkson nodded. “Might be worth talking to Santos. Maybe even try to grab a DNA sample from him.”

Callie bit back a snort and flashed Sky a victorious smile. “What a great idea. So glad you came up with it.”

25

“Naughty boys deserve to be punished. They must be made to behave.” Mother’s voice kept whispering the phrase in the back of my mind, over and over.

She was right, as always.

Ryder Thompson strutted past me, laughing and carrying on with his friend as if he didn’t have a shred of remorse for the part he’d played in dumping that boy in the dumpster behind the school. Even more detestable, the teen showed no hint of mourning for the empty space in his posse where Sawyer would have been.

He didn’t seem to have a care in the world.

Ryder sent a crumpled piece of paper flying through the air. It sailed past the outstretched hands of his pal Desmond Plowe before falling to the floor.

The two boys continued down the hallway, leaving the discarded paper ball where it had landed.

Littering too. Do these boys care about nothing?

The bell sounded, alerting the children to get to class. In a matter of moments, the hallway emptied, but the litter remained.

Not a single soul stopped to pick up the trash.

This entire generation needed serious discipline. One giant group lesson.

Though it would make Mother proud, I couldn’t take on that lofty a task.

As I walked to the crumpled paper, Ryder’s and Desmond’s smirking faces flashed through my mind. A wave of anger roared through me. I crushed the ball into an even smaller ball.

Those two. They were already rotten to the core.

Only one way to fix them. Right, Mother?

She wouldn’t have put up with their behavior.

Two more. Then I have to stop.

But could I stop there?

I passed by the front office, peering into the window. Never did like going in there, but the ladies at the reception desk filled their trash cans faster than anyone else in the school.

Two visitors were standing at the front desk, their backs to me. One was a redhead, or close to it. The other had silver hair secured in a clip. Recognition cut through me like an ice pick.

Oh, dagnabbit, no. It’s Agent Baros and that…girl…she had with her. They’re back.

Mumbles of conversation barely penetrated through the thick door, but I caught Sawyer’s name peppered in. My heart stuttered, shifting into a frantic drumbeat against my chest.

I moved quickly, spurred on by my racing pulse. Before I even made the conscious decision, I was already halfway down the hall.

Oh, Mother. She knows. She’s here for me, isn’t she?

Tearing down the hallway, I headed to the maintenance office.

Mother, help me. There’s no Mr. Zimmerman this time, and they’ve already taken Coach Jackson away. But someone has to take the blame. How do I fix this?

Barging into the room, I locked the door behind me. A flimsy barrier, but knowing no one could just walk in allowed me the space to breathe.

I turned to the desk. Thankfully, the supervisor wasn’t there. I checked the clock on the wall. Only sixth period. Still too early to leave.

Maybe I could hide out in here.

I needed time to think.

Why, why, why had they returned?

Maybe they’d gotten another tip. If they had, it wouldn’t point to me. No one at school could have seen me take Sawyer. I pulled him from his own neighborhood, a place I’d never visited before or after, where I wouldn’t be recognized.

I did everything right. The Feds couldn’t have evidence on me. That left only one other reason for them to be at the school.

They’d put together that, between the Doll Collector killings and Sawyer Parker’s murder, there was one common denominator.

Me.

Now they were turning over any rock they could find, searching for clues in my life.

I took in my surroundings. Just in case they decided to interview me, I had to be prepared. Could I manufacture some evidence for them to find?

My locker sat along the back wall, part of a six-compartment metal unit shared by the maintenance staff. Most of the guys used it to hang their coats and store their lunch boxes. Few, if any, ever locked anything up. A detail that had come in handy when I needed to frame Patrick Zimmerman.

Next to the lockers were crates of old clothes, bags, and other miscellaneous items from the lost and found that hadn’t been claimed. They were scheduled to be donated to a local shelter at the end of the month.

A plan formed as I shifted my gaze from the lockers to the crates. Would stashing an assortment of children’s belongings in the night shift lockers be enough to convince that federal agent?

Would it be too obvious? A repeat of the last time?

She’d certainly question the coincidence, and under scrutiny, I wasn’t sure how I’d hold up. A guilty conscience could ruin me.

Voices echoed in the hall just outside the locked door. My heart beat so fast that dizziness gripped me.

What if she asks questions I’m not prepared for? What if I trip up and say something wrong?

My palms were sweating. Guilt was getting the better of me, and I wasn’t even being questioned yet. I wiped my hands on the outside of my coveralls in a vain effort to dry them.

She’ll see through me in a second. No. I can’t talk to her unless it’s on my terms.

Run.

The word floated through my mind like a disembodied voice that was neither mine nor Mother’s.

Yes. That’s it. I’ll say I’m sick. That will give me plenty of time to make a plan.

I walked over to my locker and gathered my things.

People got sick all the time. They’d understand. And when was the last time I’d taken a sick day? Never.

My racing heart slowed as I finished packing my bag. I turned to the desk at the other end of the room. Leaving was my only option, but I had no time to wait for my supervisor to return.

I grabbed my time card from the wall next to the desk and stuck a note to it, saying I had a stomach bug. Believable enough, especially after the toilets I’d been assigned to clean in the boys’ locker room earlier today.

Leaving the note on my supervisor’s keyboard where he’d find it, I returned to the door. The voices in the hallway had disappeared. I clicked the lock and peeked my head out.

Empty. But for how long?

Not waiting around to find out, I took off as fast as my feet could carry me.

“Where are you heading in such a hurry?” My supervisor’s voice boomed down the empty hall. “I need to talk to you.”

“Can’t. Sick. I’m gonna puke again.” I rushed for the exit, clutching my hand to my mouth for effect. “Left a note on your desk.”

If he answered, I couldn’t tell. All I could hear was the blood rushing in my ears as I barreled through the heavy doors. I couldn’t stop my forward momentum. My plan was to get home, where I’d be safe. No matter what.

But as I neared my car, I spotted a familiar delinquent rolling a joint underneath a nearby elm tree. Ryder Thompson.

The little jerk couldn’t even be bothered to go to class. And after he was done smoking his wacky weed, he’d be sure to throw the butt of his joint on the ground. Littering again.

No more. It’s time for Ryder to learn his lesson. Right, Mother?

I peeked through the blinds of my front windows, searching the street for any signs of Agent Baros and her associates.

Nothing. No one’s come banging down my door. They might not have even been at the school to talk to me. Everything’s fine.

In a few minutes, assuming everything stayed quiet, I’d retrieve Ryder from my trunk. A quick walk from my private garage across the fenced-in patch of dead winter grass that served as my backyard wouldn’t be hard to pull off.

Just like at the school, Ryder would do what I told him because I had a gun.

Mother had kept it in an old lockbox just above the washer. A beautiful Smith & Wesson LadySmith. I’d long ago started carrying it in my car’s glove compartment. I preferred not to use it, even when collecting my dolls, but the situation with Ryder had left me no time to plan another way.

Luckily for me, Ryder’s attempts to hide from school authorities had left him in a remote area of the property with no security camera coverage.

Once he’d seen the gun, he’d complied immediately. All bullies were cowards underneath their false bravado. Seeing the horror in his wide eyes had warmed my heart, and slapping a strip of duct tape across his mouth after he obediently climbed into my trunk had been the cherry on top.

Finally, the naughty boy understood that he couldn’t get away with his unacceptable behavior forever.

I took one last glance at the street—still nothing—and shut the blinds tight, pulling thick curtains across the windows for extra security.

Perhaps I’d overreacted at the school. My guilty conscious had thrown me into high gear when the truth of the matter was that Agent Baros could have returned for any number of reasons.

The blessing in disguise was that if I hadn’t left then, I’d have completely missed the opportunity to take Ryder.

“Unacceptable,” I murmured to the empty sitting room. “That naughty boy can’t go another day without proper punishment.”

I smiled and headed for the back door. It was time to play with my new doll.

26

“Sick my ass.” Callie dropped her purse onto the couch in Sami’s office. “That man ran away. He must have caught wind that we were there before we could get to him. Little coward.”

Sami rested his head on Delia’s shoulder, holding her close on his lap. “It definitely didn’t help him as far as suspicions go. Innocent people don’t run.”

Delia snuggled into her fiancée. “Unless he really got sick. That happens.”

Sky shook her head vehemently. “No. It’s entirely too coincidental.”

Callie hated that word. If she’d homed in on how coincidental the poor, bullied custodian’s eyewitness testimony was six years ago, Sawyer Parker might still be alive today. She clenched her fists by her sides, leaning against Sami’s desk.

According to Sky’s research, Mrs. Santos died by accidental fall when Timothy was just eighteen. Traumatic events figured almost universally in the backgrounds of serial killers, along with abuse of some sort. The combination took the cracks in an unwell human mind and turned them into chasms.

“We need a DNA sample.” Callie slapped her palm against the side of the desk, attempting to forge a plan. “Santos isn’t in the system, so he won’t be matched to anything. We can go to the school first thing in the morning and try to catch him on his way in.”

“Why wait until tomorrow? He left the school, but he isn’t dead.” Sky folded her arms and looked between the other three. “He’s more than likely just at home.”

“Are you suggesting we go to his house?”

Dammit. For a moment, Callie forgot she wasn’t still a federal agent with lots of rules to follow. Still, she’d followed the rules for so long that stepping a toe over the line was foreign.

As she let the idea roll around in her mind, she decided the plan wasn’t the worst, and she wasn’t breaking a law, after all. They could all go. Safety in numbers.

“Hear me out. We don’t want to scare the guy off again. We just want to poke around about his mother and get a read on him. Maybe gather something like a cup or a brush that would have his DNA on it.” Sky drummed her fingers against her bicep. “We were all at the school already, so we can’t just go banging on his door.” She turned and gave Delia a hopeful smile.

“What?” Delia raised her eyebrows. “What’re you thinking?”

“I’m thinking he won’t recognize you.”

“Okay…”

“Charm your way into his head…and maybe into his kitchen or bathroom.” Sky twirled the end of her auburn ponytail around her finger. “Pretend you’re a door-to-door salesperson.”

“No way.” Sami’s arm tightened protectively around Delia’s waist. “We’re not sending her in there alone just because she’s the only one Santos won’t recognize. What if she somehow gets a mention of his mother in there, and he completely loses his shit? Absolutely not.”

“She doesn’t have to go alone.” Sky yanked her phone out of her pocket. “Javier will be off work soon. Timothy doesn’t know Javier from a hole in the ground. Salespeople. A duo.”

Callie launched away from the desk and came to stand next to Sky. “That could work, actually. Javier will already be dressed like a salesperson. If Timothy even opens the door, of course.”

There were days she really missed her badge and a battering ram.

Delia rolled her neck from side to side until it popped. “I guess that all sounds okay, but we’re missing one giant piece of the puzzle. A product. What exactly are Javier and I selling?”

Callie snapped her fingers as she latched onto the first thing that popped into her brain. “The Turbo Blast 360 Vacuum Pack. ‘Gets the dirt and dust you can’t see.’”

Everyone stared at her.

“What the heck is that?” Sky’s eyebrow rose so high, it nearly met her hairline.

“Only the latest and greatest from the Home Shopping Network. Capable of solving your invisible household floor problems.” Callie crossed her arms and settled back against the couch cushions. “I may have purchased one, and it may have arrived a few days ago and still be in the box. Brand new.”

The gang burst into laughter. After a moment, Callie joined in. The impulse buy was probably the most stereotypical age-appropriate thing she’d admitted to in years.

“That’s good. I’ve seen the commercials.” Sky nodded, typing rapidly into her phone. “Javier’s gonna love this.”

Sami held up his hand. “Maybe this works, and maybe it doesn’t. Either way, we need to get the pin cameras and earpieces on our salespeople and ensure we get a recording of what’s going on.”

“Absolutely. If there’s any shred of evidence we can pull from this, I want it. Something I can show Clarkson.” As soon as she said his name, Callie pictured the lieutenant’s face when they showed up at the precinct with information they’d gotten from this little scheme. He’d probably be caught somewhere between applause and an hour-long lecture.

“If he freaks out on Delia and Javier, we’ll just come up behind you guys, and he’ll have to talk to us then.” Sky glanced down at her screen, then held up the phone. “Javier’s in. He’ll be here first thing after work.”

Sami gently removed Delia from his lap, went to his desk, and began tapping at his keyboard. “I’ll pull up Timothy’s basic info and get his home address so we can familiarize ourselves with the lay of the land.”

Callie snagged her purse from the couch, her veins coursing with adrenaline. She wouldn’t have to spend another sleepless night wondering if she’d made the biggest mistake of her career. “I’ll run home and grab the goods.”

But as she stepped into the fresh air outside of Hayat Investigations, a wave of stark reality settled into her bones. The stakes were still high. Pretending to sell a vacuum cleaner was one thing.

Pretending to sell it to an unconfirmed serial killer was quite another.

27

Sami stared at the bus in the next lane as Javier drove them through bumper-to-bumper New York traffic. Its side was covered with an advertisement for the Turbo Blast 360 Vacuum Pack. In typical flashy commercial lettering, the product promised to be a breakthrough in a problem that few people even know they have.

“‘Invisible household floor problems,’” he read aloud to the packed vehicle. “So if I’m following correctly, you don’t worry about the germs you can’t see on your ‘clean’ floors because you can’t see them. But not being able to see them is why you should be worried. Why didn’t I come up with that?”

Delia leaned forward from the back seat and patted his shoulder. “You were destined for greater things, babe.”

“Greater than a machine that gets the dirt and dust you can’t see?” Sky chimed in, tsking. “Sorry, but I’m not sure that’s possible.”

Sami laughed along with the rest of them. Even Callie could admit she’d been had by some incredible marketing.

“I’m just grateful we had a product on hand to sell.” Javier took a sharp right turn onto another busy street. “Although it’d be great if the box didn’t weigh eight thousand pounds.”

Callie gave Javier a commiserating pat on the shoulder. “Now you know why I hadn’t even opened it yet. I shoved that behemoth straight into the coat closet.”

“You were in the army. You’ll be fine.” Sami pointed down the road. “We’re not that far away now. We need to put our game faces on.”

The last time Sami had tried a tactic like this, Sky ended up in a sex torture warehouse. And that was just a week ago. The memories were fresh. He refused to let something like that happen again.

Not exactly a situation he wanted to repeat, especially since Delia was on the front line this time.

“Remember.” He turned to face his fiancée and offered what he hoped was a confident smile. “If things go south, we’ll already be nearby doing our own recon, and we’ll all run as fast as our legs can carry us. Although from what we know about Timothy Santos, we probably won’t have to worry about running. The guy isn’t exactly a spring chicken. And he’s shorter than all of us.”

“But he’s not exactly out of shape. Polishing floors has built some muscle.” Callie flexed her biceps, and the result was pretty impressive.

“Let’s hope he’s lacking aerobic stamina. I don’t understand why you guys can’t just stay in the SUV. Listen through the earpieces. Watch the camera. Wait.” Delia’s voice was like a soft whisper over the din of the cab.

“No way.” Sami wasn’t budging on that detail. “We’re going to scope out the place while watching and listening. Multitask. We need to be close by in case you guys need help. Or there’s just a good moment for us to step in.”

Delia huffed, but Sky nodded in agreement. “We stay together. We need to be a hop, skip, and a jump away from rushing that front door.”

“I wish you’d stay back too.” Javier glanced back at Sky. “You’ll still be nearby. No reason for all five of us to be in the line of fire.”

“Wow.” Sky leaned forward and put her chin on Javier’s shoulder. “If you thought that was gonna convince us to hang back, you were wildly mistaken. ‘Line of fire?’ You need us in the front bushes in that case.”

Callie snorted her agreement. “I’m still having a hard time believing Santos is the owner of the whole building.”

Sami felt the same. A public records check on Timothy had revealed that he owned an entire town house outright. That fact was amazing, considering buildings in Manhattan, even dilapidated ones, easily sold for millions. And the man had been a custodian all his life. It boggled Sami’s mind.

Slightly deeper research had shown Timothy’s grandparents got in early and simply never sold. They passed it down through the family. Santos was listed as the sole owner.

“If he owns a piece of Manhattan real estate, he’s plenty wealthy. Probably works just to cover the property taxes and maintenance.”

“Family property. A true-blue inheritance.” Callie’s lip curled. If Sami didn’t know better, he might have thought she was jealous. She was a New Yorker for life. Someone who had a damn good career too. But even retired, she didn’t own her apartment. Most didn’t in this city.

If anyone deserved a big old townhome, Callie did.

“We can speculate on that later.” Sky clapped her hands together. “GPS says we’re here. It’s just down that way about half a block. Redbrick walk-up.”

Javier circled the block a couple of times before lucking into a spot on Santos’s street in front of a small park. After he’d parallel parked, he twisted in his seat. “Okay. Time to go sell a vacuum. Definitely not how I thought I’d be spending my evening.”

A wry smile twisted Sami’s mouth as he glanced around the cab at his friends. “You just never know what’s coming your way when you’re a part of this ragtag gang.”

“Ragtag?” Delia swung the back door open, stepping out onto the sidewalk in a stunning black silk blazer and matching pants. She checked the soles of her red heels before shooting Sami a playful glare. “How dare you?”

He followed her out of the vehicle onto the sidewalk, wishing he could wrap her in Teflon-coated bubble wrap.

Callie stuck her head out. “Remember, you’re just feeling him out. Get him to answer the door. Sell, sell, sell. Grab some DNA if possible. And work his mother into the conversation as soon as you can find a way. We need to see how he reacts. I’ll be monitoring the feed from the pin camera on my phone.”

“I’ve got the audio.” Sami’s stomach was a roiling mess as Javier hauled the Turbo Blast 360 box from the hatch. What had seemed like a silly game on the drive was quickly becoming serious.

Sky leaned across the back seat, and her gaze met Javier’s, the intensity between them almost as electric as a kiss. “We’ll be coming from the alley and waiting right outside.”

Have there been developments on that front? Sami blinked at the idea. Javier would’ve told him if there had.

Right?

“I’ll have audio set to one-way once you’re in so we don’t distract you.” Clearing his throat, Sami made one final check of the equipment on both Javier and his fiancée, his fingers lingering on the delicate skin just below Delia’s ear. “We can hear you, and if we need you to hear us, I’ll switch to two-way.”

“Awesome.” Delia cupped Sami’s fingers and squeezed lightly. “Maybe we should have a code word. In case there’s any trouble.”

“That’s a good idea.” He kissed the palm of Delia’s hand and pulled away to look at the rest of the group. “Who has a good one?”

Sky’s lips pursed as if she were about to suggest something but at the last second thought better of it. “How about ‘peanut butter?’”

Not what Sami had expected to come out of her mouth. Ridiculous as it was ordinary. But as he rolled the term around in his mind, he nodded. The phrase would be easy enough to insert into conversation without causing alarm.

Javier nodded. “Sure. Whatever. Let’s go with that.”

Delia grinned up at her sales partner. “Let’s get moving, colleague-person-sir.” The giggle that escaped her lips had a nervous tinge to it.

Sami pulled her into his arms, giving his future wife a passionate lip-lock, audience be damned. “You be careful, dammit.”

“You got it, boss.” She gave him a wide smile that did little to reassure him.

“We’ll be close enough to jump in should there be any problems,” Callie reminded them all yet again, making Sami wonder if she wasn’t more worried than she let on. “And as soon as we’ve heard enough, we’ll approach.”

“Got it.” Javier gave them a last wave, and the pair took off down the street.

Sami watched them go. He could swear Delia was walking a little quicker than usual.

She’s nervous.

Although they’d kept the mood light on the drive over, all five of them were apprehensive. But that wasn’t a negative.

Nervous people were careful, and caution would keep them alive.

28

Ryder Thompson squirmed on the concrete basement floor, his knees already aching from the position Big T had forced him to take. He wanted to scream, but the duct tape across his mouth ensured his silence.

This is Ma’s fault. If she hadn’t freaked out and taken my phone, I mighta at least called 911 before this psycho shoved me into his trunk.

Sure that no one would ever find him now, Ryder frantically scanned the dim room. He had to find a way out. All on his own.

“You’re not getting out of here.” Big T spoke for the first time since ordering Ryder to his knees. “Sawyer wanted to escape too. It didn’t work out for him. But I offered him something better.”

Ryder’s eyes welled with tears. Big T, the custodian, had taken Sawyer? Murdered him?

The news said his friend was found dead on a park bench…and dressed up like a sailor. Ryder hadn’t seen any pictures of the actual crime scene.

He hadn’t wanted to.

It was bad enough that his friend was dead. An image like that would mess Ryder up for the rest of his life.

If you even live past today, idiot.

Big T lowered himself to a squatting position, keeping his gun aimed at Ryder. “If you try to fight…to run…I’ll shoot you. Even if I didn’t have the gun, I could tackle you. That’s what I did to Sawyer. I’m very strong. You kids all think I’m just some dumb nobody who mops the halls at school, but I’m more than that.”

The feverish gleam in Big T’s dark eyes was enough to convince Ryder that the man wasn’t bluffing.

Big T was batshit crazy.

“I help naughty boys be better.” The psycho smiled, looking deep into Ryder’s eyes like he was genuinely trying to connect. “You’re a juvenile delinquent now, Ryder, but that doesn’t mean you have to stay that way.”

Screw you, nutjob.

“Look over here.” Big T spun Ryder around and clicked on an overhead bulb, illuminating a long shelf along the basement wall.

It was full of dolls. Glassy black eyes. Smiling faces. Freckles. And ridiculous costumes.

Ryder examined the lineup in horror. One, at the very end of the shelf, was dressed as a sailor.

“This is my collection.” Big T grinned, proudly waving a hand at the creepy sight. “I love them. And do you know why I love them, Ryder?”

The custodian paused, apparently waiting for an answer, so Ryder shook his head.

And I don’t want to know.

Big T caressed the cheek of a doll in the middle. A circus master with a shiny top hat.

“I love them because they’re perfect. They’re polite. They don’t break any rules. They always think of others first. They never get on Mother’s nerves.”

Mother?

Ryder hoped to God that Big T’s mom was somewhere in the house. And that she wasn’t as insane as her son.

“You see, Ryder, you are here because you’re not a very nice boy.” Big T waved his finger and tutted at him like he was a toddler. “I’m sure you’re already aware of this. You’re mean. A bully. Other kids are scared of you, and I bet your mother is ashamed of your behavior.”

Swallowing, Ryder envisioned his mother’s angry eyes and red cheeks. She was ashamed of him. Hence the punishment. And the yelling. And the cold shoulder for the past few days.

The janitor clicked the light back off and moved closer to Ryder. “She might not even love you anymore. It’s a terrible thought, but trust me, it could be true. I’m going to help you change that. I’m going to fix you. Make you a perfect little boy.”

Ryder leaned back as far as he could, horrified by Big T’s words and the intention they conveyed.

He “fixed” Sawyer. And now it’s my turn to die here.

Big T held up a hand. “Now, if you stay calm, I’ll remove the tape a little, and you can tell me what you think about that. I’m sure you’re excited. Just promise me no screaming.” He tapped the gun against his thigh. “I’ve never used this before, but I will if I have to.”

The violent rip of duct tape from his mouth sent Ryder’s eyes watering. Certain there wasn’t much left of his lips, he couldn’t speak or scream. He was focused on the burning.

“I’d really like to hear what you⁠—”

Ding-dong.

Big T jumped to his feet. “Oh, no. I’m not ready for visitors.” He looked down at Ryder, his eyes wild. “And you? What do I do with you?”

Locking eyes with his captor, Ryder opened his mouth wide to do the only thing he could think of. Scream for help.

Before a single sound escaped Ryder’s lips, Big T swung the butt of the gun at his cheek, sending Ryder straight into a dreamless sleep.

29

Javier and Delia crossed at the light, leaving the park and the SUV behind as they entered a primarily residential street. The buildings seemed to start with one builder, and halfway down, that builder quit and let everyone do whatever they felt like. Three brownstones with ornate stoops sat next to a flat-gray three-story walk-up.

“I’d love a home like one of these.” Delia’s gaze lingered on each building as they passed, trailing over the rough exteriors like a visitor to an art museum. “But if Sami and I do ever buy, we’ll probably go for a house upstate or even in another state. Anything here would cost millions. A workaday model and a P.I. won’t be dabbling in Manhattan’s real estate.”

Javier shifted the weight of the clunky vacuum box and didn’t answer. While he could afford to buy a Manhattan apartment, he’d just never found one that felt like home. Maybe because he’d been waiting for the right person to share it with.

And now he’d found her. Though he wasn’t sure Sky was ready to hear that from him yet.

Javier shook his head. Now was not the time to get distracted by thoughts of Sky. Instead, he examined the houses they passed and was quick to decide this neighborhood didn’t suit him either.

Sticking out like a sore thumb, a limestone town house with a blindingly bright exterior came next, but the eclectic variety of homes took a boring turn when they hit a pair of three-story vinyl-sided homes, one in beige, the other a burnt red.

Only after they passed the last of the vinyl homes did they come across the brick ones. Not as fancy as the brownstones or limestones, they shared the color variations of the vinyl homes. But what truly set them apart from the others were the tiny fenced-in backyards, each with a one-car garage.

Rare luxuries in a city like New York.

“That one.” Javier pointed to the four-story redbrick walk-up with black trim. A wrought-iron gate surrounded a locked, sunken entrance to the lowest level and continued up a thin set of concrete stairs leading to the front door.

In most cases, these buildings would have been converted into apartments, each level a fully separate unit, with the stairwell serving as a common area. But Callie said this was an original unit, and Santos owned it all.

The simple doorbell confirmed Callie’s findings. No fancy intercom with multiple buttons to buzz individual apartments.

Delia hovered her finger over the buzzer. “Ready for this?”

Javier nodded. The vacuum box seemed to have doubled in weight since they’d left his SUV. “Sure. Let’s get it over with.”

The doorbell’s chime echoed through all four stories. Javier winced. It was unusually loud.

“Jeez. If he’s here, he’s definitely not going to miss that sound.” Delia leaned over the rail, peering down into the gated basement-level entrance. “Should we watch that lower level?”

“There were three locks. I spotted them as we passed. If anyone is coming out that way, they’ll have to come out with a set of keys.”

Delia leaned in close, dropping her voice to a whisper. “What about exits around back?”

Javier jerked his chin at the side of the house. “There should be a back door that gives access to his yard and garage, but Sami will be covering the back alley, and that privacy fence is high. Six feet at least. Not something an older, shorter man like Timothy would be able to get over easily. Well, at least, I hope he’s not that agile.”

“I probably couldn’t scale that wall.” She smiled, melting away some of the anxiety he’d witnessed in her eyes moments earlier. “You and Sami were in the army. Should be easy-peasy for you guys.”

“Scaling a wall isn’t easy for anyone. Ever.” He eyed the door, leaning the cumbersome vacuum against his leg. “Ring it again.”

Delia pressed the bell, wincing at the reverberation. “Come on, Timothy.”

Javier considered banging on the door with his fist right as the sound of a lock turning froze them both in place. The thick wooden door creaked open just enough for Timothy Santos to peek out with suspicious dark eyes. “Can I help you?”

“They’re in.” Sky pointed at Callie’s phone screen. She whipped a pair of bolt cutters around and snapped the padlock on the iron gate that led into Santos’s backyard from the alley. If anyone on the nearby street saw or cared, they didn’t give any indication. She left the padlock dangling and went through the gate like she owned Timothy Santos’s yard, Callie trailing behind her.

Three basement windows faced the alley in the back. The wrought-iron fence shifted to a six-foot privacy fence, and Callie knocked on the wood to let Sami, waiting in the alley, know they were there.

Sky dropped the bolt cutters beside her and lay on her stomach to peer through the window well into the bottom-floor window. Try as she might, she couldn’t get a clean line of sight into the crack between the heavy curtains. She gripped the edge and leaned farther over.

In that moment, she flashed back to when she and Sami went searching for incriminating evidence at a sexual predator’s cabin. They had planned to set whatever they found in the window so it would be in plain sight for the police.

A fun little loophole in the warrant laws that Sami had taught her about. The police were free to enter if they spotted evidence in plain view.

If Timothy was really their killer, would they find evidence in his house? If so, what kind? And could it fit in a window like this?

“Sky,” Callie whispered sharply beside her. “Stop leaning out so far. You’re going to fall in and break your neck.”

“Relax, Mom,” Sky mumbled over her shoulder. “I’ve got a good grip.”

“Do you two need help already?” Sami’s voice crackled in Sky’s ear.

“No, Dad.” Sky pressed her face against the basement window, trying to get a better view. “I can’t see anything. How’re we supposed to do this?”

Callie leaned over Sky’s shoulder, her face serious in the reflection. “Basements are a great first place to check when we’re dealing with a potential killer. But Timothy’s not just going to leave the curtains open for the world to see a bunch of damning evidence in his basement.”

Their conversation halted as a hand slammed against the window. With a yelp, Sky jumped back, knocking into Callie. Both women grabbed each other to keep from toppling over in shock.

Sky gaped at the window, pressing her palm over her racing heart. A frantic face appeared next to the hand in the window, duct tape hanging from one cheek while the other sported a giant bruise. Wide, horrified eyes locked onto Sky’s as the boy inside mouthed, Help me!

“Oh, my god.” Callie pulled Sky back to her feet. “Santos has someone trapped down there. That’s our exigent circumstances served on a silver plate.”

Sami’s footsteps sounded from the back alley behind the fence. But Sky was too focused on the face in the window to worry about backup.

She squinted, adrenaline flooding her system as she focused on the captive’s features. “Guys. That’s Ryder Thompson.”

30

Javier struggled to assemble the Turbo Blast 360 in the sitting room, as Timothy had called it, while Delia laid the charm on thick.

“Mr. Santos, your house is just beautiful. Is this the original woodwork?” She waved a hand around.

“It is.” Timothy blushed like a schoolboy, nodding and gazing proudly at the crown molding like he’d built the house himself. “They don’t make ’em like this anymore.”

Delia giggled. “They sure don’t.”

Javier rolled his eyes.

A pretty girl bats her eyes and says something sweet, and he falls for it. We really are simple creatures.

Javier’s own stupidity was showing, too, though. In the rush to get to Timothy’s house, he hadn’t considered that either he or Delia should know how to piece together the vacuum pack.

When Delia had practically begged Timothy to allow them to do a demonstration—blink blink—or her boss would fire her, he hadn’t really expected the man to acquiesce. It wasn’t until the pretty model had joked about how the machine missed nothing…hair or any other yucky pieces of DNA…that the janitor welcomed them in.

Opening the box, Javier had told himself that putting the vacuum together wasn’t rocket science. He’d figure it out.

Ten minutes later, he wasn’t so sure.

“Excuse me, sir.” Timothy jarred Javier from his concentration bubble. “I think this hose has to connect…right…here.” Popping the part in like he’d designed the vacuum himself, Timothy offered Javier a victorious grin.

“Yes.” Javier forced an airy laugh. “That’s what I was missing. I’m new to the company.” He gave Delia a sympathetic nod. “Should have let my partner put it together, to be quite honest.”

Delia—blink blink—placed a hand on Timothy’s shoulder. “They have to learn for themselves, don’t you agree? They can’t always be as smart as you.”

He’d blushed so hard, Javier thought the man’s head might actually produce steam. He glanced down at her hand and came close to reaching for it before it fell away. “I have an unfair advantage. I’ve worked in maintenance my entire adult life. And I do love a flashy new cleaning machine. Got a soft spot for the things.”

“Well, these,” Delia stepped in, redirecting the attention her way, “are more than just flashy machines. The Turbo Blast 360 Vacuum Pack gets the dirt and dust you can’t see.”

Javier raised his eyebrows, awed by how irresistible Delia’s sweet purr made the machine sound, even though she was merely reciting a phrase printed on the box in large red letters.

If his friend ever got sick of her modeling career, she could easily slide into sales.

Timothy nodded, glancing around the room. “Does seem like a good idea. My mother always liked to keep the place spic and span. She’d approve, I think.”

He’s already bringing up his mother. Excellent.

Javier exchanged a quick glance with Delia. “Moms just love the Turbo Blast 360.”

Sky’s heart jackhammered in her chest. “We have to get him out of there. Now. While Timothy’s distracted.” She glanced at Callie’s screen, which still showed the man in deep conversation with Javier and Delia.

Sami emerged from the alley. Together, they darted around to the front side of the house, where a few concrete steps led down to the basement. On the top step, Sami froze for a second, his hand to his ear. “Yeah. They’re definitely still talking about vacuums. Santos is as preoccupied as he’s going to get. We need to get Ryder out while we have the chance. Callie and I will go in.”

“You’re the better one to back up Delia and Javier if something goes wrong upstairs.” Callie nudged Sky and nodded at the basement door, where three imposing locks barred their entry. “Think you can get through the locks?”

“I don’t have my lock picks, but I can manage with a couple of bobby pins.” Sky pulled two pins from her hair, kicking herself for not bringing her lockpicking kit. At least she’d worn a ponytail.

“Just be careful and stay alert in there.” Sami’s fingers flew across the face of his phone. “I’m texting Clarkson right now. He’s going to be pissed, but this is more than we bargained for.”

“He can be as mad as he wants.” Callie followed Sky around to the basement door. “But we’ll need the backup sooner rather than later.”

Sky examined the locks on the door. “Someone doesn’t want people going in here.” Luckily, most locks worked on the same pin-and-tumbler mechanism. She just needed to take her time, probing each pin and feeling for the binding release.

She pushed up the sleeves of her coat and sweater. “You two, give me some cover.”

Sami stayed at the ground level. His head was on a swivel, scanning the surrounding area.

Callie stood just behind Sky, peering toward the alleyway. “Hurry.”

Easy for Callie to say.

The first two locks opened with little effort. The last, however, gave Sky trouble. Sweat beaded across her brow as she probed for the binding pin. Her ribs started to ache. The pin didn’t budge. Maybe she wasn’t putting enough pressure on the makeshift tension wrench. Gritting her teeth again, she pulled out both pins and restarted from the beginning.

Why is this damn lock so stubborn?

“Just gotta get this.” After a small eternity, she felt the click of the last binding pin. Breathing a sigh of relief, Sky rotated the lock, twisted the handle, and opened the door. She motioned everyone inside. “After you.”

“Damn.” Callie squeezed her shoulder as she stepped across the threshold. “You are good.”

“Don’t you forget it.” Sky held the door open, her arms straining under the weight. “This door is really heavy.”

“Prop it open so it doesn't lock behind us.” Callie stepped in first, taking the point position.

Sky grabbed a heavy planter and set it against the door. But the pot immediately toppled over. “No, no, no!” She thrust her hands out, trying to stop the momentum, but the door shut with an ominous thud. “Shit.”

She wrapped her hands around the knob and pulled. Dammit. They were locked inside.

Shit. Shit. Shit.

She heard Sami scrambling down the stairs on the other side. “Sky? Callie?”

“We’re fine. We’re locked in. Work on getting this damn door open.” She slid her bobby pins under the door. “We’ll get Ryder.”

The only light filtering into the basement was from the cracks between the curtains over several small rectangular windows set high up on the wall next to the door. Ryder stood on the chair he’d used to access one of the windows, eyeing them all as they came in with a finger to his lips.

“He’s right up there.” Ryder pointed a shaky finger to the staircase. “He made me come here. He had a gun pointed at me. I don’t know what he was going to do to me, maybe the same thing he did to Sawyer. But then his doorbell rang, and he freaked out. He hit me in the face, and when I fell over, I pretended I was knocked out.”

“That was smart, Ryder.” Callie offered her hand to support his dismount from the chair. “Very smart. Don’t worry. We’re going to get you out of here.”

He shook his head. “We have to go now. The windows are all locked, and so is the door at the top of the stairs. I don’t know how you got through that door, but we have to go right⁠—”

The sound of a vacuum running upstairs drew all their attention.

Guess the salespeople aren’t doing too bad up there.

Sky stepped closer to Callie and Ryder so she could hear them over the roar of the Turbo Blast 360.

“Of course we’re leaving.” Callie put an arm around Ryder’s shoulders. “We’ve got him good and distracted up there with some of our friends. Everything’s going to be okay.”

The vacuum died down. In the quiet, Sky turned in a circle, looking around the basement. When her gaze landed on the far wall, her breath caught. “He’s got a shelf full of dolls over there.”

Callie pulled her phone from her pocket and turned on the flashlight. She pointed it at Sky. “Don’t touch anything.”

Sky held her hands up. “I know better than that. But, Callie, this has to be him. The Doll Collector.”

“The real Doll Collector.” Taking careful steps across the basement, Callie pointed the flashlight at the shelf, which indeed showcased a lineup of dolls. “It was him the whole time. Timothy Santos. He was right there, and I let him go.”

“Don’t do that.” Sky clutched Callie’s arm and gave her a little shake.

But she couldn’t shake off the guilt on Callie’s face.

“I’m so sorry, Ryder.” Callie’s voice broke. “You never should have been put in this situation.”

“Well, let’s get me out of this situation. Let’s go.”

Sky knew Ryder was right. But she couldn’t look away from the display. She scanned the assortment of smiling faces with their porcelain skin and perfectly pink cheeks.

“Oh, my god.” Callie pointed to the end of the shelf. “A sailor. I think that’s his Sawyer doll.” She chewed on her lip viciously, fixated on the glassy-eyed figure. “If it weren’t for me, he’d still be alive.”

“You can’t think like that.” Sky held on tighter to her friend. “We’ve figured it out now. That’s all that matters. Focus on all the lives you will have saved and the one you saved today. Clarkson should be here any minute. Let’s get Ryder out of here.”

“Yes.” Ryder moved toward the door and turned the handle. Nothing.

On the other side, Sami was struggling to pick the locks.

“How’s it going?” Sky called to him.

“Give me a second. I’m not as good at this as you are.”

Sky released Callie’s arm and hugged herself. The low ceiling and concrete walls of the basement seemed to close in on her. She’d come a long way in getting over the trauma of being trapped in that cave with her dying friend, Tessa Emerson. But still, every time she found herself in a dark place, echoes of the memory returned. She took a moment to calm herself and sucked in a deep breath.

Callie pulled Sky toward the door. Her phone was in her free hand, her thumb shooting across the screen faster than Sky had ever seen. “Let’s go. I’m texting Delia right now and telling them to get out. We don’t need DNA. We’ve got Ryder in the flesh. It’s enough for an arrest on kidnapping charges and a search warrant.”

“C’mon, Sami.” Sky couldn’t keep the impatience out of her tone.

“Patience is a virtue.”

Their voices sounded loud in Sky’s ear. Every moment of quiet was excruciating. But Delia and Javier were still waxing poetic about the Turbo Blast 360’s benefits. She tuned out their voices and tried to concentrate on giving Sami instructions.

“I’ve got that one.” A click from the top lock confirmed Sami’s success. Only two more to go.

“How long will this take?” Ryder bounced his weight foot to foot. He looked like a toddler who needed a potty break.

“Not long.” But even Callie didn’t sound reassuring. They were all feeling the seconds tick by. “How long did that first one take? Five minutes? So I guess ten more for these next two.”

“Depending on whether I damaged the mechanisms going in.”

“Well, let’s hope you didn’t fuck everything up, Sky.” Sami kept picking.

A crash sounded upstairs, as though something had been thrown.

“How stupid do you think I am?” Timothy’s voice boomed through the house. “Don’t move an inch or I will shoot you dead. You’re both going to regret ever coming here.”

31

“Down there.” I flung open the basement door with one hand, keeping my gun trained on the deceitful duo standing in my mother’s sitting room. “Both of you. Now.”

The beauty queen held up a hand. “Timothy, you don’t⁠—”

Does she think she can placate me?

He’d fallen for a pretty face, but he wouldn’t fall for any more of her tricks.

“Shut up!” I shrieked at her, disgusted that I’d mistaken her for a lady. In her fine clothes, she’d even reminded me a little of Mother, I was ashamed to admit. “Get over here. Down the stairs. Now!”

The other salesperson, or whoever he really was, had given the game away by not knowing the name of the multiple attachments. In my line of work, I knew the difference between an upholstery tool and a crevice tool. And these people had the audacity to come into my house and pretend to be experts.

Calm down. I have to handle this situation like a big boy. Make Mother proud.

I gulped back another dry breath, forcing my lungs to accept what little air I could fill them with. My heart raced, beating against my chest like a drumroll. I was certain the liars could see the organ pounding as if trying to break free.

“Delia.” The man touched his partner’s arm. “It’s okay. We’ll go to the basement. If that’s what Timothy wants, it’s fine.”

“Well…if Timothy wanted Reece’s Pieces, would we give him some?”

The salesperson blinked at her.

“Or…maybe Jif? Or Skippy?”

I blinked at her.

“I mean…” She didn’t seem to know what she meant. “Do you like peanut butter?”

“What’s wrong with you?” My voice shot up two pitches.

“Nothing. Nothing’s wrong.” The salesperson gave me a calm nod, not bothering to apologize for his snakelike lies or his lunatic partner. With his hand on her back, he escorted his cohort from the sitting room to the basement door and down the stairs.

The duo’s unbothered mannerisms as they obeyed my orders struck a sour chord in my belly. They should have been scared. Wide-eyed. The pretty woman should have been crying. Instead, she was rambling about peanut butter.

I slammed the door shut behind them, immediately turning the locks. All eight of them.

Liars. Phonies. Con artists.

Soon they’d be in the depths of the basement and find Ryder Thompson on the cold basement floor, giving me a whole new set of problems.

What do I do with them, Mother? They can’t be allowed to leave, can they?

I walked to the front windows of my home, moving the curtain aside to peek out between the blinds again. The street was quiet. I went through the house to the kitchen and peered out the back window.

That was when I saw the gate behind the house swinging in the breeze.

“Son of a…”

I yanked the back door open, sprinting down the concrete stairs and to the gate.

Why was this open? It shouldn’t have been open. I frantically scanned the ground. Where was the lock?

The rusty iron gate whined loudly as it swung closed, as if the damn thing were protesting before it slammed shut.

I stomped around to the basement entrance on the side of the house, yanking a ring of keys from my pants pocket. Thankfully, I hadn’t discarded them after arriving home with Ryder.

But when I reached the basement stairs, I spotted a man with long dark hair leaning over the lock. Anger roiled through me. The private investigator from the school.

I left the gun in my waistband. I couldn’t afford to fire it outside and have the whole block hear it. But in the grass near the window well, a pair of bolt cutters, heavy and sharp, lay discarded, probably after cutting the padlock on the gate. I scrambled a few feet and picked it up before whirling around to meet my foe.

Hiding the bolt cutters behind my leg, I cleared my throat. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?”

The P.I. whirled, his dark eyes taking in the situation. He started up the stairs toward me, but I had the high ground. “Timothy Santos, we know who you⁠—”

I swung the bolt cutters at his head as he reached the top stair. He managed to duck, but barely.

“Police are on⁠—”

I swung again.

This time, he didn’t try to talk. He threw himself toward my knees. I backed away but was a split second too slow. Both of us toppled to the ground, but I still had a firm grip on the bolt cutters.

From the basement came shouts and someone called, “Sami!” before what sounded like a herd of people banging on the basement door followed.

How the hell had I let this happen? Mother would be so displeased.

I hauled the bolt cutters around right as the private investigator man—Sami—worked to press his supposed advantage.

The cutting mechanism hit him square in the temple. Blood spurted out, and there was a crunch, so I knew something in his skull had given way. A surprised breath escaped him as he collapsed.

I pushed him off me.

For moment, I wasn’t certain what to do.

I am in so much trouble.

He was still alive. I could tell that much. But there was a lot of blood, and it was still flowing. He wouldn’t wake up for a little while, if ever.

Then I heard the crowd in the basement yelling. This Sami was not a concern of mine at the moment.

The door didn’t so much as jiggle when I attempted to open it. Whoever had entered was likely still in the basement with the two lying salespeople and Ryder.

“Surprise, assholes,” I hollered at the door. “You might have gotten in, but getting out is harder. Just ask your buddy.”

Footsteps scrambled behind the door. “You bastard!” The woman, Delia, seemed very upset. “If you hurt him⁠—”

The first lock was already open. So I inserted the key into the second lock, twisting the bolt free.

Beads of sweat dripped from my brow as I twisted the third lock, releasing it with one final click.

The clamor of multiple individuals running up the basement stairs made me smile. They weren’t getting through the house door. I’d secured all eight locks.

Whoever was down here—aside from Ryder and my salespeople—would soon dearly regret their decision to break into my house.

Light flooded in from behind me as I stepped through the doorway into the basement.

“I don’t know who you are, but breaking and entering is illegal.” The door slammed shut, taking the light with it and casting the room back into darkness. “You’ll never make it out of here alive.”

I looked up at the space where the stairs turned and disappeared into the framing for the floor above. How many sets of feet had gone up there? Four? Five?

If only I’d gotten a better look at them. But even so, I had a strong inkling that Agent Baros, that meddling retired woman, was one of them.

I scanned the dimly lit room, noting that Ryder was no longer on the floor where I’d left him.

Stupid. Stupid Timothy. I screwed up. I should’ve killed him the instant I got him home. Now I have to fix this. But how?

“Who the hell are you? And what are you doing in my house?” My voice trembled despite the volume I put behind my words. I lifted my gun, firing off a warning shot just in case any of them got any crazy ideas.

The deafening bang sent my ears ringing.

“Oof!” Someone screeched in pain.

“Callie? Are you okay?”

“Oh, my god, she’s bleeding.”

“Pressure! Use this.”

“It’s all right. It just…grazed…my arm…”

I strained to listen to the multitude of voices and scrambling at the top of the stairs.

Did I just shoot a retired federal agent?

The bullet must have ricocheted. My heart jumped into my throat.

So much trouble. Mother chided, over and over.

“We just came to talk to you, Timothy,” a soft woman’s voice carried down the stairwell. Not the agent and not the pretty lying Delia from upstairs.

“Visitors usually use the front door.” I scoffed. “Criminals break in. And liars count as criminals. Vacuum sales? Did you really think I’d buy that story?”

I tried to make quick math of my intruder problem. Agent Baros had likely come with Sami, the P.I. who now lay unconscious on my lawn, and that redhead who’d been with her at the school.

Add to that two fake vacuum salespeople and a high school boy I kidnapped at gunpoint.

Five basement captives. Six people total.

This was the worst possible situation I could have ended up in. How long had the agent and her friends been snooping around my basement? Had they found anything?

Did they take anything? What if my dolls are gone?

“How about we all come down and have a chat?” the sweet, angelic voice said.

Terror flowed through my veins. “You stay right where you are.” I couldn’t worry about my doll collection right now. I had to keep this slippery group of intruders from getting away.

They were trapped at the top of the stairs, and they wouldn’t get any farther.

Unless Sami wakes up and gets them out. And didn’t he say the police were coming?

“Stupid, stupid, stupid,” I mumbled through gritted teeth.

I had to act now. But how could I face all of them at the same time?

Kids were so much easier to deal with than adults. And even then, only one at a time.

Shuffling footsteps against the wooden stairs drew my gaze back to the shadows. “I said stay where you are.”

Mother, what should I do?

Aside from Ryder, they were too old to be transformed. Even if they’d been younger, I couldn’t take on six dolls at one time. The odds were against me. There was only one way out of this.

They have to die.

“Would your mother be proud of what you’ve been doing?” That soft voice again.

A bolt of rage ripped through me, making the gun tremble in my hand. “How dare you? My whole purpose on this earth is to make my mother proud.”

But would she be proud of me now? What would she say if she saw the mess I was in? I’d been sloppy. If I’d been more careful, these people wouldn’t be here.

Oh, Mother. Help me. I don’t know what to do.

“I apologize for insulting you.” The sweet voice had to belong to the redhead. “My friends and I just want to talk. Can we do that?”

“No talking. You’ve already made up your minds about me.”

“The police are coming, Timothy. We know you don’t want to hurt anyone else.” Her voice was so calm, so soothing. It almost sounded like…Mother’s. “You don’t want to get into any more trouble, do you?”

32

Sky gulped down panic building in her throat as she looked at Callie’s arm. Deep red stained the sweater she’d whipped off to wrap tightly around the wound.

That doesn’t look like a graze to me, but it doesn’t appear to be a fatal wound either.

Javier held Callie against him like a child, his gaze flitting between their wounded friend and the bottom of the stairs where a serial killer awaited. Sky and Delia huddled together, their hands twined together as they pressed down on Callie’s wound with all their strength.

Ryder watched it all with his mouth agape, shaking like a leaf in autumn. Sky wished she could rewind and undo all the teenager had seen today, but that simply wasn’t how the world worked.

Welcome to the land of enduring trauma, Ryder. We’re always taking new members here.

Callie’s face paled as she gritted her teeth against the pain. Lieutenant Clarkson would be arriving soon, along with backup. All they had to do was stall.

Initially, Sky had planned to simply pick them out of their trap. But Javier said he’d seen eight locks on the basement door before Timothy forced him and Delia downstairs.

Eight locks took serious time, and their gun-wielding host didn’t seem to be offering much of that.

“Timothy,” Sky tried again, employing her most sugary tones. “You’re only making this harder on yourself. I know you didn’t mean to…but you shot someone. They’re bleeding.”

“Self-defense!” He sounded more like a child than a fifty-something man. “You broke into my home, and there are so many of you. I was protecting myself. I have the right to do that!”

Sky took a deep breath as Javier squeezed her hand for support. “But no one tried to hurt you, Timothy. There are only six of us here.”

“Five. Your friend’s outside, and, well, he doesn’t look good.”

Delia choked back a sob. She was shaking like a leaf.

“Hurting another person won’t help you. You injured one of our friends and shot another. You know the best thing to do is surrender your gun. Let us help you.”

“It was just a warning shot.” Timothy’s words were edged in desperation. “I didn’t even aim. It was an accident.”

“That’s good, Timothy. You can tell the police that. It will help a little.” Sky hesitated for a second before continuing. “But…we found your doll collection. You’re in a lot of trouble. Surely you realize that.”

Something like a whimper carried up the stairs. “I’ll run. I’ll run away and never come back!”

The statement was so childlike, so full of fear, that Sky almost felt bad for the man.

Had the trauma of losing his mother left him in this state? Or was he broken before her untimely death?

“But where would you go?” Sky asked the same questions she would ask an impetuous child. “How would you live with no food…or home…or money?”

The whimpering turned to a wail. “Stop it! Stop it! I did what I had to do. I made all the naughty boys good. I did what Mother would have wanted.”

Javier leaned in close to Sky’s ear. “Keep him talking. Cops have to be seconds away.”

“I have friends in the NYPD.” Nodding at Delia to keep pressure on Callie’s arm, Sky ventured a step down. “I can help you. We all know you’re just trying to be a good boy.”

A siren wailed in the distance.

“The…the police…are here.” Timothy’s wails became sobs. “Oh, no. Oh no, oh no, oh no.”

Sky took another step. “It’s going to be all right. You want to be a good boy? Put the gun down. It’s the right thing to do.” She quickly cleared the rest of the stairs before any of her friends could protest, leaving herself a wide-open target.

The siren’s scream grew louder. There was no getting away. And apparently Timothy also understood this.

He’d sunk to the floor, a full-grown man his knees drawn up to his chest and rocking back and forth. His handgun lay beside him, and he seemed to have forgotten it altogether.

“Stupid, stupid, stupid.” He rocked and cried, smashing his fists into the sides of his head. “Mother will never forgive me for this. I’ve been so bad. She’ll lock me in my room for days. I don’t want to be left in the dark again. I hate the dark. I hate it!”

Tires screeched to a halt outside, sirens still screaming.

Tears welled in Sky’s eyes as she neared Timothy, carefully placing her heel on the butt of the gun and sliding it away.

He was going to be locked up for life, either in a hospital or a prison. That much was certain. He’d done horrible, unimaginable things to innocent kids.

But what had been done to him? How had he become this broken monster?

“I’ll tell the police how cooperative you’ve been.” Sky kept her tone soothing, holding in her emotions as she crouched in front of him. “We’ll tell them what a good boy you were.”

Shouts of “NYPD! Drop your weapons now!” carried through the basement as both entrances broke open simultaneously. The crack of wood sounded like an explosion, and Sky ducked.

Lieutenant Clarkson, battering ram in hand, led a group of officers in from the lower outside entry while Detective Houghton led another through the upstairs inside doorway and down the stairs. A few broke off to tend to Callie while the others confronted Timothy on the floor.

Sky was immediately hauled out of the basement by cops who weren’t taking no for an answer. As she emerged into the cold evening air, Timothy’s cries of terror echoed behind her. The janitor soon followed, and tears blurred her vision as he was dragged, cuffed but still kicking and screaming, up the exterior basement stairs.

Even as they lowered him into the back of a squad car, his bellows never ended.

Outside, wrapped in a blanket, Sky accepted the poking and prodding of EMTs. Thank goodness she’d been wearing a t-shirt under the sweater she’d used to staunch Callie’s blood, or she’d be standing in the February cold with just her bra under her coat.

Sami had been discovered unconscious out back. He seemed to be in even worse shape than Callie, whose bullet wound had turned out to be more of a deep scratch. She was refusing to be sent to the hospital.

The ambulance had taken Sami and Delia away with a whir of sirens and bright lights. Sky wanted to head to the hospital to support her friends, but there were questions to answer.

“I can’t…” She bit her lip, turning to Javier. “I can’t bring myself to be angry with him. Timothy’s so very damaged. And I feel…sorry…for him.”

Javier gave her a quick hug. “It’s okay to realize the bad guy is a human too. That’s what makes you a good writer, Sky. You see all sides of the story.”

Tears welled again. Any response she had to that stopped up in her throat.

Lieutenant Clarkson appeared from the crowd, his face somber. “Mr. Bainbridge, can I borrow you?”

“I’ll be right back.” Javier pointed to the ambulance that’d just arrived. “I’ll talk to them, and then I want to make sure Callie gets priority treatment.”

With no doubt in her mind that Javier Bainbridge would follow through, Sky didn’t have much time to ponder his giant heart before the form of another all-too-familiar detective began making its way to her.

She leaned against the back of a police cruiser, avoiding eye contact to the fullest of her ability.

“You just can’t help it, can you?” Hands on his hips and brow furrowed into a million stress lines, Dante seemed lost somewhere between outrage and awe. “If I held up a danger sign right now, you’d probably tackle me for it.”

“Only if you refused to give it to me.” Snorting out the last bit of laughter left inside her, Sky faced the detective. “I’m capable of kicking a grown man’s ass when I want to.”

He shook his head, stepping closer to her as sirens rang and officers rushed around them. “It’d be funny if we weren’t talking about your life. Maybe it wasn’t my job that made me freeze when it came to pursuing you.” His dark eyes sparkled in the flashing overheads. “Maybe it was the fact that you’re a damn disaster magnet.”

Sky grinned, noting that as mad as he might be, Dante couldn’t keep his stern expression in place. “I prefer the term ‘justice diffuser.’”

He sputtered into laughter, and she joined him for a moment before they both tensed as Javier appeared at her side.

“Guess we’re in trouble, huh, Detective Houghton?”

Dante’s eyes were steely as he met Javier’s gaze. “That’s for the district attorney to decide, but we’ve been advised to let you go until the D.A.’s office has reviewed the totality of circumstances. They can always indict you later. That’s really outside of my control.”

Well, considering Sky had expected to be hauled off in handcuffs, another few days of freedom was a blessing.

“You told him all about the whole saving a kid’s life and taking down a serial killer thing…” She bobbed her eyebrows. “Right?”

“We did. But like I said, they want a chance to review everything before making a decision.”

Sky chewed her bottom lip. “Did we screw up anything legally important?”

Dante laughed. “Now you start caring about that?” He grew serious. “A defense attorney will argue it, but with a kidnapped juvenile in that basement plus reports of shots fired, we had enough cause for a warrantless exception to breach the house. And the second everyone was back outside, we went through proper channels to secure warrants so all the evidence inside won’t be thrown out in court.”

By the book.

“So it’s all good?” Sky crossed her fingers.

Dante sighed. “Between you and me, it’s probably safe to say no charges will be brought against you. This time. Though I’m beginning to think that, out of your entire little gang, there isn’t a single protective bone in any of your bodies.” He waved at the commotion around him. “No one seems to care that, at any moment, everything could go to shit. Things often go to shit when it comes to serial killers. I wonder if it’ll take one of you getting killed for that reality to kick in.”

Well, that escalated quickly.

Sky put her hand on Javier’s arm as he worked his jaw, visibly seething at the detective’s comments. “We’re all very protective of each other. That’s why we’re all still here. Alive.”

Dante’s eyes narrowed. “I guess head wounds and gun shots don’t matter in your book.”

Javier slipped his arm around Sky’s waist. “What matters in our book is that a life was saved, a monster was apprehended, and a bunch of families will be getting some sense of closure.”

Sky stepped between them. “I think that’s what we all care about, and what we all are willing to risk anything for.” She faced Dante. “We might not wear the uniform, but we care too. What we do matters.”

Dante exhaled. “I know that.”

Sky smiled as wide as she could muster. “And you’re welcome, by the way. We found a kid and handed you a serial killer on a silver platter.”

“Everybody’s a smart ass until shit hits the fan.” Dante dipped his chin, turned, and walked away without another word.

Sky sighed, looking up into Javier’s chocolate-brown eyes. “Can’t you two play nice?”

He kissed her on the forehead. “Doesn’t look like it.”

33

Callie sat quietly in an ambulance outside of Timothy Santos’s home as Lieutenant Clarkson approached. The lieutenant was justifiably mad, but she doubted the damage was permanent.

She and her group had solved another case. Caught another criminal. Ended another killing spree.

And righted the terrible wrong she’d committed six years ago.

“You know, when we talked about you getting DNA from Santos at the school,” her old colleague’s voice was something of a low grumble, “the at the school part was kind of important. You’re a lot less likely to, I don’t know, get shot at, during an interview on school grounds.”

“I knew you wouldn’t approve of my methods.” Callie hadn’t lost an enormous amount of blood, but enough to take most of the fight out of her. “But I’d say we made the right call. We saved Ryder Thompson from becoming another doll. We got what you wanted. We caught the Doll Collector.”

“That shot could have hit you in the heart.” Clarkson gestured behind him. “All those young people you’ve got working with you? That bullet could have hit one of them. That P.I. has a concussion, at the very least. This is yet another example of you putting yourself and the people you care about in dangerous situations.”

“You asked me to work this case.” Callie jutted her chin out, refusing to back down. “And I did. The world is a dangerous place no matter what. My team just made it a little bit safer. Don’t downplay that.”

Clarkson cleared his throat, the tightness of his jaw and his unblinking stare revealing the true depth of his anger. “Thankfully, as Mr. Santos has agreed to provide us with a statement and sign a confession, we have a slam dunk case.”

An adult man threatening them with a gun regressing to a scared little boy crying for his mother was the last thing Callie had expected from someone who’d killed so many children over the years. That was a mystery she couldn’t fully explain.

“There’s something off there.” She ran a gentle finger across the bandage on her upper arm. “I’m sure he’ll get a full psych eval. He’s showing blatant signs of unhealed trauma related to his mother.”

She turned toward the police cruiser where Santos sat hunched over in the back seat. He’d finally stopped crying, but even now, he didn’t act like a killer. He just sat there, rocking back and forth. His lips moved slowly, as if reciting a prayer. Even without being able to hear him, Callie knew what he was saying. He’d started the chant as they’d put him into the cruiser.

“I’m a good boy, right, Mother? I’m Mommy’s good boy.”

“He’s not all there.” Clarkson plucked a pen from his shirt pocket and clicked the end. “You’ll probably have a hard time declaring competence, and he’s got a good case for an insanity plea.”

“He needs some serious help.” Callie didn’t like the idea of a killer getting off any easier than he deserved, but clearly Timothy Santos was troubled, and that needed to be factored in when he stood trial.

“That’s a problem for the D.A. when they’re figuring out how to prosecute.”

Insanity pleas were tricky. Callie hadn’t seen many that had worked, and even when they did, they weren’t free passes. Either way, Santos would serve time for the rest of his life. Whether in a prison or a psychiatric hospital was the only thing left to decide. “Well, no matter what happens, at least we got the guy this time.”

“You always do.” Clarkson patted Callie’s good shoulder.

“A little late, though.” Guilt threaded through her, hot and shameful. Patrick Zimmerman was serving time for a crime he hadn’t committed. And Sawyer Parker was dead.

“I’ve already gotten calls from Mr. Zimmerman’s appeals attorney. They’ve been checking in daily since Sawyer’s murder appeared on TV.”

“Doesn’t surprise me.”

“Still won’t be an immediate release, you know? Even with Timothy Santos’s statement, they have to corroborate the evidence and secure a conviction.”

“Fingers crossed, then.” Callie took one last look at Timothy, who was still rocking in the back of the police cruiser.

What could his mother have done to turn him into a killer? And why the dolls?

“Something else you want to say, Baros?” Clarkson’s curious tone pulled her attention back to him.

“When you have him sent for a psych eval, keep me in the loop.” She pinched her brows together. “I’d like to understand how this happened. How he became the Doll Collector.”

“Me too. I mean, he worked in a school and was around kids all day.” Clarkson scratched his head with the end of his pen. “Coulda had plenty more victims by now.”

“Maybe there was something about the victims he chose. Maybe they triggered his mommy issues? I mean…just look at him.” She thumbed a finger toward the car but couldn’t bring herself to examine Timothy again. “Whoever that woman was, she clearly did a number on him. Getting him to admit to it might be the real challenge.”

“I’ll do what I can.” Clarkson’s gaze lingered on the police car as he nodded. “But you know my lips have to be sealed on some things.”

“If nothing else, I plan to sit in on his trial.” Callie had to know. As a mother herself, she’d always worried that somehow, along the way, she might have screwed up her kids. Timothy was not the first criminal with mommy issues she’d helped put away. Even the most well-meaning of parents could inadvertently trigger something in a child…with lasting ripple effects.

Though she had the distinct feeling Timothy’s mother might have been something other than well-meaning.

“I’ve got all I need for now. If we have questions, we know where to find you. Go home and get some rest.” With another pat on Callie’s good shoulder, Clarkson pocketed his notebook and turned away.

Callie curled in on herself for a moment. Guilt was a heavy burden she would carry for the rest of her life, but at least she’d finally found the killer and brought him to justice. A minor consolation.

And when Patrick Zimmerman was released, she would have to visit him and apologize for her part. Not that she would forget all the disturbing information she’d learned about him. The man had another think coming if he believed no one would be keeping an eye on him once he was free.

But as Sky and Javier approached the ambulance, she straightened and pushed aside her feelings.

Sky jumped inside, opening her arms wide to greet Callie with a hug. “How upset was Clarkson?”

Desperately needing the comfort, Callie leaned in and wrapped her good arm around her young friend. “He’s okay. Probably not nearly as upset as Detective Houghton.”

Sky stepped back to allow Javier in for a second round of hugs. “Should we go down there? I mean, we did promise Santos we would do what we could to help him.”

“No.” Callie met Sky’s eyes over Javier’s shoulder. “Clarkson doesn’t want us anywhere near the station right now. Just let them do their jobs, and if they need us, they’ll call.”

Javier released her and stepped back. “Santos will end up pleading insanity, won’t he?”

Callie knew Javier wasn’t nearly as hard-hearted as his less-than-sympathetic tone suggested. “I think he should. That man clearly needs help. Although it won’t prevent him getting sentenced to life, it might ensure he isn’t put in with the general population. In his fragile state, he wouldn’t last a week.”

Javier crossed his arms. “He did murder a bunch of kids.”

“I won’t excuse what he did. Santos killed five children, and that is unforgivable. But sending him to slaughter isn’t justice. He needs to get help and spend the rest of his life serving time to pay for his crimes.”

“I can get on board with that.” Javier’s scowl softened into a lopsided grin. “You’re right. He should live with that guilt and make amends. That’s a more fitting punishment.”

“Exactly. And now that we’ve done our part in taking him down, we should head out.”

“No.” Sky’s sharp tone stopped them in their tracks. “You need to get stitched up. Then we catch up with Delia and see how Sami is doing.”

Callie sighed. “I hope starting off their engagement with a kidnapping and a concussion doesn’t foreshadow how their marriage will go.”

34

The flashing lights of squad cars lit up the evening sky like beacons of justice, announcing to the entire city the successful end to another of Little Miss Perfect’s takedowns.

It couldn’t have been more than thirty minutes since Ashley had taken her seat at the edge of the park. She’d picked the perfect spot. Just far enough away to avoid being seen but close enough to witness the frenzied house invasion by NYPD’s finest.

“Freckles must have her cop boyfriends on speed dial.” She opened the notebook resting on her lap and jotted down, Get rid of her phone.

Spying had proven very informative, though traipsing around in the cold winter air was far from ideal. She adjusted the scarf wrapped around her head like a hood. Silk might not have been the smartest choice. The material did little to protect her from the frigid February breeze.

High fashion wasn’t meant for espionage, no matter what Hollywood had done to depict otherwise in its flashy, big-budget films.

Inconvenience aside, this was a job that had to be done if she wanted to succeed where so many others had failed. Where she had failed.

Know thine enemy!

Rubbing her leather gloves together, Ashley pushed away thoughts of how much easier it would have been to track Sky in the warm summer sun.

“But of course, everything about Sky Stryker has to be a royal pain in the ass.” Her breath came out in tiny puffs as she fumed. “Every damn detail.”

She reminded herself that Sky would soon be dead, taking a giant portion of Ashley’s stress to the grave with her.

Soon. I’m almost there.

Sky and her friends were scattered among the police cruisers stopped right in front of the house that the obnoxious little supersleuth gang had gone into. Just as expected.

The cops had split into two groups before busting into the building, guns raised and ready for action.

A shot had been fired just before the cops arrived. Only one. And none since.

Now two of the uniformed officers came out leading a sobbing, stocky, middle-aged man in cuffs.

“Looks like their team took down another poor bastard this week.”

Note to self. Don’t give her time to plan.

The police officers guided the man into the back of a police cruiser. From where Ashley sat, making out their faces and expressions was hard.

If body language were any indication, the man didn’t seem to be injured, but the way he let the officers move and manipulate him in the back seat made him look guilty as hell. Like he was just a doll. No mind, no free will. Whatever Sky and her get-along gang had done, they’d broken him good.

It didn’t take a genius to figure out why the group operated so effectively. Sami Hayat, the P.I., was their muscle. Former military like Javier. Probably trained in hand-to-hand. And Goody Two-Shoes clearly took some form of martial arts classes, as did her friend Delia. Add to that her former FBI agent pal, Calysta Baros, who was probably frail as shit but likely had the brains the group really needed.

The only person who didn’t seem to offer much at all was Javier. His dumb ass was probably there for the sole purpose of making sure his precious freckle-faced bitch didn’t get hurt.

Ashley’s stakeouts—both for the boss and for her own information—had yielded all sorts of juicy tidbits about how Sky and her team operated. The most notable piece of information was that Nancy Drew wasn’t afraid to put herself in danger.

She would use that proclivity to her advantage. It was almost too easy.

The boss clearly appreciated Ashley’s knowledge and expertise, despite her previous failure. That was why he’d set her out after Sky again.

Ashley was going to nail this mission to the wall and secure her elevated position in his organization.

Nicky Silva will be crying in his Cheerios when he finds out he has to answer to me. Screw him and screw his stupid brother.

More officers exited the town house with someone who appeared to be a high school boy. Who was that? The man’s kid? Not that Ashley cared.

Ambulances screamed onto the street, and EMTs jumped out carrying a stretcher. A few minutes later, Sami Hayat was loaded into the back of the ambulance, his hot little girlfriend clambering in after him.

Well, well, well. Mr. Muscle had gotten his ass kicked, or so it appeared.

Javier scampered around like he was running the entire operation, which couldn’t be further from the truth. He was simply following orders when it came to these people.

“That’s right, Javier. Follow along like the little lapdog you are.” Ashley licked her lips with anticipation. The time to strike would arrive soon, once she got Javier alone. “Miserable corporate asshole. He’s probably still drowning in paperwork after firing me. No one could do the job like I could.”

She imagined him constantly bombarded by department heads needing approvals, budget overruns, agency contracts, shipping delays, and all the other day-to-day bullshit.

Ashley was an expert at managing people and thinking on her feet when the inevitable crisis came up.

“Bet he really regrets firing me now.”

The officers appeared to be taking statements. One of them, a heavyset man with thinning hair, had a notebook in his hand. He scribbled notes as Calysta Baros, perched on the back of an ambulance, talked.

If only Ashley could get closer.

To be a fly on the wall in their conversations and know who the group just collared!

She strained her ears in a futile attempt to catch even the slightest word. But it was no use. She was just too far away, and all the kids playing in the park behind her were way too noisy for her to catch anything.

But short of knowledge, I could guess.

Clearly, they’d figured out that man was a criminal and set him up. Same tune as always.

What Ashley didn’t know was how they managed to get there before the cops. No matter the case, Sky and her gang were always just in time to catch someone in the act. Uncanny how accurate they were. And like a ground crew at an airport flagging down a 747, they guided the police to exactly where the criminal and evidence were.

Ashley didn’t see major injuries or blood, aside from Agent Baros’s arm and Sami’s ambulance ride, even with the gunshot that’d come from the town house moments before the police arrived. If there was a scuffle, the creepy dude didn’t put up much of a fight.

How could he? Five on one. The odds were against him. Sky’s gang were always up each other’s asses. She kept had her team of misfits around her, and they constantly looked out for each other. A proper little circle of besties.

Another note for her to jot down.

Make sure she’s alone. No friends. No cops. No phone!

She closed the notebook and had started to stuff it into her bag when a large ball came sailing toward her. No time to duck out of the way. Ashley cringed as the pink plastic smacked her in the chest and dropped into her lap.

Her scarf fell from her head and draped down her neck. The silk clung to the soft plastic ball as she fumbled to try to pull the scarf back up before anyone could see her face.

Stupid kids and their damn toys. It was dinnertime, and it was dark already. Why were all these hellions still running around like idiots? And who let their kids play on a street that was a damn crime scene?

“My ball!” A little girl with purple pom-pom ties around her pigtails came running toward Ashley. “That’s my ball.”

“This ball?” After finally pulling the ends of her scarf from the hideous bubble-gum-colored thing, Ashley held it up.

A smile split the little girl’s lips, revealing the gaping holes where her two front teeth should have been. Grubby little hands reached toward Ashley. “Can I have it back?”

With a hiss, Ashley backed away. It was bad enough she had to touch the germ-ridden ball, even with gloves. Who knew what plagues were hiding on that child’s actual hands?

Ashley tossed the ball into the street, enjoying the way the hopeful expression on the little girl’s face turned to despair. “Go get it.”

The icing on the cake came a few seconds later as the sound of a car tire popping the little girl’s treasure ensured she’d never assault anyone with it again.

“Mommy!” The little girl shrieked and took off for the playground.

With that little boost of adrenaline, Ashley was ready to set her plan in motion. She finished packing her bag and shouldered it as she stood.

With one last glimpse down the street, Ashley spotted Sky chatting with an officer. The auburn-haired stain on society was no doubt eating up this newest wave of congratulations from law enforcement.

“Enjoy it while you can.” Ashley had never hated anyone more in her life. “Because everything’s about to go south for you very quickly. It’s time to take another little girl’s toy away.”

35

Callie met Lieutenant Clarkson in the lobby of the precinct late Monday morning. She’d crashed for much of the weekend, making up for all the sleep she’d lost the previous week. “To what exactly do I owe the honor of being summoned to your presence?” She stuck out her wrist. “Are you going to cuff me now?”

Rolling his eyes, Clarkson took a sip from a steaming disposable cup. “Careful with that sarcasm, Baros. I haven’t finished my third cup of coffee yet.”

She dramatically slapped a hand to her chest. “My deepest apologies.”

The lieutenant shook his head. “Yeah, yeah. Guess that’s probably asking too much.” He grinned as he grumbled, making it clear he was at least partially kidding. “But to answer your question, no cuffs for you or your little team…this time. The D.A. even went so far as to tell me to thank you all for saving a kid and taking a serial killer off the street.” He nudged her with his elbow. “Don’t let it go to your head.”

She puffed out her cheeks. “Too late for that.”

He chuckled. “You look like you’re feeling all right. That’s good, because we have a couple of things to talk about. The first is that Timothy Santos was taken in early this morning for a competency eval.”

“And?” Callie had thought of the man all of Thursday night, sleep still eluding her even after they caught their suspect.

Clarkson downed the rest of his drink. “It’s pretty messed up. Seems that Santos’s dear mother was far from the saint he professes her to be. Managed to get out of him that he was left alone for hours, sometimes days, in that house as a child. Often in the dark, probably because his mother frequently failed to put her money toward piddly things like the electric bill.”

“Neglect.” Callie imagined a young Timothy, left alone in that dark house with a fridge full of rotting food. She shuddered. “Anything else?”

“Our psychologist is certain that the woman was verbally abusive to Timothy. Really drove it into his head that he was a horrible excuse for a child. They’re going to speak with him more and try to gather whether that abuse ever turned physical or sexual in nature. Guess he didn’t want to talk about it too much in the first session.”

Callie pressed her lips together. “That’s understandable. He’s probably never talked about being abused in his entire life. He might not have ever realized it was abuse. Especially considering how much he seems to worship his mother and how stuck he is on ‘fixing naughty boys.’”

“There’s something else.” Clarkson ran his hand through his thinning hair.

“What’s that?”

He let out a heavy sigh. “They haven’t confirmed it as of yet, but they think Santos might have accidentally killed his mother.”

Very little surprised Callie these days, but this one did. “Seriously?”

“He apparently admitted his biggest regret was that the day she died was the one time he was ever mean to her.” Clarkson grimaced. “He got mad at her for leaving him yet again, and he shoved her…then ran and hid in his room.”

Another piece of Santos’s psychological puzzle clicked into place. “That’s how she fell down the stairs.”

“Most likely.” Clarkson shook his head. His eyes were sad. “Santos doesn’t seem to understand the coincidence. He hid in his room until the middle of the night, only coming out because he was starving, and found her at the foot of the stairs. Thought she’d fallen.”

“Which she had.” Callie shook her head, inhaling a deep breath. Timothy the man was a monster, but that monster had been born from a scared little boy. “Because he pushed her.”

She wanted to put her hands over her ears and run from the building. She was retired now, which meant she no longer needed to expose herself to information like this. But here she was.

“That’s what it’s looking like.” Her old colleague glanced over his shoulder. “Sad stuff, and we’ve just tapped into the first layer of the trauma. We’ll keep trying to get him to talk. But that brings me to the second thing I needed you to come down here for.”

Callie crossed her arms, wincing a little as her fingers glanced off the bandaged bullet wound. “It had better be good, because you could have told me all that Timothy stuff over the phone.”

“Well, you’re just going to have to wait a moment longer…until your friends arrive.”

36

Sky wasn’t sure what to expect when she arrived at the precinct. Callie had put the request out early that morning, telling the group to come to the station at noon for a special meeting with Lieutenant Clarkson.

Perhaps in the three days since Timothy Santos’s arrest, the lieutenant had discovered some unforgivable mistake that one or all of them had made in the process of confronting the Doll Collector.

But Callie’s group text didn’t give off a negative vibe.

“Just in time.” Callie met Sky in the lobby and led her to an empty conference room.

Sky took the tiny cup of coffee Callie offered her. “You think we’re in for another lecture? Or worse? I wore my best shirt, so I’ll at least look cute in the mug shot.”

Callie grinned. “No.” She sat in a chair and patted the seat beside her. “It’s something else. I met with Clarkson earlier, and he told me to wait for all of you to get here. I have no idea what’s happening.”

Frustrated, Sky sipped the rancid black coffee. “Not exactly squashing my anxiety. Can you at least tell me if Dante’s going to be dropping in?”

The retired agent threw her good arm around Sky’s shoulders and gave a comforting squeeze, which managed to twinge Sky’s ribs a little. They were all kind of a mess these days. “I can neither confirm nor deny.”

A young officer appeared at the door, ushering in Sami and Delia.

“Why do I feel like I’m about to get grounded?” Sami clutched Delia’s hand as they approached. He’d suffered a bad concussion from Timothy’s strike with the bolt cutters and had only just been released from the hospital the day before. “Didn’t we get cleared of charges?”

Delia took the chair across the table from Sky, pulling Sami down beside her. She’d barely let go of his hand since he was hauled off in the ambulance. She brushed his hair off his forehead, revealing the little square bandage on his temple. “Surely not.”

Callie twisted in her chair to look at Sky. “Where’s Javier?”

“Right here.” His cheerful tone instantly made the situation less daunting. “I had to drop some things at the dry cleaner’s. No idea why we’re here, but…at least my suits will be clean.” He took a seat next to Sky on her other side from Callie.

At least he’s in a good mood. Now if Dante could just not show up, that’d be great.

The door swung wide as Lieutenant Clarkson strolled into the conference room. But instead of Dante, a woman walked in behind him. Sky’s jaw dropped.

She instantly recognized the slender figure and long dark hair of Lupita Franco, Javier’s employee.

But Javier and Callie both spoke at the same time.

“Lupita?”

“Guadalupe?”

Sky did a double take at Callie, unsure if she’d heard her right. “Guadalupe?”

Callie rose out of her chair and gave the woman a hug. And not a small one. A huge bear hug. The kind Callie often gave Sky if they’d spent too many days apart. Both women were laughing.

“Do you know what’s going on?” Sky leaned closer to Javier, whose jaw sagged nearly to his chest. He didn’t respond.

The woman—Guadalupe or Lupita or whatever her name was—extricated herself from Callie and held out a hand for Javier to shake. “I’m sure this comes as a bit of a shock, and I apologize for that. I’m Special Agent Guadalupe Flores, FBI.”

Delia seemed to recognize her. “You were at Callie’s party, weren’t you?”

Everything began to make sense. The way Javier complained about how nosy Lupita was. All the questions she asked. How she wanted to know more than seemed necessary about GDL’s operations and who they dealt with.

Sky sat back heavily in her chair, staring at the FBI agent. She couldn’t help but be more than a little impressed. “You’ve been undercover.”

“I have. It’s great to finally get to talk more thoroughly with the infamous Sky Stryker.” Agent Flores dropped the heavy messenger bag she was lugging onto the table and offered her hand to Sky. “Lieutenant Clarkson here has told me quite a bit about you. About all of you.”

As Sky returned the handshake, she turned narrowed gaze on the lieutenant.

He held his hands up in surrender. “All good things. I swear.”

Somehow, I doubt that.

“Pleased to meet you.” The agent made her way down the row to greet the rest of the gang. “Ms. Shaw. Mr. Hayat. And Mr. Bainbridge, my apologies that I couldn’t tell you sooner.”

“Tell me what?” Javier’s voice was light even though he was clearly still shocked by the revelation. “That my new star employee was a spy?”

Agent Flores’s lips quirked up at the corners. “Undercover agent.”

Javier’s expression dropped. “Were you spying on me or the company?”

“You were a person of interest at first.” Agent Flores shot him a sorry glance. “You are the COO of the company that stands at the epicenter of multiple disappearances. You were present at the event where several perpetrators were apprehended, and you are in a position to know all the key players. Naturally, we focused on you.”

Sami snorted and slapped the table. “Hell, Javier, I half think you’re guilty now. Mr. Boy Scout himself. Wow. If the FBI knew anything about your brain, they’d know they were barking up the wrong tree. A criminal mastermind. Psh.”

Javier scowled but remained silent. Sky wasn’t sure if he was more offended at having been a suspected criminal or at his best friend doubting aloud that he had the intelligence to pull it all off.

“We’ve already gone over how mistaken they were about Javier,” Lieutenant Clarkson said as a peace offering.

Callie crossed her arms, her serious gaze shifting from Javier to Agent Flores. “But she’s right.”

Javier scowled at Callie. “Excuse me?”

“Not about you.” Callie waved a hand at him. “But we can’t deny the connection to GDL is definitely there.”

Lieutenant Clarkson nodded. “It absolutely is.”

Agent Flores stood and paced across the front of the conference room. Sky imagined this woman couldn’t stay still if she wanted to. “I want to nail these human-trafficking bastards just as much as you do. I’ve seen the snuff films. I know they’re real. I know they’re farming these models from under our noses, and the longer we spend chasing down leads, the more underground these people go.”

Memories of Kelsey Vinn and Mariela Navarro fighting to the death flashed through Sky’s mind, making her stomach churn.

Agent Flores gestured to Lieutenant Clarkson. “Despite us having Arturo Silva in custody, the man is providing absolutely no help in bringing down the people he worked with and for.”

“Tight-lipped, I would expect. Lawyers too.” Sky wasn’t surprised. “He’s a criminal.”

“Most thugs are going to keep their mouths shut. No one wants to turn over on their bosses.” Lieutenant Clarkson pulled a handkerchief from his shirt pocket, mopping his face with it as he continued. “But Silva isn’t acting tough. He’s scared. Whoever he works for, they’ve got to be powerful.”

“Arturo has a brother. Nicky. At least, we think they’re brothers.” The words were out of Sky’s mouth before she could stop them. She’d wanted to wait and hear everything Agent Flores and Lieutenant Clarkson had to say, but the image of Frankie and Tyler pleading for their help reminded her they had a lead.

Lieutenant Clarkson arched a brow. “And you’re just telling me this now?”

“Detective Houghton told us not to interfere. We had a confidentiality agreement.”

“That doesn’t mean holding back information.” Lieutenant Clarkson planted his hands on his hips.

Agent Flores held up a hand. “How do you know he has a brother?”

“Because Kelsey Vinn’s roommate is in a panic about Kelsey.” Sami glanced over at Sky. She nodded for him to continue. “She and another friend noticed that Nicky Silva was scoping around the modeling shows. Neither of them knows who he works for or what his role is at the shows, so he drew their attention. They asked us to look into it.” He paused and gave them a darker look. “But we couldn’t. We couldn’t even tell them Kelsey’s dead.”

Lieutenant Clarkson sat up a little straighter in his chair. He had the grace to look regretful. “Sorry about that. Thank you for telling us about Nicky Silva. Perhaps he works for our mastermind. I have nothing to prove the theory of a powerful person behind the scenes.” He dropped his head with a heavy sigh and looked down at his hands. “But years on the force have taught me to trust my gut.”

“Well, I would never discount that.”

“We’ve offered witness security and a guarantee of safety to get Arturo Silva to talk. He said that wouldn’t be enough. His boss would be able to find and take care of him.” The lieutenant drew a line across his neck.

Callie shrugged. “After all the atrocities we’ve seen, it would make sense to assume that whoever is in charge is a soulless devil. And if Nicky Silva is his brother, then the boss, whoever they are, has a bargaining chip to keep Arturo under control.”

“Indeed.” Agent Flores dipped her chin in agreement. Then she shifted gears. “The longer it takes for us to get to the bottom of this, the more opportunities there will be for others to go missing…and be murdered. So…”

Sky raised her eyebrows when the agent didn’t continue. “So…?”

Agent Flores pulled out a stack of files from the messenger bag she’d placed on the table. “As much as I hate to say it, it seems your…group…has been able to get closer to the heart of this criminal organization than either the Bureau or the NYPD. One might even go as far as to say you’ve gotten underfoot.”

“We’re not hiding anything,” Sky blurted.

“You’re not in trouble.” Lieutenant Clarkson held up a hand. “Not this time, at least.”

Agent Flores released a heavy sigh. “In this instance, what we have seems to be a case of ‘if you can’t beat ’em, join ’em.’ Your team’s think tank is about to be tapped by the FBI, assuming you’ll have us.”

“Let me get this straight.” Sky’s mind spun as the agent’s words sank in. “After all this time telling us to back off, now you want our help?”

The End

To be continued…

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Military veteran Amelia Storm returns to her hometown of Chicago when her beloved police officer brother is killed in the “line of duty. Now she is a special agent with the FBI. No longer a scared girl, she vows to avenge her brother and do what she can to end the city’s deep wells of corruption. A television documentary puts a spotlight on a four-year-old kidnapping. Amelia and her colleagues in the Organized Crime Division know there’s more to the girl’s case than meets the eye. The twelve-year-old wasn’t just abducted. She was targeted by a human trafficking ring. Intrigued?

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SERIES READING ORDER

Fatal Beginnings (Sky Stryker Series: Prequel)

Fatal Secrets (Sky Stryker Series: Book One)

Fatal Lies (Sky Stryker Series: Book Two)

Fatal Beauty (Sky Stryker Series: Book Three)

Fatal Massacre (Sky Stryker Series: Book Four)

Fatal Act (Sky Stryker Series: Book Five)

Fatal Terror (Sky Stryker Series: Book Six)

Fatal Turn (Sky Stryker Series: Book Seven)

Fatal Wound (Sky Stryker Series: Book Eight)

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Fatal Perfection

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ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

How does one adequately express gratitude to all those who have transformed a shared dream into a stunning reality? Let us attempt to do just that.

First and foremost, our families deserve our deepest thanks. Their unwavering support and encouragement have been our bedrock, allowing us the time and energy to translate our collective imagination into the words that fill these pages. Their belief in our vision has been a constant source of strength and inspiration.

As coauthors, our journey has been uniquely collaborative and rewarding. Now, with Mary also embracing the additional role of publisher, our adventure has taken on an exciting new dimension. This transition from solely writing to also publishing has been both a challenge and a joy, opening doors to share our work more directly with you, our readers.

We are immensely grateful to the entire team at Mary Stone Publishing — a group who believed in our potential from the very beginning. Their commitment extends beyond editing our words; it encompasses the tireless efforts of designers, marketers, and support staff, all dedicated to bringing our stories to life. Their expertise, creativity, and passion have been vital in capturing the essence of our tales and sharing them with the world.

However, our greatest appreciation is reserved for you, our beloved readers. You took a chance on our book, generously sharing your most precious asset—your time. It is our fervent hope that the pages of this book have rewarded that generosity, offering you a journey worth taking and memories that linger.

With all our love and heartfelt appreciation,

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ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Mary Stone

Nestled in the serene Blue Ridge Mountains of East Tennessee, Mary Stone crafts her stories surrounded by the natural beauty that inspires her. What was once a home filled with the lively energy of her sons has now become a peaceful writer's retreat, shared with cherished pets and the vivid characters of her imagination.

As her sons grew and welcomed wonderful daughters-in-law into the family, Mary's life entered a quieter phase, rich with opportunities for deep creative focus. In this tranquil environment, she weaves tales of courage, resilience, and intrigue, each story a testament to her evolving journey as a writer.

From childhood fears of shadowy figures under the bed to a profound understanding of humanity's real-life villains, Mary's style has been shaped by the realization that the most complex antagonists often hide in plain sight. Her writing is characterized by strong, multifaceted heroines who defy traditional roles, standing as equals among their peers in a world of suspense and danger.

Mary's career has blossomed from being a solitary author to establishing her own publishing house—a significant milestone that marks her growth in the literary world. This expansion is not just a personal achievement but a reflection of her commitment to bring thrilling and thought-provoking stories to a wider audience. As an author and publisher, Mary continues to challenge the conventions of the thriller genre, inviting readers into gripping tales filled with serial killers, astute FBI agents, and intrepid heroines who confront peril with unflinching bravery.

Each new story from Mary's pen—or her publishing house—is a pledge to captivate, thrill, and inspire, continuing the legacy of the imaginative little girl who once found wonder and mystery in the shadows.

Discover more about Mary Stone on her website.

www.authormarystone.com

Bella Cross

Bella Cross spent the past fifteen years teaching bored teenagers all about the Dewey Decimal System while inhaling the dust from the library books she loves so much. With each book she read, a little voice in her head would say, "You can do that too." So, she did. A thousand heart palpitations later, she is thrilled to release her first novel with the support of her husband, twin girls, and the gigantic Newfoundland she rescued warming her feet.

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