I shot her a look. “You aren’t seriously thinking about talking to that psycho.”
Skye gave me an incredulous shake of her head. “What do you mean? I’m currently in production of a documentary, the subject of which just offered me an interview. Of course I’m going to talk to him.”
I blinked at her. “Nothing good comes from that monster.”
She threw her shoulders back. “Maybe, but this is my job, Fox.” She looked back at Graham. “When does he want to do this?”
Graham had the decency to look guilty as he glanced at me. “In a couple days. There’d be hoops to jump through, but I’m friends with the prosecutor and I think we could make it happen.”
Skye nodded, excitement lighting up her face.
“This isn’t a good idea,” I grumbled.
“I don’t care,” she said. “If we can make it happen, I’m going.”
I pushed a hand through my hair. My mind spun. This would change everything. “The last thing I want to do is get close to that—that evil scum,” I muttered, under my breath.
Skye threw me a confused look. “No one asked you to go.”
“If you haven’t realized it by now, wherever you’re going, I’m going.” Her eyes widened, and I fought the urge to grab her hand again. “I’m not going to let anything happen to you. Not if I can help it.”
18
Skye
Ihadthirtyminutes.
It wasn’t enough time to do justice to an interview that very well could be a defining moment in my career. But it was more than I could’ve ever imagined.
Interviews with alleged serial killers didn’t usually happen like this. They didn’t get approved virtually overnight. Graham had been right. The prosecutor was on board and had pulled some strings to get me into the regional detention center. I think they hoped to get him saying something incriminating they could use at trial.
Within forty-eight hours of learning that the Shadow Stalker wanted to speak with me, I was sitting alone in a freezing room, staring at a row of plexiglass booths.
There were six total in this white-painted cinderblock room. Only one was occupied. Mine.
Fox had come with me for the three-hour drive. Ember Hollow didn’t have a jail close enough that could handle someone as potentiallydangerous as the man I was about to meet. But Fox hadn’t been allowed in this room with me.
The Shadow Stalker specifically requested that I come alone to speak with him. No cameras. No backup. Just me, an approved recording device, and my questions.
To say Fox hated that was an understatement. He fought me for two full days. He’d argued. Glared. Shut down. Then argued again.
I knew it was coming from a good place. And part of me—a part that I had hidden very deep down inside myself—liked that he wanted to fight for my safety. That he seemed to really care.
But I still wouldn’t budge, not even for him.
This was more than a story to me now. This was more than another interview for the documentary.
This was personal.
Not only did this man terrorize my hometown for decades, but there was also Jane Doe, who was potentially my mother.
Maybe my father had killed her. Maybe the Shadow Stalker had nothing to do with it. But all of it circled around him, and if there was even the smallest chance he could give me something—anything—I had to take it.
A loud, grating buzz made me jump in the plastic chair. On the other side of the plexiglass, a door swung open. My stomach dropped, but I pulled my shoulders back. I had to be brave. Professional. Focused.
The monster stepped through the doorway, his arms and feet shackled with chains that rattled with each movement.
His dark stare instantly met mine. A chill crawled down my spine as something more than dread wrapped around my heart. I was lookinginto the eyes of a cold-blooded killer. Someone who took life without remorse.
