Unknown:Good morning, Dr. Andrews. Turn on the news.
I sit up quickly, my heart pounding against my ribs as I reread the message, trying to make sense of it. Dread weaves through me as my fingers hover over the screen. I’m hesitant to obey, but I have to know what’s going on.
After grabbing the remote, I turn on the TV and select the news channel. The reporter’s voice is solemn, heavy with the gravity of her story.
“Police have confirmed that a man was found dead in his downtown apartment early this morning, just after dawn. He has been identified as Mason Rivers…”
I freeze.
“Authorities are treating the case as a homicide.”
No.I shake my head, disbelief washing over me like ice water.No, no, no.
The image on the screen shifts to Mason’s building, police tape draped across the entrance, the flashing red and blue lights in the background. The reporter’s voice continues, but I can barely hear her. My mind is racing, my pulse hammering in my ears.
Mason is dead.
I watch in stunned silence as the details emerge, the sympathy in the reporter’s voice doing nothing to soften the brutality of what was done to him. The word “torture” is mentioned, and I flinch, the horror of it sinking in. She doesn’t go into specifics, but the implication is there, thick and suffocating.
Nausea hits me so hard that I slump onto the mattress as the room spins. I wanted him out of my life. But not like that. Mason didn’t deserve this ending.
It wasn’t just murder. Someone made him suffer.
A cold thought slips into my mind, and my stomach churns violently.Ghost.It had to be him. But how? He’s in prison. He couldn’t have done it himself.
Ordidhe?
Ghost is nothing if not resourceful. He could have hired ahitman to do the job for him. He must have influence. Power that reaches far beyond those bars.
I cling to that thought because the alternative—Ghost physically breaking out and doing this himself—is too terrifying to consider. If he can orchestrate something like this from behind prison walls, there’s still a level of separation. It’s less personal. He didn’t do it with his own hands.
But that thought doesn’t comfort me. Mason’s dead because Ghost wanted it. He told me so in person. I didn’t want to believe it then, but I sure as hell do now.
A sharp knock on my door shatters the silence. I nearly jump off my bed as a cold wave of fear washes over me. Another knock sounds, more insistent this time. It’s too early in the morning for visitors. And it’s not Ghost.
He wouldn’t knock.
My body moves on autopilot as I get to my feet and shuffle toward the door. I unlock it with trembling fingers and pull it open, revealing two police officers standing in the hallway, their expressions grim.
“Dr. Geneva Andrews?”
“Yes,” I reply, my throat dry.
The second officer steps forward, his hand resting lightly on his belt. “I’m Officer Kwan. This is Officer Jacob. We’re… we’re sorry for your loss, ma’am. Mason Rivers was found dead in his apartment this morning.”
“I just saw it on the news.” I swallow hard. “Thank you.”
The officer nods. “We know this might be difficult, but we need you to come down to the station. Just a few questions to help move the investigation along since you were one of the last peopleto contact him. We want to catch whoever did this as quickly as possible.”
“Okay, give me a second.”
I grab my jacket and phone, sending a quick text to Allen so he knows I’ll be late for work. The officers step aside, allowing me to close the door before leading me down the hallway. My mind spins, a chaotic jumble of conflicting thoughts.
Ghost is responsible for this.
But how do I explain that without sounding insane myself?
CHAPTER 21
