But I didn’t move. Couldn’t.
I held Hannah’s shaking hand and asked the question that felt like swallowing glass.
“What happened to her, Hannah?”
She broke.
Collapsed inward like her spine had given way.
“I don’t know,” she sobbed. “I don’t know. But I think… I think they took her.”
My stomach bottomed out.
Because suddenly, it clicked—Sinclair was more than likely behind Amorette’s disappearance. He was involved with these men. His absolute pallor when he saw me had already confirmed that. But Hannah said he made a mistake and now these men had punished him. Punished him by taking his wife… But was the mistake Amorette? Or was it me?
Ignacio had wantedme. That had been clear. Not Amorette. Still…Anotherwoman was missing now, even as this one shook from fear in front of me. How many had these people hurt? How many more would they hurt?
Behind me, Bones shifted again. The movement was enough for Hannah to stiffen again, as though she felt the air change. He didn’t raise his voice, didn’t loom, didn’t do anything threatening. He didn’t have to. Bones could project authority without lifting a damn finger.
“Hannah,” he said, calm and steady. “I’m going to ask you a few questions. Grace will stay right here with you.”
She nodded, trembling.
“Good,” he murmured, tone precise but not unkind. “First—how often do these other men come? The ones who use the hidden door.”
Hannah inhaled, shaky. “Sometimes once a week. Sometimes twice. Sometimes…” She flinched. “…sometimes every day. It depends.”
“On what?” Bones asked.
“I don’t know. I only know when I hear them. They walk heavy. They slam things. They speak fast—angry.” A little shiver ran through her. “When they come, I stay far away.”
“So no pattern you can track?” Bones pressed gently. “Weekends? Late nights? Early morning?”
She hesitated. “M-Mornings. Usually mornings. When they come at night, it is only two or three of them. But mornings…” Her breath quavered. “Mornings, I think there are many.”
Morning activity might mean business. Deliveries, exchanges, planning. Maybe. Nights could be cleanup. My stomach soured.
Bones’ voice cut through the rising haze. “Besides the door in the office—have you seen any other hidden doors? Panels? Locked rooms? Anything strange?”
Hannah shook her head immediately. “No. Only that one. But… but there is a room I am not allowed to clean. Always locked. He said he would handle it.”
“Which room?” Bones asked.
“Upstairs,” she whispered. “End of the hall. Across from the master bedroom. I have never been inside. Even the señora say that is his—space.”
Alphabet’s quiet curse was barely audible, but I heard it. Upstairs.
“Anything else?” Bones asked. “Anything you can think of that felt wrong or out of place? Anything Mrs. Sinclair said or did before she left?”
For the first time, Hannah’s trembling slowed. She lifted her head a fraction, blindfold shifting.
“She… she cried.”
My breath froze.
The guys behind me stilled—every one of them. Even Goblin, who had been sitting quietly next to me, seemed to freeze in place.
“Cried?” I asked softly. “When?”
