I take a breath. “A few weeks ago, someone dropped a card off on my front porch. My name was printed on the front. When I opened the envelope, the card inside was like one of those get-well cards you get at the store. When I opened it, I saw that taped inside was the headline from an article about my mother’s murder seventeen years ago.” I pause, the memory scraping raw. “Written across the top it said, ‘You look just like her.’ And below the article—‘Will your fate be the same?’”
Meyer’s pen stills. “And you’re certain that card pertains to this case? That it wasn’t someone playing a cruel joke?”
“That’s what I thought at first,” I admit. “Until Emilio showed me the note left at Bailey and Liam’s crime scene. The handwriting was identical.” I shift forward, my voice sharpening. “Speaking of handwriting, why has every method of communication been different? Why wasn’t anything left with Khloe that actually ties him to her?”
She exhales slowly, setting her pen down. “It’s actually a fairly common practice among serial offenders. They shift their patterns to avoid detection. If the evidence doesn’t match from scene to scene, it’s harder to connect the crimes legally.”
I nod in understanding.
“Khloe was the first murder,” she continues. “No note was left, but we did recover a string of text messages sent to her just before she died. The number traced back to a burner, so there was nothing we could get from that. In my honest opinion, I think the message he leftwasKhloe. She was your best friend, and whoever killed her knew this.”
I frown, leaning forward. “Wouldn’t you think he’d kill the person closest to melast? Draw it out for maximum damage?”
Meyer’s eyes flick up to mine. “Normally, yes. But this guy doesn’t follow convention. He started with Khloe because he knew it wouldwreckyou. That was the first punch. The rest—Liam, Bailey, Alexis—they were the kicks that followed. He’s not just trying to destroy your world, Raelynn.” Her tone softens. “He’s trying to destroyyou.”
The room falls silent again, heavy with the weight of her words. Four people are dead, and Emilio is at the hospital for a stab wound, all because of me.
THIRTY
RAELYNN
By the timeDetective Meyer finally lets me go, the first bruised shades of dawn are bleeding into the horizon, turning the sky a washed-out blue gray. I step out of the station and into the early morning chill, exhaustion sinking deep into my bones. My entire body feels like it’s been wrung dry—muscles aching, nerves frayed, brain buzzing like static. Hours of sitting under harsh fluorescent lights in that freezing interrogation room, answering question after question about every terrifying detail, have hollowed me out completely.
All I want is my bed. To crawl beneath the blankets, bury my face in my pillow, and pretend tonight never happened.
But my bed is inside an active crime scene. My apartment—my sanctuary—is now sealed off behind yellow tape, swarming with officers and crime scene techs. And there’s no chance of rest, not while Emilio is still in the hospital. I need to see him, to touch him, to know he’s really okay.
The second I slide into my Kia, I grab my phone. My hands shake as I fumble with the screen. I call Tessa first. She answers after a few rings, her voice thick with exhaustion.
“Rae?” she says softly.
“Hey. How’s Max?”
“He made it through surgery,” she says, and I hear the relief in her voice. “They’re keeping him overnight for observation, but the vet said the wound missed anything major.”
The tension in my chest loosens just a little, enough for my breath to hitch. “Thank God.”
“Yeah,” she exhales. “He’s a tough boy. I’m gonna pick him up tomorrow and take him to stay with me at my parents, unless you want me to bring him to you?”
“As much as I want to be with my baby, we’re not in the clear yet. Both you and Max will be safer far away from me.” I sigh.
“You don’t gotta lie, babe. If you want the space, all you gotta do is ask.”
Even through the fatigue, I hear the smirk in her voice. “Tessa?—”
She laughs softly. “Oh, don’t act like you don’t need it.”
I roll my eyes, but I can’t help the tiny smile that tugs at my lips. “Goodnight, Tess.”
“Night, Rae. Hang in there.”
When I hang up, I call Emilio immediately. He, of course, answers after the first ring.
He’s still at the hospital, waiting for his discharge papers. The doctors stitched up his shoulder and offered him pain medication, but the stubborn bastard refused them. Said he didn’t want to be stoned in case The Ripper decided to make another move tonight, which I completely understand.
Still, I can hear the fatigue in his voice, the way the exhaustion bleeds through even when he’s trying to sound steady. He’s been stabbed, nearly bled out on my living room floor, and yet he’s more worried about me than himself. That thought alone twists something in my chest—equal parts love and guilt.
Because I keep replaying the night in my head, over and over. The chaos, the screaming, the glass shattering. The way I froze when I should’ve acted. Every ounce of my self-defense training with Emilio evaporated the second fear took over. I thought I was at least somewhat prepared for something like this, but the truth is, when it finally came, I was useless.
