Other signs followed suit:
“Shut It Down Before More Blood Is Spilled.”
“Witchcraft Kills.”
“Keep Our Town Safe.”
People weren’t just protesting anymore—they were accusing.
“No problem,” the warden said, “I’ll get you whatever you need as long as it doesn’t involve that satan spawn coming back here.”
I swerved off of Main Street, hit the brakes. “What do you mean,coming back here?”
A brief pause, then, “Sorry, guess I thought that’s why you were calling. Kenzo Rees was released eight days ago.”
30
JAGG
Ten minutes later, I hovered over my desk, the freshly printed reports still warm in my hands, the email from the warden burning a hole in my inbox.
Eightdays ago.
My pulse drummed in my ears, my thoughts moving too fast to keep up. Kenzo Rees—former cult leader, career criminal, manipulative sociopath—was out. Released. On the streets.
The thought made me sick.
Rees had walked free three days before the Cedonia Scroll heist. Five days before Seagrave’s murder. Eight before Sunny was attacked in the woods.
Coincidence?
Not a chance in hell.
My jaw clenched as I compared the height and weight from Rees’s prison file to the grainy street cam stills of the Black Bandit. It was far from conclusive—but plausible. And with each passing second, the possibility solidified into something I couldn’t ignore.
Was Kenzo Rees the Black Bandit?
And if he was…
My chest tightened.
If he was, then he was here for the scrolls—But not only the scrolls.
Sunny.
The warden’s voice ran through my head:
“Short of it, he was going to kill her. Finish the job when he got out. Blamed her formakinghim hit her and for getting thrown in jail.”
I dropped the reports and pushed off the desk, running a hand through my hair as dread coiled in my chest like barbed wire. My mind had been circling this case from every angle, every detail—but this changed everything. She wasn’t just a bystander anymore. She wasn’t just a mystery I needed to solve.
She was possibly in danger.
The kind of danger that didn’t leave bruises—it left bodies.
And what rattled me most wasn’t just the threat Rees posed. It was my reaction to it. The surge of heat that shot through my veins. The raw, possessive instinct that lit up my nerves. I didn’t just want her safe—Ineededher safe. Because somewhere between chasing suspects and dodging lies, I’d started to care about her.
More—much more—than I wanted to admit.
