I raise an eyebrow and point at a monitor displaying various angles of a kindergarten building entrance.
“Oh, that.” He cackles nervously. “No, no. I like my balls attached to my body, thanks. She’ll never know about the cameras.”
Odd fucking way to phrase it, but whatever.
“Let’s see if we can find out who contacted the NYPD about it first and go from there,” he says, cracking his fingers. “Why don’t you order us some food? Get me a carton of Red Bull while you’re at it.”
“You’re going to die of a heart attack,” I grumble, already pulling up the food delivery app. I order a double portion of Basia’s favorite Greek first, set to be delivered when she usually takes her lunch break with Morgan, and shoot her a text letting her know. Then I order the canned stimulants and Vietnamese food for us.
Meanwhile, Ethan’s fingers move fast—databases, sealed court records, archived forums, long-dead message boards that should’ve been wiped years ago.
Nothing. And no clue who stonewalled the police.
“This isn’t a cult with a digital footprint,” Ethan mutters. “No recruitment videos. No donation trails. No socials. No obvious leaders.”
I eye the data—or lack thereof on his screens. “Cults normally love attention. They brag.”
“Exactly,” Ethan replies. “Which means this one didn’t want to be found.”
A new window pops up. Ethan stills.
“Okay… That’s interesting.”
I lean in, trying to make sense of what I see.
“Talk.”
“There are mentions,” Ethan says slowly. “But they’re old. Twenty-ish years. And they’re always secondhand.”
He pulls up a scanned PDF—a partially redacted investigative report from a Northeastern sheriff’s department. Most of it is blacked out.
“Unconfirmed religious order,” I read quietly. “Isolated compound, dozens of children’s dorm rooms.” I swallow down bile at the implications. “Case closed due to lack of evidence.”
My hands clench into fists.
“Scroll,” I order.
Ethan does. Another document, copies of birth certificates for a dozen children or more from the compound.
“Looks like they were born there?” he speculates.
I nod, looking at the names, wondering about the horrors that happened to them. The horrors that shaped one of them into a violent stalker.
“Could it be a woman?” I wonder out loud.
“Doubtful,” Ethan replies. “A woman would probably infiltrate her life and take her unawares.”
A muscle in my jaw ticks at the thought. I already ran a background check on everyone Basia’s in frequent contact with. It helps that lately it’s been my buddies’ girls, and they’re all trustworthy.
“So one of the boys then. This guy isn’t role-playing,” I say quietly. “He’s angry.”
“Yeah,” Ethan agrees. He pulls up the note that came with the ear, zooming in on the handwriting. “Whoever sent this knows the cult existed. Knows Langford dismissed investigations. And wants him tohurt.”
A rumble rattles in my chest.
“Keep digging,” I order grimly.
One way or another, I’m going to stop them. There’s no alternative I can live with. Not after breathing Basia’s air these last three months, sharing her space, knowing her mind.
