“Guess I’d better make some coffee.”I pushed up from the couch.“Looks like we’ll be here a while.”
The kitchen was quiet except for the persistent drip of the coffeemaker.I braced my hands on the counter and stared out the window, trying to steady the chaos in my mind.
Victor Kane had always been a sadist.I’d seen the evidence of what he’d done to Ariana.But this… This was industrialized cruelty.Organized.Systematic.
I wished Schaffer were still alive so I could kill him again for the role he played.And for lying to me about it.
The only silver lining was the fact that Victor was still alive.
I’d make him suffer for all of this.For Sarah.For Ariana.And for every single one of the women in those files.
I’d make sure justice was served.
Even if it was the last thing I did.
Once the coffee finished brewing, I poured two mugs and brought them back to the office.Blake glanced my way as I entered, then returned his focus to the folder, his mouth tightening before he tossed it aside.
“Everything okay?”I asked, sitting beside him and placing a mug in front of him.
He gave a short, humorless laugh as he took a sip of coffee.“Yeah.”
“You sure?”
“I just…” He sighed, scrubbing a hand down his face.“Never mind.Let’s see what we can find out about these women.See if they can lead us to Victor… Or them.”
“Are you sure you’re okay?”I dropped my voice.“Is this about the girl you keep looking for?Chandler something?”
His shoulders stiffened.Then he pushed out a long breath.“I guess a part of me was hoping she’d be in here,” he admitted quietly.“But at the same time, praying she wasn’t.”
I knew that kind of hope.The kind that tore you apart either way.
“Who is she?”
“Just someone I used to know.”
“Did you?—”
“Sarah’s not in here, either,” he said before I could ask.
I didn’t know if it was a good thing or not.My gut told me there had to be a connection between this recent development and everything else that was going on — Sarah’s death, Ariana’s abduction, the Bratva.
I could feel us getting closer.But with every new piece of information, new questions arose.
“Well…” I sighed, taking a fortifying sip of coffee.“Let’s get to work.”
Hours later, my office looked like a war room.Files littered every surface, a map of the U.S.dotted with colored pins marking each woman’s last known city and date hung on the wall.Another wall held rows of photographs — young women smiling in frozen snapshots of ordinary lives.
“Now what should we do?”Blake asked, rubbing his neck.
I didn’t answer right away, unable to shake the feeling we were missing something.I focused on the various cities.Santa Fe.Santa Monica.Austin.Chicago.Boston.San Francisco.Miami.
If the women had been concentrated in one area, maybe it would have made sense.But they were spread out.Dozens of cities over the course of several years.
I kept staring at the map, something about these cities in particular standing out in my mind.
“What is it?”Blake asked, obviously sensing the wheels spinning.
“It’s probably nothing.”
