“That’s worse,” Alex says quietly. “That’s so much worse.”
“I know.”
Because if Dom can’t control Marcus—if the one person with leverage over a serial killer has lost that leverage—then there’s no leash. No handler. No one standing between Marcus and whatever he wants.
And right now, what he wants is me.
“I think Marcus is out of control,” I say finally. “I think even the people who are supposed to manage him can’t anymore.”
The words hang in the car.
Alex’s hands tighten on the steering wheel. White-knuckled.
“What do we do?”
“I don’t know.”
And that’s the worst part. That’s the part that makes me want to scream.
I can’t go to the police. Marcus’s family built half the department. His grandfather’s portrait hangs in the union hall. Three generations of Ashfords have been buying badges and judgeships since before I was born.
I can’t quit. Too suspicious. Dom would want to know why. And quitting doesn’t make me safe—it just makes me an unemployed woman Marcus can find whenever he wants.
I can’t run. He knows where I live. Where Alex lives.
I can’t tell anyone the whole truth. The stairwell is my only advantage. The fact that they don’t know I know. If I lose that?—
“There’s no move,” I say. My voice sounds dead. Hollow. “Every option makes it worse. Every choice closes another door. I’m?—”
I stop. Swallow.
“I’m trapped.”
Alex doesn’t argue. Doesn’t try to find the silver lining. Doesn’t tell me it’ll be okay.
She just sits there. Holding the note. Looking at those three handwritten lines.
You’re safe tonight.
Tonight.
Not tomorrow. Not next week. Not when I have to go back to that office and sit across from Marcus and pretend I don’t know what he does. What Dom does. What they’ve been doing for years while women disappeared and families were told their daughters moved to DC.
I got out tonight.
But Monday, I have to go back.
“Okay.” Alex’s voice is quiet. Steady. The voice she uses when she’s made a decision. “Okay. Here’s what we’re going to do.”
She puts the car in drive.
“We’re going to go home. We’re going to lock every door. We’re going to put that note somewhere safe. And tomorrow—”She glances at me. “Tomorrow we’re going to figure out what the fuck we’re actually dealing with.”
“Alex—”
“Those women are watching you.” She holds up the note. “That means they think you’re worth watching. That means they know something. And that means—” Her jaw tightens. “That means we’re not as alone as we thought.”
I want to believe her.
