The car’s back windows are all the way down, and I have no doubt Tee will bite off any hand that tries to reach inside. As hard as Lynx tries to let him run away and be free, the mutt refuses to leave us.
At least that’s what usually happens. This time, the moment we start walking away, he jumps out of the car and trots on over to us—pissing on something every five feet.
Lynx huffs, grabs the keys from me, and rolls up the windows before tugging me to his side, throwing a protective arm around my shoulder and glaring at everyone we walk past. A girl could get used to this.
He’s almost as tense as I am, but in his defense, buses operating without a track is as unnatural to him as electricity justhappeningat the flick of a switch. He understands it in theory but not in practice.
And construction sites? His entire body goes rock solid at the shrill sound of the circular saw. He never says as much, but I suspect it reminds him of the screams in Hell.
I squeeze his side and subtly bump my hip against his as Tee trots on ahead with a—where the fuck did he get a whole rotisserie chicken? I spin round, searching for anyone who might be looking for a thief.
Jesus Christ.
Looks like Tee doesn’t need dinner, then.
Lynx shakes his head, slightly relaxed by the dog’s distraction, but it doesn’t stop him from eyeing every store we pass.
I pull him into one of the cafés and instantly spot the woman we came here to meet. Her eyes snap up to mine at the same moment, and she stands, motioning toward the empty seats in front of her. She’s right in the corner, wearing a classic sharp pantsuit that makes her look like she’s walked right out of an FBI movie.
And what a coincidence.
“Special Agent Mackney,” I say, taking her offered hand.
“Please, Mackney is formal enough.”
“This is Lynx.”
True to Lynx’s hellish demeanor, he simply stares at her then begrudgingly shakes her hand. If Mackney is bothered, she doesn’t let on.
Even though I’d rather stand and get this over and done with, I set the book on the table, take my seat, and wipe my sweaty hands over the shorts I had to fight Lynx not to rip off me before we left.
“I admit, I was shocked when you called.”
I nod. I guess most daughters don’t supply the lead agent investigating their parents’ criminal behavior with more evidence.
“Is that it?” She eyes the book.
“Yeah.” I hesitate, hand hovering over the leather cover before passing it over. “I found it while I was cleaning up the manor. I believe this was the type of evidence you were looking for? I don’t understand most of it…”
The moment she flips the book open, and her eyes widen at the pages, the weight on my chest vanishes. I was worried I was holding out hope and placing so much expectation on a meaningless item. But at her awe, the sweet taste of vindication is within reach.
“This is incredible. There are so many more names and companies—transactions we’ve never heard of. Depending on what evidence we find, it’s possible we could get them charged and sentenced again,” she rattles on, leafing through the ledger. “We’ll need a forensic writing expert to look at the handwriting, and we’ll need to dust for fingerprints—also, an affidavit from you confirming where you found the evidence.”
“Of course,” I quickly say, trying to fight the smile growing on my face. Lynx knocks his knee against mine and winks when I look at him, and I’m pretty sure I could fly. “So… they’re not getting out?”
“If I get my way, they’ll be in there for a long, long time.”
There’s so much conviction in Mackney’s tone that it erases every doubt in my mind.
My parents aren’t going to take the manor. They’re not going to visit my sister’s supposed grave. They’re not getting out of their orange jumpsuits or waltzing back into high society. They’re paying for their crimes in this life, and the Devil can have Its fun with them in the next.
The agent puts the book in her bag, and the mood shifts. “I was sorry to hear about your sister.”
My throat tightens. “Oh. Yeah. Thanks.”
I made an effort to contact Megan, Ella’s friend, when we finally made it back to my apartment. I used the excuse of needing a mental health break and told her about my intentions for the ledger. While she wasn’t overly enthusiastic about my plans, and wasn’t sure if Ella would be either, she supported my decision.
I think, in that moment, I decided that even if Ella wouldn’t have been happy about this, I’d still reach out to Mackney. My life can’t be controlled by a ghost—or anyone else for that matter.
