“Don’t tell anyone.”
“My lips are sealed.”
“Good.”
“Unless I suffer concussion-related oversharing.”
“Then I’ll deny it.”
I laughed softly, and some of the pressure in my chest loosened.
I leaned back against the headboard again and looked toward the laptop.“So one female victim was Mick’s girlfriend, and the woman from last night definitely wasn’t Erin.The rest were men?”
“Yeah.”
“That’s a pattern.”
Push nodded.“Anchor thought so too.”
“Men are displayed.Women are different.”
His gaze sharpened.“Different how?”
I chewed on the inside of my cheek, thinking it through.
“This person wants the men found.Maybe as warnings.Maybe as punishment.Maybe as messages to the club.”I tapped my fingers lightly against my knee.“But the women seem… targeted differently.Mick’s girlfriend was connected to Mick.Bernice was connected to Pearl and Shay and the island’s past.Shay was threatened but not killed.”
“And the one from last night?And maybe even Erin?”
I took a slow breath.
“I don’t know.”
That was the answer I hated most.
Push studied me.
I kept going because stopping meant feeling too much.“If Erin is connected, I need to figure out how.She wasn’t part of your club.She wasn’t from here as far as I know.She didn’t know these people.At least, I don’t think she did.”
“You close?”
The question was simple, but it hit deep.
“With Erin?”I asked.
“Yeah.”
I stared at my hands again.“Yes and no.”
Push stayed quiet, waiting.
I could have brushed it off.Made a joke.Told him that was private.Instead, because apparently head injuries made me emotionally reckless, I answered.“We were close because we had to be.Foster care kind of does that.You learn pretty fast who’s safe, and most of the time, it was just us.”I rubbed my thumb over a loose thread on the blanket.“But when you grow up surviving together, sometimes you don’t know how to stop surviving long enough to actually be sisters.”
Push didn’t say anything.That made it easier to keep talking.
“She’d disappear for a few days sometimes when she got overwhelmed.Not like this, though.Never this long.Never without checking in eventually.”My voice thinned, and I hated it.“Even when she was mad at me, she’d send something.A middle finger emoji.A picture of ugly shoes.A text that just said alive, stop being dramatic.”
“Ugly shoes?”
