“Fine. What do you need?” she asks, giving in to his demand.
“I need to check for pelvic tenderness and a pregnancy test.” The room goes silent.
Kiera’s eyes cut to mine, then away. “I already did one.” The words are barely audible. “After the opera.”
“And?” I ask, my heart beating faster.
“It was negative.”
“We’re checking again when we’re not in a shack in the mountains, but right now I need to know if anything feels wrong enough to stop you from going down there.” He works fast. Cuff. Pulse. Pupils. Fingers pressing into her side, her lower belly, reading every flinch. She stays silent through all of it, only a hiss escaping when he hits a tender spot low and to the right of her ribs.
He sits back on his heels. “Good news. You’re not actively dying. Bad news. You’re one hard hit away from pissing off Sterling. No running. No stairs alone. No playing human shield, you get me?”
Kiera snorts. “You planning on bubble-wrapping me, Cam?”
“If I could, I would,” he says. “But I have a feeling you would just pop it.”
I straighten, keeping my hand on her shoulder, anchoring her. “Translation,” I say. “You get one round with Evelyn. Then you eat, shower, and you lie down the fuck down. Let us handle the rest while you pretend to sleep and plot six different homicides.”
Her mouth twitches, a faint smile ghosting her lips. “Three homicides,” she corrects. “And one resurrection. I plan on killing Wade twice.”
“There she is,” Cam says softly. He closes the med kit with a snap and jerks his chin toward the basement. “Thirty minutes. That’s all I’m giving you down there before I drag both your asses back up. I’ve got logs to break and a burner trail to trace. Whoever Evelyn has been reporting to is still out there.”
Kiera pushes to her feet. She sways; I catch her. This time, she doesn’t fight me. “Thirty minutes is all I need.” Her eyes immediately fix on the padlock. I slip the key off the hook, the metal cool against my fingers. Her pulse jumps under my hand. Below us, the pipe tapping stops. She knows we’re coming. “Cam?” Kiera asks, without looking back.
“Yeah?”
“If I’m not back in thirty-one minutes…”
“I know,” he says. “I burn the house. With her in it.”
A muscle in Kiera’s jaw ticks. She doesn’t tell him no. I press the key into her palm, curling her fingers around it. “I’ll follow your lead.
She looks up at me, eyes storm-dark and razor-bright. She turns, slides the key into the lock, and together we open the door to the answers she’s been waiting for.
Chapter Thirty-One
The stairs leading to the basement are too narrow for both of us, but Sterling refuses to let me go first.Of course he does. His hand is a comforting weight on the small of my back as we make our way down. He’s close enough behind me that if I stumble, I’ll fall straight into him. I hate that it makes me feel safer. I hate that I somehow need it now. The air grows colder with every creaking step toward the answers. Upstairs smells like instant coffee, wet wool, and kids’ shampoo. Down here, it’s damp concrete, rust, and the sour tang of fear.
The last step groans under my weight. The light from the single bulb swings in a lazy sway, throwing shadows across the walls like something alive. And there she is. Evelyn Hawthorne, my mom, tied to a rusted water pipe at the far wall. Her ankles, shackled together. Wrists cuffed and hanging above her head. Her dark hair is shorter than my memories, hacked off at the shoulders, threaded with silver, but her face is the same. The same high cheekbones. The same sharp jaw. The same mouth that used to press against my forehead and whisper, ‘You are my sunshine.’ Now that mouth curves into a small, amused smile. “Sunshine,” she says. Her voice is hoarse from lack of water. “You look tired.”
The words hit like a punch, and the room tilts. For a split second, I’m eight again, watching red bloom across the library floor as my dad killed the woman in front of me. All for files that I’m still no closer to having answers for. My fingers tighten around the keys in my hand, the teeth digging into my palm. I welcome the sting; it keeps me here. “I’ve had a long day.” My voice lacks any empathy. “What’s your excuse?”
Sterling moves to my left, his shoulder brushing mine—a solid line of heat between me and the cold. He doesn’t speak, and Evelyn clocks it. Her gaze flicks from my face to his. Calculating. “Sterling.” Her voice is almost a purr, like she’s tasting his name like a word she’s been waiting years to use out loud. My stomach twists in disgust. “You grew up well.” He stands like a statue, not giving her an ounce of satisfaction.
“You know him.”
“Oh, I know all about him.” Her smile widens, not kindly. “I watched his file with great interest.”
A scoff escapes from between my lips. “Interesting choice of words…watched.”
“It was my job.”
My rage flares, cutting through the ache in my abdomen. The weight of exhaustion presses behind my eyes. “Your job,” I repeat her words. “Right. Because that’s what you were doing in the Nesting House for the last sixteen years? Just clocking in for your shift, and watching innocent children.”
Something like surprise flashes across her face, there and gone. She masks it quickly, but I see it. “You’ve seen the logs.” It’s not a question. “Cam’s good.”
My fingers twitch. “How do you know his name?”
