Page 44

No. Fucking. Way.

My vision wavered as a memory slammed into me out of nowhere. I remembered this one summer night like it got stuck somewhere behind my ribs. I was fifteen, Jackson was fifteen, and Evie had just turned fourteen. We were down by the creek past the old rail bridge—the one Dad said was unsafe, but we climbed anyway. The air smelled of damp dirt and eucalyptus, and the water moved slow and dark beneath us, catching bits of moonlight.

“Don’t fall,” I told Evie for what had to be the tenth time as she edged her way across one of the beams, arms stretched out like that was somehow going to help.

She shot me a glare over her shoulder. “I’m not going to fall.”

“You say that now”

“Mate,” Jackson cut in, laughing as he nudged my shoulder. “She did it last week, she’ll be fine.”

Evie made it to the other side and turned, hands on her hips, chin tipped up like she’d just conquered something massive. “See? I’m fine.”

“Yeah, yeah,” I said, but I was already carefully moving across after her anyway. Jackson followed last, of course—When we dropped down onto the dirt on the other side, Evie immediately crouched by the water, poking at something with a stick.

“Look,” she said. “Tadpoles.”

Jackson leaned over her shoulder. “Let me see.”

I sat down on the bank, just watching them. The way Evie’s hair kept falling into her face and she’d blow it away. The way Jackson kept looking at her like it was his personal mission to make her laugh.

Eventually Jackson dropped down beside me, bumping his knee into mine as Evie plopped down on my other side a second later, damp hands and all. Jackson leaned back on his elbows, looking up at the sky like he had all the time in the world.

“We should do this forever,” he said.

Evie nodded immediately. “Every year.”

I glanced between them, something tight and quiet settling in my chest. “Yeah,” I agreed. “Every year.”

“Good.” Jackson grinned, not even looking at me. “It’s a deal then.”

“Rosen?”

I cleared my throat and sat forward. “Are we certain?”

“He missed a scheduled flight to Melbourne yesterday morning. He was meant to be at the Grand Final parade today,” Emily said as I stared back down at the photo, feeling the bile rise in my throat. “When he didn’t show at the airport,” she continued, “his teammate, Bailey Dew, went by his house and found this,” she said, holding up a note encased in a small evidence bag and sliding it over to me, “in the letter box after he searched the whole house.” My chest tightened as I reached for it, the plastic crinkling under my fingers.

WATCH HOW THE MIGHTY FALL.

THE CAPTAIN IS NOT UNBEATABLE AFTER ALL.

THE SKINNER

“No signs of a break-in,” she added. “No signs of an obvious struggle, and the place was spotless.”

Of course it was.

“The Skinner’s profile would suggest that he preys on the weak and the vulnerable, or the kind of people that blend into the background of everyday life,” Sebastian added, pushing his glasses up when they slid down his nose.

“Jackson Easton is neither weak, nor vulnerable. He’s easily the most famous person in Australia right now. So what do we think he’s trying to prove?” Tiffany Winston—our communications liaison—said as she walked in through the door, her red stilettos muted from the carpet. “He’s either evolving into bigger prey, or trying to make a statement.”

“Maybe he saw the conference,” I said, forcing the words past the sour taste in my throat. “Maybe this is him telling us he’s not worried, and that we can’t stop him.” The note slipped from my fingers and fluttered onto the table. God, what a fucking nightmare. My head grew clouded, like I was moving through quicksand. What…what are the fucking chances? Do I just have the worst luck in the entire world, or was this something personal?

Jackson Easton?

Really?

I couldn’t feel my legs as we brainstormed for another hour before Tiffany left with Emily to make a public statement. As soon as the door clicked shut behind them, it felt like all the oxygen was sucked out of the room. Sebastian pulled a chair up beside me, his voice quieter now, stripped of the professional edge he used with everyone else.