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“You know you can’t, not until you find more evidence.”
“But I don’t want to wait for him to kill again.”
“I know, but you have to. You’ve no other choice here.”
8
KNOW THY RIVAL
YARA
Ryden Sinclair was a merciless killer like me, and I liked it more than I should. I knew my lust was bordering on crazy, but that didn’t stop me from obsessing over him.
The fire burned. The need blazed. The obsession was pulling, pushing, demanding. It was a savage creature, craving something different but just as violent, just as needy. Whispers became screams until all I heard was his name in my head.
“I know, Irene,” I said, pulling the scarf around my neck. It had been three days since that night with Ryden—him with his demons, and me with mine. I had been busy since that night, getting to know the man behind the mask.
“Are you even listening to me?” Irene grumbled as I continued to get ready for work. The other work. Usually, I’d be hunting my next victim, but this time, it was… Ryden. I added three more layers of clothes over my old dress, before pulling on a leather jacket. I sprayed Kat’s favorite perfume and smiled. Here she was. K.Y. Wolff.
“We could move to one of those picture-perfect towns, like the ones in the feel-good movies. I’m sure everyone there would be nice and kind, and you wouldn’t have to… you know, kill again.”
“Nothing’s perfect.” I could see what I told her about Ryden disturbed her. She rarely ranted.
“This man…”
“Has no idea who I am, Irene. I told you because you pestered me, not to make you worry about me,” I said, painting my lips one of my favorite shades of red. Scarlet Rouge.
I looked at my watch with a smile. Ryden would still be in his office. I’d followed him enough times to know he wouldn’t be at home when I finally walked into his place and touched his things. I was excited to become a part of his life. To break it open, to dig deep, and to find the skeletons in his closets—I knew there’d be quite a lot of them. Literally.
“What are you doing now, Yara?” Irene asked, pulling me out of my thoughts.
“Nothing. I’m going to stay in and watch TV. I had the worst day at work today.”
I had to autopsy a murder victim. Nala Sanders was only two years older than Irene. Blunt force trauma to the face and skull. Beaten to death with a golf club. It took me only two hours to find the perpetrator. Her husband.
This was why I wouldn’t ever trust anyone enough to share my life with them. I had seen firsthand how a marriage could destroy a person.
“You’re lying, Yara.”
“I’m not lying. Her husband killed her. Oh, it was horrible.”
“Now, you’re deliberately trying to distract me. Are you going to fucking stalk him again?”
I didn’t know how she did it, but she always knew when I was lying, just like her sister. Kat was the only one who found a way to rip my masks off. She peeled them away layer by layer until she saw what she was looking for, and she didn’t run when she knew the real me. No, she stayed and taught me to become a slightly more acceptable version of myself. She showed me ways to feed my needs without hurting the innocent.
“No. That’s ridiculous, Irene. I’m a respectable medical examiner under the jurisdiction of the State of Michigan. I don’t stalk. I respectfully… collect information,” I said, adjusting my wig with a smirk.
She snorted. “You’re fucking ridiculous. That’s stalking, Yara. STALKING.”
“Well, you call it stalking. I call it investigating someone I’m curious about. Bye, Re-Re. Go play with your friends, and stop bothering me,” I said, grabbing the phone from the side table and turning it off before picking up my other phone.
A burner phone was essential when you were leading a double life.
“Hi Kasey, I called you about Millicent Wark a few days ago,” I said when the woman picked up.
“Yes, Miss Wolff. I’ll be free tomorrow morning,” Kasey replied.
“Thank you so much.”
