Page 53 of Fatal Pattern

“The timing.” She began pacing, her mind working through the evidence like a crime scene. “A stalker shows up around the time when Damien asked me to come to the prison. And he escalates when we start investigating the Crew murders. When we start asking questions about what really happened that night.”

Kiara’s eyes widened. “You think your brother’s been watching you?”

“He could’ve been watching me for years.” The admission tasted like poison. “Maybe he escaped from Aletheia, maybe they released him. But I think . . . I think he found me.”

15

Blade popped a piece of gum in his mouth, eyes catching the evidence warehouse shrinking in the rearview mirror. Tori sat rigid beside him, shoulders tight as a wire. That file—the psychiatric evaluations, the court orders, the entire timeline—it didn’t add up.

“That file bothers me.”

Her head swiveled toward him. “What do you mean?”

He drummed his fingers against the wheel. “I’ve reviewed thousands of case files over my career. This one ticks every box. Looks perfect on paper. But Damien says he was the responding officer that night, and his name doesn’t show up anywhere.”

“Someone is lying.”

“My money’s on Damien.” He chewed the gum harder and merged onto I-95.

“To fabricate that much information, you’d need serious resources.”

“Exactly. Why would Barclay, or anyone really, go to such lengths just to frame Nikos? What’s his motive to frame a child?” He let the question hang, but his glance at her told him she didn’t want to consider her brother had committed such a horrible act.

“Then why did Damien want to stir all this up again?”

“Maybe boredom. Maybe prison gossip. He heard you’re a regular at Union and decided to stir the pot.”

Tori stared ahead, processing. “You think he made it all up?”

“I think he’s playing head games. Using your trauma to get attention or hoping for some kind of deal or transfer.” He clenched the gum between his molars, the anger behind the idea slicing thin. “He’s a manipulative piece of garbage. Destroyed his own family. Why not try yours too?”

Her gaze fixed on the road ahead, empty of expression but full of calculation. Blade recognized the effort it took for her to separate the personal from the professional. A twin she didn’t remember. A brother responsible for murdering their parents. And a prisoner who talked in circles and probably had them chasing their own tails. Every twitch, every pause, told him she was cataloging it all, testing her own theories.

“I don’t know,” she said finally. “He was convincing. If he hadn’t sent us after the file, I’d still be in the dark about Nikos.”

Before they pulled him away, Damien had sounded . . . desperate.

“What did he shout as they dragged him out?”

Tori’s eyes closed. “He said it started with them. My mother knew about the fractals.”

“Right. Then he mentioned it was the start of a pattern.”

“And he said Barclay lied. The official report’s a cover-up.” She opened her eyes. “He said Barclay created a second murder book.”

Blade’s fingers froze on the wheel. Second murder book.

“You think there’s something to it?” she asked.

That doubt stuck like a splinter. Damien’s desperation hadn’t felt staged. Warning? Or the manipulation of a con artist working an angle? “I hate to admit it, but yes. Sounded like he was trying to warn you about something bigger.”

“We need to talk to Damien again.”

She’d read his mind. “Yeah, and if there’s a second murder book, we find it. No more surprises.”

“Speaking of surprises, where are we going? You missed my exit.”

Blade glanced at the highway signs flashing past. “No way you’re going home tonight.”