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This was the Strangler.

And when I killed her, I would kill the Strangler.

38

DISASTER

RYDEN

“What’s the plan again?” Irene scoffed, stretching and wincing as the shackles around her legs jangled.

“I hope Yara understood my message.”

“The one with the dried flower?”

I’d already explained to her about it. In this place, all we had was time, and the foul stench that never left us.

“Yes, Yara’s smart,” Irene said, rolling her eyes, “but even she’s not that smart.”

“She’ll get it.”

“Fuck. I genuinely don’t know whether I want to hit you or kick you right now.”

“How about a thank you for saving your life?” I smiled.

“Saving me?” She scoffed. “What are you talking about? We’re both here now, and the psychopathic bitch had locked us in a fucking dungeon. You’ll die first, and I’ll probably be next.”

“I think she’ll kill you first.” I shrugged. “She hates you more for some reason.”

Irene chortled like a mad woman. We were probably both going mad.

“You’re unbelievable.”

“I know. Thank you.”

“Not a compliment.” She leaned back and closed her eyes. “Wake me up when she comes back.”

39

THE LONG WAIT

YARA

We knew Trish wouldn’t do anything reckless. Not yet. Her plan was still in motion, and she wouldn’t come out of hiding until it was over.

It had a few more steps left.

We waited. Enzo was agitated; Enzo wanted to make a move, but I waited.

I had to.

The moment she sensed even the slightest doubt, she would disappear. She’d go quiet, and only resurface once she had killed Ryden and Irene.

I knew that much.

We spent the rest of the day digging into Patricia Brooks and Trish. Her life after the orphanage. Every place she had been to since the orphanage, every connection she had made, every trace she might have left behind.

Because somewhere in that past was the answer to our question about where Trish could have taken Ryden and Irene.