Chapter 47: Chapter 46

The room buzzed around me. Voices, cell phone alerts, the crackle of radios. But I couldn’t differentiate one from the other. It was just a din of chaotic noise. All I could do was stare at the piece of paper in the evidence bag.

LET THE GAMES BEGIN.

My stomach roiled. I knew his games. They were ones full of pain and twisted torture. And inflicting those things on Rho was the best way to do the most damage to me. The Hangman wouldn’t be able to resist.

My mind swirled, all the puzzle pieces mixing together in an ugly stew as I stared at another line of the note.

SHE WAS ALWAYS SUPPOSED TO BE MINE ANYWAY.

It shouldn’t have been possible. Rho’s stalker and my tormentor were one and the same. We’d always thought The Hangman had made his home somewhere on the West Coast. It was what made the most sense, given where his victims had been found.

So, Oregon was on the list of possibilities. I’d known that when I moved to Sparrow Falls. But I’d also thought that the chances of him finding me here, in a tiny town far away from any of the major highways that were his hunting grounds, were slim to none. I’d been so fucking wrong.

He’d already been here.

And it must’ve given him one hell of a thrill to have me walking back into his net without him lifting a finger. It made sense now why he’d stopped killing for so long. Because he’d gotten a front-row seat to my suffering. It was a different sort of pain and torture, but a kind that was just as alluring to him.

He’d likely been watching Rho the same way. He’d seen her life ripped apart by the fire, the physical and emotional agony she’d been in during the aftermath, and he’d gotten off on it.

“Anson.”

Helena’s voice cut through the haze of my spiraling thoughts. I looked up, blinking a few times and trying to clear my vision. I just stared at her. I had nothing to say sitting here in this damn sheriff’s station conference room. All I had was pain.

Helena was good at guarding her emotions, hiding them under layers of practiced indifference. Being a woman coming up in the bureau, she’d had to be. But I could see her pain now. For me. “Sheriff Colson brought me up to speed.”

My gaze shifted to Trace then. He stood to her left, just behind my right shoulder, and he looked ravaged. I knew he was doing his best to hold it together, but he’d had to cede control of the investigation to his second-in-command, thanks to his close ties to Rho and the severity of the case.

Helena getting the information from him instead of Deputy Hansen was a kindness she offered Trace. But then again, she had her hands full organizing the search.

“Tell me what you’re thinking,” Helena prodded.

“Nothing,” I said, sandpaper coating the word. I couldn’t think a damn thing other than, This is all my fault. If I’d never touched Rho, maybe The Hangman would’ve been content to watch us suffer—our pain giving him just enough of the drug he craved.

Helena’s jaw hardened. “Bullshit. You know this case better than anyone.”

I stood, shoving my chair back and almost sending it tumbling to the floor. “Obviously, I don’t. Because this fucker has been under my nose for a year and a half, and I didn’t see a damned thing,” I spat. And the cameras outside Rho’s house hadn’t either. They’d gone mysteriously blank thirty minutes before we arrived.

She sucked in a ragged breath and let it out slowly. “You know better. We’ve always known The Hangman is a psychopath. And they blend. They can be charming. They have long-term relationships, even marriages and families.”

I knew she was right, but I’d always thought I’d just…know if I ever saw The Hangman.

A hand clamped down on my shoulder, and I turned to find Trace. He met my gaze and didn’t look away. “This isn’t on you. You think I don’t feel responsible? I’ve been in charge of Sparrow Falls for a hell of a lot longer than you’ve been here. I missed him, too. Right under my nose for years. How do you think that makes me feel?”

A muscle fluttered in my cheek. “None of the murders were in your jurisdiction.”

“Sure. But he lived here. I’ve probably talked to him more times than I can count. That’s gonna mess with my head for the rest of my days.”

“Psychopaths are good at deceiving everyone around them.”

“Yeah,” Trace agreed. “So, listen to what you’re saying. You couldn’t do anything to prevent this from happening. But you can help us now—if you stop feeling so goddamn sorry for yourself and do the work only you can do.”

From Trace, that might as well have been a hug and a back pat. But it was what I needed. “Starting fires is an early sign of psychopathy,” I finally said. That and harm to animals were usually the things we saw the most. “At some point, that wasn’t enough, and he escalated.”

Trace nodded. “I’ve already got all those case files pulled. Deputies are combing through every single fire we’ve had here in the past two decades.”

“I’m guessing our unsub is a contemporary of Rho’s. A few years younger or older. Someone she likely went to school with.”

Helena shook her head. “Could also be a teacher, coach, or family friend.”

“No,” I said, certainty curling my voice. “If it was someone older, they either would’ve stuck with arson or would’ve escalated earlier. Setting those fires was a kid’s tantrum at not getting his way.”

“A seriously fucked-up tantrum,” Trace muttered.

“You’re not wrong there. Whoever this is, they have contact with Rho,” I said.

Trace gritted his teeth. “That could be anyone. You know her. Everyone she meets is her new best friend. She’s never known a stranger.”

I did know her. And more than that, I loved her. My throat constricted, a burn alighting there. I should’ve told her. As if not saying the words would somehow protect me if I lost her.

I struggled to keep my breathing even and stay in the here and now. “Let’s use the small town to our advantage. Text your siblings, Rho’s boss, and anyone else who sees her on a regular basis. Ask if anyone’s disappeared this afternoon when they shouldn’t have.”

Trace jerked his head in a nod. “Will do.”

“You got anyone who should have eyes on Owen Mead?” I asked. He’d alibied out for Rho’s car accident, but a friend had supplied the alibi. I wasn’t about to take any chances.

Trace’s gaze cut to me. “He got a job with another construction crew in town. They don’t do work as good as Shep, but it’s still steady. You still think this could be him?”

“I just want to cross all our Ts. He’s got a few things that ping the psychopathy checklist, and he’s in Rho’s orbit.”

Trace was already pressing the phone to his ear. “Hey, Bob. Owen working for you today?” A moment of silence. “No, don’t need to talk to him. Anyone on your crew miss work today?” Another beat. “Okay, thanks.”

Trace hung up, his jaw working. “Bob said he was watching Owen do crappy tile work right then.”

I didn’t know whether to be relieved or pissed. Either way, we needed to move on.

A ring cut through the air, and Trace looked down, tapping his phone’s screen. “What do you have, Shep?” There was a brief pause where Trace’s expression completely shut down. “You’re sure? You go by the clinic?” Another pause. “Fuck. Okay. Don’t do anything stupid.”

Trace hung up and turned to me and Helena. “Silas Arnett begged off work mid-morning. Said he wasn’t feeling well. Shep went to his apartment, and he wasn’t there. Drove by Dr. Avery’s office, and he wasn’t there either.”

Everything in me locked. A million different encounters with Silas swirled in my mind. It was like looking at those memories through a kaleidoscope. Each switch of the dial made me see the image a little differently.

Charming. A womanizer. But no deep ties. It all fit. But we could be wrong, too. It could all be smoke when the fire was somewhere else entirely.

“Get me absolutely everything you have on him. If he has a friend, I want them here. We need Shep. He’s worked with Silas the longest.” I looked between Helena and Trace. “We have a few hours at best.”

We all knew what would happen if those hours ran out. And I wouldn’t survive it this time.