She held her finger to her lips and then tested the knob. Again, it gave beneath her hand, and in the next second she was in a kitchen, one she hadn’t been in before. But she knew where she was. The abandoned house, the one Peter had been caught sneaking into.

The door to the back was right there, only three strides away. But she was frozen.

Too easy. This was all too fucking easy.

Mia glanced toward Robert, who had moved toward the counter with the sink. Not toward the door.

Too easy.

What were the chances they’d make it this far? Almost zero.

Everything slowed down as she watched Robert open a drawer without any hesitation. He knew the layout too well.

In between heartbeats she looked toward the door once more. Three strides. That’s all it was. Throw the lock open; then she’d be outside. Free to get lost in the night.

Too easy.

But she had to try.

She ducked on instinct and took one step before Robert’s voice stopped her.

“I’m sorry I can’t let you do that, Detective,” he said, his voice holding enough authority to tell her that he had a weapon.

Mia debated going for it anyway. She doubted he was a good shot. But they were close, close enough that he could just point and maybe hit something vital.

She stilled, turning toward him, palms up. He was holding the gun with two hands like they did in bad movies, his stance wide and all wrong. He wasn’t shaking, though, which wasn’t a good sign for her.

His side had to still be killing him—that wasn’t fake. She’d seen it. But desperation and stress did funny things to the body, and right now they seemed to be keeping him upright.

“Why?” she asked, curious rather than betrayed. She should have questioned why he hadn’t been bound. It was a sloppy mistake.

Robert bit his lip and then started to answer before a voice from the doorway interrupted him.

“Oh, Detective,” Lacey Bell said, stepping into the room. “I do so hope you liked my game. It makes everything so much more interesting, don’t you think?”

CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

IZZY

Her. It’s always been her.

The echo of Charles Bell’s voice drowned out every other thought. Izzy didn’t even realize that she was back in her car before she was sliding the key in the ignition. She’d tossed the journal onto the passenger seat, and it stared at her now as mindless pop music blared over the stereo. Its blank face was mocking in its neutrality. The pages held answers, but they were false ones. Just like the rest of the goddamn case.

Bix didn’t write it.