But saliva pooled in her mouth, and she swallowed against the bile that burned at the base of her esophagus. “Asher.”

Lacey clapped, a giddy schoolgirl, and kicked her heels against the bottom cabinets in some kind of celebration. “Oh, brava, Detective,” she said, her smile turning sly. “And it’s only taken you fifteen years to figure it out.”

“Why would he have . . . ?”

“Puppies are so easy to train, don’t you think?” Lacey asked, reaching out to slip her fingers into what remained of Robert’s hair, not even flinching at the sweat and grease. He didn’t shift away, almost nudged into the caress even as he stood bleeding from wounds Lacey had inflicted. This was no amateur; this was a skilled sociopath with years of practice.

Everyone’s scared. Mia wondered how many people on the island Lacey had worked her manipulation on. Jimmy, who had fear in his eyes. Dot, who still had venom in her mouth. Ellen and her parting shot: Define “friends.”

Cash.

Mia wondered just how much his memories, his behaviors had been shaped and dictated.

Lacey was watching her closely, continuing: “See, this one here, he’s quite weak. Doesn’t care about many things. All he wants is for the pain to stop.”

“You told him you’d let him go if he played this silly little”—Mia waved to encompass the room—“game. You told him he’d be free?”

Pleasure sparked, quick and gone, over Lacey’s face. “No, darling. I told him the pain would stop.”

Robert whined, a reedy, broken plea, knowing that was his death sentence, but Mia couldn’t spare him a thought.

“And Asher?”

Lacey tipped her head to the side, her eyes hooded, coy and smug at once. “Jealousy is sinfully potent, isn’t it?”

“But Cash said he wasn’t sleeping with Monroe. Why would Asher . . . ?”

The small smile didn’t fade as Lacey just continued to watch her, patient. “It wasn’t about Monroe, darling.”

Mia shook her head, her memories slotting, reslotting as she caught on to what Lacey was hinting at. But, no. Asher hadn’t wanted Mia like that.

“He had Monroe. He loved her.” That Mia trusted. “He didn’t care about me. About me and Cash.”

The look Lacey gave her was genuine pity. “Please. You’re not that stupid.”

“He didn’t,” she said again, but this time mostly to herself. He didn’t. But that picture lingered behind the denial, the one of them dancing. The one where it hadn’t been a joke. Mia whispered the accusation as it came to her.

Lacey straightened. “Do you really understand so little? That’s disappointing.”

Maybe that was supposed to be a jab, but Mia didn’t care. The more Lacey talked, the more time Mia had. “What am I supposed to understand?”