I wouldn’t be where I am today if I had a problem with self-control. I have a remarkable ability to stay calm, even when the situation’s dire. That’s what Carson called it when I told him what I’d been through: a remarkable ability to remain calm. Cops who can’t keep their shit together don’t stay alive. Some of it’s muscle memory, sure. We’re trained to react. Nibble your nails, think it through, and you’ll have a bullet in your neck long before you make a call. There’s a time and place for a freak-out, and it isn’t while you’re on the job.

What I experienced in that hallway was different. I had no recollection of pulling my weapon on Ned in the library until the muzzle was inches from his face, and couldn’t have been more surprised to find it there than if it flew through the window on wings. Now I’d nearly done the same thing with Flynn. My arm trembled. Flynn wasn’t backing down. His breath, hot on my face, reeked of stale coffee, but I couldn’t move out of its path. I couldn’t take my hand off my weapon either. My fingers were welded in place.

“Bebe’s right,” said Flynn. “You small-town detectives are pathetic. I should never have let Norton call you. You can’t help us find Jasper. You can’t even find your own ass.”

I wanted to tell him to back off, that he was asking for trouble, but the bulk of my energy went toward keeping my hand on my weapon. Flynn was losing it, and if he moved on me I couldn’t be sure what I’d do.

“Don’t you get it?” Like paper in the blades of a shredder, Flynn drove the words through his teeth. A trail of spittle swung from his lower lip, and as he shouted it splattered, warm and wet, on my cheek. “We invited you to this island, this private island. It’s time for you to go.”

“You think you invited us here?” My voice was high, my ears under pressure. I swallowed to clear them, but no dice. I felt like I was underwater.

“That’s not how this works,” Tim said. His hands were up like he was miming the act of holding us back. Tim had more than enough muscle to contain Flynn, but he just stood there doing nothing. Small-town detectives are pathetic.

“Your brother’s gone,” I said. “All that’s left of him is a bloodstain the size of a goddamn garden pond.”

“Watch your mouth,” said Bebe, “you’re in the presence of an innocent child.” She tried to wrap a protective arm around Jade’s shoulder. The kid recoiled from her touch.

“That child dumped boiling water on my hand for her own entertainment.” Even before the words left my mouth, I was sure. The spill was deliberate, and Jade was as sadistic as the rest of them. “Jade’s a long way from innocent. Are you aware she’s obsessed with her uncle? Or that her gossiping may have gotten him killed?”