Confusion settled over him. Miguel let his gaze fall to his scarred hands and swallowed hard against the bile rising in his throat. He didn’t want to believe it. He couldn’t believe it, but his mind had long since succumbed to its fate as a tortuous prison, blurring reality. If it were true—that he killed Sydney—then he was a monster.

One who deserved to die.

Death. He deserved it. For all of the suffering, the pain, the deaths he couldn’t stop. Death would end his nightmares.

“Men like you don’t survive in prison, Miguel.” Annika’s heels clicked across the floor. “Are you making toys now?”

Miguel looked up to find Annika holding a small piece of whittled wood. It was an alligator—or it would be when he was finished with it. But he kept his mouth shut.

Annika walked back. “Does she have the painting?”

“Leave her alone,” he growled.

“Oh.” Annika pressed in close to his face. “Does she know what you did to Sydney?”

Miguel’s stomach clenched with nausea. “I-I didn’t kill her.”

“Really? Then tell me”—spittle landed on the side of his face—“who did?”

A flash of memory seared his mind, blinding him momentarily. Sydney. Panic. Car lights. Her voice . . . no, it was Annika’s voice. She’s dangerous. “You.”

Annika cackled, spinning on her heel. “I’d be careful with accusations like that.” She picked up something and tossed it at him. It landed next to him. “Call the police. Tell them I did it. I killed Sydney.”

Miguel picked up the cell phone, the weight of it in his hand almost as heavy as the burden on his shoulders.

“They won’t believe you.” Annika ran a thumb over the toy alligator in her hand, then studied it. “You, a reclusive baby killer.” She locked eyes with him. “That’s what they call you Nam vets, isn’t it? Do you really think they’ll believe you . . . over me?”

“Please d-don’t hurt her.”

“I can’t make any promises. Besides, you have only yourself to blame.” Annika tossed the figurine onto his lap. “I only intend to get back what’s mine.”

Annika tromped out of his home, not bothering to shut the door or take her phone. The cold look in her eyes and the heartless tone in her voice chilled him like the splash of water from earlier. The convulsions took over, wracking his whole body as he released a sob from the depths of his soul. It fell from his lips like a howl. What had he done?

Miguel clutched the sculpture in his hands. He couldn’t save anyone forty years ago . . . but the monster had returned and now Lane was in danger. He had to get to her before they did. They’d kill her. And Noah too.

TWENTY-ONE