He’d gotten to know the girls personally and told himself that they were willing participants, that the fear he’d seen in their eyes was all part of the show, that the reason they’d been paralyzed and weak was only their acting ability.

He’d convinced himself that nothing illegal had happened, that there were no victims, that no one had been hurt.

But deep down, he’d known.

But he might be able to save Ariel O’Toole and Kristi Bentz. There might still be time. He might be able to stop this horror from ever happening again. Even if he had to turn himself in for his part in the debacle—his very integral part.

Outside the storm was raging, rain lashing at his windows, and the flash of lightning lit up the sky in sizzling bursts, thunder rolling afterward.

He should have come clean when Kristi Bentz had visited his office, wanting answers. Oh, hell, he should have come clean a year ago, when he’d first heard that Dionne had gone missing.

He’d suspected that things had gone wrong then.

Over the soft music and angry storm, he heard the front door creak open and his heart clutched. He’d locked it, hadn’t he? Or had he forgotten?

They’re coming for you.

They know.

A drip of fear slid down his spine as he climbed to his feet to investigate. “Hello?” he said, disgusted with himself. He was a strong man. He’d never known real fear in his life.

Footsteps clicked determinedly down the hallway.

“Who’s there?” He was at the den door when it swung open in front of him and the woman he’d claimed to love stood before him in trembling fury.

“No more, Dominic,” Lucretia said, her voice hoarse, her eyes sunken, skin as pale as death. Her head was bare and wet, mascara tracking down her cheeks. Rainwater ran down the folds of a long black raincoat. She hadn’t bothered closing the door and it banged open against the wall, cold winter air rushing through the hallway. “No more lies. No more disappearances. No more making me think I’m crazy.”

“Lucretia, I’m going to the police—”

“Now? When they’ve found the bodies? Now you’re going?” She shook her head from side to side. “I loved you,” she whispered, tears filling her eyes.

“I know. I loved you, too—”

“Liar!” she spat, nostrils flared.

She pulled her hand from the pocket of her raincoat, her fingers curled around a small black handgun.

He froze. “Oh, Christ, Lucretia, what’re you doing?” he asked, but he knew. In his heart, he knew. “Don’t!” His stomach dropped as she raised a pistol, the one he’d given her months before.

“You killed them,” she said, her voice trembling, her hand shaking.