Ilse shivered, closing her eyes against the memories of yesterday. But then she opened them again, allowing the recollections to play across her subconscious. Instead of cringing back from the pain of the thoughts, she allowed them to sweep past her, running their course, but leaving her undisturbed. A moment later, after the guilt, the sadness, the grief had slipped away again, she said, hesitantly, “Are you sure? I thought you didn’t put much stock in us therapists.”

“You caught a killer I missed. Besides, a guy could use some allies around these parts.”

For a moment, she wondered if he’d meant to use the word “friends.” Then again, that was probably just the therapist in her jumping to conclusions. For a second, it was her turn to drift off into contemplative silence, leaving Sawyer waiting for her response on the other end.

At last, she cleared her throat and said, simply, “All right. I’d like to help.”

She wasn’t even sure why she’d said it at first. The memories of the previous day came swishing past a second time. She’d failed her sister—hadn’t even remembered her. She hadn’t gone back. Hadn’t even remembered the old house until years later. She’d let her father, her tormentor, exact whatever he wanted on the rest of them. She’d left them helpless.

Sometimes, as a therapist, she had the opportunity to help the survivors of serial killers and violent criminals.

But what if she had a chance to intervene before the damage was done? Was this a type of absolution? Was she responding out of sentiment? Whatever the case, she’d given her answer.

“Good,” said Sawyer, simply. He cleared his throat as if wanting to add something else, but then decided against it. The phone went silent.

Ilse glanced down, double-checking that the FBI agent had hung up. Then she sighed, massaging the bridge of her nose and lowering the device.

When she looked up again, with a start, she realized the clock now read 8:59.

Only a minute left to be precise. She cursed, jolting from her seat, wincing against the pain in her arm.

She hurried to the front door, glancing at the second clock over the patio entryway. She paused by the door, one hand on the handle, gripping it, but waiting. She watched the second hand tick by. Five… four…three…

She was glad she’d said yes to Agent Sawyer. Yes. Glad. That was the right word.

But absolution wouldn’t end there. She had unfinished business. Her sister had mentioned something as she’d died. Mentioned her father had an accomplice upstairs…

Ilse needed to find that house. She needed to find that accomplice.

And she needed to find her father.

Ilse was no longer a child. No longer glued to the top of those basement steps. No longer willing to live in fear. Take captive every thought… It was all long overdue. Time was ticking. He visited her so often in her memories; well, now it was her turn to go to him.