She appears at her front door. Felicia’s wearing pink, and a shawl with tassels. With one hand on her heart, she waves.

After a long moment, Crissy waves back.

“It’s a start,” says Suze. “I know they’ve got a lot of history to work through, but I’m always telling Crissy how special Erynn’s relationship with Cheryl is. Maybe her boys can have that, too, someday.”

“Yeah,” I say softly. “Maybe they can.”

As we say good-bye, I see Tim’s car pulling into the lot. He gets out and flips up his windshield wipers. There’s snow in the forecast again. That could work in our favor. Trey’s parents have agreed to let us interview their son once he’s recovered, and while we’re running blind until then, fresh snow can leave tracks. Expose activity where there should be none.

I touch the barrels of the two travel mugs on my desk. Still hot. The coffee inside is good, an Italian blend I brewed at home, and in a minute, I’ll hand one to Tim.

Regardless of the clues, there’s really only one reason I found Trey: Bram let me. For the second time, my cousin allowed one of his victims to live, but he’s still at large, possibly close. Tim and I have a lot to talk about.

The phone on my desk rings. “State police,” I say. “BCI Senior Investigator Merchant.”

“Hi, Shay.”

A shiver darts down my back. “Bram.”

“I guess you think you won.”

My gaze flicks to the window. Tim stands on the path to the door, head down. He stopped out front to check an incoming text.

I say, “I don’t want to play anymore.”

That amuses him. When he speaks again, Blake Bram sounds pleased. “See, that’s the problem. If you’d just kept playing back when we were kids, I wouldn’t have needed to raise the stakes.”

“What the hell do you want?” Try as I might, I can’t keep the frustration and fury out of my voice. This game is nothing like the others.

“I guess I should thank you,” he says, low and slow. “You found him.”

Him. He’s not talking about Trey now, but Robbie. I tunnel into every cranny of my mind, trying to parse his words. “You didn’t know what happened to Brett?”

“I suspected.”

And he needed me to complete the puzzle. “Why now?” I say, just like Tim did. It’s illogical. Why let his father’s remains rot out there all this time?

“He left me,” Bram says simply. “He deserved what he got.”

Brett did leave his family, but he also tried to make things right. Does Bram want me to appreciate how bad he had it? Use his childhood as an excuse for the destruction he’s reaping now? Was he unable to show forgiveness even at twelve years old? All at once, I think I understand. He wants me to see what he’s capable of, the brutal punishments he’s willing to hand out. He was callous and delusional even then.