This time his voice broke. “That makes me like her, doesn’t it? Because I kept this secret for so long, and she kept hurting more people.”

“Aidan, don’t you dare put this on yourself. You went through something unimaginable. What matters is this… it’s so very brave. I’m so sorry you had to go through all of this. I’m so very sorry.”

“Me too,” he said. He shuffled his feet and turned to go, all his teenage self-consciousness returning now that he had unburdened himself. He turned back around, staring at Becca, his blue eyes laser focused.

“Dad and I have a nice life. We surf every day, play soccer, we grill, and we watch movies. It’s different than before, but it’s cool. I don’t want to mess anything up. Since I gave you all those letters, can I ask you to do something for me?”

“Of course,” Becca said gripping the envelope tightly, already feeling like she owed this boy more than she could ever say.

“Promise my mom won’t ever come back. That they’ll lock her up so she can’t ruin things again?” Aidan said softly.

Becca clutched the letters even tighter, thinking of her promise to Ash that she’d stop Mo. Becca wasn’t a detective building the case against Mo. In all likelihood, once Wishard found out she was here, Becca might not even have a job with the LAPD. The correct answer to this fragile boy’s plea would have been something diplomatic, something along the lines of “I’ll do everything in my power to make sure that doesn’t happen.” Aidan was putting his trust, his faith, in Becca’s ability to make things right. “You have my word.”

MO

MO

Maureen Wilson?” Mo grimaced at the guard’s shrill voice and the use of her given name. She hated that name and all it represented. This wasn’t the time to bring that up. Mo needed to play the game. She stood up from the bench she was camped out on and dutifully made her way over to the front of the jail cell.

“That would be me,” Mo said agreeably, offering the visibly bored guard her winningest smile. In Mo’s experience, a little kindness went a long way, especially with people who rarely received it.

“You made bail. Congratulations,” he said with zero affect, unlocking the jail cell door and leading Mo down a long gray corridor toward the processing area. She spotted her attorney, Graham Langham, the soulless ghoul with a bad tan and slick custom Brioni suit. He saw her, and his face lit up, a practiced expression, not an ounce of sincerity in his eyes.