Something was wrong. Latisha could feel it deep inside. This wasn’t Wesley’s normal behavior…

After what seemed like an hour, maybe two, Latisha couldn’t take another minute of not knowing. Maybe he’d kill her for it, but she had to call out again, had to find out if Marcie was okay. “Wesley? You there?”

Finally, he approached. There was a click, then the hinges of the door whined as he pushed it inward. “You awake?” he asked.

The lightness of his tone told her he was pretending he hadn’t heard her yell before. Latisha could tell he had, but she didn’t bring it up. She was still trying to figure out what had changed. He had thick razor stubble on his jaw and chin, and the lines around his eyes and mouth were more pronounced than usual. Obviously, he’d been up all night. But why?

Glad she’d caught him before he fell asleep and left her chained up even longer, she sent him a tentative smile. “My-my head’s killing me. C-can you let me up?”

“Sure. Then I’ll get you some painkillers.” He bent immediately to release her.

Could he see the tracks of her tears? Latisha wondered. Did he care? Her pain had never mattered to him before. But he was different today, nicer…

“Where’s Marcie?” she asked.

He smiled as he finished with her hands and turned his attention to her feet. “I let her go.”

“You did?” Latisha could hardly believe it. Her hands were swollen. They burned as the blood flowed back into them, but she didn’t care. Not if what he said was true. “Really?”

“I told you I would, didn’t I?” he said proudly. “You gave me what I wanted, and I returned the favor.”

Latisha studied him more closely. She wanted to believe him, but what he said just seemed so…odd. He’d been worried they’d get free. Why would he suddenly let Marcie go?

“How’d you do it?” she asked uncertainly.

He shrugged. “Just dumped her on a street corner. I imagine she’s home by now.”

Latisha grasped for some hope in his words. If her sister had escaped, then a part of her had, too. There was also the hope that Marcie would bring help. But if Wesley had let Marcie go, wouldn’t he be scared that she’d tell? Wouldn’t he at least act worried? Or maybe start packing up and moving them somewhere else?

“She doesn’t know where this place is,” he said as if he could read her mind. “It’s not like she’d ever be able to lead anyone here.”

The crazy thing was, for all his fear that they might expose him, that was probably true. The day he’d kidnapped them, he’d tossed them in his van and cuffed them to a bar welded onto the floor. They couldn’t see anything, and they’d been completely overwhelmed and confused, wondering why a police officer, even an undercover officer, would be acting in such a bizarre way. Latisha knew they were out in the country somewhere, but that was all.

Could she trust that he’d really let Marcie go?

His smile promised she could. Now alone and more frightened than ever, she so wanted to trust him.

“I’ll get you some Tylenol.”

He brought her two tablets. Then he freed her from her makeshift prison to clean the house. Movement was difficult at first, but once the pain in her hands went away, she began to feel encouraged. Maybe she wasn’t at home, but her sister was, she told herself. Picturing Marcie falling into Gloria’s arms made her so happy…

But while she stood at the window in Wesley’s room looking out at the backyard, she saw the barrel that’d been the source of that burning smell. There were still wisps of smoke rising from it.

Getting as close to the glass as possible, she tried to determine what, exactly, he’d destroyed. He’d never started a fire before. He must’ve had a reason. What was it?

It could be anything. He was sick, weird. But that was partly what concerned her so much.

Turning, she went back to cleaning his room. But it wasn’t long before she came across the shoes he’d worn last night and concern turned to panic. She picked them up from where he’d kicked them off and was about to place them in his closet when she spotted several flecks of a dark brown substance spattered near the sole.

Licking her finger, she rubbed one of the droplets. It smeared into a red blur that looked just like-she gulped-blood.

Then it dawned on her what Wesley might have been burning in that barrel. Was it the clothes he’d worn last night? She didn’t see them in the room. Maybe they were so soaked with blood he hadn’t wanted her to see them-or hadn’t wanted to deal with washing them.

But if he’d burned his clothes, why hadn’t he burned his shoes?

Because he had fewer shoes. Because he liked this particular pair. Because he didn’t see the blood or thought he could wash it off. There could be a lot of reasons. But if he’d really let Marcie go, why would he need to burn anything?

“You just about done in here?”

Trying to see through the blur of tears, she tossed his shoes into the closet and leaned down to straighten the bedding so he wouldn’t see her eyes. “Almost.”

“I’ve decided to move you in here with me.” He said it as if she should be happy about it. She wouldn’t have minded so much if she thought Marcie was really at home with Gloria. But Marcie wasn’t. She was dead, and Latisha knew that if she didn’t do something to save herself, she’d be next.

Nineteen

Jane perched on the couch beside Gloria. With only one bedroom, one bathroom and a tiny kitchen and living room, the apartment was cramped. Bookshelves made of planks and cinder block, spray-painted light blue, took up one whole wall. Each piece of tattered furniture bumped up against another, and cheap knickknacks cluttered most horizontal surfaces. But overall it was more of an organized mess than a disorganized one.

The smell of grilled onions permeated the apartment. After the blood she’d seen in Sebastian’s backseat, the thought of food made Jane nauseous. But it was easier to focus on the sights and scents surrounding her than on Gloria, who was crying in her embrace. It had been hard enough to tell her that Marcie was dead, but it was even worse to say that her body had been found in Sebastian’s car and her own parking lot. Fortunately, that didn’t seem to make her blame Jane, but she was still brokenhearted.

“I was afraid of this,” she cried. “I been livin’ in fear for weeks. But I never really believed it… Why Marcie? Why my sister?”

Jane continued to pat and rub her broad back. She had no answers. She only knew that Gloria’s sisters had been in the wrong place at the wrong time and, despite her best efforts and those of the police, Marcie was dead.

She prayed that Latisha wouldn’t meet the same fate but couldn’t help wondering if she already had.

Regardless of what happened in the future, she’d see Malcolm Turner behind bars if she had to dedicate the rest of her life to it. For Marcie. For Latisha. For Gloria. For Sebastian, too. But also for herself. Finding Malcolm had become a way to banish Oliver’s ghost. She finally had the chance to defeat a man who was just as bad as the one who’d nearly killed her. She’d strike back.

“I’m so sorry.” Even as she said it, she realized that phrase was inadequate, but she had nothing better to offer. David was still processing the crime scene. He’d be arriving shortly, but they’d talked and decided it might be easier on Gloria if Jane visited ahead of him-to break the news. Sebastian was giving the police a statement. Since Marcie’s body had been found in his rental car, they had some questions for him.

“I can’t live without her,” Gloria wailed. “I can’t do it.”

Using her free hand, Jane wiped the tears sliding down her own cheeks. “You can, and you will,” she said. “I’ll help you.”

“And what about Latisha? She probably dead, too.”

Jane couldn’t promise otherwise. While she was searching for words that might comfort Gloria without giving false hope, the door swung open so hard it banged against the inside wall. Even Gloria jumped. She calmed the minute she realized it was Luther, but Jane grew that much more uneasy.