Chapter One

Days blurred into a hazy, nightmarish stretch as Kelsey Vinn struggled to remember how long she’d spent trapped in this awful, stench-ridden warehouse. Moments of solitude, few and far between, were a coveted respite from the utter hell that ensued when he was around.

Kelsey couldn’t see his face. The red leather mask—cut and sewn into the shape of a human skull—covered all but his eyes, his mouth, and the bridge of his nose. She’d wondered at first if more than one man wore that mask while taking a turn torturing her.

But the voice. That sadistic, snarling voice remained the same.

She’d recognize his voice anywhere. And assuming she ever left this godforsaken place, she’d hear the guttural rasp until the day she died.

Although every inch of her body burned as if dipped in the raging flames of hell, she pushed herself up to a sitting position. The cat-o’-nine-tails had exacted its torment, leaving her agonized and broken.

Kelsey would have done anything—absolutely anything—to make the whipping stop.

But this time, he did stop. Why?

She struggled to force her memory back through the last few days. Each time the masked bastard dragged her to his demonic play place, he tormented her to the point of blacking out. And every time she regained consciousness, she’d already been returned to the floor of this holding cell of a room.

Except this time.

She’d screamed herself hoarse during his latest perversions. Barely holding on to consciousness and with no hope of reprieve, she’d gone limp. The white flag moment had gotten the masked man’s attention.

He’d growled in anger, mumbling something about needing to take it to the next level. And then, like a child grown tired of his toy, he’d tossed her back into the cold, dark cell of a room as though she were nothing more than a rag doll.

There she remained, crumpled and naked, just a tattered, fleshy heap on the concrete floor of her personal prison.

But I was awake. He threw me back in here awake.

Where here was, Kelsey couldn’t tell. Her final memories before waking in this place had been filled with techno music, flashing lights, and way too much alcohol.

Her excellent performance walking the runway earlier that night was well worth the celebration. But if she’d known her success would result in this, she’d never have thrown caution to the wind.

“Live a little.” That was what the other models had told her.

She grimaced at the thought. Working as a model in Manhattan was living large compared to where she’d come from. Small-town girl with big-town dreams. How cliché. Now, just as her mama had warned her, she’d fallen prey to a depraved man.

Kelsey could just picture the disappointment in her mother’s eyes. The woman had always said the city would corrupt and abuse her.

“Get a real job. Do something important with your life. Beauty is fleeting.”

What did her mother know?

Only everything, as it turned out. Kelsey’s beauty now hid beneath swollen eyes, cracked lips, and bruised skin.

The chill of the concrete floor embraced her, promising to soothe the fire of her recent whipping, but Kelsey fought to rise. If she stayed down much longer, her muscles might just quit on her for good.

Was it night? She couldn’t remember the last time she’d seen the sun. Sometimes, a thin ribbon of light bled through the gap at the bottom of the door, but not now.

By this point, no sound had echoed through the building for a while. Maybe the masked man had gone home.

If Kelsey stood any chance of finding a way out of this place, she had to take this opportunity now.

Using the wall as her support, she put one bare foot in front of the other. Her battered legs protested each step as, inch by painful inch, Kelsey felt her way along the cracked and peeling paint until her hand met the smooth metal of the door handle.

Holding her breath, she pressed down on the lever. The door opened with a creak that shouted through the darkness.

She ducked backward, cowering against the wall, as if the sound might somehow strike her.

Anyone in the building would have heard that reverberant, metallic grating. She let the wall hold her up, her courage slowly returning as the seconds ticked by in calm silence.

Heart still racing, she yanked the door all the way open.

Hinges groaned. She waited again.

Nothing. No one is here.

Kelsey steeled herself and crossed the threshold.

On the other side of the door, a flickering exit sign cast an eerie glow over a small hallway. Three additional doors stood in front of her. Three choices.

Which way?

An alarm warning on the crash bar of the middle door beneath the exit sign gave her pause.

Kelsey’s legs trembled. She didn’t think she could get away in time if an alarm went off. Though she hadn’t heard anyone so far, a part of her didn’t trust the silence. Someone might still hear her escape.

She had to find another way out. One that could give her enough of a head start if the masked man lurked close by.

He must have planned some trap for her in case she left her cell. That would explain why he hadn’t bothered locking the door—he had no reason to worry. Even if she could escape, would anyone help a filthy, nude, insane-looking woman running toward them? Or would they flee in the opposite direction?

Still, it was freedom or—

No. She couldn’t think of that. Every second she didn’t try to get out was another second wasted. She had to choose the door on the left or right and hope for the best.

Door number three it is.

Kelsey crossed the hallway and passed the exit sign, stopping in front of the door on the right. She pressed the handle.

Another creak and groan announced her entrance. But unlike in the shadowy corridor, natural light streamed into this room through a small window. As if someone—the masked man, perhaps—had wanted some fresh air, the sash stood open above a computer desk, where a sleek monitor reigned over a surface cluttered with filming equipment. No other doors led out of the cramped space.

But Kelsey didn’t need another exit. She’d spotted her escape route.

Moonlight. Freedom.

Despite its small size, Kelsey knew she could squeeze through that window. She’d done something similar plenty of times back at her parents’ home, shimmying through the dog door at the back of her house on the many occasions she’d stayed out past curfew. After getting up on the desk, she could dive on through.

Hope gave her muscles renewed strength. Climbing onto the desk, she didn’t let herself think of anything else as she tiptoed around camera lenses and charging cables. No going back now. Only moving forward. She pushed open the window sash as far as it would go.

Jumping up, she scraped her lower ribs on the frame. Holding in a hiss of pain, she caught her breath and tipped forward.

With a slide and a thud, she tumbled outside.

Some of the torture sessions had left Kelsey so broken, she’d retreated into hallucinations. No food and little sleep had her seeing things that weren’t there. She’d stopped trusting her senses, except the ones that hurt. But though she didn’t realize it for a moment, the crisp bite of cold wind across her skin told her this was real.

This…this is reality.

Kelsey peered around in the darkness, unsure of which way she should go.

Clarity of the night sky indicated a lack of light pollution, putting her far from the city. Rushing water babbled in the distance—a nearby river. Not visible through the thick trees surrounding the building, but close enough to hear.

Though Kelsey had no wilderness experience, she also had no choice but to move forward. She would just have to trust her instinct to find the river.

It’ll be over soon.

Lumbering forward with only the moonlight to guide her, Kelsey winced at sharp twigs and stones biting into the tender soles of her feet. Though she heard the water, the noise level remained the same with each step deeper into the dense forest, so that she couldn’t tell whether she was getting closer or farther away.

Overhead, the canopy of tree branches blocked out the guiding moonlight.

Kelsey stopped and turned around, trying to determine the best direction. Fresh welts covering her body, previously smoothed and flattened against the cold concrete floor, resumed shrieking in agony.

Running would send the blood pumping double-time through her system, the rush of circulation inflaming every injury, leaving her one throbbing mass of pain.

Stopping was a bad move. I can’t stop. I can’t think. I have to get out of here. Even if I run into the river and drown, it’s better than another session with him.

Spinning once more to find her direction, Kelsey caught the loud snap of a twig.

Shit.

Her heart plummeted.

Had it come from behind her or in front?

One thing was certain. She had to keep going.

Throwing caution to the wind, Kelsey continued in the direction she’d originally chosen, praying she was on the right path. Staggering through the scant light, beseeching her weary limbs to move faster, she stumbled along the uneven forest floor.

But one bad step on an exposed tree root sent her tumbling. Though she put her hands out to stop her fall, her weakened arms couldn’t take her weight. She face-planted hard in the damp earth.

Her abused body threatened mutiny at the idea of going on. Mouth filled with dirt, Kelsey struggled to pull air into her lungs. She gagged and sputtered, each heaving breath tugging at the fresh scabs on her back. Striving to push herself up, she whimpered as her arms buckled.

I’m so close.

With a Herculean heave, Kelsey shoved herself up onto her hands and knees.

“Good little girl. Already in the proper position.”

Those sinister words whispered through the barren oaks on the back of the masked man’s menacing laugh.

No. It’s not him. He would never let me get this far. I’m imagining things again. Run. Go.

Digging her toes in, she propelled herself upward and forward. After a few lurching steps, she fell into a rhythm of spotting the next safe place to step and taking placing her foot down. Then the next and the next.

The water. Run to the water. Just get to the river.

Using the trees as resting points helped a little. Each time Kelsey neared one, she leaned against its bulk and breathed for a moment before pushing off again.

Though she couldn’t see any water glistening under the moonlight yet, a low roar suggested the river lay just on the other side of the next stand of trees.

Almost…there.

Stumbling into the rough trunk of the gargantuan oak, Kelsey took a deep breath, readying herself to plunge into ice-cold water.

Beside her, laughter rumbled through the darkness as the familiar pungent scent of her tormentor’s leather mask filled her nostrils. Adrenaline poured through Kelsey, but her shaking limbs couldn’t respond fast enough for her to bolt.

“No. You’re not here.” She retreated into her typical coping method even as thick, relentless arms wrapped around her. “This isn’t real. No!”

But the arms that held her fast weren’t her imagination. Kelsey gasped as the masked man flipped her over his shoulder with ease.

Fight. I can’t go back to that hellhole.

As realization of her fate roared across her brain, Kelsey at last found the strength to resist. Kicking and screaming with rage-fueled desperation, she dug her nails into the asshole’s back. His arms. Any flesh she could reach, she shredded, feeling the skin peeling back when she caught particularly good purchase. A grunt of pain escaped her captor—the first sign of weakness he’d shown since the terror began—and hope flooded her veins.

The masked man wasn’t invincible. She could win this fight.

Despite her determination, one backward slap of his palm to her face knocked the adrenaline from her body.

Kelsey hung limp over her captor’s shoulder, dizzy and stupefied. As if her brave attempt at escape had never happened at all, the masked man started back the way she’d just come.

Each jarring step shook the air from her lungs. “No.” Her croak slid out weak and defeated. “The river.”

In her struggle to free herself, she’d lost the sound of the water, but Kelsey tuned back in. She’d come close—managed to get within mere feet of plunging into the icy river and drowning in peace.

“You didn’t think you’d actually reach the water, did you?” His laughter boomed as he continued walking. “Can’t let a pretty thing like you just go off and drown herself. Although seeing you run, like you thought you stood a chance, was one hell of a show. I was more than happy to watch.”

Nausea crashed over Kelsey like a tidal wave.

All energy and hope drained from her. As the site of her worst fears came into view—the warehouse of horrors—she prayed for death. Something, anything, to stop her from ever having to go back into that place again.

The world began to fade as if in answer to her prayer. Wondering if her family would ever find her mutilated body, Kelsey welcomed the darkening of her vision to a tiny point before unconsciousness wrapped her in its warm embrace.

***

Kelsey woke with a jerk as an acrid scent assaulted her nose. Like a blunt object, the smell thrust itself all the way up her nostrils, sending an acidic burn into her skull. She tried to jerk her head away, but the back of her neck hit something solid.

“No sleeping.” The masked man corked a small vial and placed it on a wooden post next to her head. “Can’t have you passed out during the good parts, now, can I?”

A clamp of smooth wood around her neck and wrists held them level horizontally. Something hard pressed into her shoulders too. Whatever contraption he’d locked her into didn’t give an inch. Kelsey couldn’t move any part of her body.

Trapped again. Only this time, she was secured in the kneeling position he loved so much. The concrete under her legs, cold as ever, no longer soothed her.

I’m going to die here.

Her matted hair, now caked with mud, clung to the side of her face. Too bad it didn’t cover her eyes. She didn’t want to see what he had in store for her. A tiny red light blinked from a camera placed in front of her, no doubt ready to get a close-up of her screams. She’d long since stopped worrying about his need to record every session.

The footage couldn’t ruin her career—or her life—if she was six feet under.

A sharp whistle preceded the snap of a cane that connected with her ass.

Pain sent a squeak leaping from her throat.

Maybe this would be the final session. He couldn’t do this forever, could he?

“Your run seems to have woken you up from your stupor. You were getting to be no fun. That’s why I let you have that little midnight jog.”

Kelsey whimpered.

I wasn’t escaping. I was allowed to take a recess. That’s all.

The terrible whistle pierced the air again, the strike this time landing against the arch of her feet. She screamed and tried to pull away. Another hit her heels. Then her ankles. The pads of her feet. Her arches again.

Kicking did no good. The heavy wooden casement held her in place, so damn solid, it didn’t even rock as Kelsey threw her weight to the side, trying to evade the stinging in her feet.

No escape. She could only endure.

She was a crying, blubbering mess even before his zipper dropped.

The pungent scent of his leather mask filled her nostrils once more as he bent over her and whispered, “Now it’s time to teach you a lesson about running away.”

He pressed into her dry, and she forced her mind into a different place and time. She no longer felt him, no longer saw this room. Images of her roommate, Frankie, and their friend Tyler blending margaritas. They were all throwing Mardi Gras beads, trying to get them around one another’s heads. Frankie put on a reggae playlist, and Kelsey danced barefoot on a plush carpet. Her feet felt so good.

His words brought her back. “Scream for me.”

She tried but choked on the cry she couldn’t force from her mouth. “No. You’re not here. This isn’t real. No!”

Kelsey bit down on her lip, the coppery tang of blood filling her mouth.

He brought the cane down on her ribs, and the scream he demanded burst out of her mouth.

“That’s right. Just like that. Louder.”

Swat.

“Again. Louder!”

Swat.

There was nothing left for him to take. Darkness ate at the edges of Kelsey’s vision. Even as he continued to strike, she’d slipped past the point of feeling pain.

The masked man couldn’t kill her. She was already dead.

Chapter Two

“That’s Kelsey Vinn. She’s a model…”

Javier Bainbridge’s words reverberated through Sky Stryker’s mind, but she couldn’t make herself form words. Another model tortured and possibly killed. The video certainly appeared high budget enough to be real, but what kind of idiot filmed and shared the evidence of murder?

A person who didn’t think they’d get caught, obviously. But filming the torture of someone in the public eye—like the beautiful model Kelsey Vinn—would not go unnoticed.

And it looked like Kelsey had just died right in front of her eyes.

Shaking her head, Sky infused her words with as much conviction as she could muster. “No. It can’t be real.”

She shouldn’t have even opened the email. Anything coming from an unknown sender was likely junk or malware. Everyone knew that.

But she couldn’t ignore the words accompanying the video.

This Will Be You.

That kind of threat demanded attention, and the sender likely knew that. Sky had not only opened the email but immediately clicked on the video link, despite all her knowledge and distrust of the cyber world and its never-ending onslaught of viruses and spam.

“Hey.” Javier put an arm around Sky’s trembling shoulders, reminding her that he was present in her tiny Hell’s Kitchen studio apartment. “Whatever that is, we’ll figure it out. You’re here with me. You’re safe.”

A knock at the door startled Sky away from him. She sat frozen on the couch as Javier rose to answer it, his thick brown hair unkempt from repeated raking of his fingers.

After peering through the peephole, Javier opened the door. Delia Shaw, Sky’s best friend, pushed into the apartment.

The model wasted no words. “Javier, I got your text. I want to see the video.”

That jerked Sky out of her stupor. “No. You shouldn’t watch it. Not after—”

“I appreciate the warning, but I can handle it.” Delia held up her hand. “Promise.”

Javier looked back and forth between them. “Are you sure?”

Delia nodded vehemently, her black hair falling in front of her eyes.

From her spot on the couch, Sky lifted her phone. “You should sit.”

As Delia positioned herself on Sky’s other side, Javier returned to his spot on the couch.

Not so different from their cuddling position from ten minutes ago, but it was safe to say the mood had changed.

So much for our “date that might not really be a date evening,” huh?

Sky shoved the thought aside as Delia watched the video.

A completely nude woman ran through the woods, screaming in terror as the person filming caught up to her. The video cut to what appeared to be the same woman forced into a submissive position by a wooden contraption from hell, her naked body in full view as a masked man stepped into the frame.

The woman shrieked as the masked man picked up a cane, each strike to her body eliciting another earsplitting scream.

“Kelsey,” Delia breathed. “Is this real? Who sent this?”

“We don’t know.” Javier rolled his neck. “Some rando emailed it to Sky.”

Delia shivered violently. “Real or not, that is Kelsey Vinn. There’s no doubt in my mind.” She looked like she might get sick, and Sky squeezed her knee. “And by the end of that footage, she’s dead or unconscious or giving an Oscar-worthy performance.”

Javier shook his head, tightening his grip on Sky’s shoulders. “No one is going to film a video like that and send it off to a writer known for exposing the ugly underbelly of the fashion world unless it’s fake. Torture porn or whatever. They’re just messing with you, Sky. It’s got to be AI-generated or something.”

Delia twisted her fingers together. “Javier’s right. It has to be fake. Some horrible…I don’t know…practical joke. You’ve pissed off a lot of people in high places. We know this. It can’t be real. It can’t.”

The logic of Delia’s words would have been more comforting if her voice hadn’t squeaked an octave higher than normal. In the present moment, Sky was sure of only one thing. She never wanted to watch that video again. But as she met Delia’s teary emerald-green eyes, she knew they’d have to find out the truth.

Sky blew out a heavy breath, sinking deeper into the worn couch cushions as exhaustion rippled through her veins.

Since moving to Manhattan almost a year ago, Sky had seen several women in various parts of the entertainment industry go missing, most of them ending up dead.

She’d only been in the city for two weeks when her cousin Megan was fished out of the Hudson River. Sky shook her head, hoping to dislodge the memory before it had her in tears, but Megan’s bloated and distorted face refused to fade away.

Megan wasn’t even the first victim. A model named Shannon Shanahan had disappeared right before Fashion Week last February. The cops hadn’t had any luck finding her. No ping on her credit cards. No body. Nothing. She’d simply…vanished.

But Shannon had been lucky compared to Megan. She’d turned up later, alive but held against her will by the Mill, a detestable organization of rich, perverted bastards. An FBI raid at one of the Mill’s private parties ended Shannon’s nightmare.

The Mill had nearly taken Delia’s life as well. Shuddering, Sky recalled how some of the top modeling agents had colluded with the Mill to force their girls into prostitution when they weren’t booking enough gigs. Delia’s former agent, Gil Stetson, had been the worst of them, guilting Delia into working an extra gig by not-so-subtly suggesting she was getting old and fat.

Raped and beaten within an inch of her life, Delia had barely made it through her “special gig” alive. Her friend, Nicole Fantasia, hadn’t managed to escape the brutality of Michael Taylor.

Also known as The Terror or Mister M, the man possessed more money than God, a kink for pain play, and enough friends in high places to allow him to get away with murder. He’d disposed of women as casually as old newspapers.

But Delia had risen from the ashes of her trauma and played a part in the raid that took them down, rescuing Sky from nearly falling into the Mill’s clutches herself.

Still, even all these months later, Sky felt Delia trembling beside her. The video of Kelsey Vinn had to hit entirely too close to home for her.

She threw an arm around her friend’s willowy frame and gave her a gentle shake. “You want something to drink?”

Tears traced a line from Delia’s high cheekbones down to her quivering chin. Her mouth opened, but no words came out.

Over the top of Delia’s head, Javier met Sky’s gaze. “Maybe something without caffeine.”

“I’ve got just the thing.” A lump formed in Sky’s throat as she stood and moved into her tiny kitchenette. The last time she’d seen Delia this terrified was the day she’d shown up on Sky’s doorstep, battered and brutalized.

But Delia made it through that, and she’ll make it through this.

Sky opened a cabinet, praying she had a few clean mugs to use. The sink, forever piled high with dishes, had been on her to-do list for the day, after she finished submitting the final pages of her fourth book to her editor, Maria. But, as always, time had gotten away from her.

To her credit, Sky had swept and mopped the floors before Javier arrived for their undefined hangout—but she hadn’t washed a single plate.

As if the universe had arranged for her to play host, three mugs sat waiting in the back of her cabinet. She filled her trusty red-and-green teakettle from the sink and popped it onto the stovetop. “Going to make some chamomile tea.”

Sky prepped the mugs, adding honey and a spoonful of lemon juice with each tea bag. While the kettle boiled, she peeked into the living room.

Delia perched on the edge of the couch, stiff as a board. Her right leg bounced and bobbed, and the heel of her foot thumped the ground like an overexcited rabbit.

Javier, more stoic in appearance, was just as lost in thought as Delia. He stared at his hands as if an epic movie were playing out on his palms and he didn’t dare look away for a second.

The whistle of the kettle snapped Sky back to attention. She poured the steaming water into the prepped mugs and headed back toward the couch. “This always does the trick when I need to calm down and focus.”

She set two mugs on the coffee table, returning to the counter to nab her own cup. As much as she wanted to offer the words of comfort Delia clearly needed, Sky couldn’t say with any certainty that the video was staged.

They had both witnessed firsthand how creative some of the New York elite could get in disposing of their playthings.

When someone had money and power at their disposal, the depths of their depravity might know no limits. Forcing women into prostitution, beating them, staging suicides, and throwing their bodies into freezing rivers…Sky had seen it all in the short time she’d lived in Manhattan.

In a twisted way, she’d landed a publishing contract with Maria Wells at Cockalorum Press because of her experiences. By telling the truth, Sky’s books shined a light on the seedy underbelly of high society—and made damn sure to commemorate all the unfortunate women who’d fallen victim.

As long as she lived in NYC, Sky would never have a shortage of stories to tell. That much appeared certain.

She wrapped her hands around her warm mug of tea. If the video she’d received was real, that meant another predator going after the modeling community.

Or maybe this was a predator they hadn’t caught in their original net?

Though Sky had shot and killed her cousin’s murderer—Dustin Wint—when he’d attempted to kidnap Sky herself, Wint’s accomplice was still out there. And there were plenty of men at the Mill’s last gathering…it wasn’t out of the question that someone had slipped free. Or that not all of them had showed up.

A disturbing thought.

She turned to Delia. “When was the last time you saw Kelsey? Do you have her contact information? You should try calling her.” Words poured from Sky’s mouth as instinct fed her a checklist of questions. Anything that might help determine their next step.

Just don’t make me watch that video again.

Javier straightened, piping up as Sky went to her desk. “Do you know where she lives? Does she have family or roommates?”

Whether it was the sudden volume of her friends’ voices or the rapid-fire cadence of their questions, the light in Delia’s eyes returned. “She recently walked a runway with me.” Her gaze flitted up to the ceiling. “I think. Yeah. The nature one. Over on Thirty-Eighth.”

Sky searched through her cluttered desktop for a notebook and pen. “Okay. Good. Was she friends with any of the other models in the show?”

“Maybe? No…wait. Not in the show.”

“But she does know other models, right?” Javier continued the prodding. “Not to stereotype, but you all do have friends in the business. I mean, only a model is going to understand the life of a model, right?”

Sky spotted the spiral rings of her notebook buried under a stack of unread mail. She snatched it up, sending an avalanche of letters over the edge of her desk. Another mess she would probably neglect for a while. She grabbed the single pen jutting out from her pencil cup and spun back around to face her friends.

Delia wrinkled her forehead in thought, running a hand through her black bob. “Jen…or was it…” She took a sip of tea. “Frankie. Yes. I was there when she brought Kelsey in. I think they might be roommates. And now that I think about it, they were both in the show.”

“You got a last name? Phone number, maybe?” Sky jotted down Frankie’s name, writing, Roommate? beside it.

Delia shook her head. “We’re going to have to get that from Nadine.”

As the founder and owner of Barrett Model Management, Nadine Barrett would have contact info for all her models.

“Okay. What else can you tell me about Kelsey?” Sky prepared to write down everything Delia said. Right or wrong, they could suss that out later. For now, any information was good.

“I had only just met her. But we got along so well. She’s a small-town girl, like me. All those big dreams and stars in her eyes. I should have gone out with her after the show. She wanted someone to show her the town. You know, all the good spots, where the locals go.” Delia slumped back against the couch cushions. “Maybe if I’d gone with her…”

“Don’t go there. You can’t let yourself take the blame.” Javier edged his gentle tone with firm resolve and gave a reassuring pat to Delia’s arm.

Sky couldn’t have agreed more. Speaking from her own experience, she had driven herself crazy after the death of her friend Tessa Emerson over a decade ago. Even now, Sky sometimes slipped back into those dark waters. It didn’t take much to sink under and drown in all that self-loathing and depression. “You couldn’t have known something like that would happen. Cut yourself some slack and stick to the facts.”

Lip quivering, Delia sniffled before sitting up straight and reclaiming her mug. “Kelsey was supposed to do an agency shoot two days ago. I stopped by Barrett to chat with Nadine. She was having a fit because Kelsey hadn’t shown up. It crossed my mind that maybe something horrible had happened to Kelsey, but I told myself I was just overreacting based on my own experience. I mean, the Mill is gone now. Or it’s supposed to be.”

Javier took a sip and leaned forward, his expression soft with concern. “Delia, you’ve worked really hard at not letting your trauma control you. You absolutely cannot fault yourself for keeping calm when Kelsey didn’t show. Like Sky said, you couldn’t have known.”

“But I literally just…dismissed her in my head.” Delia squeezed her eyes tight for a moment. “I’m not proud of myself for saying this. But I’ve seen it a hundred times. Some girls have big dreams, but they aren’t cut out for this life. Kelsey had the look, but that’s not always enough.”

“You thought she went home?” Given the video, that obviously wasn’t the case. But Sky knew Delia hadn’t had that…information…at the time.

Delia hunched her shoulders. “I nearly did in my early days. Anyway, that was my first thought. That, or she changed agencies.”

Sky underlined the words find parents’ phone number in her notebook. “I guess that’s not uncommon.”

“Like you said, Kelsey also could’ve been poached by another agency.” Javier had no doubt seen more than his fair share of this in action. “You know. Cutthroat industry and all.”

Delia rolled her eyes. “But no one is going to give a better deal or treat her as good as Nadine. Looking back, I don’t even know why I considered she might have jumped ship.”

Having experienced a taste of that life when she went undercover as a model while working on a case, Sky wholeheartedly agreed with Delia. “People don’t always think things through when they’re seeing dollar signs, but we’ll cross that bridge if we need to.”

“You think she’s pulling a stunt?” Delia eyed Sky’s phone but didn’t reach for it. “That she’s not coming to work anymore because she’s doing…? I don’t even know what to call that.”

Sky bit her lip as she tried to define the recording. “I guess it’d be called…hurtcore.” She’d recently learned all about what humiliating, torturing, and making a public spectacle of a victim entailed when she and her friends investigated an online predator.

“But is it fake?” The pleading look returned to Delia’s eyes. “You think she’s pretending to be…I don’t know…knocked out at the end?”

That’s the million-dollar question.

“We’ll figure it out.” Javier set his empty cup on the coffee table. “We don’t really know there’s any threat to Kelsey here, or to Sky, for that matter. Not yet. If a little poking around doesn’t solve things, we bring in the big guns.”

He was right. Sami Hayat, Delia’s boyfriend and Javier’s old military buddy, was a top-notch P.I. who’d assisted them in solving several crimes. And Calysta Baros, Sky’s neighbor and official mother hen to the small group of friends, provided her own brand of kick-ass in the form of thirty-four years of experience with the Federal Bureau of Investigation.

They could call on either or both of their amazing friends if needed.

Sky wished Callie were here right now, sharing her wisdom, but the older woman was enjoying a weekend trip with her adult children. She rarely vacationed, and Delia was more than happy to cat-sit. These days, she spent more time sleeping at Callie’s or Sami’s than in her own apartment. Ever since she’d been attacked, she relied on the company of trusted friends to help her stave off anxiety.

Sky stood from her desk and settled on the couch, wrapping Delia in a hug. “It’s true. We’ve got a proven track record with this kind of thing. We’ll get to the bottom of it.”

Although she wasn’t exactly sure how they would do that, just saying they’d try seemed to perk Delia up. As the clock neared midnight, that was the most any of them could ask for.

And as far as that disturbing email subject line—This Will Be You—Sky hoped Javier was right. Someone was messing with her. She’d expected as much when she’d written her first tell-all. Her books were bound to piss people off.

Yes. This is par for the course. It doesn’t mean anyone’s actually out to get me.

But the goose bumps on her arms promised otherwise.