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But Delaney was pretty sure the consequence of such a decision was Raisa’s life.
Not that her sister would be appreciative.
Normally, Delaney didn’t care what people thought about her; she would have gone crazy a long time ago if she did. She wasn’t particularly likable anyway. She said strange things at strange times—something Raisa had always called her out on. She cared more about numbers and patterns and logic than she did about someone else’s emotions. She never got lonely. Though she had enjoyed the one long-term relationship she’d had, she’d had to break it off because he had been a detective who was too smart for his own good. Yet Delaney didn’tneedanyone, not like everyone else seemed to.
But she had built her life around Isabel. Not completely, not as much as Raisa probably thought. There were other people beyond even that one long-term relationship. There had been plenty of men like Roan, one-night stands to fill a need. She’d taken vacations and goneto the beach and swum in the water and walked in forests. When she looked back on her life, though, those were the moments that seemedin betweenthe rest. Her thoughts had always returned to Isabel, how to find her, how to stop her.
There was a space there now, a void she kept returning to and hitting a brick wall when she did.
Isabel was dead.
And every time Delaney had that thought, she felt the tug from Raisa, off in her peripheral vision.
It scared her.
Not because Raisa scared her but because that tendency toward obsession was what had been so terrifying about Isabel. Delaney had the same compulsion—she couldn’t even deny it. Her track record spoke for itself.
But if she couldn’t channel it toward Isabel, why wouldn’t it latch right onto Raisa?
With Isabel, at least, that obsession had been productive; it had let her at least get close to stopping a prolific serial killer.
It would not be productive with Raisa.
And with that thought, Delaney slammed the laptop closed. She slid it into a bag—she wasn’t about to leave anything possibly incriminating behind while Roan knew what room she was staying in—and then dressed quickly.
There was still a game to be played.
“You never told me your name.”
Delaney looked up, pleased to find Gabriela Cruz standing over her table. She was the reason Delaney had come to this coffee shop—the girl had posted stories to her Flik from here at least four times a week—and it had only taken two hours of loitering for Gabbi to do so.
“Kate,” Delaney said, because it was easy and forgettable. Gabbi wouldn’t be able to search it, either.
“Mind if I sit?” Gabbi asked, though she was already pulling out the chair.
Delaney laughed. “Seems like you don’t need my permission.”
Gabbi ripped off the top of the chocolate chip muffin she’d bought, and stuffed it joyfully in her mouth. It almost hurt to look at someone so impossibly young. Delaney had been a world-weary cynic by the time she’d been Gabbi’s age.
“Did your friend’s daughter make it home okay?”
“Yes,” Delaney said. “Did you hear anything about what happened to the girl in the woods?”
“No, I asked around,” Gabbi said, lifting one shoulder dismissively. But Delaney thought she might care more than she let on. She’d shared several date-rape infographics on her Flik page that morning. “No one seems to even know who the blonde was.”
That surprised Delaney. “You didn’t recognize her?”
“Nope,” Gabbi said, popping another chunk of muffin into her mouth.
“What about the boys?” Delaney asked, pretending not to remember their names.
Benny Thompson.
Brad Something.
Benny didn’t have social media, or at least if he did, it was under some other version of his name. Kids were smarter these days about their digital footprint, so she didn’t find that unusual. She hadn’t been able to find a Brad registered with the local college, but that didn’t necessarily mean anything, either.
Delaney had been at that party, too, and she wasn’t exactly a student.