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“Nope, it’s right there in the visitor logs,” Raisa said. Even after she’d found Roan’s name, she’d continued forward until she’d hit thedate of Isabel’s death. Roan Carmichael had been the last person not in the system to see her alive.
“No,” Roan said. “You’re not getting it.”
“Not getting what?”
“I never visited Isabel Parker,” Roan said. “Not a single time in my life.”
Letter from Isabel Parker to Delaney Moore
Dearest Lana,
I know you wanted to stop me and never could.
I could feel you behind me, not every step of the way but most of them. Sometimes I went to hotter climates in the winter because I remembered how you didn’t like the snow. Sometimes I took a break because I could feel you growing weary of the hunt. And then just when you thought I had hibernated—or god forbid, died—I would kill again, just for you. Just so you knew I was still there.
Waiting for you.
You never could catch me. The only reason you did was because I set a trap in the first place. Did you ever think about that?
Some people say all serial killers eventually want to be caught.
Maybe I did, not by the police, but by you.
You were never smart enough, though. Or skilled enough.
What if I gave you a do-over? Would you thank me or would you curse me? Or would you do both in the same breath—because you could be redeemed but your soul would be ripped asunder in the process.
(Can you hear Larissa rolling her eyes at my purple prose? What can I say? I have my vices.)
There is someone out there who reminds me of myself.
Will you stop them in time?
I don’t think you can.
But if you do, maybe you’ll win a prize.
Your favorite sister,
Isabel
Chapter Twenty-Three
Delaney
Day Six
Delaney didn’t let herself worry about Roan of the Carolina mountains. She tucked their afternoon on the boat away in her mind, something to reflect upon when she needed the fantasy.
She lived in reality, where kind men were actually just lying to you.
She did let herself wonder what he wanted from her. Was he a journalist in disguise? A cop? A family member of one of Isabel’s victims? Delaney had done her best not to follow along with the trial—thinking that putting distance between herself and an airing of all Isabel’s misdeeds would somehow help her move on.
Of course, it hadn’t. Isabel wouldn’t allow for that.
Let’s play a game . . .
Delaney had made some excuse when they’d gotten back from their boat excursion. Roan lingered, but couldn’t pressure her further without coming off like a cad.