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“That Isabel wanted to see both me and Delaney broken like her,” Raisa said. “It’s not a surprise, especially considering she wrote it while rotting away in prison. She would be the last person in the world who would ever want to see us thrive while she was stuck behind bars.”
“Broken,” St. Ivany repeated slowly. “Okay, what exactly does that entail?”
If she had been in the car with Kilkenny, she wouldn’t have hesitated to say what she was thinking. Now she studied St. Ivany. They might not ever be bosom buddies, but the detective was fine enough. There was no real reason not to trust her. They’d come this far, after all.
“Delaney has always maintained a bit of moral superiority over Isabel because she’s never actually killed anyone.”
St. Ivany made a concerned sound. “Isabel wants to force Delaney into taking a life.”
“That’s my thought,” Raisa said. The hiking trail reviews slotted perfectly into that theory. Isabel had given Delaney a task, and Delaney hadnotwanted to do it.
“And what about you?” St. Ivany asked, sliding her a glance.
“She wants to force me to arrest Delaney after Delaney kills someone,” Raisa said, her throat raw from even speaking the words. “Or perhaps she wants me to kill Delaney in the process? That would probably do it.”
“Man, she was a sadistic little bitch, wasn’t she?” St. Ivany said.
Raisa barked out a laugh. “Yes.”
“So maybe Delaney already broke,” St. Ivany said. “What if she killed Emily Logan?”
“Then there’s nothing left to do but arrest her for it,” Raisa said, hating, hating, hating that Isabel would get what she wanted.
“That’s ... frustrating,” St. Ivany said as she looked around. “What do you want from the harbor?”
She was about to explain about Essi, when something flashed in the corner of her eye.
“St. Ivany,” she said, swiveling to find what had caught her attention. “What’s that?”
St. Ivany turned as well. “What do you mean?”
The sun shifted again. “There.”
A moment of silence. And then St. Ivany offered, hesitantly, “I don’t know. Looks like a camera lens.”
Raisa stared up at the curtain, running the calculations in her head. “Did your people talk to that person?”
“What?”
“They would have had a view of the accident,” Raisa said, already moving. “They would have had a view of the SUV that hit Kilkenny.”
“I don’t know,” St. Ivany said, keeping pace as Raisa broke into a jog to cross the street. “They should have.”
Raisa slowed to a stop, searching for the right door that would take them up to the second-floor apartment. She found it wedged between the coffee shop and the florist. Thankfully, it wasn’t locked, and she took the stairs two at a time.
No one answered when she knocked, so she pounded on the door again and then again.
“This is getting close to harassment,” St. Ivany muttered from where she leaned against the opposite wall.
“Hello,” Raisa called, desperate. “I’m FBI Agent Raisa Susanto. I’m trying to figure out who put my partner in the hospital. I was hoping you might be able to help.”
She dropped silent, listening, waiting. St. Ivany leaned forward, doing the same.
Raisa pressed her open palm against the door, resting her forehead against the wood. “Please.”
The chain clinked.
Just in time, Raisa stepped back as the door opened.