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What a fucking waste of a pretty face. Her lips tightened with hatred.

Still, how old was he when he started killing? Two?

“My grandfather said it was his gift to me. He wanted me to be able to live my life. So, to fulfill his wish, I went to college and then medical school. I focused, poured everything into becoming a brilliant doctor—just like him ... just like he wanted,” he snarled, drawing back slightly. “It was the most difficult task I have ever undertaken.”

“I get it.” Eve nodded slowly, as if some epiphany had dawned. “He thought if he gave you rules and something real to do, you’d stop killing people. Stop being who you are.”

His eyebrows pulled down, and his lips rolled back, but rather than spew that fury all over her, he whirled away and started to pace. “It was a test, really,” he said more calmly. “To see if I could be good again.” He paused and glowered at her. “My grandfather is a very important man. It is up to me to carry on his prestigious legacy.”

“Was,” Eve pointed out.

His expression turned to one of confusion.

“Was,” she said again. “Hewasa very important man. Now he’s just an elderly statistic rotting away in prison.”

Patrick laughed long and loud. One of those outbursts that spoke of sheer madness. Oh yeah, this guy was totally over the edge. He started to pace once more.

When he’d said nothing more for several laps of the room, she asked, “So why did you fall off the wagon?” She shrugged. “I’ve done it a bunch of times myself.”

She should have let him sink into that conscious coma again, but somehow she just couldn’t resist taunting him. Maybe he’d get so mad he’d have a stroke or a heart attack. It happened all the time, even with people her age, and he wasn’t that much younger than her. The image of his face contorting and his hands grabbing at his chest played in her head like a social media reel. She almost smiled.

He sat down on his stool once more and studied her. “Such a clever girl. I know all about you and your big sister. I cannot wait until I have the two of you together. It is going to be so much fun.”

Eve was the one laughing this time. “Trust me, I’m the fun one. You do not want to go down this road with Vera. She does not play well with others.”

“I found your photos.” A grin widened across his face. “Did you enjoy killing your mother?”

Every part of Eve’s being went still ... cold.

He laughed, recognizing he’d struck a deep nerve. “Oh yes. I may have allowed my grandfather to—as you say—rot in prison, but at least I did not kill him with my own two hands.” He stared at his hands, laughed as if he’d told a hilarious joke. “Perhaps you and I have more in common than you realize.”

“What did you do with the photos?” Eve demanded, a new kind of panic spreading through her.

“Oh.” He smiled. “I left them for Vera. A little gift. I am quite certain she has found them by now. I wonder—assuming the two of you survive—if she will ever forgive you for such a heinous act?” He made a tsking sound. “What kind of eleven-year-old child kills her own mother? You could have at least waited until you were old enough to have a real grudge against her.”

Eve turned away from his stare. She didn’t want to talk about it. Not now ... not ever.

The desperation and hurt building inside her eased just a little as she considered this new nightmare and the reality of what it meant. In a twisted sort of way, this lowlife had done her a favor. Vera was now aware of Eve’s terrible secret. The realization made what she recognized deep down she needed to do far easier. Vera would not understand about the photos. Eve had never wanted her to know, and she could not bear even the idea of facing her now.

Which meant Eve no longer had anything to lose.

She would make sure this piece of shit never got to her sisters, even if it killed her.

If she was dead, Vera couldn’t hate her.

34

Sunday, March 9Boyett FarmGood Hollow Road, Fayetteville, 6:30 a.m.

Vera pulled a hoodie over her tee. She was ready to go. The question was, Where?

She’d spent hours last night trying to figure out the moves Patrick Solomon would make. Bent had said he’d wanted to take a nap, but she’d heard him on the phone at least a dozen times last night, checking in with his deputies and, at least twice, with Eric. He hadn’t taken a damned nap. He’d only wanted an excuse to hang around in her house.

Finally, when he was on the phone yet again, she’d come up to her room and closed the door. She’d eventually fallen asleep still puzzling over the possibilities. Waking up this morning on top of the covers, still wearing yesterday’s clothes, and without having brushed her teeth had sucked.

She reached for her sneakers. Eve would be wearing the same clothes as the night before last. And she hadn’t been able to brush her teeth either. An ache deep in Vera’s chest made tears sting her eyes. If her sister was still breathing, she didn’t care what clothes she wore or how her breath smelled.

“Just let her be alive,” Vera murmured.