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“You were certainly right about that,” I said, forcing myself to push the papers away and refocusing my attention on the others.

If there was information about Theresa buried in that treasure trove of intelligence, it would come out soon enough.

Onyx jerked their chin at the messy pile. “That enough to take the bastards to court?”

I scrubbed a hand over my face. “That’s a question for the lawyers. And possibly for the MSHTU.”

The Modern Slavery Human Trafficking Unit was the government department in charge of investigating the illegal buying and selling of human beings in the UK. They’d been politely blowing me off for years—which was understandable given the sheer volume of cases they were saddled with, combined with the lack of any hard evidence to back up my accusations.

Now, that might well have changed.

Over the following days, more envelopes arrived, containing yet more incriminating material.

“How is she even doing this?” Onyx asked, turning the latest one over to reveal the lack of postal markings.

Emma shrugged. “Curran brought her here. She saw the address of the house. And I know you think this place isimpregnable, but the truth is there are people in and out of the neighborhood every day. Gardeners, pool maintenance, renovation contractors...”

I felt a flash of alarm at the idea that I’d been so nonchalant about our safety here. But then again, I hadn’t invited any of the bad guys around for afternoon tea. Clarabelle Allen knew where we were hiding because she’d been here. And while it was true that she’d now shared that information with whoever was sneaking the envelopes into our post, it seemed likely that Tommy and Cade Huntwell would shortly have more pressing things to worry about than getting revenge.

The MSHTU turned out to beextremelyinterested in our new cache of evidence—especially given Emma and Elijah’s experience mere weeks ago. This was no longer a cold case more than two decades old. It was an ongoing concern.

Ten days after I presented the findings to my solicitors, the authorities opened an official investigation. Four days after that, I walked into the house, realized that the quest to which I’d dedicated my entire adult life was now essentially out of my hands, and had a minor breakdown over it.

Curran found me in an unused and unrenovated drawing room, sitting on the floor with my back propped against the bare plaster of the wall, staring at an untouched bottle of... actually, I wasn’t sure what it was. I hadn’t bothered to check. For all I knew, it could have been paint thinner.

He lowered himself to sit beside me with a soft grunt and a creak of protesting knees.

“Problem?” he asked. “I thought things were going well.”

I stared down at the label of the bottle.Macallan. At least it wasn’t formaldehyde or something.

“They are,” I said distantly. “They’re going so well that the only thing left for me to do is testify at trial about Theresa’s disappearance, assuming I’m even called to do so.”

Curran gave a slow nod. “Hmm.Tragic. Better be careful—you might have to face up to that future you and Emma talked about.”

“Sod off, you sarcastic twat,” I told him.

He snorted in amusement. “You’re only narked at me because you know I’m right.”

I set the bottle down and stared unseeing at the exposed lathing of the far wall. “Yes,” I said. “You really are, damn you.”