Page 102 of Before the Night Falls

Olivia was grateful to have the space to piece herself back together without an audience.

Sometimes, when the memories became too vivid—when she could feel the rope burns on her wrists or taste the chemical sweetness of chloroform at the back of her throat—she would wade ankle-deep into the cold Atlantic, letting the shock of it ground her in the present. Then she’d pray more.

But even as prayer and the ocean worked their healing magic, the question lingered beneath every moment of peace: How long would she be safe here?

She dug her hands into the sand, feeling the granules slip between her fingers.

The masked figure’s words echoed in her mind:This isn’t over, Olivia. It was never about killing you quickly.

Whoever was hunting her had been patient, methodical. The kind of obsession that wouldn’t be deterred by distance or difficulty.

She caught herself scanning the horizon and the dunes, searching for a familiar silhouette. For white porcelain gleaming in the sun.

The countdown was almost complete. Only one rose was left.

Unless the police caught this guy in time, Olivia was certain she’d end up dead. She didn’t want to be lulled into a false sense of security.

It’s most likely someone you know.

Scarborough’s words kept repeating in her mind.

But maybe he was wrong.

CHAPTERFIFTY-TWO

As Tyson stoodon the deck keeping an eye on Olivia as she sat on the beach, his cell phone buzzed against the wooden railing. He glanced at the display.

Detective Scarborough.

“I have an update for you,” he started. “It’s about Donald.”

Tyson’s breath caught. “What about him?”

“They found his body this morning. Hidden in a drainage ditch about five miles from your property. We searched that area before, and I’m not sure why we didn’t find him there earlier.”

Tyson closed his eyes. “What happened?”

“It appears to be a self-inflicted gunshot wound. Maybe the guilt got to him.”

“Are you sure it was self-inflicted?”

“He still had the gun in his hands. Between that and the mask we found in his house, it seems like a slam dunk.”

Tyson’s throat tightened. “That doesn’t fit this guy’s MO.”

“I get what you’re saying. We’ll keep investigating. But if someone did this to Donald and set him up, then I have to say he has some kind of familiarity with the area. I don’t think this is a random strange who blew in from out of town. It could be someone close.”

A lump formed in his throat. Tyson hated the thought.

Someone close? Close to him?

Even though he’d background checked his staff, if one of them was guilty . . .

The only person who possibly came to mind was Hobbes—not that he believed his assistant would do something like this.

But Hobbes was the only one constantly around. Plus, he had been in New York when Olivia had been abducted the first time.

But he just didn’t want to believe it was true.