Page 133 of Convict's Game

And for that, he’d forced Mila into the game.

I leaned in, my voice low. “You’re going to give us more than that, Salter. You’re going to tell us everything you know about who he worked with, when and where it took place. And if you don’t…”

Shade reached for a scalpel with a steady hand.

“Then we’ll open you up and find the truth ourselves.”

Chapter 44

Mila

Genevieve lifted her head from her phone. “They’re coming back.”

Cold relief rippled through me. As mixed up as I was over Convict, I’d hated him going. Even though he’d given me the choice to have him stay.

At least the Skeleton Girls Detective Agency had used the time well.

Cassie and Riordan had caught Yelland and chained him up in a boathouse of some kind. Then they livestreamed his question-and-answer session to us, sitting watching from the safety of Genevieve’s sofa. Gen and Lovelyn sat either side of me. Everly had refused point blank to be in the room while the torture went on. I didn’t blame her.

Yelland was exactly as I remembered. Brown-stained teeth. Ugliness to him that no amount of money could hide. I almost enjoyed spotting the bruises that must’ve come from his capture.

With his features tight in terror, he’d readily admitted buying Becky but said he didn’t know anything about the other buyers.

Cassie didn’t believe him. Her persuasion had Genevieve muting the feed.

I typed a text message to Cassie, knowing Riordan would whisper it into her ear.

Mila: Ask about the format of the night. We know enough from Becky to tell if he’s lying.

Riordan gave a thumbs-up to the camera. Genevieve activated the sound again, and Yelland’s spluttering voice filled the room.

“The attendees were all separated in booths. I never saw the others. Even transport was arranged at separate entrances. They had a car pick me up and take me back to where I parked.”

He coughed up blood. I winced but didn’t look away.

“Who told you about it?” Cassie asked.

“A fellow at the Greystone club.”

Genevieve glanced at me. “Any clue?”

“It’s an old boy’s club. Privately owned, whisky and cigars, that kind of thing.”

My grandfather had been offered membership but hadn’t taken it. He considered networking a waste of time and would just seek out those he needed information from.

On the video feed, Cassie demanded a name.

Yelland answered more readily. “I don’t know him. We were at the bar, and he was telling someone else about it. They called him Sulli, that’s all I know.”

“Describe this Sulli.”

“Brown hair, younger than me. It was a short conversation. What do you expect me to say?”

“Did he attend the auction, too?”

“I don’t know.”

His whiny voice had me cringing.