Page 114 of He Sees You

His face drains of color. "I don't know what you're talking about."

"The padlock was new. The hinges oiled. Someone's been keeping that cottage ready for use."

Sterling's hand moves to his gun. "You're paranoid."

"Am I?" I pull out the photo of him with the unconscious girl. Hold it up so he can see it clearly. "Is this paranoia?"

He draws his gun, points it at me. "Where did you get that?"

"Richard kept excellent records. Insurance, he called it."

"Put it down. All of it. Give me the bag."

"No."

The gun swings to Celeste. "Give me the bag or I'll?—"

"You'll what? Shoot your own daughter? Go ahead. Make my job easier."

"Your job?"

"Removing predators from this world. You're next on my list, Sterling."

The gun swings back to me. "You killed Jake. Morrison. All of them."

"Jake and Morrison, yes. The others were just practice."

"You son of a bitch?—"

"I'm the son of Sarah Reeves, actually. You remember her? The woman who begged you to help find her children? The one you had killed when she wouldn't stop looking?"

Sterling's face goes white. "That was Richard?—"

"Onyourorders. Withyourhelp. Your signature is on every document."

"Cain," Celeste says quietly. "What did you find?"

"Everything. Your father's been trafficking children for thirty years. My biological parents were murdered for trying to get Juliette and me back. And Sterling here has a special request in for Christmas Eve—a teenage girl who looks like you."

She stands slowly, turns to face her father. "Is that true?"

Sterling's hand shakes, the gun wavering. "Princess, I can explain?—"

"Is. It. True?"

"It's not what it sounds like?—"

I pull out the request form, read it aloud. "One brunette, 15-16, similar to C.S., virgin essential." I look up at Sterling. "C.S. Your daughter's initials."

Celeste takes the paper, reads it herself.

When she looks up at her father, there's nothing in her eyes.

No anger, no disgust, no sadness. Nothing.

"You wanted a girl who looks like me."

"It wasn't—I wouldn't—she was just supposed to be for housework?—"