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Noelle takes that with a grim nod and walks toward Sibel’s house.

I follow closely, frequently glancing back and forth to briefly observe pedestrian traffic.

A neighbor takes out his trash, pulling the cans across from his driveway.

A jogger checks her Fitbit as she darts past us, headed west. An old lady walks her terriers farther ahead, her feet light.

More noise comes from the dogs’ claws scratching the pavement.

That’s how quiet Sundays really are out here by the lake.

As soon as we reach the porch, my pulse starts racing.

I ring the doorbell and wait. One second.

Two. I steal a glance at Noelle. She’s watching me intently and with visible concern.

I wonder if she means it or if she’s just trying to be empathetic.

Well, if she’s just out to use me against my father I no longer have any reason to mind.

The old man needs to live out the rest of his days in a dark and filthy cell.

The door opens, and my heart stops for a second. I guess Sibel’s stops, too, as she recognizes me.

“What are you doing here?” she manages, then takes a couple of steps back. “Come in before anyone sees you!”

“Thank you,” Noelle says, and goes in.

I follow and watch Sibel as she steps out onto the porch for a moment, looking up and down the road to make sure we weren’t followed. Judging by her degree of paranoia, I think she’s been stewing in her own juices here since we last saw each other.

As soon as Sibel locks the door and turns to face us, I see it. She’s pale as a sheet of paper. Dark shadows nestle beneath her almond-shaped eyes.

“Sorry for the intrusion,” Noelle says. “But the urgent matter I called you about this morning has suddenly become an emergency.”

Sibel crosses her arms and shakes her head at me, deliberately ignoring Noelle. “I told you not to come here anymore.”

“I know you did,” I reply. “But we have a problem, and you’re the only one who can help.”

“I don’t want to help you! I just want to be left alone! Why can’t you respect that?” she snarls, already tearing up.

Something tells me she’s been wearing the same tracksuit for days.

There are faint stains of mustard and other sauces sprinkled here and there.

Remnants of chip crumbs by the collar. If I walk into the living room now, I’ll likely find it to be a pigsty—though, chances are, pigs would be more civil than a traumatized and depressed human.

“Julian has Madison,” Noelle interjects. “He’s holding her hostage. Now—you agreed to speak with me about your experience with Julian, anonymously. But now I have to ask you for something else. Sibel—do you know where Julian would take someone if he wanted them out of the way for, say, a week?”

Sibel blanches, gives me a horrified look. The mere mention of Madison’s name has a heavy effect on her. The tears start streaming freely down her cheeks. “Oh, god… no, no, no…”

“I’m sorry. But I have to stop him. I have to save her.”

Noelle touches Sibel’s arm. “We need your help, Sibel.”

“I need to know if there’s anything you know that might help me find Madison. We’re running out of time.”

Sibel leans back against the wall. She seems to have trouble standing on her own. Noelle helps her into the kitchen and settles her by the dining table. I take a seat next to her, while Noelle fills a glass with water.

“I’m truly sorry,” I say again, covering her trembling hands with mine. “I really am, Sibel. But Madison…she’s innocent. She never asked for any of this. No one paid her off. She’s kept to herself. We can’t let my father destroy any more lives, you know that, you have to know that.”

It sounds to me like I’m pleading for Madison’s life. Well, so fucking be it, if that’s what it takes to get Sibel’s cooperation, then I’ll do it a thousand times over. Doubt flickers in her gaze, and I know she wants to help, but I fear that wanting isn’t going to be enough.

It makes me wonder. “What does he have on you?” I ask, eyeing her carefully. “It can’t be just the house and whatever money he’s been paying you, Sibel. What else is it that’s stopping you from speaking up?”

“My mother’s hospice care,” Sibel murmurs, lowering her gaze. “She’s at Lavender Acres.”

“That’s a premium elderly care facility,” Noelle says.

“She has dementia and a severe case of hydrocephalus,” Sibel replies. “He covered the shunt implant, the care that followed. He pays five thousand dollars a month plus medical and psychiatric fees that aren’t covered through her Medicare.”

I give her hands a gentle squeeze. “Sibel, if it’s about the money for her hospice and medical bills, I’ve got more than enough to make sure your mother is well taken care of.

I’ve got a property you can move into, as soon as tomorrow.

It’s not a lakeside manor, but it’s big and spacious and safe, first floor of a secure building. You have to help me.”

“Rhue…” There is pain in her voice. Fear. Doubt. But I have to shatter it all if I’m going to get through to her.

“This is for Madison. My father has hurt her enough. Don’t let her die because you can’t find the courage to speak up. Dammit, Sibel, I love her!”

The words surprise even me, but I can’t take them back. They’re as true as any I’ve ever said. Madison snuck into my soul and never really left. I’ve felt her in my arms. Drawn out deepest desires. Reveled in her scent, her soft skin, her good heart—and her brilliant mind.

Noelle offers a warm half-smile. “You can talk to us, Sibel. It’ll feel amazing. You’ll get this huge weight off your chest, and maybe you’ll get to save Madison’s life, too.”

Silence settles between us. It’s a heavy and thick kind of silence. It fills my chest with something dark and unpleasant, like the prologue to a horror story. The anticipation of something far worse awaiting just ahead. Just out of sight or around the corner.

Sibel looks at me, and I see her naked soul unraveling in the dark pools of her teary eyes.

“He raped me, yes. Julian Echeveria raped me. I was working late one night. I stopped by the house to pick up some papers that I needed to look through for Roxanne. She was out of town, coming back in the morning. Julian, he’s an opportunist. He doesn’t plan these things.

He just… he was there, and I couldn’t stop him. ”

“He did the same to Madison,” I tell her.

“Yeah, only he couldn’t scare me away like he did with Madison,” Sibel replies.

“I don’t think I was his first, either. This was a few years back, Rhue.

There must have been others between Madison and me, I’m sure.

He likes the thrill. He loves it when a woman just stumbles onto his path, ripe for the picking. ”

Noelle shakes her head slowly. “I’m sorry you had to suffer through that, Sibel. It’s very brave of you to tell us about it now. I want to remind you, that per our verbal agreement from this morning, I am recording. Keep going, love, you’re doing great.”

“Brave, huh,” she scoffs, wiping tears with the back of her hand. “Was it brave to just move on like it never happened and show up at work the next day? Let him get away with it like he always does?”

I see it clearly. She despises herself. Thinks that so much of what happened is her fault. It’s not just my father’s threats that are eating her alive, it’s her guilt, too.

“Julian probably figured I would quit, that I’d never be seen again. I certainly knew who I was dealing with. What his name represented in this city. I never would’ve said a word, to be honest. He scared me. But I didn’t want to lose my career because of him, either.”

“So, you went back to work like nothing happened,” I say.

“Yes. I put on concealer, I popped a morning-after pill, and I tried to move on. Got tested for any STDs, just in case. But when Julian saw me, he went pale,” Sibel continues.

“I think Roxanne knew what kind of horny fucker she married. She never left us alone in the same room. Not even for a second. I think, deep down, she suspected something had happened.”

Noelle makes a sympathetic noise in her throat. “When did Julian start paying you off?”

“Oh, he asked me to quit, first,” she chuckles bitterly.

“Like I’d not made it clear enough that I was keeping my job as soon as I walked through the mansion doors the morning after.

He gave it a couple of days before texting me.

He must have fished my number out of Roxanne’s phone.

When I said I wouldn’t, he pulled some strings or something because I started getting job offers on LinkedIn.

Different charities from out of state that were hiring.

They offered a bigger pay, better perks than my job as a PA for Roxanne.

” Sibel pauses and takes a deep breath. “But even then, I said no. I didn’t want to be in his debt.

I didn’t want him to have any control over my life. ”

The more she talks, the clearer this picture becomes. My father didn’t hound her the way he did Madison because Sibel meant a little bit more to him. And my mother probably knew something had happened between them.

“Did Mom ever say anything?” I ask.

“Not at first, though she probably had an inkling. Julian ultimately offered me money. This house. A monthly stipend, plus my mother’s care covered. He said he took pity on me, the prick.”

Noelle doesn’t believe that. “I don’t think he did. I think you scared him. Most likely, he hoped he might get you back into the fold. Willingly, the second time around. Did he ask you?”

“Repeatedly. Until maybe a couple of months before Roxanne died,” Sibel says. “Something changed. He got quiet, but the payments kept coming in, so I thanked the stars and kept a low profile. It was too late for me to say or do anything, anyway. I’d sold my soul to the devil.”

“He probably had another opportunity with Madison, and Sibel was no longer—interesting?” Noelle suggests, giving me a questioning look.

“It’s a possibility, for sure. But the only person who can tell us what’s in my father’s sick head is my father.” I turn back to Sibel. “And my mother? You texted her about the rape. You said my father did the same to you, or wasn’t that the topic?”

Sibel closes her eyes for a second. “Madison told her about the rape. She asked me if Julian had ever been untoward, and I asked what the question was really about. She called me, wanted to get to the truth, you know? But I hung up, said I was busy. At work, Roxanne was respectful. She tried to bring it up a couple of times. I made her understand that I wouldn’t talk about it—and then, that night––I don’t know.

I felt bad, so I texted her. Told her Julian had done the same to me. The next morning, she’s dead. Suicide.”

“Oh, lord,” Noelle breathes, running a hand over her face.

“It’s why I’ve been quiet and, well, here. Always in here,” Sibel says. “Because if my worst fear is true, and Julian killed Roxanne, it’s only a matter of time before he figures out he can ‘suicide’ me, too. I’m staying out of his way, Rhue.”

“You think he killed Roxanne?” Noelle asks. My words have left me. I’m just staring at Sibel, mindless and stunned as I try to wrap my head around this terrifying clusterfuck.

Sibel nods. “If I stay here and say nothing, he won’t—” And then the words stop and her throat bursts open, blood and cartilage spurting out. The projectile pierces through the wall to my right, plaster splintering. Sibel chokes and loses that last breath, eyes wide open in shock.

Noelle is already on the floor.

I’m numb and staring.

There’s so much blood.

A whistling sound makes my ears twitch. A second shot. Only now does the window behind Sibel shatter, as the bullet comes through. It destroys her heart and obliterates the glass of water on the table, then lodges into the wall, mere inches below the first one.

“Get down!” Noelle shrieks.

Sibel’s head hits the table. She’s gone.

The crimson pool spreads across the fine wood and drips onto the carpet, soaking into the Turkish fabric.

A third shot rings clear, and I drop out of my chair.

Sweat trickles down my face, the adrenalin rush turning everything into a slow-motion sequence of which little can be made out.

I’m frozen to the spot. My mind blocked.

Someone shot at us.

Someone killed Sibel Osman.

“Oh, god,” I hear myself whisper upon noticing her limp legs inches from my face. Noelle isn’t moving. Her eyes are wide. She’s hyper-alert, I think. Or worse, in shock.

I manage to move away from the table, crawling on all fours until I reach the hallway. The only window here is a narrow frosted one by the front door—not good enough for a sniper.

I get up and look through the visor first. There’s movement out in the street. Someone running. Suddenly, as if possessed by some kind of invisible force, I feel my hand on the doorknob, twisting. Next thing I know, I’m out in the street.

A black sedan screeches away. Black smoke rolls in its wake.

Black trails on the asphalt. No license plates.

“What the… fuck…”

I can’t see the driver. But no one’s coming out of their homes. None of the neighbors heard the shots, then. Hell, I didn’t even hear the shots. Whoever did this must’ve used one hell of a silencer.

The lady walking her terriers is coming back, and she’s got a concerned look on her face. “Someone break a window?” she asks.

What the fuck do I tell her?

Noelle comes out, shaken and pale. “It’s all right, ma’am, just a stray baseball.”

The woman doesn’t think twice as she continues her walk, terriers nervously yipping and sniffing along the sidewalk.

They’re like tiny horses pulling a rather decrepit but nicely dressed human carriage.

My stomach turns. I head straight for the rose bushes by the front steps and retch.

I’ve got nothing to puke to begin with, yet I heave and groan and spit.

“Rhue—this is way out of our league now. You know that, right?” Noelle asks the most obvious question in the world.

I’d like nothing more than to shake her for making us come here again—but who am I kidding? I was gonna follow up with Sibel, too. This is on the both of us. Had we stayed away, maybe Sibel would still be alive. My heart hurts. It was her heart that was literally shattered, yet mine feels it all.

“He had her killed.”

“We don’t know that, Rhue. But if he did—and if he has Madison—oh god, poor Jerry. We have to involve the police, now. At least where Sibel is concerned. We can’t let just anyone find her in there.”

I hear what Noelle is saying, but my brain is glitching badly. In my mind, there’s an image of Madison sitting at that table. Of Madison getting shot in the throat. Of Madison’s blood gushing and splattering all over. Her limp legs next to my face.

The clock is ticking, and one of my key witnesses is dead.

He’s not making this easy, but I’ll be damned if I’ll stop.