Page 208 of Ruin My Life

“Does it link back to any other cases?” I ask slowly, my voice suddenly too tight in my throat.

Lee glances at me, then back to the screen. “Give me a second…”

He filters the DNA results. Scrolls.

My heart starts thudding before he even says a word.

“It matches Anya’s file,” he murmurs. “Same guy.”

He keeps scrolling.

Then, his body goes still. The silence feels like a vacuum. The warmth drains from the room. From my skin.

“What is it?” I ask.

He looks at me. Really looks at me.

And I see it—the one thing I never want to see in someone’s eyes.

Pity.

I snatch the laptop from him, turning the screen toward me.

There it is.

A third match.

My name.

The breath rushes out of me like I’ve been kicked in the ribs. My lungs seize. My stomach caves inward.

Jennifer.

Anya.

Me.

The man who killed Jennifer and Anya was Xander’s partner—the man who raped me, shot me, took everything from me.

I’d suspected it, but having it confirmed in black-and-white, in data and timestamps and undeniable evidence… that’s a whole different kind of gut punch.

He’s been here.Recently.

All this time I’ve come up empty. No name. No trace. Nothing but venomous green eyes in my nightmares and a silence that screamed too loud to follow. I thought being alivewould draw him out. That surviving would taunt him back to me so I could finish this. But Xander said it himself. I was never meant to die. I was bait. A tool. A trap.

And now? I’m starting to wonder if all this—Jennifer, Anya, the hacks—wasn’t about revenge at all.

It was about sending a message.

The question is, is the message meant for me, or for Damon?

I don’t realize I’m gripping the edge of the counter until R.O.S.E. pings, snapping me back to the present. The final batch of compiled CCTV footage flashes on the screen—footage tagged with Jennifer’s face, pulled from every camera in Kings.

My stomach clenches.

“We’ve got something,” I murmur, pushing my stool in beside Lee. I center the laptop between us and press play.

The clip opens on Jennifer stepping out of a yellow cab just down the street from The Speakeasy. Sunset bathes the sidewalk in amber light and long shadows. She lingers on the curb, fingers curled around her phone, eyes carefully scanning her surroundings.