“Why are you still here, stuck in this…game with me?” I tilt my head just enough that our lips are almost brushing. “I’ll tell you why. Because you like it. The lies, the blood, the thrill of not knowing what I’ll do next. You like it when I’m bad.”
“You think I like it?” His voice is rough, barely restrained. “What I like is control. And you… Goddamn you.”
“What am I, Tristan? A chaos you’ve yet to tame but no matter what you can’t?” I lean in just enough for our lips to graze, the barest hint of a touch. “Someone you, too, hate for making you feel like this?”
There’s a beat where the world narrows to just this moment, just us, the flames between our mouths and the pitch-black secrets swirling with every breath.
And then he pulls back, seething. “There’s another piece of paper in the box. Check it. Maybe it’s a clue.”
CHAPTER 6
Birdie
The last card Butterfly Man has dealt burns a hole in the bottom of the box. It’s not a newspaper clipping but a photograph.
A stark white lighthouse looms against the sky, its beam cutting through the darkness. Edgartown Lighthouse.
I hold the picture. “What is this supposed to mean? He knows my favorite lighthouse in MA? We’ve already established that when he left that envelope the other day.”
Tristan’s demeanor shifts subtly. To most, he’d appear calm, but I’ve learned to read the signs. The slight tightening around his eyes, the imperceptible tension in his shoulders—he’s on high alert. His hand shoots out. His eyes, sharp and focused, zero in on the back of the photo. “Jesus. Behind it. Look.”
I flip the photo, and my heart dips. Scrawled in what looks like blood are two chilling words:FIND ME.
“Oh my God. Is this blood? Real blood?”
He takes the picture from me and brings it to his nose. “Yes.”
“Butterfly Man was in one piece when he broke in tonight. He left that box before he came to visit, which means this could be the blood of his next victim. Gia. Blake. We must go to the lighthouse.” I nod emphatically. “Now.”
His gaze darts around the car and back to the photo as he seems to assess potential threats. His hand moves absently to his side, where he keeps his concealed weapon. “No. This is a classicambush setup to lure us out, to unsettle us and push us into making a mistake.”
“Tristan, I have to see it for myself. If they’re dead, I need to see it.”
“And if they’re not? What if he’s left them for dead at the lighthouse, and you arrive at what will be a crime scene? What are you gonna tell the police? Your detective won’t be able to save you then, Birdie.”
It’s not the first time Butterfly Man has tried to make me look like a suspect. Blackmail is his backup plan to claim me; be mine or rot in prison. He knows I won’t be able to resist, and I’ll rush to see if he’s kept his promise. A trap like Tristan says.
“What do you suggest we do? I can’t just sit there.”
“That’s exactly what you need to do. Go to bed for fuck’s sake.”
“Are you fucking kidding me right now? If you think for one second that I can sleep or go back to that room where I’ve been violated by a creeptwice…”
He winces. “You don’t have to say anything to make me feel more guilty than I already feel. You hired me to keep you safe, to stop him from violating you, and it happened again under my watch, and for that I can’t even begin to show you how sorry I am. But like I own up to my shit, you should own up to yours. All of this could have ended tonight if you’d chosen to stop him.”
Rage jolts inside me. “So now it’s my fault you failed to keep your fucking promises?”
“I didn’t say that, but I know what you’re doing.” He stares right through me. “You never wanted me to catch or stop him.What you really want is the people who hurt you dead, at any cost.”
“I’m tired of this shit. Running in circles, wasting time when there could be a body out there—”
“Do you even want him gone after he kills your husband for you?”
“What kind of question is that?”
“Answer me, Birdie. Do you want that murderer to die or not?”
I open my mouth, but the words catch in my throat. Do I want Butterfly Man, the murderous psycho who has used me for his sick pleasures, who has put blood on my hands, who has infiltrated my life and is on the verge of ruining it, dead? The answer should be simple, shouldn’t it?
