“How about I’m not capable of killing someone? Your career has really messed with your head.” He angles his body toward me and braces himself against the seats both behind and in front of him like he’s prepared to flee. “I really don’t know what to say to you right now.”

  “I’m sorry, Roc,” I offer, touching his leg. Guilt for what I’ve done makes it difficult to meet his gaze. “This has been a seriously messed-up day. I shouldn’t have jumped to conclusions like that. My head isn’t in the right place to solve anything right now.”

  Lips set into a hard line, he gives a disappointed shake of his head before he glances down.

  Feeling as if I no longer have a right to touch him, I withdraw my hand. “I’d rather have you mad at me like this…maybe it was my subconscious way of pushing you away. It was ridiculous for us to think we could pick up where we left off twenty-some years ago anyway.” Holding the journal by its spine, I subconsciously fan the pages through my fingers. “We’re clearly different people. I’ve seen enough twisted shit since earning my shield that I’ve become hard…cynical. I’m no longer the innocent girl with a big heart you fell in love with.”

  “Wait.” He traps my fingers inside one hand and points at the journal with the other.

  “Go back a few pages.”

  I slowly skim through a set of blank pages until he tells me to stop.

  The woman’s meticulous cursive stops a quarter of the way down the page. There’s a large gap of nothing, then a woman’s name and a date.

  MARIANNA HALEY

  5/6/80

  My heart palpitates with painful blows, frantic for oxygen.

  The name and date are printed in my dad’s unmistakable handwriting.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  BEFORE

  Marianna

  As I’m baking cookies for Lizzy and the neighborhood kids, I’m interrupted by a frantic pounding on the front door. Before answering it, I glance through the kitchen window and find her engaged in a game of hopscotch with Josephine and Cody. Thank God for springtime, I think as my shoulders relax. At least my sweet daughter won’t be here to witness whatever kind of mood he may be in this time.

  Dread creeps through me as I shuffle to the front door to unlock the chain and disengage the bolt. He storms inside with the finesse of a wet fox in a hen house with a ball cap pulled down low over his eyes. Sometimes I think he’s embarrassed to be seen with me because he’s always hiding.

  As soon as the door’s closed, he drops his suitcase by the door, then tosses the ball cap and his trench coat onto the sofa. The way hair’s sticking up and his clothes are wrinkled, I suspect he’s exhausted from the drive.

  “Why was the door locked?” he snarls, showing every last one of his teeth.

  “I keep it locked whenever Lizzy and I are home alone.” Forcing a smile, I stand on my tip-toes to brush my lips over his cheek. “Welcome back. I’ve missed you.”

  I mentally prepare myself, worried he can hear the artificial cheer oozing from my tone. It’s not nearly as loud as the thump of my heart against my chest. I’ve tried countless times to tell him we’re finished. Each time he’s given me the kind of dark, feral look that has convinced me there’s a monster residing somewhere inside of him. I’ve considered running away with Elizabeth and taking on a new identity, but he’s mentioned an old friend of his who works for the FBI and can track down anyone, anywhere. It’s as if he already knows I’m trying to find a way out.

  At least I haven’t given him reason to suspect there are other men in my life. Had he known I was sharing my bed with someone else, I wouldn’t be standing here right now, sucking in panicked breaths as I wait for his current mood to ooze from his skin and reveal itself. I’ve considered getting my other lovers involved and telling them the details of my situation, but those relationships have enough complications of their own.

  He hooks an arm around my waist and forces me close against him for a sultry kiss. If I weren’t so afraid of what he might do to me, I’d easily lose myself in the sensation. But I’m barely able to resist the instinct to push him off and vomit all over the shag carpet.

  His eyelids are heavy when he releases me. “Where’s my girl?”

  “Outside, playing with her friends.”

  “I missed her, too. Why don’t you call her inside so we can have lunch like a proper family?”

  “They’ll be done in a minute,” I say, pulling him away from the window and into the kitchen. “What would you like to eat? You must be starving after the long drive from Virginia.” With any luck, maybe I can distract him enough that he’ll forget all about Lizzy. He can be so flighty at times that I don’t believe it would be too hard. “How was your week?”

  “Didn’t sell shit this time,” he grumbles. “Too many prissy housewives out there that don’t want to part with their old man’s money. Seems the more money they have, the less they want to spend it.” He stops to sniff the air. “What’s that godawful smell?”

  “I’m baking cookies for Lizzy and the other kids.”

  “Smells like something you’d scrape off the bottom of your shoe.” He digs through the refrigerator. “Where’s my beer?”

  “There should be some left behind the milk carton.”

  He cracks open a can and slumps into one of the kitchen chairs. “I’ve been thinking…we should move outta this dump. There’re too many nosy neighbors around here who think they know our business.” He guzzles some of the beer, then wipes his mouth with the back of a hand. “We need somewhere nice and quiet where we can hear ourselves think. I’m getting tired of the city. A man needs his privacy. A buddy of mine told me about an acreage for sale in Elk Neck. I’d be able to hunt deer and bear…put food on the table for you and Lizzy.”

  I cast him a tight smile, praying he doesn’t notice it’s masking a boatload of fear. The women in the neighborhood have made it clear I’m never going to be part of their social circle. I can’t say for sure if it’s because they know I don’t have a car, or because I wear homemade dresses. Maybe it’s something I’m completely unaware of. All I know is their children are good to Elizabeth, and having them nearby gives me a sense of security. They may be prudes, but they’re close enough that they keep a close eye on us. If anything were to happen to me, I’m confident they wouldn’t hesitate to call the authorities.

  Under no circumstances will I agree to move somewhere remote with this man.

  Once I’m certain I can control the pitch of my voice, I ask, “If we lived in the middle of nowhere, where would Lizzy go to school? Who would she play with?”

  “That girl doesn’t need a bunch of uppity friends. And you’re smart enough. You can teach her everything she needs to know.”

  I let out a slow, steady breath. “I don’t know…I kind of like it around here. There’s so much to do…so many places to take Lizzy in the summertime. It would be too far of a drive to attend the weekly street fairs and sell my crafts.”

  He releases a sharp guffaw. “You don’t make enough of a profit from selling that junk for it to matter.”

  “It keeps food on the table,” I tell him.

  He lifts an eyebrow in challenge. “Because I don’t provide for you?” Eerie darkness pools in his gaze, giving him the appearance of a predator. “Who paid for this house?”

  I stumble back a step. “I didn’t mean to imply you don’t⁠—”

  He springs from the chair, sending it crashing to the floor along with his can of beer. In two long strides, he’s wrapping a fist inside my hair. “I’m the man of this house! If I say we’re moving, we’re moving, dammit!”

  Sharp pain elicits tears from my eyes when he tugs at my roots. “Okay! I understand! Just please, let go. You’re hurting me.”

  His dark eyes scan over my face before he mercifully releases me and shuffles back to the refrigerator to retrieve another beer. “Clean that mess up,” he orders, motioning to the spilled beer pooling across the linoleum. “I’m going to take a long nap. When I get up, I expect a nice hot dinner to be waiting.”

  “Okay,” I agree, adding a nod of compliance.

  “I got you a real nice present while I was away. Can’t wait until you model it later on.”

  A sickening feeling rushes through my gut. If it’s something he wants me to wear, that means he’s planning to take pictures. I force a smile. “That was very generous of you.”

  With a sly wink, he smiles back. “Anything for the woman I love.”

  Air rushes into my lungs when he slinks down the hallway and heads into my bedroom.

  Silent tears tumble down my cheeks as I wipe up his spilled drink. This is no way to live, I tell myself. What if he decides to start treating Lizzy this way?

  As I’m finishing up, the back door swings open, and my sweet little girl skips inside. She thrusts a plastic doll in my face.

  “Mommy! Mommy! Josep’ine gave me one of her dollies to play with! She said I can keep it!”

  Quickly wiping away my tears, I scoop her up into my arms. “Let me see,” I tell her, taking the doll in my other hand as I rise to my feet. “Ooh, she’s so pretty! I like her sparkly pink dress and her long pretty hair! She kind of looks like you with all that pretty blond hair! Did you tell Josephine ‘thank you’?”

  “Uh-huh,” she confirms, bobbing her little chin. “An’ I told her we’re gonna have cookies later.”

  “They’re almost ready,” I tell her. “Why don’t you go play with your new dolly in the TV room while I get them ready?” I set her down and kiss the top of her head, inhaling her sweet scent. “Be quiet now, sweetheart. Daddy’s sleeping in mommy’s bedroom.”

  I’ve resigned to calling him her daddy even though I’m not sure who her father truly is. I can only imagine the consequences if he were to catch wind of my uncertainty.

  “Okay,” she sings in a hushed voice that makes me giggle. “I be weally quiet.”

  Once I’ve placed the cookies on a cooling rack, I check in on Lizzy to find her passed out on the sofa. My heart swells when I take a moment to watch as her little chest rises and falls. Her rosebud lips are slightly parted, and she’s tangled a tiny finger around a strand of hair. I could watch her like this all day long. When she’s sleeping, she looks like one of those cherub angel sketches, only far less chubby. According to the pediatrician, she’s slightly underweight for her age and shorter, too. But she’s so intelligent and kindhearted that it’ll make up for the other things she’s lacking. I tuck the afghan around her before brushing a strand of hair away from her eyes and kissing her forehead.

  My daughter is my entire world. It’s time I come up with a plan to keep her away from the monster in the other room. I’ll die before I let him hurt her.

  Sneaking down the hallway with my breath held, I peer into my bedroom to ensure he’s sound asleep. He’s sprawled out on the mattress, still wearing his shoes and snoring with the force of a chainsaw.

  Gently closing the door, I return to the living room and take the liberty of looking through his suitcase. I’m careful not to disturb anything as he tends to expect everything to be a certain way, and I don’t want to get caught because I’ve folded something incorrectly. It’s filled with the usual shirts, ties, dress pants, and underwear. He’ll occasionally pack a swimsuit just in case he stays in a hotel with a pool, but there isn’t one this time.

  Although I don’t know what I’m looking for, maybe it’ll be easier to feign excitement over whatever obscene lingerie he’s brought me this time if I see it in advance. At the bottom of the suitcase, my fingers brush over something plastic. I carefully pull the plastic bag out from beneath his clothes. Before I peek inside, I already know it contains my present. I hold my breath as I drag the article of satin fabric out to examine. The camisole is fire-engine red with black lace details. It’s exactly what I was expecting—tacky and nowhere near my taste.

  Since it was rolled into a ball and shoved inside, I don’t hesitate to hold it up to get a better look. Something drops from the center of the camisole and falls into my lap.

  A Polaroid of a dark-haired woman wearing the same camisole as the one in my hands.

  With a squeal, I drop the lingerie into his open suitcase and shudder.

  He’s planning to give me used lingerie!

  While I’ve always suspected he’s seeing other women on the side, I’m all at once relieved to finally have solid evidence. I could claim I was preparing to launder his things when I came across the proof of his infidelity. I expect him to somehow make it about me, but I’ll hold my ground and insist I can’t be with a cheater.

  I grab the photograph, intending to tuck it back inside the camisole, but something catches my eye. Spread across a mattress, the woman’s hands hanging limp at her sides. She’s posed in a way that looks completely unnatural with one leg bent at a sharp angle, as if broken.

  Upon closer inspection, her eyes appear unusually glossed, staring into the abyss.

  Her red-stained lips aren’t forming the usual pucker he orders me to make when taking pictures. They lag open, lifeless.

  A scream builds in my chest. I quickly slap my hand over my mouth to stop it from releasing.

  The woman appears to be dead.

  Vomit sears my throat.

  I knew he was dangerous. I just never knew the extent of it.

  Was he expecting me to wear a dead woman’s lingerie? What about the other undergarments he’s brought me over the years? Did they belong to dead women, too?

  Will I be his next victim?

  I race into the kitchen and spew into the sink.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  PRESENT DAY

  Josephine

  It’s nearly midnight when Rocco and I check into our hotel overlooking Inner Harbor in Baltimore. The luxurious, 6-story building is clean and modern with a monochromatic color scheme and whimsical light fixtures. On the way to the elevators, Rocco swings by the hotel bar. Even though the cute bartender in her mid-twenties is getting ready to close for the night, he charms her into selling him an entire bottle of Woodford Reserve. Once we’re inside our designated room on the 3rd floor, he pours the bourbon into two tumblers filled with ice, also provided by said waitress.

  I stand at the set of windows at the far end of the room, eyes glazed over on lights strung across the mast of an old Coast Guard ship converted into a museum. On any other day, I’d be marveling at the peaceful serenity of the harbor and the mesmerizing way the twinkling stars dance over the undisturbed water. Since discovering my dad’s handwriting in the journal and entering the woman’s name into my phone’s internet browser, I’ve become completely numb. Catatonic.

  Marianna Haley was declared a Missing Person in August of 1981.

  Her 4-year-old daughter, Elizabeth, too.

  They were last seen by Marianna’s friends in Federal Hill, a historically picturesque neighborhood in Baltimore.

  After extensively searching for anything I could find on Marianna, I grew more frustrated. According to a news article, she’d been an artisan, known and respected for glass crafting of things like jewelry, vases, bowls, and sculptures. Gift shops and boutiques in the city had purchased a few substantial pieces but otherwise she sold her wares at street craft fairs. She also worked as an independent seamstress. Beyond that, the information was scarce. There was nothing on Marianna’s daughter other than a grainy, black-and-white closeup of the girl wearing a party hat that had been used on her missing poster. The lack of details from the old photograph makes the girl seem completely anonymous. She could be anyone.

  For the remainder of the flight, I continued reading the journal with Rocco at my side. By the time we landed, I felt as ill as Marianna had been when she found that Polaroid.

  Was the man in her journal the same man I’ve called my dad for as long as I can remember?

  Chilled glass touches the back of my hand. I discover Rocco standing at my side and quickly claim the drink he’s offering. I suck it half down in one gulp. The sharp burn trailing down to my stomach does nothing to revive my wits.

  “I called Nonna while you were renting the car,” he tells me. “I asked her about the journal, but she was pretty confused…probably had another sundowning episode. I’ll try again tomorrow.” He pauses to take a long sip of his drink. “I also spoke with her nurse.” Releasing a sharp breath, he tilts his head back. “She thinks it’s time to put Nonna in an assisted living facility.”

  Empathy stings against my heart. “You have enough on your plate without dealing with my disaster of a life,” I grumble. “You should’ve stayed with her.”

  “We’re not going over this again, Jo. I’m here, and I’m staying,” he affirms. “You’re positive that’s your dad’s writing?”

  He’s probably asked me that a dozen times since our discovery, and it’s starting to grate on my nerves. “Not without an expert’s confirmation,” I admit, still enchanted by the twinkling lights. “But I’d bet my life on it.”

  “The fact that he wrote that woman’s name in there could mean a number of things.” He slips a firm hand against my lower back and softens his tone. “I think it’s too soon to assume he’s the monster she was writing about.”

  “My parents lied about being from Arizona and it turns out they’re from the same city as where Marianna lived,” I remind him, my voice stern. “We moved to Ames in August of eighty-one, the same time she went missing. This doesn’t feel like a coincidence.”

  “Maybe they were friends with her and promised to keep it safe.”

  “Or maybe they were covering their tracks. That journal is evidence in a missing persons case. I need to hand it over to the authorities first thing tomorrow.”

  “She’s been missing for decades, and the journal was buried in your parents’ backyard for who knows how long.” He drags his hand across my back in firm, reassuring strokes. “Another couple of days won’t hurt anything. Besides, now it’s even more important that you give it a thorough read from start to finish.”