“I don’t know if I have the stomach to pick it up again. At least not right now.” The mere thought of holding the journal in my hands makes my gut churn with disgust. Was Marianna involved with a serial killer? Did he murder her, too?

  I slam down the remainder of the bourbon and hold my empty glass out. “Keep it coming.”

  With a quiet chuckle, he retrieves the bottle and refills my drink. “You told me you found pictures of your dad when he was younger—right before they had you. Would you describe him as being handsome either back then or at any other point in your life?”

  I pause to consider the question. “No, but looks are subject to every individual’s personal taste.”

  “I still think you’re jumping the gun by assuming your dad was the man Marianna was referencing. Hell, we don’t even know for sure that Marianna was the one who wrote the journal. Let’s wait and see what your grandfather has to say tomorrow.”

  Remembering all the times I assumed something to be true during my investigation of Britta Baxter’s murder, I shake my head before downing the rest of my drink in one gulp. He’s absolutely right.

  After polishing off 2/3 of the Woodford Reserve, Rocco and I complete our own nightly routines before we each crawl into the king bed. We’re both wearing t-shirts with underwear when we settle in with a giant gap between us. Before I’ve had a chance to turn off the lamp on my side of the bed, his heavy breaths drift through the room.

  With Marianna’s name etched into my brain, I toss and turn for several hours before grabbing my phone and running various searches on my parents’ names in combination with Marianna’s and Baltimore. The results are limited to Marianna and Baltimore.

  Around 3 a.m., Rocco gives me the fright of a lifetime when he begins shouting. Lingering guilt for thinking the worst about him forces me to wrap my arms around his waist and grip him firmly until he settles down and falls back into a dreamless sleep.

  I pass out at some point and rouse with a crack of sunlight through the curtains.

  I’m nestled inside Rocco’s arms. We’re facing each other, and our legs are intertwined. It’s as if we couldn’t get close enough when we’d both been fast asleep. In any other situation, with any other man, I would’ve bolted from the bed before he was awake and could register what was happening. It’s the most intimate position I’ve shared with anyone since Rocco left for the military. I normally don’t allow myself the luxury of being vulnerable with another human.

  Rather than fighting it, however, I relax and let his warmth soothe my nerves. Maybe being involved with Rocco at this stage in my life wouldn’t be so bad. As many times as I’ve tried to distance myself from him, he's determined to stay close and see this thing with my family through to the end. I practically accused him of murder to his face, and he still wanted to comfort me later when I became upset over my dad’s alleged involvement with the missing woman and her child.

  Rocco Giordano is a rare gem.

  I feather a fingertip over his wide lips, longing for the days of our youth. Even though our history was laden with complications, we were blissfully happy. Maybe this time around, it wouldn’t have to be so complex. Maybe we could be happy together again. Content.

  All at once, his eyelids lazily drag open. Our gazes lock. Something profound stirs deep inside me when I search his beautifully dark eyes. I suddenly want to possess him the way I had as a teenager. I want him to possess me.

  He leans in closer, hesitating for a handful of seconds. With a rush of need, I straddle him and initiate a deep kiss.

  While I’m in the shower early the next morning, Rocco tries calling his grandmother again. I tiptoe out of the bathroom with a towel wrapped around my body and gather my clothes for the day. As much as I try not to listen in on his conversation, it’s impossible when we’re sharing less than 400 square feet.

  “Josephine Kelly,” he says into his cell phone, using a slow, clear voice. The man should be sainted for his continued patience. “The girl who lived next door to us. Remember?”

  He paces the carpeted floor alongside the windows, glancing across the bay while listening to his grandmother’s response. As hard as it is not to eavesdrop, it’s more difficult not to appreciate his naked form as he boldly struts around with the curtains wide open.

  My throat thickens when it dawns on me: I’m still in love with him.

  “I understand, Nonna,” he reluctantly says in reply. “Let them take care of you, okay? I promise everyone there is looking out for your best interests.” The hint of heartache embedded in his words worms its way into my soul. I make my way over to him and embrace him from behind as he finishes the conversation. “Ti amo.”

  With a huff, he ends the call and folds his arms around mine. “The nurse was right. She’s getting worse.”

  “I’m sorry,” I offer, resting my head against his back. “This must be extremely difficult for you.”

  “She lived a good life up until now and took good care of me when my Papá couldn’t.” He spins around and grasps my chin with his fingers. “How are you feeling this morning?”

  “Better now that I’ve washed yesterday off me.” I playfully push him away before he can draw more emotion into the situation. “Go ahead and hit the shower—we can grab breakfast somewhere along the way to the nursing home.”

  In the time it takes me to get dressed, dry my hair, and throw on a coat of mascara, Rocco has showered and changed into a pair of dark blue jeans with a form-fitting sweater. On our way to the hotel’s parking lot, a cool breeze rushes past, thick with the briny scent of saltwater and something rich cooking inside one of the several restaurants flanking the hotel. In the distance, a barge’s horn toots, and traffic rushes down the street. Dark red bricks cover the walkway leading around the water’s edge among historic buildings and more modern structures. A variety of blue and white collar workers rush past, sprinkled with a small handful of tourists, which I would suppose includes us.

  Everywhere I look, the view is stunning, and the calm water somehow soothes my nerves. Although nothing looks familiar, I can’t help wondering if I’ve been in this area before with my parents. I keep expecting to be hit with a wave of nostalgia at any moment.

  Once we’ve grabbed breakfast and coffee from a drive-through, I help him navigate to the proper exits before retrieving the journal. Before I can begin to read, Rocco sets his hand on my leg. It had already felt like he’d forgiven me when we slept together this morning, yet the gesture seems even more intimate when his eyes briefly lock with mine.

  “Read it aloud. Whether you realize it or not, I’m equally invested in this.”

  After clearing the emotional lump lodged at the base of my throat, I begin reading it to Rocco.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  BEFORE

  Marianna

  The next time he’s away on business, I devise an escape plan. While I don’t have proof he murdered the woman in the Polaroid, I’m unable to come up with any other logical conclusion. As badly as I wish I could simply grab Lizzy and run far away, I believe his claim that a friend in the FBI will easily track me down. The only way I can guarantee my daughter and I will be safe is to find a reason to get him locked away for the rest of his life.

  One afternoon, while Lizzy is at the neighbor’s house for a slumber party, I head downtown to pawn my mother’s wedding ring and other valuable jewelry left behind by my grandmother. I try to ignore the fact that they’d both be spinning in their graves as the greasy man in the pawnshop hands over a large stack of bills. While I’m not the sentimental type, I acknowledge the fact that I’m throwing away what’s left of their legacies and won’t have anything precious left to give Lizzy when I pass. But our lives could depend on the execution of this plan, so it’s a small sacrifice that I’m willing to make.

  From there, I drive the hour northeast to a realtor’s office in Elk Neck. I meet with an agent who is more than happy to show me whatever my heart desires. After scanning over the list of remote properties posted on the wall in her office, I offer a cash downpayment on the least expensive one, and she proceeds to prepare the paperwork. The second I laid eyes on the dilapidated shack, I knew it would be the perfect setting to execute the final step of my plan.

  Early the following morning, when he returns from a week-long trip to New York City in one of the best moods I’ve ever witnessed, my heart pumps at a rapid pace from the anticipation surging through my veins. If I weren’t so repulsed by him at this point, I might have admired the way his complexion glows and his hair has lightened. I’m certain other women still find him attractive—the woman in the Polaroid surely appreciated his good looks before he ended her life.

  “Hello, handsome,” I offer in greeting. “It’s good to have you home.”

  The stench of cigarettes and warm skin fills my lungs when he drags me closer for a deep kiss. As an act of self-preservation, I allow my mind to wander. If I push him away, the consequences could be severe.

  Where could he have possibly have gone to have gained such a deep, lustrous tan? Somewhere tropical, like Mexico? Florida? All week long, the meteorologist had reported a series of thunderstorms ripping through the East Coast with a heavy emphasis on New York City. At this point in our relationship, he must think I’m a complete fool to merely take him for his word.

  At least he won’t suspect I’m capable of putting an end to his escapades.

  When his hands wander over my rear, he withdraws. “Mary, you’ve put on some weight.” With a hearty chuckle, his eyebrows rise. “You can’t really be pregnant again, can you?”

  Still encased inside his arms, I freeze. Did he come across my secret stash of birth control pills? He has brought up the idea of having a son once in the past, but I’ve been going to the women’s clinic to ensure that never happens.

  Between the pills and the fatty food I’ve been binging in his absence, I’ve put on enough weight to ensure I won’t fit into any lingerie he brings home. To keep him happy, I purchased a frilly, plus-sized nightgown from the second-hand store. If he asks me to wear whatever he’s brought home this time, I’ll offer to wear the nightie instead.

  I gesture to the beading supplies occupying the kitchen table. “I was busy while you were gone, getting ready for the summer festivals. I haven’t taken Lizzy to the park as much as usual.”

  The little lies must slide right past him because he’s too busy glancing at the hand held behind my back. “What do you have there?”

  I proudly present him with the glossy photograph that had been posted in the realtor’s office alongside the listing of the property. “I know your birthday is still a few weeks away, but I couldn’t wait that long to give you your present.”

  His eyes widen on the picture. “What is this?”

  “It’s a lot in Elk Neck…just like you wanted. Granted, it’s not something you can live in full-time, but I thought you’d like to spend time hunting there. It would give you the privacy you craved. Maybe I could go there with you sometime.” My stomach violently churns as I utter the last words with as much flirtation as I can muster. “For a romantic rendezvous.”

  I hold my breath as he takes his time studying the picture with his lips firmly pressed together. I honestly don’t know what to expect since his mood can turn in an instant.

  When he finally speaks, his tone is even. Neutral. “I don’t understand.” His gaze rolls up to meet mine. “How could you afford something like this?”

  “I sold the jewelry from my mother and grandmother. I figured it was a small price to pay for the man I love.” With a tight-lipped smile, I wipe my sweaty palms on my dress. “Do you like it?”

  A slow smile spreads over his lips. “It’s perfect.”

  Finally, something we can agree on.

  The remainder of my plan involves time and patience. I continue to stuff myself with burgers, pizza, and ice cream, grateful when the scale rewards me for my efforts. Pangs of fear still cripple me every time he presents something new following one of his trips. Has he killed more women, or were the items simply worn by other lovers? Quite frankly, I can’t stomach either answer. I’m only able to continue the charade, knowing I have to stick to the plan if I’m going to end things the proper way.

  In the two months since I closed on the property in Elk Neck, he’s spent every single weekend up north in the shack. He claims he’s hunting, but he never comes home with any game, nor do I believe he owns a gun of any kind. Plus, I’m fairly certain the majority of Maryland’s hunting seasons are limited to spring and fall.

  A few times, he returns with the lingering scent of a woman’s perfume. I try not to dwell on the fact for very long and hope that by dragging my plan out, I’m not sealing the fate of more innocent women.

  Whatever’s going on in the shack has been placating his desire to relocate Lizzy and I to somewhere outside of the city. Best of all, he’s preoccupied enough that he’s only around Lizzy for short amounts of time. It’s a small victory compared to our overall situation, but it’s a good start to the end.

  Whenever he’s gone, I spend my time documenting everything I know in a journal I purchased from a street fair. It’s small enough that I’m able to store it inside a box of maxi pads—the one place I know he’d never think to look. Whenever Lizzy is either with the neighbors outside or napping, I’m writing. I write every night until my right hand cramps and my eyes grow heavy. After finding the Polaroid of the dead woman, I began keeping track of the dates he’s gone in a little pocket calendar Lizzy picked up from the street at the neighborhood’s 4th of July parade. It’s critical I leave an accurate record of his actions and whereabouts.

  As the date I’ve chosen to execute the final step of my plan nears, I’m filled with a crippling dread and oodles of doubt. So many things could go wrong. But I no longer have access to the Polaroid of the dead woman or her lingerie. The night he asked me to wear it, I pretended to have the stomach flu. The article of clothing mysteriously disappeared after that, just like the others. If I simply handed the journal over to the police, there’s a chance they wouldn’t take me seriously. Either that or they might call him in for questioning, and he’d become aware of my involvement.

  There’s no other way for this to end.

  Hours before I’ve arranged to meet him at the shack, I take Lizzy to the new aquarium downtown. In the rainforest section, Lizzy watches in awe as exotic birds swoop over our heads, singing beautiful songs and squawking in earnest. I crouch down beside her, watching her delighted expression change with each new discovery.

  Tears burn against my eyelids when I remember what I’m doing could go so horribly wrong that I may be leaving her in the sole care of someone evil. The most important part of my plan will come into play after we leave the aquarium and I take her to the neighbor’s house for the night. It’s imperative that Josephine’s parents understand what’s at stake.

  I tuck a strand of her blond hair behind one tiny ear, pierced with a small gold stud. When she was three, she had begged to get her ears pierced like Josephine. I had finally given in, promising to pierce them if she used the potty like Josephine and stopped using diapers. I’d had problems getting her to consistently use the toilet and worried it was because being around “her daddy” was so stressful. With my offer, she trained herself and never used a diaper again. The day I pierced her ears using a sterile needle and potato, she’d been so brave that she’d hardly flinched. I can only hope she’ll continue to stay brave no matter what lies ahead.

  “You know mommy loves you with all her heart, right Lizzy?”

  Eyes still fixated on a bright parrot perched nearby, she gives me a little bob of her head. “I love you, too, Mommy.”

  A hollowness fills my chest with the innocent trill of her voice. Will she grow up to have the same breathy lit as mine? So often, people comment that she’s a little clone of me, having the same soulful brown eyes and sunshine-colored hair with a hint of ripe strawberries. My father and his father had both been redheads. Their genes had been so strong that both Lizzy and I were born with reddish hair that took on a yellowish tinge with time. I wonder if her children’s hair will have the same reddish tone the day they’re born.

  “Mommy is going to a special place tonight to stay with Daddy. You’re going to have another sleepover with Josephine at her house. If, for any reason, I don’t come back tomorrow to get you…”

  With a sob rising in my throat, I scoop her into my arms and press my lips to her temple until the sob goes away. I commit to memory the baby-softness of her skin, the bubblegum scent of her favorite soap that still clings to it from her bath this morning. It’s so unfair that I trusted a man who put us into this situation. If I had been given any inkling about the type of monster he has become, I would’ve run for the hills. But would Lizzy have still been brought into this world? There’s no way of proving he’s her father.

  “You’re going to stay with Josephine and her family,” I continue in a stern voice while searching her beautiful eyes for a flicker of absorption. How much can a 4-year-old possibly understand in a situation like this? “You’ll be safe with them. If Daddy comes to get you, lock yourself in Josephine’s room and don’t come out until her mommy says it’s okay. I need you to be a good girl and listen. Do you understand?”

  “Okay, Mommy.” Her little fingers grasp a strand of my long hair as she nods. “I be good.”

  Before I can decide if she’s able to comprehend what I’m saying or if she’s simply understanding because she senses the man I call her “daddy” is a bad person, she slips out of my lap and tugs on my hand. “I wanna see the dolphins now.”

  Tears slip down my cheeks as I follow my daughter out of the exhibit.

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  PRESENT DAY