I swallowed hard. “The package… was it…”

  He shook his head before I could finish. “It’s not your father.”

  Relief hit me first, sharp and sudden, because it wasn’t my dad. Then the guilt came, just as quickly. “How can you be so sure?” I asked.

  “It contained a severed foot,” Malachi said grimly. “With a very specific birthmark on the big toe. It matches Heather Voss.”

  A fresh wave of nausea rolled through me, followed by stomach-churning guilt. I should’ve stopped this by now. Should’ve figured the Carver out and exposed him. After all, I was the one with a direct line to him.

  Malachi stepped a little closer, his voice low and steady. “I hate to sound like an overbearing parent giving you a curfew, but I need you inside between six p.m. and six a.m. from now on. No going out after dark. No exceptions.”

  “Okay.” My voice sounded hollow. “That’s fine.”

  He hesitated, then added, “And listen, this isn’t about what happened between us last night. I'm not trying to play the overly-protective boyfriend here. I know we’re not—” He stopped abruptly and ran a hand through his thick hair, eyes flicking away. “That’s not the point. I’m telling you this because I’m in charge of keeping you alive.”

  I nodded, but I could still feel the heat rising to my cheeks.

  Malachi continued. “I’m worried because the Carver is obviously fixated on you, and he seems to be escalating. There were eight days between Miles and Boone. Now only one day between Boone and Voss.”

  I felt cold all over. “Do you think he'll kill again tomorrow? Or even later today?”

  “I don’t know,” Malachi said. There was a weight behind his words, a shadow in his eyes. The case was clearly getting to him. “But if we don’t find him soon, it’s only going to get worse. If we can just locate your father and Brian Delgado in time…”

  “Saving two is better than saving none,” I finished softly.

  He gave me a small, grim nod. “Exactly. We’ve pulled in more officers, and they’re working around the clock, going through every tip. Every shred of evidence. I’m hoping we can make an arrest soon.”

  Before I could answer, a uniformed officer approached with a concerned look. “Sir, I need to show you something.”

  Malachi glanced back at me. “Give me one second, Kennedy.”

  He followed the officer toward the large oak tree near the side fence. I stayed where I was, and as they leaned in to talk, their low voices carried just enough for me to catch their conversation.

  “Sir, it’s about the big toenail on the foot,” the officer said, turning the screen of a camera toward him. “See this tiny spot here, and also here? It’s nail polish. Most of it’s chipped off, but I’m absolutely sure that’s what it is.”

  “Shit, I can’t believe I missed that,” Malachi said, shaking his head.

  “It’s hard to spot, because the polish is a very light color, and her toenails have turned so pale. But you know what it looks like to me?”

  “What?”

  “This is exactly what my own toenails look like when I paint them for a wedding or something and then just forget about it for ages. I’ll still trim the nails, because I’m not a total troll, but I’m always too lazy to remove the polish,” the officer said. “Anyway, my point is, this level of chipping and flaking off… it’s what mine look like after a few months of neglect.”

  “Months,” Malachi said, nodding slowly. “Not years.”

  “Yes. There’s no way nail polish lasts years.”

  “It’s definitely Voss’s foot, though. The birthmark matches perfectly. So… the timing doesn’t add up.”

  “Exactly. It doesn’t make sense,” the officer said, shaking her head. “Unless the Carver was painting her nails while he had her in captivity all that time. So… I don’t know. Maybe that’s it? Maybe he enjoys grooming his prisoners. Like pets.”

  Malachi frowned and rubbed his jaw. “Maybe, yeah. Let the lab people know so they can get it tested to confirm,” he said. “It’s a really good catch. I still can’t believe I missed it.”

  A car engine suddenly roared to life across the street, drowning out the rest of their conversation. Then Malachi finally returned, his eyes falling on me like a searchlight. “Sorry about that,” he said. “Anyway, I wanted to know what your plan for the rest of today is. You’re not going out again, are you?”

  I shook my head. “We finished recording the fourth podcast episode earlier, so I was just going to stay home for the rest of the day and work on stuff for the next episode.”

  “All right. If you do decide to go out again, just let someone know, okay?”

  “I will.”

  “Good.” Malachi patted me on the shoulder. “I have to go now. We’ll talk soon.”

  He stepped away, and I let myself inside my house, stomach churning like mad. Now that I knew the Carver was escalating, all I could think was that my father might be next.

  Just as I stuck my phone on charge, the screen lit up with a call from Freya.

  “Hey,” I answered, voice slightly choked with fear. “Everything okay?”

  “Are you okay?” she replied. “Some true crime TikTok person just posted a video from outside your house. They’re saying the Carver sent another package.”

  “Yeah, it’s a total circus out there,” I muttered.

  “She was saying it had eyeballs in it. But I had no idea if I should believe her or not, because she has a history of making up total bullshit for attention.”

  “The package is real, but there weren’t eyes in it,” I replied, pinching the bridge of my nose. “It was Heather Voss’s foot.”

  “Oh my god.” There was a sharp intake of breath on the other end of the line. “This means the Carver is escalating, right?”

  “Yeah. Probably.”

  “Shit, Ken, I can’t even imagine how scared you must feel right now, with your dad still—” Freya abruptly stopped. “Well… I don’t need to say it out loud.”

  “Yeah, it’s pretty bad,” I said, voice hitching slightly.

  There was a pause on the other end, like she didn’t quite know what to say. Then she cleared her throat. “Okay, well… I don’t want to keep you if you need to lie down and scream into a pillow or something. But I do have some good news. Or a distraction, at least.”

  I sat on the edge of the couch. “I’ll take literally anything at this point.”

  “I reached out to Jacob King like we talked about,” she said. “He got back to me super-fast, and guess what? He’s actually free this afternoon.”

  My brows lifted. “Really?”

  “Yup. He said he had a few cancellations, so he can come by if we’re interested in recording something today,” she said. “I know we don’t have a script for episode five yet, but I figured we could just wing it with him, because it might be cool to have an episode that’s more like a casual roundtable. Off-the-cuff, less polished, but still insightful. What do you think?”

  I nodded slowly. “Yeah, I guess that could work.”

  “If it ends up totally sucking, we can always scrap it and organize a proper scripted session with him,” she said. “But anyway, I figured I’d check with you before locking anything in. Are you up for recording another episode today?”

  I glanced toward the window, where the flashing lights from police cruisers were still visible through the gaps in the curtains. “Honestly… yeah. I don’t really want to sit here alone, obsessing over everything, so recording something might actually help.”

  “Great,” she said. “I’ll call Jacob back now and tell him to aim for two-ish.”

  “Okay. I’ll meet you back at the studio in twenty minutes.”

  “Yup. And Kennedy?” Her voice softened. “We’re gonna get through this, okay? One way or another.”

  I nodded, even though she couldn’t see me. “Thanks, Frey.”

  Once we’d ended the call, I sat there for a moment longer with my eyes closed, taking deep breaths. Then I finally stood up, rolled my shoulders, and grabbed my bag.

  Before I left the room, I leaned over my laptop and sent another email to the Carver, desperately hoping he’d start talking to me again.

  Please just tell me what you want from me so that no one else has to die. PLEASE.

  Shockingly, he responded almost instantly. But his message wasn’t exactly helpful.

  I want you to be mine, Kennedy. I want you to open yourself to me, mind, body, and soul.

  I stared at the screen, heart pounding, then fired off another message. That doesn’t explain anything. Be specific. What can I do RIGHT NOW to save my dad from whatever you’re planning for him? Or Brian Delgado?

  After that, I waited for another five minutes, but no response came.

  The Carver was gone again.

  20

  Kennedy

  “Whew!” Freya slipped off her headphones and leaned back. “That went really well, guys.”

  I nodded, and so did Jacob, who was sitting between us in the small recording studio. “Yeah, it was great,” he said. “Thanks again for having me.”

  “You’re welcome! Honestly, you’re a natural at this. That was so interesting,” she said. “I can’t believe the FBI might’ve gotten the profile so wrong. It never even occurred to me that the Carver could be two people working together.”

  Jacob offered a faint smile. “It’s just a theory, so I could be wrong. But the psychological profile the FBI put together always felt too inconsistent for a single offender. Too many contradictions. More than one killer would explain that.”

  “Well, I guess we’ll see, won’t we?” Freya said, arching her brows. Then her expression shifted, and she sat up straight. “Oh, wait. We forgot to do the outro.”

  “We can just edit one in from a different episode, right?” I asked.

  “We could, but I was hoping to get one with all three of us.” She motioned to Jacob. “Is that okay?”

  He and I both nodded. “Sure,” we said in unison.

  Freya grimaced and rubbed her throat. “I think I just need to grab some ice water before we do it. My throat’s suddenly all scratchy. Probably from talking for so long today.” She stood up. “I need the bathroom too. Either of you want anything while I’m up?”

  “I’d love some tea, if you have it,” Jacob said with a small smile.

  “Sure do. Dana keeps this place fully stocked.” She headed toward the door. “Back in a few. Feel free to get up and stretch your legs.”

  Once she was gone, I stood and moved to the window, taking her suggestion. Our session with Jacob had run longer than expected, and my legs were tingling with pins and needles.

  Jacob followed and came to stand beside me as I peeled back the thick, dark curtain. The sun was setting, turning both the sky and ocean into a vivid mix of pink, gold, and orange.

  “Beautiful, isn’t it?” he said. “With everything that’s been going on, I think we forget how lucky we are to live in a place like this.”

  I gave him a tight smile, suddenly very aware of how awkward the studio felt without Freya as a buffer. “Yeah, it’s nice.”

  He stepped a little closer. “How are you doing with everything, anyway?” he asked, voice dropping slightly. “I know it can’t be easy being targeted by the Carver in such a bizarre way.”

  “Honestly, it’s terrifying,” I admitted, eyes still locked on the horizon. “Sometimes it feels like I’m living in a nightmare.”

  “Well, this’ll sound very old-fashioned, but… I think you’d feel a lot safer if you had a big, strong man by your side.”

  I turned to look at him with a wry half-smile. “Let me guess. You’re the big, strong man in this scenario?”

  He grinned back at me. “Guilty as charged.”

  “You’re very persistent, aren’t you?” I said, raising an eyebrow before turning back to the view.

  “I am. My parents always told me to go after what I want, and not to give up too easily. That advice has served me well over the years.”

  “Well, I respect that, but I still don’t think it’s a good idea for me to date anyone right now,” I said, shaking my head. “I’m sorry.”

  He moved closer and rested a hand on my shoulder. “Listen, Kennedy… I get it,” he said. “You don’t think it’s smart to get close to anyone right now. Not with everything that's going on with the Carver. But I’m not afraid. And I think I can really help you, if you just let me in.”

  I glanced at him, frowning. “Help me with what?”

  He held my gaze. “With not hiding anymore.”

  “Hiding from what?”

  “Yourself,” he replied. “You don’t let people see the real you. You don’t even like to show yourself the real you. But I’ve seen it. And I think that version of you is the most beautiful.”

  I stiffened, turning back toward the window. “I’m sorry, but I don’t know what you mean.”

  “You do,” he said. “You’re just pretending not to.”

  He paused, letting the silence stretch before speaking again.

  “I think you’re forgetting that I’ve been seeing you for years, Kennedy. Getting to know everything about you. Even the parts you never said out loud. And to me, it’s obvious. You exhibit very clear… signs.”

  My stomach twisted. “What signs?” I asked, though I instantly regretted the question.

  “Signs I’ve seen in other patients who were brave enough to admit what you won’t. That they had urges. Ones they thought made them bad. Deviant. Dirty.”

  “Please stop,” I said quietly, stepping away from the window. “I don’t want to talk about this anymore.”

  He didn’t stop. He followed me instead, closing the distance between us again. “You hide it well. You smile, you deflect, and you cling to control like it’ll keep the real you from slipping out,” he said. “But I see you, Kennedy. The real you. And I know exactly what you want. What you need.”

  I swallowed, my skin prickling. “This is really starting to feel like a violation of whatever ethical rules psychologists are supposed to follow,” I said.

  “Report me, then,” Jacob said calmly. “It won’t make what I said any less true, will it?”

  He took another slow step forward.

  “I was really hoping you’d feel safe enough in our last session to admit it,” he went on. “But you didn’t. Shame’s a very powerful thing.”

  “I’m not ashamed,” I muttered, even though I knew he was right.

  “You are. I see it all over you, Kennedy.” His voice lowered further. “You’re drawn to danger. You desperately want to be overpowered. You want to say no—scream it, even—while someone ignores all those pleas and has their way with you anyway. But you’re deeply ashamed of that.”

  I flinched. “I said I don’t want to talk about this.”

  “You don’t have to be afraid anymore,” he said softly. “You can explore it. With me. I can give you the permission you need. Make you feel safe while you let go.”

  As he spoke, he stepped in again, and I backed up instinctively, only to feel my spine hit the wall behind me. He followed, calm and steady, like he’d already rehearsed this moment in his head. Like he knew exactly how it would unfold.

  His eyes stayed locked on mine, but his hand lifted, fingers brushing lightly along my arm.

  I tensed. “Please don’t touch me.”

  His hand moved again, fingers skimming higher, tracing the line of my shoulder. “You say that,” he murmured. “But I know this is what you want.”

  “No,” I said firmly. “You’re wrong. Stop.”

  He didn’t. His hand slid to the side of my neck, thumb resting just below my jaw, stroking slowly. “Your pulse is racing,” he said quietly. “You can feel it, can’t you? The adrenaline. The heat. I bet you’re getting wetter and wetter by the second.”

  My breath hitched. He was right. I could feel my body reacting to being cornered—tight chest, trembling limbs, heat gathering low and slick in my core. But it wasn’t because I wanted him. It was because he was scaring me, and fear had always turned me on.

  “Stop,” I said through gritted teeth. “Now.”

  He smiled thinly. “You don’t mean that. And I know you won’t scream. Because you don’t really want this to end.”

  I jerked my head away, eyes flicking to the studio door. “Freya will be back any minute.”

  “That’s okay,” Jacob said, his voice low and eerily pleased. “Part of you likes that too, right? The idea of getting caught. Of someone walking in and seeing you like this.”

  My stomach turned. “Don’t.”

  “It’s the risk you love,” he went on, eyes gleaming now. “The fear. The way it burns just under your skin, right next to the want. I see it in you. Always have.” He leaned in closer, hand still pressing lightly against my neck. “You don’t have to pretend anymore, Kennedy. Not with me. We could be so good together.”

  His breath was hot against my cheek, fingers tightening slightly on my throat. Not enough to cut off my air, but enough to make me feel trapped.

  “Stop!” I gasped, shoving at his chest. “I said no!”

  Jacob barely flinched. “You’re shaking,” he whispered, smiling like he’d won something. “You love it, don’t you?”

  The door burst open. Before he could say another word, he was slammed sideways, ripped away from me in a blur of motion and fury.

  Malachi.

  He tackled Jacob to the ground with a savage grunt, and two police officers surged in right behind him, one of them shouting commands I barely registered.

  “Don’t fucking move!”

  I pressed back against the wall, heart slamming against my ribs as my breath came in sharp bursts. I couldn’t stop shaking, and somewhere deep in my chest, a familiar old fear twisted. It was like being a child again. Small. Weak. Powerless.

  Jacob was on his back now, one arm pinned by Malachi’s forearm. The other flailed until one of the officers dropped to restrain him, forcing him still.

  “Wait,” he rasped. “That… that wasn’t what it looked like. This is just a misunderstanding.”