The door cracked open, and Calliope peered out at them through the five-inch space. Her blue eyes were wide and red-rimmed. A heavy plaid shirt seemed to bury her petite body.

  Dressed like this, she appeared maybe sixteen, and Leo hated O’Rourke even more. Calliope’s apparent innocence was the reason O’Rourke had homed in on her. The ringmaster liked them young, all right. Apparently, the boss-employee power dynamic didn’t bother him either.

  The man they had in holding was a monster, no matter what he said to the contrary.

  “Miss Langley, I’m sorry about how we met before, but we need to speak to you.” Leo used his gentlest voice, but the girl—woman, he self-corrected, reminding himself she was twenty-two even if she looked sixteen—only trembled in the doorway.

  Denae stepped in front of Leo, speaking softly. “Could you come outside? Or could we come in?”

  Calliope hesitated before pulling open the door and gesturing them inside. “Come in.”

  The little camper was cluttered. Makeup boxes and cases covered nearly every surface. Some men’s clothing was slung over the back of an old armchair. But she’d made a cozy space. Cozier than Leo’s barely lived-in home in the suburbs.

  “You’re here about Reggie.” Calliope closed the camper door and went over to the small bed. She sat on the edge and fiddled with an open makeup case.

  Denae moved to stand across from her, and Calliope gestured for her to sit down.

  Remembering how he’d met the makeup artist earlier, Leo stayed near the door, thinking it best to give the two women some space to talk.

  Denae leaned forward in the creaky armchair, visibly tense. “You’re in a relationship with Reggie?”

  “I am. You think that’s sick, I guess, but age don’t matter to us. Reggie’s a wonderful man.” Calliope turned her gaze to Leo. “I heard the agents talking earlier. Heard what they found. You’re all wrong.”

  “How long have you been intimate?”

  Calliope snorted. “Intimate? A couple months, I guess.”

  “So you know his comings and goings pretty well.” When Calliope looked at Denae as if unsure whether the FBI agent had made a dirty insinuation, Denae clarified. “You know his schedule.”

  “Yeah.”

  “Does Bunny Weaver come over? Often?”

  Calliope picked up a small case of makeup and twirled the plastic between her fingers. “You got him wrong.” Tears leaked from her eyes.

  “Calliope, I’m sorry about the way I barged in here earlier.” Leo stepped deeper into the trailer, keeping his voice soft. “But you have to know people generally don’t seem capable of such things as what we’re talking about…until they’re found out. If he’d hurt Bunny or anyone else, there’s a good chance you wouldn’t have known it.”

  Denae reached out and rested one hand lightly on Calliope’s hand, causing the younger woman to go still. “A good chance you couldn’t have known about it. By design.”

  “Stop it.” Calliope shook off Denae’s hand and crossed her legs beneath her, scooching back to lean on the wall and eye the agents. “Reggie isn’t guilty of anything except loving everyone in this circus more than he should. He cares about everyone here so much, none of you would understand if you tried. He didn’t hurt Bunny. He didn’t hurt anyone. Let alone kill anyone.”

  The woman scoffed. Any fear she’d shown earlier gave way to a defensiveness broadcasting from every tense muscle in her body.

  “Calliope, I—”

  “Uh-uh, Agent Whoever-You-Are.” Calliope pointed to the door. “Go talk to the protesters, all right? You talk to all of them yet?” She rolled her eyes, shaking her head. “Of course you haven’t. Those angry people who were openly attacking the circus are probably out there plotting more bloody murder, and you’re in here talking about Reggie. Get out, both of you.”

  Leo met her glare but was already stepping toward the door with Denae. They weren’t going to get anywhere here. “We’re working on it, Calliope. I promise we are. The protesters aren’t being ignored, but we follow all leads where they take us.”

  “Get. Out.”

  Denae tugged at Leo’s coat sleeve, nudging him toward the door.

  As they stepped back into the cold air, his phone buzzed, and he pulled the device out to see a message from Jacinda.

  Phone conference in five.

  25

  Emma sat back in her chair at the conference table, waiting while Jacinda pulled down the projector screen.

  The blurry faces of Denae and Leo showed ghostlike against the room’s bland beige paint until the screen was all the way down. Even as blurry as they were, the two agents appeared cold through their cell phones. Denae’s lips were pursed together. A cap smashed down Leo’s curls in a way that almost made him look respectable.

  Emma didn’t envy them their fairgrounds location any more than she envied them telling Bunny Weaver’s parents what she’d found in O’Rourke’s trash.

  Across the table, Mia and Vance spoke quietly.

  Emma’s mind remained on the three silent ghosts who’d pointed at O’Rourke and his trash. She struggled to understand why they didn’t say anything specific. It was odd that ghosts should be present yet so secretive. Mrs. Kellerly spoke her mind. And how.

  Surely, the ghosts would want justice. If not for Bunny, then for themselves.

  If the guidance wasn’t meant to catch the ringmaster, what was she missing?

  Even if she discounted Bunny, they had three victims who didn’t appear to have had enemies. The trio seemed to have nothing in common beyond the fact they worked for the same employer. And if she did include Bunny, then she had to ask what a potentially abused child would have to do with three murdered adults who, by all accounts, had been like family to her. Especially Penelope, who’d been the equivalent of a big sister.

  Maybe the three murder victims had learned about the abuse and been silenced?

  That would only make sense if the murders were covered up. O’Rourke wouldn’t want to draw attention to the deaths. But he’d closed down the circus and called authorities…

  Which meant Bunny’s abuse—alleged abuse—wasn’t related to the murders.

  How’s that possible?

  Emma didn’t subscribe to coincidences, which meant they had to keep digging. Even if O’Rourke refused to answer questions, they’d figure this out.

  For now, Emma pushed away the questions spinning in her brain and focused on the front of the room.

  Jacinda stood and addressed the team. “To fill everyone in, O’Rourke has admitted to nothing but also provided no defense. He’ll be spending the night in jail, but he has a lawyer friend flying in in the morning. Things will get more complicated tomorrow. We’ll need some sort of official statement from the Weavers, particularly Bunny, to keep him detained past that point. Where are we on that, Denae? Leo?”

  Jacinda stopped there, giving the floor to the agents projected on-screen.

  Leo tilted the camera toward his face. “We got nothing today. Bunny broke down sobbing when we brought up the topic of the yellow leotard. Her dad’s apoplectic. The mom and Calliope both claim O’Rourke wouldn’t have done it. Say he’s not capable of such evil. The parents wanted time to talk to Bunny alone tonight. We’re hoping the girl will be more able and willing to talk tomorrow. Bunny seemed more shocked we’d brought it up than stubborn about staying quiet.”

  Denae nodded along with him, and the screen shifted to center on her face. “Embarrassed, too, which I guess we should’ve expected, considering how close the whole family is and who O’Rourke is to them. I think we’ll have a better shot tomorrow.”

  Emma raised her hand, and Jacinda nodded at her to go ahead. “Maybe sharing O’Rourke’s past legal issues will encourage cooperation from his employees. If it’s necessary, that is. Show them he’s capable of bad judgment and taking advantage of younger women.”

  Jacinda frowned. “We may have to consult with the Bureau lawyer before we get into that…when it comes to the case that wasn’t prosecuted, at least. His jail time is public record, so I’d say it’s fair game. Regardless, I don’t know if telling everyone that O’Rourke’s an ex-con is in our best interests unless we’re positive he’s guilty of this crime, so let’s hold off as long as we can.”

  Vance scuffed his hand across the table in annoyance. “Aren’t we sure now?”

  Emma put her elbows on the table and rested her head in her hands. Her brain felt heavy. “I want to agree with you, Vance. But we don’t know whose blood is on the leotard and panties. The best we can suspect about O’Rourke right now is possible abuse. Nothing connects him to the murders.”

  “Table the question about certainty of guilt until we have more proof.” Jacinda gazed around the room before staring directly into her camera lens, aiming her next comment at Leo in the fairgrounds. “All of you. At the very least, we’ll have the search warrant we need by morning. For now, I want you to go home, refuel, and meet back at the fairgrounds at seven a.m.”

  She started to close her iPad case but paused and refocused her attention on the projected agents’ faces.

  “Oh, and there are to be zero overnight missions this evening.” She turned and looked at Emma. “Solo or otherwise. We all work this together. As a team. Understood?”

  Emma swallowed hard. Does Jacinda know freakin’ everything?

  She echoed her agreement with the other agents but wished Leo were there in person, so she didn’t feel quite so exposed.

  Personally, Emma respected Leo all the more for having spent the previous night investigating rather than sleeping. And not just because she’d done the same thing. It meant he was willing to go all the way to protect people. She admired that.

  Emma headed to her desk, dodging the SSA as she packed up, retrieving her coat and bag without lingering. She needed whatever peace her apartment could bring, and the sooner she made it home, the better.

  Sleep will tell me what I’m missing. What we’re missing. It has to.

  Even with the activists off the grounds, and officers posted around the fairgrounds for protection, and Reggie O’Rourke detained, Emma’s gut screamed they were missing something.

  She only prayed they’d figure out the missing piece soon.

  Before anyone else joined the murdered trio of circus performers in the Other.

  26

  Betty cradled her daughter against her side as the girl’s breathing evened out. Her little trick rider usually went to sleep so easily, so quickly, but not tonight.

  When Penelope died, Betty had thought it would be impossible for Bunny to shed more tears. Tonight, she’d been proven wrong.

  Bunny had sobbed on and off all evening, even making herself sick from crying.

  The last few weeks had just been too much for her. Questions about the yellow leotard had exploded into all-out grief. The situation made Betty question, for the first time, if she’d done right by her daughter, raising her in this life. She’d never questioned that choice before—not once—and doing so now sent such pain through her heart that the ache took her breath away.

  So many of Bunny’s anguished words related to Penelope specifically and, to a lesser extent, the murdered men. The leotard was only part of what drove Bunny’s tears. Betty knew her daughter had been pushed over the mental brink.

  If Reggie couldn’t or wouldn’t move the circus on soon, Betty and her family would have to take a break, no matter what that meant for their place in the circus.

  Bunny was more important.

  Maybe I’ll finally spend that rainy-day fund. Take us on a nice beach vacation down in Florida, where it’s warm right now. Or go out west to California. See how far that money’ll take us. Mexico, maybe.

  There was Gray to think about, of course…but they’d figure that out.

  Gently, Betty disengaged from her daughter. She stood beside the girl’s bed, stretching her muscles as best she could in the cramped trailer.

  Looking down at the sleeping child, she found herself picturing Reggie as the handsome younger man he’d once been. He wouldn’t knowingly hurt a child. She’d known him for more than twenty years. Betty probably knew him better than she knew herself.

  After all the time they’d spent together, over all these years, all these miles, there was just no way he could’ve done anything to hurt Bunny. Betty wouldn’t believe it. He wouldn’t hurt any child, let alone Bunny. He loved her.

  Bending down to her daughter, she brushed the child’s frizzy brown hair out of her face and kissed her forehead. “Good dreams, baby. Only good dreams tonight. I love you.”

  Her daughter barely shifted with the pressure of the kiss.

  Poor thing exhausted herself. And now we have to survive tomorrow too. Whatever it brings.

  Outside, Betty lifted her face to the stars and breathed in the cold, happy for the briskness of the night’s darkness. Nearby, a huffed exhale signaled Billy’s presence, and she headed toward their lawn chairs to join him.

  He shifted his cigar from his lips. A habit she disliked but couldn’t fault him for. He rarely indulged except when stress hit him. And he always kept the cigar out of sight of their daughter.

  He nodded behind her, toward the trailer door. “Bunny okay?”

  “I…don’t know. She didn’t calm down enough to talk.” Betty rubbed her neck. What else was there to say? “Reggie couldn’t have hurt her. He just couldn’t have. You know that, right? We both know that?”

  She hated that the words came out as a question. Her throat tightened when Billy didn’t answer right away. I wish I could see his face right now.

  Billy grunted out of the darkness, finally, but otherwise kept silent.

  “I think…” She stumbled, lost for words. Betty had never felt so trapped in her life as she did right now. “If you’ll keep an ear out for Bunny, I think I’ll take a walk. Clear my head some.”

  Billy’s silhouette stiffened in the dim light of the camper’s lantern. “It’s not safe. I—”

  “We both agree it’s one of the protesters who’s done the killing round here. Right?”

  It took him a few seconds, but he finally sighed. “Agreed.”

  “And there are cops around here too. Nobody’s gonna kill this old fire-breather, babe. You can’t escape me that easy.”

  He snorted, standing to wrap her in a quick one-armed hug, careful to keep the cigar away so the smoke wouldn’t blow in her face or hair. Bless the man. “Be careful. That’s all. Just be careful.”

  He gave her a quick kiss. She pushed her lips harder against his, willing her love into the gesture. Loving him was her center.

  “I’ll be fine.” Heading out into the darkness beyond the camper, she willed her eyes to stay clear until she was away. Billy didn’t need to see her breaking down in tears again. They’d all been through enough, and he ought to get a little peace tonight too.

  Walking fast through the night, getting a bit of distance between herself and her family, Betty let the tears leak down her cheeks.

  This might have been one of the roughest days of her life, if she were honest with herself.

  Rough as a fire going down the wrong pipe, and then some.

  By the time she reached the giant ruby tent rising against the night sky and stars, her tears had just about dried up. She gazed at it. The tent was bright, even at night. What would her life have been like if she’d never joined the circus? Never met Reginald O’Rourke?

  No, I won’t think about that. Not now.

  The life she had with Billy and Bunny was perfection—even when it wasn’t. She wouldn’t have any of that life if not for the circus and Reggie. She wouldn’t change a damn thing.

  Not one damn thing about this life. Not one.

  Her gaze rested on the red of the tent, soaking it in before finding the courage to share her troubles with someone. Reggie wasn’t around, Penelope was gone, and Betty needed an objective confidant now more than ever. As she pivoted in the direction of Calliope’s trailer, a sharp, stinging blast of pressure caught the back of her head.

  Betty staggered forward.

  Her vision blazed white with the pain, the stabbing throb of agony robbing her of thought and sound. Red rockets colored her eyesight, blending with the nearby red of the tent so that she saw nothing through the pressure of what had hit her. She fell fast, her hands barely catching her weight in the dirt. For a moment, she remained on all fours, gasping for the breath to call for help.

  Another hit to her head shot her down the rest of the way, even robbing her of the pain as she fell.

  Then, mercifully, her world went black.

  27

  The rope was already tight against Betty’s wrists, but I doubled the extra length around one more time and tied a second knot to make sure she’d remain secure.

  Stubborn woman had almost woken up a few minutes ago as I was getting her into this corner. Forced me to hit her in the damn head again, like some kind of monster.

  Third time would be the charm, I hoped.

  Truth was, this whole process pained the hell out of me. Betty was great. I didn’t want this to be painful for her. She was like a mom to the whole circus, and I didn’t know anyone who didn’t like her.

  Me included.

  And this was gonna hurt Bunny a hell of a lot. I wiped away the tears and ignored the burning in my gut. Bunny wouldn’t know it was me. She couldn’t. But she’d still be losing her mom, and I didn’t know what that would do to her.

  There were no two ways about it…losing Betty would just about kill Reggie. The way her death would torture him was gonna be fucking priceless.

  I had to smile, imagining Reggie doubled over, crying into the dirt when he found out. My tears stopped, and I got back to work.

  Down at Betty’s feet, I tightened the ropes until her blue jeans puckered beneath them. She wouldn’t be going anywhere, even if she did wake up.