26. I SEE YOU

26

I SEE YOU

YARA

I pulled open article after article, everything I had about The Strangler. I had already memorized every line about him, every pertinent information, but what did I miss? How did he know K.Y. Wolff?

How could he have gotten so close to me and yet stayed behind the curtain, playing hide-and-seek with me? I wasn’t afraid to meet him. I was just worried he’d take me by surprise when I least expected it. I promised Irene and Katelyn.

She deserves her revenge. They both did.

“Do you know me, or are you merely intrigued by my alter-ego and her podcast?” I whispered, rubbing my eyes, trying hard to alleviate the throbbing pain that was slowly sneaking in. “Fuck you. You won’t win this game.”

The list he left was a deliberate move, something he used to make the cops chase their tails—or chase mine. It might look random, but a killer knew.

We always knew until we didn’t.

“Asshole. You didn’t leave the fucking note because you’re spiraling. You’re sending them to me. But why? Why would you do that?” Or… he was trying to get my attention.

He killed someone I loved, and it was fair that I was angry with him, but what did he have against K.Y. Wolff?

Shaking my head with a groan, I stood up. I needed air. My lungs suddenly felt too small. I pulled the door open and quickly walked out of my room, out of the familiar, stark walls of the building, which were growing smaller with each passing second.

If I found out who the letters were meant for… I could nail him and stop him for good, but the fucker was careful not to let it slip. Not one detail that would help the cops to find his woman, whoever the fuck she was.

What color is her hair?

Nobody knew because the women he killed were never the same. The first one was a blonde. Kat was a brunette. The recent one had raven hair.

The eye color? No.

This was why his profiling, even detailed, still had so many black holes that just couldn’t be filled.

Rubbing my brows, I walked to Coffee Connexion. I desperately needed something strong and delicious to ward off this growing desperation and headache.

“Medium mocha.” When Lisa slid my coffee back to me, I paid for it and was walking out when a tall man walked in. He was wearing a hoodie that had a mess of color. Paint splatters adorned his pants, as well. An artist. What could he be doing here?

“Your order, sir?”

“Three shots of plain espresso in a to-go cup.” His voice was cold, stiff. It made ice run down my spine. “Make it quick.”

Who gets espresso in a to-go cup?

Something about him made me pause. I stood there, sipping my coffee, staring at his back. When Lisa finished making his coffee order, he paid for it and crossed me. His eyes flicked to mine for a second before he walked out, his steps unhurried.

But… That fleeting look was enough to make me grit my teeth. His gaze was cold and calculating, like he was sizing me up, and it made me uneasy.

“Lisa, have you seen the guy who just came in before today?” I asked her, and she shook her head with a frown.

“No, I think this is the first time, Doctor West,” she said. “I’ve never seen him before.”

“Did he use his card to pay?” I asked, hoping she’d say yes.

“Bills,” she said. “They have paint splatters, too.” She pushed it toward me. “Is something wrong?”

“Can I have that?” I asked, pushing another five dollars of mine toward her. Nodding with a strange look, she took my five dollars. “Thanks, Lisa.”

I went back to my office with the money. Grabbing an evidence bag, I put the dollar bill inside, making a mental note to analyze it for the fingerprints tomorrow.

When I finally went home, Irene was asleep, curled on the couch, looking so broken and tired. I pulled a blanket over her, smiling a little as she snuggled into the warmth.

“I won’t break my promise, Re-Re. The Strangler will die a painful death.”

Walking to my bedroom, I stripped, then changed before strolling toward the room that had once been my childhood bedroom. Unlocking the special lock, I walked in. Kat and I changed the room into a recording studio.

The once pink walls of the room were now painted purple, but even now, I could see the stain of blood, my father’s blood. It stayed in my head. I could never remove it, no matter how hard I tried.

But those weren’t the only memories. There were the happy ones with Kat. We used to spend hours locked up as she wrote things for me. She was the one who made me use a different voice, and just like that, I had different voices for my two personalities.

Kat was the same age as me, but sometimes I wondered if she was really an immortal stuck in the human realm. She was wiser, smarter, and she knew everything.

The room was sound-proofed, filled with microphones and two laptops that were protected by firewalls over firewalls. Kat was as good at computers as she was at painting.

I pushed my condenser mic away before grabbing my laptop. Sinking into the soft couch, I entered the password and went to my podcast page to the second episode—The Crosses We Bear.

There was one comment that caught my attention before I even consciously started to search for it. I somehow knew it would be there even before I started looking. Anger made my eyes go black for a second.

He knows. He knew what I had done, and he somehow found me.

I had never felt so unprepared in my life. I was always ready for anything, but not this time.

He could be anywhere now. Ohio, Michigan, or right here, right next to me, watching, waiting.

I see you. I have always seen you when no one else has.

My heart stilled when I saw two pictures under the comment. They were grainy, but I knew what it was: Victor and me, standing in front of the storage unit. Another picture showed Victor opening the door for me.

Sweat dripped down my brows as I quickly deleted the pictures, hoping no one had seen them. I couldn’t shake the persistent chill that crept through my bones.

I am happy to be home.

Another comment popped up.

I will find you, you bastard.

Game on, K.Y. Wolff. But let me save you the disappointment. You won’t win.