But then Sheila tilted my head up and said, “We found Guadalupe.”

“What?” Bryce sounded sober, all of a sudden. “You found her?”

Regret flashed in Sheila’s eyes, but she masked it before turning to him. “We need you guys to come to the station. We have some more questions, and then we’ll fill you in on everything.”

“Oh.”

“This way, Mr. Scout.” Another cop indicated the second squad car—whoa, there were three cop cars here—and he followed to sit in the backseat. Corrigan went with him.

“Sheldon.” Sheila indicated her car.

She started to move away, but I grabbed her arm.

She looked back.

“She’s dead, isn’t she?”

The regret came back, but she didn’t answer. She didn’t need to. I saw it and I glanced to where Bryce was waiting, staring at me from his seat with a confused expression. Corrigan had his eyes closed, like he was trying to sleep.

I grunted. He probably was.

“Come on, Sheldon.” Sheila softened her voice. “We can go over everything at the station. We came to get you for your safety right now. You can get your car tomorrow, when you’re sober.”

“What?”

“At the station. Come on.” She walked over and opened the back door. Tapping it, she added, “I promise. You’ll be told everything, but . . . it’s over.”

It was over.

I stood there, rooted to the spot. She couldn’t mean . . .

She said it again, “It’s over, Sheldon. We know who killed Grace.”

My body moved on automatic pilot. They did? But Guadalupe was dead? When I got into the car, and she shut the door, I did what Corrigan had done. I closed my eyes, and I waited out the car ride. She said they knew who killed Grace—I’d wait. I wanted to sober up and be clear-headed to hear everything.

I had to.

For her.

When we got to the station, all three of us were taken into the same interview room, and we were given coffee, lots and lots of coffee. Bryce asked if we knew anything, but I didn’t answer. Corrigan didn’t know anything, and he seemed to be the only one undisturbed. Even before the first wave of coffee, he laid his head down on the table, and his deep breathing told us he’d fallen asleep seconds later.

I was jealous.

Watching him, sleeping now so soundly, I wanted to evade my tension, but I couldn’t. Once Sheila had said Grace’s name, I felt her with me. She was haunting me again, hovering all around me. My chest felt tight. I wanted to believe they had found her killer. I wanted to, so badly, but until I heard everything, only then could I let her go.

After the fourth cup of black coffee, Officer Sheila came in with the other two defectives who had arrested me. At my quizzical look, Sheila explained, “They brought me in. You tend to be more cooperative if I’m in the fold, so here I am.” Then she folded her arms over her chest and leaned against the far wall. To the female defective, she said, “I gave my two bits. It’s your show now.”

“Thanks for that.”

“Any time.” Sheila lifted her chin in a defiant gesture.

I was skirting back and forth. There was a power struggle somewhere or a disagreement between the two, but I held my tongue. I’d demand to know later, if I wasn’t satisfied with what they were going to say.

Bryce leaned forward. “Is Guadalupe okay?”

I cast a sideways look at him.

He noticed and sighed. “I didn’t love her, but I did care about her at one time.”

I was too tired, still too inebriated, and too beyond the point of caring to care. I grinned to myself. That made no sense either, but I said, “I know, but if she killed Grace, I’m going to be happy she’s dead.”

Sheila coughed.

I amended, “If she’s dead. If.”

He narrowed his eyes. “Do you already know?”

“She doesn’t.” The female defective took a seat across from us. The male sat beside her, and both shared a look. I didn’t know what passed between them, and I was beyond caring about that, too.

I said, “Just fucking tell us.”

The female took a breath, then started, so damn gently, “I’ll start with the good news because, to be honest with you, there’s not a whole lot of it. I have good news, then bad news, and even worse news after that, but yes, the good news is that Guadalupe did not kill Grace.”

“Oh, thank god.” Bryce slumped down in his seat.

I waited, still tense, and I closed my eyes, knowing what was coming next.

“But the bad news is that Guadalupe is dead.”

She waited.

I waited.

And there was complete silence.

She had been with Bryce. She had manipulated him, tried to control him, and she had tried to destroy me, but she’d been a person that he cared about once upon a time. And she was dead now.

There was still no sound from Bryce, and I looked up. He was staring at the table, his shoulders hunched forward, his hands spread out so his palms were flat, and the only word I could use to describe him was defeated.

Then he turned to me, and I saw it—one more death. Another person had died. He asked, so simply, “When is it going to end?”

I reached out for him, and soon he was in my arms. He didn’t cry. I didn’t feel it in his body, but he wrapped his arms tightly around me, and he buried his head into my shoulder. The defeat wasn’t just about Guadalupe. It was about Bailey. Leisha. Grace. Now Guadalupe. Feeling tears at the corner of my eyes, I blinked to push them away. If I cried, I wasn’t the strong one, and that was my job for Bryce now.

He was hurting. I would be here for him.

Then I felt a hand on my other side and looked over. Corrigan had heard. A deep sorrow was in his eyes, but he didn’t say a word. He only touched me to show he was there. I nodded, thankful, then continued to hold Bryce.

The female defective murmured, breaking the silence, “Maria Ramirez killed her. She’s the one we think killed Grace as well.”

“What?” Bryce pulled back, his voice gruff, there was so much emotion being suppressed there. “Maria?”

Sheila stepped closer to the table now. “Yes, Maria. We brought in your old counselor, Miss Connors, if you’d like more explanation, but we believe Maria was Guadalupe’s stalker.”

“Stalker? I’m not following.”