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  “We just wanted to talk. Desoto made it personal. Apparently, I beat up his cousin a few years back, but I don’t remember it. Desoto swung first and tried to kill me—both of us,” she corrected with a look at Ramirez. “If we didn’t fight hard, we’d both be dead.”

  “Cross-departmental assignments,” O’Malley spit. “Bullshit. Well, watch your back. Desoto won’t take that lightly. No word yet, but I’d be looking over my shoulder for a while, and you should too. Now,” he sighed. “Back to this letter. Holt and his team scanned it for prints. Nothing. Trying to track down pen ink is futile. We have a handwriting style, but until we get a suspect, it’s useless. No one knows how the letter got into their mailbox. Guy must be a ghost. Any ideas? Anyone?” he said with a glance at Ramirez. “I guarantee you, the A7 is going to try and crack this case just to prove they didn’t need our help.”

  A copy of the letter was on the table. Avery leaned over to scrutinize every line.

  “‘Break the cycle,’” she read, “‘take advantage of each moment.’ The victim ran a spiritual bookstore. Self-help, afterlife. This sounds like something a self-help guru would say. Maybe if we comb through some of the titles, we can find a match?”

  No one else offered anything.

  They all stared at each other for the next ten minutes and threw out random ideas, but none of it felt right to Avery, and she imagined the pieces of the puzzle moving further and further apart.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  The intense day finally caught up to Avery on the drive home. All of a sudden, she found herself on her old street, driving to her old apartment in South Boston.

  Whoa, she thought.

  Quickly, she turned and headed in the right direction.

  After her last case, Avery had not only upgraded her ride, but she’d also realized it would be better—both mentally and physically—if she moved into a completely new section of town. Although she’d always admired her last apartment, it was filled with too many memories of her former life; she’d bought it right after leaving her power job at Seymour & Finch, and the one and only time her daughter, Rose, had visited, the first sentence out of her mouth was: “This place is dark and miserable; it feels like somewhere people go to die.”

  Her new home was on Claremont Street in the Columbus district of Boston. The money from her last apartment had allowed her to buy an even bigger two-bedroom space that, in the daytime, boasted bright sunlight from three directions and an outdoor terrace. Combined with the many windows, it made Avery feel like a completely different person.

  She parked in the lot and headed up.

  The open expanse of her huge new home was filled with boxes, countless boxes that hadn’t been opened. Boxes in the bedroom contained her clothing and a single mattress had been thrown on the floor with a sheet and blanket to sleep. Still, Avery couldn’t get over how far she’d come. The new place and her new ride were such a far cry from the life she left behind in Ohio. Every time she felt lost or down, she would think of it. You came from nothing, she told herself, and then you became a high-powered lawyer and now a cop. Remember that.

  Exhausted but still buzzed, Avery brushed her teeth and crashed on the mattress.

  Sleep refused to take her.

  The killer’s note was fresh in her mind. She typed every word into her phone and searched for a match. Nothing came up.

  Images bombarded her: the boat, the apartment, the fence across the street, all the books she’d seen on Venemeer’s shelves, and the body with the hidden star and eerie shadow.

  The kill might have been personal, she thought, and the way the body was left harks to a serial killer. No one else leaves such a profound mark for no reason.

  She searched for new articles on her phone, not just from Boston but from across Massachusetts and surrounding states. She was looking for anything remotely related to what she’d observed on the yacht: a body placed in a certain way after death, possibly on water. Lots of images appeared from much older cases, all serial-killer related; none of them had the same feel from what she’d witnessed.

  She put her phone to the side.

  She stared at the ceiling.

  What are you missing? she wondered.

  An old, familiar voice returned to her mind: “You have to think like a killer, Avery. He won’t want to be caught, but he’ll be so excited to tell you everything. You have to think like him to see between the lines.”

  Although Howard Randall was a psychotic murderer that had nearly destroyed her life, Avery had felt a strange connection to him over the past five years. The term “mentor” rang true to their union. Her father had never been a real father; her mother was even worse. The foster homes of her youth had done little but make her want to rebel against society. There had been mentors here and there: a high-school coach that helped her get into college; Jane Seymour, the head lawyer at Seymour & Finch; and Howard.

  You don’t need Howard to solve this murder or any other, she inwardly fought. True, she realized. But he always follows your cases. And what he gleans from papers alone is fascinating. Maybe he can offer some insight.

  She laughed at the idea.

  At what price? she wondered. You said goodbye. Let him go.

  Still, she couldn’t shake the idea.

  The papers will have a field day with you, So what? They do already. O’Malley will kill you. Randall might be able to help! Check out Venemeer’s friends and workers first, she urged. Exhaust every angle before you make a really stupid mistake.

  Her head lay on the pillow.

  Eyes open, she stared at the wall and mulled her options.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  He took meticulous notes scribbled on paper in shorthand, and he went over everything after his task was complete. Camera on that street. Big-nosed woman always walks her dog at night. Building two has security checks and cameras.

  A detailed blueprint came to his mind, like the universe with bright stars and a dark background. The stars were people and security cameras and uncertain locations, and the darkness was the streets and buildings that were of no interest to him.

  Suddenly, his body twitched, an involuntary reaction that he believed came from a series of drug treatments that had since proven ineffective. Doctors, he inwardly mumbled. Liars. Every one of them. Only out for money. I’ve got a better prescription.

  At eleven twenty-two at night, he walked a few blocks north. A slight limp was evident in his gait. He headed into the Charles Street Station on the West End, which was encased in an ultra-modern glasswork structure. Despite the late hour, the station was full of people. The killer paid them no mind. None of the nameless bodies understood what he was doing, and none of them could control their fate. Not like him. He’d seen the signs.

  He kept his head low to hide his face from the first camera as he swiped his card to enter. Instead of waiting for the train, he remained outside of camera view and stood by the glass wall, with his back turned toward the railroad.

  He checked his watch.

  Eleven thirty.

  Through the blue-tinted glass of the station framework, he could clearly make out a low-rise apartment building in the distance.

  At exactly eleven thirty-nine, he spotted something on the roof, a person and some kind of long object that jutted out from them.

  He pulled military-grade binoculars out of his backpack and raised them.

  Through the heightened vision, he could clearly see a tall, lean woman with straight blond hair on the roof. Her hands were around a black telescope. Every so often, she turned the lens and directed the scope to a particular spot in the sky, looked through, and then adjusted it. Once she finally found the object she was looking for, she was visibly placated, spending long moments staring through the lens.

  He directed his binoculars to where the woman had pointed her telescope.

  Stars were hard to see. He put down his binoculars and stared at the sky through the blue-tinted glass of the station. The stars had a calming e
ffect on him.

  With his naked eye, he observed the woman again.

  I’m sorry, he thought. It’s the only way.

  And then, suddenly, everything turned red in his mind, a blood red that pumped his heart fast and made him look around from the sheer rush of adrenaline.

  Don’t you apologize to her, he mentally snapped. She’s the problem. Soon, she’ll be the solution.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  A strange buzzing sound stirred Avery from her deep sleep.

  Groggy and hungover, she peeked up. Sunlight filtered through her large bedroom window. She was flat on her stomach in nothing but a T-shirt.

  The buzzing continued.

  She checked her phone. It was well past nine—way later than she’d intended to sleep, and a lot later than she’d slept in a long, long time. She had five unanswered calls. Numerous text messages littered her phone. They were all from her daughter, Rose. Are we still on for this morning? I’m on my way over. Hey, what’s your street address again? I’m here! Where are you? Your car’s out front so I know you’re home! Mom! Answer my texts!

  Shit, Avery thought.

  It was Thursday morning, the first day of her scheduled weekend, and Rose was supposed to come over and help her unpack.

  Avery hopped up and threw on some shorts.

  When she opened the front door, the joy that she felt over seeing her daughter on the other side was only dulled by the miserable expression on Rose’s face.

  “Where have you been?” Rose complained. “I’ve been calling and texting all morning.”

  Rose was the spitting image of Avery; they both had light-brown hair dyed blond, blue eyes, small noses, and high cheekbones. Only slightly shorter than Avery, she was dressed in overalls and a T-shirt in preparation for the day.

  “I am so sorry,” Avery apologized.

  She gave Rose a hug and pulled her in.

  Rose sniffed the air.

  “Are you drunk?” She frowned. “You smell like alcohol.”

  “No,” Avery said. “I had a few drinks with the squad last night. I just woke up. I didn’t even brush my teeth yet!”

  “What happened to your face?”

  “Ugh,” Avery moaned. “Gang fight.”

  “You fought with a gang?”

  Avery leaned back and put her hands on her hips.

  “You know,” she said, “my first three years on the force? When we rarely spoke? I fought with a lot of gangs, and I usually ended up on top.”

  “Who won this time?”

  “Who do you think?” She smiled.

  Rose nodded.

  “Cool.”

  They stared at each other for a while. Rose eventually blushed and looked away and waved her hands around as if to erase the start of their meeting.

  “OK, OK,” she said. “I’m over it. Let’s get started.”

  She walked past Avery and viewed the apartment for the first time.

  “This place is huge!”

  The expansive space was painted in a cream white. Floors were wooden. The living room was full of boxes, a couch, and a bookshelf. A large open kitchen was to the left and also cluttered with boxes. To the right was a hallway with two bedrooms and bathrooms.

  The terrace door slid open and Rose stepped outside.

  “This balcony is even bigger than your last one. How can you afford all this?”

  Avery followed her out.

  “I made some good investments when I was younger,” she replied. “You and I should have that talk one day when you’re ready to get a job. It’s important.”

  “You still had money after Dad?”

  Avery tilted her head and made a face.

  “Yeah. I mean, I had to pay alimony and give him almost half of my paycheck, but he did take care of you during my meltdown years. It’s all gone now, though. The new car and the apartment gobbled it up. Well, not your college fund.” She smiled.

  Rose leaned over the balcony and lowered her gaze. A foot kicked backward in a playful way and she rolled sideways to face Avery.

  “Dad is single again,” she said.

  Inwardly, Avery groaned.

  She’d been down this road before. When Rose was younger and the fights between Jack and Avery were already in full swing, that was all she’d ever heard: “Mom, why can’t you make it work?” “Dad doesn’t want to break up. Can’t you try harder? Please? For me?” “Don’t you want to keep the family together?”

  The struggles had been endless.

  It wasn’t that Avery didn’t love Jack; in many ways, she still did. When they’d met as freshmen at Boston University, he was a boundless spirit; fun and adventurous and always looking on the bright side of life. The arrival of Rose had changed everything. Well, Avery had to admit, you were the one that changed. Jack’s energy and enthusiasm simply weren’t enough to handle a newborn child and allow Avery to continue her career goals. “I want to be a lawyer,” she told him, “the best lawyer in Boston.” ”What about Rose?” he’d wondered. “And me? And us? Where do we fit into your grand plans?” The truth was, they hadn’t. Marriage and a baby had arrived in a whirlwind and Avery simply hadn’t been prepared for the sacrifice of her own dreams. In the end it was her dreams that had won out.

  “Rose,” she said, “I don’t think your father would want me back.”

  “He talks about you all the time,” she countered. “I mean, you were in every paper for like, a month! He followed your case every day. I swear, Mom, he has this lovesick look in his eyes whenever your name comes up. No one else compares to you.”

  A surprising feeling came to Avery at the thought of a relationship with Jack: hope. When they were together, he was so nice and accommodating and eager to please. Those traits had been inspiring when she was a student with her whole life ahead of her, but they’d turned into a grating mantra during law school.

  Maybe he’s changed, she thought. I know I’ve changed.

  “Now’s really not the right time,” she said. “I’m in the middle of a big case. Hey,” she snapped to change the subject. “I thought you came over to help me unpack.”

  Rose spun around with a determined glint in her eyes.

  “Not just yet,” she said. “Make me a promise. You said you would come to my campus on Friday and check out Northeastern, right? What if I invited Dad along? He took me on the tour and he helped me move in, but now I know where all the cool spots are. We could have a picnic. Get some food, sit out on the lawn. What do you say?”

  “Rose—”

  “It’s harmless, Mom. I mean, I’m only a five-minute drive from here. And when was the last time you two were in a room together? It’s been years, right? Well, now you don’t have to be in a room. You can be out in the open sunshine. Please,” she begged and jumped into her arms. “Just this once? If things don’t work out I’ll never speak about it again.”

  Avery shook her head with a smile.

  “You’re very persuasive. You know that?”

  “I take after my mom. Who knows? Maybe I’ll even become a lawyer one day. I’m thinking about it. Northeastern has a great law school. So? Is that a yes?”

  I guess it couldn’t be that bad, Avery thought.

  She hadn’t seen Jack in ages. His positive attitude might even be a welcome change from the intense reality of Boston’s underworld. For some reason, Ramirez popped into her mind. Avery sighed. What are you going to do about him?

  “OK,” she said. “Why not?”

  “Yes!” Rose cheered.

  Avery’s phone was on the terrace table. A call came in. The ringer was on silent but the contact name was easy to see from where she stood: Seymour & Finch. The sight produced a feeling of nausea in Avery’s core. Her face turned pale.

  “What’s wrong, Mom?”

  Seymour & Finch, the mega–law firm that had hired her right out of law school to groom into the power attorney she’d become. Run by Jane Seymour and Danish Finch, the multimillion-dollar organization defended everyone fr
om Boston’s wealthiest patrons to the criminal elite.

  “Is that your old law firm?” Rose said. “What could they want?”

  “Let’s find out,” Avery said.

  She picked up.

  “Hello?”

  “Hi, Avery? It’s Jane! So glad you answered my call. How are you?”

  For a long time, Jane Seymour was the woman that Avery had tried to mold herself into, a cutthroat, take-no-prisoners negotiator dressed in Armani suits with a smile that could make men swoon despite her advanced age.

  “Hi, Jane. I’m good,” Avery said with a terrified grimace at Rose. “What’s up?”

  “Listen, Avery. I’m going to get right to the point. We miss you. A lot has happened in the last few years, but everything has changed now. We want you back.”

  “You mean, you want me back at the firm?”

  Rose widened her eyes and held her mouth.

  “We think it was a mistake you left,” Jane continued.

  “You fired me, Jane.”

  “You were never fired,” Jane was quick to argue. “I don’t know if you remember, but at the time, we all felt it would be mutually beneficial if we parted ways for a while. That was never meant to be forever, just until all the publicity died down. Well, now it has! You’ve won over the hearts and minds of the public again, Avery, and I for one, am so proud of you. Everyone in the office was following your last case. But let’s be honest. Do you really want to be a police officer forever? Get your life back! Danish and I have already discussed it. You can come back at your same salary and take over like you never left. A spot just opened, and who knows what can happen in a few years. Maybe even partner. How does that sound? Seymour, Finch and Black? I like the ring of it, don’t you?”

  The offer was astounding, as well as surprising.

  Never in a million years did Avery think she would get a personal call from Jane Seymour, a woman that had been like a mother to her, a mentor and confidant for all her years at the firm. That is, until Avery defended Howard Randall, the infamous Harvard professor accused of murder, and won. Only it turned out Randall was indeed the killer, and he killed again and then confessed to his crimes as some kind of sick way to tear Avery’s life apart—and it had worked.