40

Sleep was something that had never come naturally to Victoria. Either she fell asleep quickly and woke three hours later, or she was unable to quiet her mind to let exhaustion take hold and watched the minutes tick by until the sky lightened the horizon.

Warren’s death had exacerbated the issue, but it wasn’t guilt keeping her awake. She didn’t long for what she and Warren had had, or dwell on what-could-have-beens.

It was X.

The photo. The eyes on the projector screen. The threat at her door.

A tarp covered the damage on her porch until she could hire someone to repaint—the irony hadn’t been lost on Victoria as she’d pulled the plastic cover from her murder supplies—but word of the graffiti had already spread. Meyers had shown up within half an hour of Teagan’s call. Victoria answered every question and took no comfort in Meyers’s reassurance that the neighborhood would be canvassed for security footage or witnesses.

KILLER might as well be tattooed on her forehead. Gossip was as good as scientific fact in Kent Wood Manor.

Victoria counted side-eye glares like sheep as she drove to work. Because there was no time for wallowing. Losing an entire day to police inquiries and statements the day before had already put her behind. The Livingston lawyers had been eager to step in when the employees were interviewed about the hack of company systems, but that meant an hour of additional meetings to jam into her schedule today.

She yawned and texted Judy to double her usual Starbucks order.

Caffeine wouldn’t solve all her problems, but it was a damn good place to start. Livingston was a mess, and X wasn’t keeping himself a secret anymore.

As she turned off her street, Victoria’s thoughts wandered to how X was pulling off these elaborate taunts.

We’re only getting started.

He’d probably used a burner to spoof her number, Detective Meyers had said. She didn’t understand all the tech lingo they’d thrown at her. Their theory boiled down to the fact that they hadn’t gotten a trace. They had no idea who or where X was, and it wasn’t likely he’d use the same phone to contact her again.

Victoria assumed that Meyers was also considering the possibility that she’d sent the messages to herself, but she set that aside for the time being. X might have been working with a burner, but Warren’s phone was still missing. It hadn’t turned up in his car or at the office, or anywhere else since his body was discovered.

Victoria hadn’t taken him off the service contract yet. His phone might be switched off, but she could still try. Scrolling her messages with cursory glimpses at the road, she stopped at Warren’s thread and tapped out a text.

I’m going to find you.

Why’d you do that, Tori? It’s not smart to antagonize the killer, Tori. Don’t poke the bear, Tori, Teagan’s voice nagged at the back of her mind.

If she wanted a face-lift, she’d listen to Teagan’s advice. Until then, Teagan and her subconscious manifestation could kindly screw off.

As she rounded the corner at the end of the block, her phone buzzed in the cupholder.

Warren.

Not Warren, she reminded herself. No matter how hard she tried, a part of her would always whisper truth to the darkest corners of her imagination. Teagan had her scary movies. Victoria had Warren.

Had being the operative word. Warren was dead.

She rolled to the curb and tapped the message, reminding herself that Warren couldn’t hurt her. Dead.

That would be a mistake, but you’re welcome to try. Give it your best shot. Keep your EYE on the prize, amirite?

“Asshole,” she muttered. Why are you doing this?

Minutes passed. She refreshed the feed. Wrote fifty different follow-ups and deleted them all. X was good at casting his hook. As Victoria set the phone in the cupholder and resigned herself to rejoining morning traffic, X gave his response.

Wait.