Page 84 of Unholy Masks

“She’s always one step ahead. Leaving just enough behind to keep us moving, but never enough to actually catch her. She knows how to play this game,” Ryden said with a wince.

It wasn’t just a dead end. It was all dead ends. Everywhere I turned, there was another one, and she walked past them while I stumbled.

“I fucking hate that bitch and—” My phone rang. Frowning, I checked the screen. “It is Detective R.”

My gut twisted. Was it her? Another kill?

“Detective?”

“It’s a homicide. Bright Waters Open Pool. Need you on scene as soon as possible.”

“The Strangler?” I asked.

“No. The other one. The one who killed Sofia and Nikki.”

“Valentina?” I gasped. Ryden looked up from his eggs, face pale.

“No, no. Valentina’s fine,” he said quickly. “She’s still under protective custody. We haven’t ID’d the victim yet.”

“Is it him?” Ryden asked, eyes narrowed.

“I think so.”

“Did she work for AFC?” I asked, taking the keys from the tray. Ryden took them from my hand.

“No. We’re still trying to find out more about her. Can you call Sinclair?”

“He’s here with me. We’ll be there in a few minutes.” I hung up, turning toward Ryden. “Detective R asked you to meet him there.” I rattled off the address. “Let’s go.”

We arrived at the pool an hour later.

The crime scene was already alive with detectives, forensic experts, and officers doing their job.

“Hey,” I whispered, running my finger down the back of his hand as he parked the car. His body went stiff and then melted under my touch.

“I’m okay,” he said, stepping out.

Detective Myers stopped me by the door. “The scene is fresh, unlike the previous ones.” He motioned me in. “This would’ve gone unnoticed too if not for a homeless guy breaking in to find a place to sleep. The pool has been closed for months now, and he knew it.”

I stepped inside, and Ryden followed me close behind.

The acrid scent of chlorine barely masked the metallic tang of blood in the air.

“Doctor West,” Detective Rosario called, motioning me over. He was surrounded by the forensics team.

The girl was naked. Pale. Limbs splayed unnaturally, like a broken doll. Long, clean cuts lined her skin.

Black tattoo was stamped across her forehead like some kind of sick badge.

He wanted it on display.

In his earlier kills, the tattoos had been hidden—carved behind the ears, inside the thighs. Places that required an autopsy to find.

But this time, it was not a secret.

This was a message. A grotesque calling card.

“Fuck,” I muttered, pulling on my gloves. My fingers trembled as I snapped them into place. The smell of chlorine and blood was even stronger near his body.