Page 6 of Girl, Bound

And Ben disappeared.

She'd lost him. Theone person who'd stood by her side through thick and thin, the one person who'dloved her despite her flaws and her demons. He was gone, and she was alone.Alone with her grief, her guilt, her regret. She closed the door, leaned againstthe wall and crumpled. Sobs tore from her throat as she sank to the floor,knees drawn to her chest. The tears came hot and fast, staining her cheeks inan endless torrent.

It wasn't supposed tobe like this. She was supposed to be the one who didn't break.

But here she was,broken. And Ben was gone.

Somewhere safer.Somewhere he wouldn’t have to look over his shoulder every second of the day.Somewhere he could find a partner who’d give him what Ella couldn’t.

Ella's hand shook asshe reached for her phone, scrolling through her contacts with blurred vision.She needed someone to pull her back from the edge. Someone who understood, whoknew the weight of the badge and the toll it took.

Her partner, her rock.Ella pressed the call button, her breath hitching in her throat as she waitedfor the line to connect.

It did.

‘Mia,’ Ella cried. ‘Ineed you.’

CHAPTER THREE

The river in front ofMia babbled on as she ended the call, Ella's broken voice still echoing in herear. The poor girl was unraveling, the threads of her sanity fraying with eachpassing day. Mia’s heart ached for her, because for all Ella’s paranoia, thegirl had a point.

Beside her, Martinwrestled with his fishing rod, his knuckles white as the line whipped tautacross the water’s surface. With a grunt and a final tug, the line slackened –the fish had won its freedom. Martin flopped down in the chair beside her,muttering curses that were swept away by the wind.

‘Damn fish got away.’He turned to Mia. ‘Who was on the phone?’

‘Ella.’

Martin's browfurrowed. ‘She okay?’

Mia shook her head, amirthless laugh escaping her lips. ‘No. Poor girl is losing it, Marty. Losingher goddamn mind.’

It was a truth Mia hadbeen trying to ignore, perhaps one that fix itself in time. But there was nodenying it now, not after hearing the raw pain in Ella's voice, the way she'dpleaded for help, for someone to pull her back from the brink. Mia couldn’t denyElla might be onto something, but the whole thing was taking her on a one-waytrip to the loony bin.

‘What’s wrong withher?’ Martin asked.

‘How much time do youhave?’

Martin shrugged. ‘I’vegot a doctor’s appointment on Thursday.’

Mia had been overeverything with Martin already, and two days ago, she’d have said that Ella’sparanoia was winning the war. But after seeing her ex-husband’s body on a slabonly days after he’d tried to blackmail her, Ripley was beginning to think thatElla might be onto something.

Her mind wandered asshe lost herself in the water’s ripples, tracing the tangled web of death anddestruction that seemed to follow them like a shadow. Four people, four deaths,all connected to her and Ella in some twisted game of cosmic justice.

Logan Nash, the careerassassin who'd killed Ella's father. Randall Carter, the FBI director who'd hadit out for them from day one. Ben, Ella's admittedly attractive ex-boyfriend.And now, Trevor, Mia's ex-husband, a man she'd once loved but had grown todespise.

Mia wasn't losing anysleep over Trevor's death, not after the hell he'd put her through. But evenshe had to admit, the timing was suspicious. Too many coincidences, too manythreads leading back to her and Ella. Four lives snuffed out, each one a ghostfrom their pasts, come back to taunt them.

Coincidences? Miadidn't buy that. Someone was orchestrating these deaths, a puppet masterpulling strings soaked in blood. It was too calculated, too personal.Goosebumps prickled her forearms, not from the morning cold, but from thesickening clarity that they might be unwitting members of some murderous game.

Mia turned back toMartin, currently applying some brown sludge to the end of his line. ‘Speakingof having too much time on your hands, how long do fishing sessions last?’

‘Sessions?’ Martinasked.

‘Yeah. What else arethey called?’

Martin looked at herlike she’d just asked him to jump off a ledge. ‘Fishing isn’t a session. It’s astate of mind.’

Mia arched a brow.Martin was the most grounded person she’d ever met, the simplest man in theworld. Steak and fries. Piles of cash under the mattress. The kind of man whowore shorts in winter.

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