Page 26 of The Perfect Deception

“Remarkable,” Atkins murmurs, his focus never leaving the monitors. “Absolutely remarkable.”

My phone buzzes in my pocket, snapping me out of the emotional musing. I fish it out, glancing at the screen. A smirk spreads across my face.

“Good news?” Atkins asks, his eyebrow raises in curiosity.

I scan the message and nod, the weight on my shoulders feeling lighter for a moment. “Very good news. Looks like things are falling into place. I’ll be in touch, Dr. Atkins. Keep up the excellent work.” Without waiting for a response, I walk out of Serenity House with purpose.

Looks like my investment in that pill-popping clerk is paying off. Someone’s digging into my past, just like I expected. Just like I planned. It’s another piece falling into place, another move closer to keeping my promise to Olivia.

One day, she’ll wake up in a world free of the poison that’s controlled us for so long. But before that day comes, there’s still more work to do.

The List is calling.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

Frankie

I walk inside the precinct feeling good, thanks to the liquid bones, giddy from too many orgasms. The feeling is out of this world. Suddenly I understand those women in the office who can’t stop smiling, who are always perky and smiling and honestly just fucking exhausting.

I feel like one of those women today.

And again, only some of it is because of a man. Well, the truth is that all of it is not because ofaman, but two differentmen. My body feels good, and my mind is clear and focused because of Damien. But the rest? Well, the rest is all professional success because I finally have a lead on our suspect.

I strut through the glass doors, and it even feels like people are staring at me, but that might just be giddy projection. Either way, when I step inside our war room dedicated to solving this crime, I’m smiling wide. “Hope House!”

Fuck, that feels so good to say. After months of spinning our wheels, this lead feels important.

Jay looks up with one arched brow and an amused smirk on his face. “You finally going to rehab?”

“Ha! Funny,” I reply in a deadpan tone as I roll my eyes. “If I went to rehab, you’d be lost without me,” I joke. “But also no. Hope House is the hidden gem we’ve been looking for. It’s the link between all the victims,” I say, smacking my hand over each victim’s face in dramatic fashion.

Jay’s smirk fades. “We finally have a fucking lead? You’re shitting me.”

I shake my head. “I shit you not. Hope House is the link.” Amelia’s tip was spot on, and I already sent her a fancy schmancy basket that always makes her happy.

Jay leans back in his chair, swiveling back and forth while clicking his pen incessantly, a nervous habit he can’t quit since giving up cigarettes. “So, they were all in juvie?”

My brows dip. “Nope. Foster kids, Jay.”

“I know that, Frankie, but the shit that leads to most kids ending up in the system is usually a guarantee of future criminal activity.” His brows pull together in a deep frown. “And if I remember correctly, Hope House is where they used to send problem kids.”

I nod. “That was true for a brief period, but the late nineties saw a tough time for addicts and an overload of parentless kids in the system.” Those thoughts make me think of Damien. And me. Good kids who’d also lost their parents and made it to adulthood without juvenile detention records.

Jay snorts. “Is that some of your PC shit?”

I roll my eyes. “It’s called treating people like humans, and no it’s not somePC shit. Some of the victims were in juvie, which is what led me to Hope House where they all stayed for at least six months. Some of them lived there for years. It’s the one thing that connects them all. Hope House.”

After I picked up the records, I spent hours looking through the files until I could cross off each victim’s name. “None of the juvie stuff was anything serious, mostly petty crimes of unwanted kids pushing boundaries. They were all returned to Hope House without serving any serious time.”

Jay’s brows dip even more, and his eyes dart back and forth the way they do when he’s deep in thought. With his history on the force, he could be thinking about anything, so I watch and wait until he’s ready to talk. “You know what’s really fucking weird?”

I snort. “Beyond the torture and murder?”

“Obviously,” he says and waves off my sarcasm. “Hope House was one of the few coed group homes at the time, yet all the victims are male.”

“So far,” I add reluctantly. “All the victimsso farare male.” But he’s right, it is an anomaly. “House capacity was twenty-five, housing boys and girls ages ten to eighteen when they aged out.” I don’t even want tothinkabout what it means that all the victims are male, but I can’t seem to stop my mind from going there.

“You find any names other than the victims?”

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