Page 12 of By the Time You Read This

“Oh, good.” Lindsey gave her a crooked smile that came across as a little self-deprecating—as if she realized how naturally beautiful she was and had to atone for it. She was very good at this, which was probably why she had a job in tourism. “Can we tempt you into partaking in a glass of bubbly?”

Lindsey’s shipmate stood behind her, his mouth in a flat line, like he’d never heard of the concept of a tip in his life. In his hand he had two champagne flutes, both of which were going flat.

“Sure,” Delaney said, trying to match Lindsey’s smile. She was certain it had come out a grimace, from Lindsey’s reaction.

But Lindsey was a pro. She whirled around for Delaney’s glass and then shooed the dude away. “So what brings you to our neck of thewoods? You aTwilightfan? I was always Team Jacob. I know, I know. But it’s my one pop culture hot take.”

It was a valiant effort. Delaney probably looked like someone who might visit the town of Forks, which had turned into a somewhat creepy shrine to the novels and movies. But Lindsey, who had to be nineteen if she were a day, was trying to use millennial in-group speak as she did it, which made it grate against Delaney’s practiced ears.

“I want to see the woods,” Delaney said, and watched the gears shift in Lindsey’s brain right before she launched into recommendations on some of the area’s best trails. Delaney had the sense that if she’d said she wanted to fly airplanes or roller-skate across the peninsula, Lindsey would have nodded, all bright-eyed and eager to offer suggestions.

She was one of the most socially adjusted sociopaths Delaney had ever encountered.

“I’m really into true crime,” Delaney said, not very gracefully, to be sure, but she was done waiting for the right moment to cut off Lindsey’s clearly well-rehearsed spiel on Olympic National Park.

Lindsey stuttered to a stop, but like the good little practiced sociopath that she was, she simply grinned and prompted, “Oh yeah?”

“I heard Isabel Parker ended up in jail around here,” Delaney said, watching the sunshine facade crack slightly under this unexpected pressure.

“Who?” Lindsey asked, taking the route Delaney would have recommended.

“I think she killed a bunch of teenagers up in the Cascades,” Delaney said, dumbing down her voice, injecting it with just enough innocent curiosity to make it believable.

Lindsey looked like she’d sucked on a lemon. It must have been torture not to correct Delaney. “Oh, I hadn’t heard about that one. I don’t really have time for podcasts. Well, I better check on the gals.” Lindsey gestured to the older ladies, who had commandeered their own entire bottle of champagne. Lindsey winked, back in control of her face. “You just let me know if you need anything, you hear?”

And with that Delaney did what she’d thought would be impossible—she’d chased Lindsey off. The girl avoided her the rest of the pleasure sail, to the point where the man at the rudder started throwing Delaney looks just to make sure she was okay.

Delaney tipped Lindsey generously, knowing that it wouldn’t make her feel bad about avoiding Delaney all night. Sociopaths didn’t feel bad about things.

But it would make her wonder.

Lindsey took the wad of cash with the same self-deprecating, natural smile she’d welcomed them all with. A persona so perfected she could deploy it even when rattled. “Thanks, hon.”

Delaney almost laughed at that. She had to be twenty years Lindsey’s senior.

“I think it’s smart,” Delaney said. At Lindsey’s confused expression, she continued, “That you don’t listen to true crime podcasts.”

Lindsey hummed.

Delaney shook her head. “Nothing good ever comes from those.”

Chapter Five

Raisa

Day One

Gig Harbor itself was a quaint touristy town nestled into a cove, watched over by Mount Rainier. The women’s correctional center—about as nice a place as you could expect—sat just north of it.

There was a crowd outside, blocking some of the street.

“I wonder what that’s about,” Raisa said, and Kilkenny grimaced.

She wanted to smack herself, and she blamed exhaustion for being slow on the uptake. Sometimes she forgot Isabel wasn’t just her black sheep of a sister, but also a nationally infamous serial killer. “They’re here because of Isabel, aren’t they?”

“Yup,” Kilkenny confirmed a bit grimly.

Raisa studied the crowd more closely.

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