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Red Onion State Prison, near Pound, VA

April 16

It’d been fifteen years since Lucy Sinclair last saw her father. She’d sat at his trial, as shocked and horrified by all that’d been revealed as anyone else. There were those in the gallery who’d lost a loved one and felt profound grief and anger. Her heart broke for them. But she received no sympathy as they showed graphic pictures of her father’s victims. That three-month stretch, from the time the police had knocked on the door to the moment her father had been sentenced to life in prison, had felt like she’d been catapulted intoTheTwilight Zone. Except it was real. At seventeen, she was going through something that most of humanity would never experience.

As she’d sat there alone, hoping and praying that, like he’d told her, none of what she was hearing was true, the other residents of North Hampton Beach, Virginia, where she and her father had been living for four years—the longest they’d stayed in any one place—had watched her suspiciously, simply because she was related to him. Some believed she had helped him cover up his heinous crimes. She knew that from the attacks she’d received on social media—before she’d pulled down heraccounts. After he was arrested, the trailer they’d been renting had been vandalized.

But she’d had absolutelynoidea he’d done anything wrong. She’d admired her father. Unlike her mother, he’d stayed, he’d continued to take care of her, and she’d believed he would stand by her forever. Their relationship had seemed perfectly normal.

The memory of his trial always brought a lump to her throat. In spite of everything, she’d missed him terribly. That wasn’t something she could admit to anyone else, though. She hated to admit it even to herself. Maybe she wouldn’t have felt his loss quite so acutely if she’d had any siblings or other family—people to love and support her in his absence. But she didn’t. And once he’d gone to prison, she’d cut off all contact—changed her last name to something she saw on a gas station sign to breakthatconnection—and soldiered on alone, rambling around the United States in a beat-up old van she’d purchased with what little money she could scrape together by selling his tools and their furniture. While other girls went to college, she’d anesthetized herself with drugs and made what gas and grocery money she could playing poker—something she was surprisingly good at, so good that she’d eventually landed in Vegas and it was how she made her living to this day. She’d never gotten a degree, and other than a few restaurant jobs, she’d never had a boss, a 401K or a regular paycheck.

She clasped her hands to keep them from shaking while she sat on the small, cracked vinyl stool and waited for prison staff to bring Mick from his cell to the other side of the thick Plexiglas. She’d never been inside a prison before, had never felt so ill at ease, except at his trial.

She almost got up and left—several times. It was a beautiful spring day outside, perfect weather. The life she’d painstakingly built was out there, as well, two thousand miles away. But she’d come because she hadn’t been able to forget something he’d said.She’d purposely disregarded it once she realized he had to be a shameless liar, and yet... his words troubled her late at night when she couldn’t keep the more painful memories locked in the deeper recesses of her mind.

She was finally clean, stable and strong. If she was ever going to do this, now was the time. Or so she’d thought. She didn’t feel very strong at the moment. She felt like the little girl who’d craved her daddy’s love and acceptance and had believed he’d hung the moon.

Down the row, people used telephones to talk with their loved ones. Their voices bounced off the ceilings and walls of the cavernous space, creating a resounding hum. One woman, who had a young child on her lap, wept as she clutched the dirty receiver to her ear. Lucy couldn’t see the face of the inmate she was speaking to, but she assumed it was the woman’s husband and the child’s father. She wondered what he’d done. Cooked and sold meth? Robbed a bank? Embezzled money from his employer?

Chances were it wasn’t as bad as what Mick McBride had done.

A steel-gray door opened at the far side of the room where the prisoners were brought in, and she braced for how it might feel to see her father for the first time after so long. Once again, she had the impulse to run and never look back. Proving what’d happened to Aurora Clark shouldn’t beherfight. She was probably being foolish, thinking she had to establish the truth, once and for all.

But... ifshedidn’t, who would?

Besides, after traveling all the way from Las Vegas to Virginia, she meant to get what she’d come for. She was probably worried about nothing, but if she could determine that, the peace of mind would be worth it.

Digging her fingernails into her palms, she watched as herfather shuffled toward her, his once handsome face lined and weathered, his thick black hair, which he’d always styled like his idol—Elvis Presley—now gray and buzzed close to the scalp.

He fixed his dark eyes on her as he sat. He seemed stoic, unemotional. And yet his hands trembled as he adjusted his manacles to lift the phone.

It took a moment for her to follow. She’d been instantly transported back to the night she’d been watching TV in her room while he was, as manager and handyman of the park, supposed to be taking care of the people who rented spaces—or having a beer at the local bar—but must’ve been breaking into the Matteos’ trailer.

What he’d done to the old couple turned her stomach. That was fifteen years ago, but shestillhad trouble believing he could kill two such kind and defenseless people.

Swallowing the bile rising in her throat, she lifted the handset.

He didn’t bother with hello. “You look good.”

Hedidn’t. He looked old and tired, a mere shell of the man he used to be.

She tucked her thick dark hair—so much like his once was—behind her ears. “Thank you,” she said woodenly.

He had to be wondering what’d prompted this visit. But he didn’t ask. “You married?”

“No.”

“Seeing anyone?”

“No.”

“That surprises me.”

“Why would it surprise you?”

“Beautiful girl like you...”