Her chest tightened a little and she thought of the memory card in her pocket. She didn’t want to look at it; she didn’t want to see whatever Jackson wanted her to see, whatever he wanted to use to convince her they could work together.
On the other hand, she did want to look at it, because she wanted to know—and if she could begin her new life sooner rather than later, it would be worth it.
A life where she didn’t have to look over her shoulder every minute of every day.
A life where she could be herself.
Anna King.
She leaned against the kitchen counter while Miss Casino purred, threading herself around Anna’s legs like a pretzel. When her mug was empty, she refilled it, and then refilled it again.
A war raged in her mind.
Eventually she grabbed her laptop and inserted the memory card into a card adapter.
She opened the first folder, but she’d seen that photograph. She’d been the one to load it onto the card.
Her hand trembled as she loaded the second folder and double-clicked the first file.
It was a coroner’s report, and she stopped breathing when she read the name.
Olivia King.
For a moment she couldn’t move. She couldn’t breathe. The world seemed to stop.
She just stared, her body as still as a statue while her mind reeled.
She swallowed the rising lump in her throat, not sure if she was going to cry or vomit.
She swallowed hard, pushing her emotions down along with the three cups of tea she’d just consumed.
Anna inhaled a ragged breath.
He’d found Olivia.
And he’d given her the coroner’s report.
She read on, unable to stop even if she’d wanted to:
Body preserved in formaldehyde.
Gunshot wound to the back of the head.
No other injuries.
Anna stopped, frowning.
No other injuries.
Diaz didn’t kill like that. He tortured, he mutilated, he made his victims pay.
He didn’t deliver a single gunshot to the back of the head.
She pinched the bridge of her nose. This didn’t make sense.
Body found in barrel in lower basement of warehouse sixteen.
Barrel number thirty.