Chapter 35 Geneva
GENEVA
THE MORNING PASSES WITHOUT INCIDENT. NO TAILS OR THREATS lurking around the corner. Just the predictable hum of city life. Boring is best.
Compared to murder, most things are boring, though.
Benedetto pulls up in front of the building, scanning the street before giving me a nod. And blowing me a kiss. With a wry smile, I step from the vehicle and head inside like it’s any other day.
Except it’s not…
The vision of Carter flashes through my mind, his body limp and covered in blood. My hand shaking as I grip the knife tighter. The proud look on Ghost’s face.
I exhale slowly, shoving the images away.
For the first time since I started hunting for answers, one of the men responsible for ruining my life is dead.
My parents deserve retribution, and I’ll continue doing whatever it takes to get it for them.
Even if my version of justice is stained with violence and blood.
My routine starts to take over as I greet a few colleagues in passing, offering polite nods and murmured pleasantries. I reach my office and push the door open. Then I turn on my computer, my fingers flying across the keyboard as I type out an email to Dr. Corbin.
Subject: Request for Attendance List
Dr. Corbin,
I hope this email finds you well. I’m following up on my keynote from the donation dinner and was wondering if it would be possible to obtain a copy of the attendee list from that evening. I’d like to reach out to a few individuals who expressed interest in my research and had follow-up questions.
If there are any confidentiality concerns, I completely understand and would be happy to discuss any necessary protocols for accessing the information.
I appreciate your time and assistance, and I look forward to your response.
Best regards,
Dr. Geneva Andrews
I read it twice before hitting Send. Then I sit back, my fingers itching to refresh my inbox despite the futility of it. The request is out there, hanging in the digital void, waiting to be answered.
Dr. Corbin isn’t the type to ignore an email, but she’s also not the type to rush.
It could be hours or days before I get a reply.
Even knowing this, the restless energy crawling under my skin refuses to subside.
This list isn’t just names; it’s a path leading directly to the person who started all of this.
I close my inbox and shift my mindset. There’s work I need to do.
It’s real work, the kind that doesn’t involve revenge or blood or horrors from my past. I open my laptop, pulling up the latest reports on inmate psychological evaluations.
The familiarity of it is soothing but doesn’t keep me tethered.
My mind drifts too easily, the words blurring together as the weight of my situation presses against my skull.
Still, I push through, scanning the files that require my attention.
A new case study lands in my inbox: a high-risk inmate showing signs of dissociative behavior, flagged for potential psychopathy.
I make a note to review it in depth later, highlighting key observations from the preliminary report.
In any other case, I’d be cataloging the triggers, the escalation points, and the cognitive distortions that led to the murder. But right now, every profile feels different. Maybe even personal.
Because I know that not all monsters on paper are monsters in person.
They don’t always fit into the neat little boxes my field tries to create. They don’t always follow the expected behavioral patterns.
I skim another evaluation, making notes, and responding to emails that need my attention. It’s familiar. And for now, that’s enough.
Then my computer dings with a new email.
Subject: Re: Request for Attendance List
Geneva,
I hope you’re doing well. I can certainly provide the attendance list from the donation dinner. Please note that some of our benefactors requested anonymity for privacy reasons, but I’ll include as much information as I have.
Attached is the guest list from that evening. Let me know if you need anything else.
Best,
Dr. Melanie Corbin
I immediately click on the attachment. The neatly organized spreadsheet opens, revealing names and affiliations listed in clean, precise rows.
I scan the first few lines, recognizing faculty members, university donors, and a few prominent figures in the field of behavioral sciences. Nothing immediately suspicious.
So I keep going.
The farther down I get, the less recognizable the names become. A handful of corporate sponsors. A senator’s aide. A few names tied to private security firms. It’s odd, but not entirely unheard of, for a high-profile event.
I scroll back up, taking in the sheer volume of names. Almost two hundred people. Nearly two hundred possible leads, distractions, or dead ends.
Part of me is thrilled by the prospect of narrowing the list down, but then there are the ones marked “Anonymous.” The people who didn’t want their names recorded for some reason or another.
“Damn it.”
I pick up my phone and text the number I have for Ghost’s latest burner phone.
Geneva: I got the list of attendees from the keynote. Some people are listed as anonymous. I assume that’s not going to be a problem for you?
I stare at the screen, waiting. Ghost has been off the radar all morning, but I know he’s watching his phone. Seconds later, my screen lights up.
Unknown: You assume correctly, Doc.
Unknown: Look outside.
My heart kick-starts with apprehension. And affection.
Geneva: You shouldn’t be here.
Unknown: I want to be where you are.
Geneva: That isn’t a good idea.
Unknown: You think I’m scared of a little thing like the government? Pfft. The only reason I was in prison is because it provided you with a false sense of security. I knew you’d never agree to talk to me otherwise. After my stay, I’d rate it half a star, but only for the free food.
I stare at the screen, bewildered, even as my chest tightens like he’s wrapped a fist around my heart and squeezed.
Geneva: That’s not romantic. That’s psychotic.
Unknown: Baby, it can be both.
I shake my head, fighting a smile.
Geneva: And what was the plan after that? Charm me with your winning personality?
Unknown: No. Just hold you hostage until you fell in love with me.
Geneva: Well, congratulations. Your hostage has Stockholm Syndrome.
There’s a long pause. I stare at the screen with a frown, unsure if I said something wrong. Or if something happened.
Unknown: Geneva.
Just my name. No teasing, no flirting.
I bite my lip as uncertainty floods me.
Geneva: What?
Unknown: I love you.
I blink at the words, my heart expanding against my ribs. He’s said it before, but seeing it written, even electronically, is overwhelming. My fingers tremble slightly as I type back.
Geneva: I know.
Unknown: Go to the window. I need to see you, even if it’s just for a second.
I squeeze my phone in my palm as I glance toward the window again. Before I lose my nerve, I get to my feet and walk over, peering through the glass.
I can’t see him. But I can feel him. I always do.
My phone vibrates again.
Unknown: See me yet?
Geneva: I can feel your obnoxious presence from here.
Unknown: That’s just the sexual tension.
Heat crawls up my thighs.
Geneva: Are we going to talk about these names, or are you just here to admire me from a distance?
Unknown: Both.
Geneva: I’m serious.
Unknown: So am I. Don’t worry, Doc. I’ll find them. In the meantime, pack your bathing suit because we’re going to Miami.
A loud knock on my door disrupts the quiet like a gunshot. I flinch, pulse skittering, and nearly drop my phone. It buzzes again in my hand.
Unknown: Tell the detective I said, “hi.”
Geneva: Yeah right.
I lock my phone, then smooth my skirt as I walk over to the door. Detective Allen stands there, his brow knit in that furrow he wears when he’s concerned. In one hand he holds a coffee, and the other, a folder tucked under his arm.
I open the door. “Hey, Allen.”
“Gen.” He glances past me into the office. “Mind if I step in for a minute?”
“Of course.”
He sets the coffee down on the edge of my desk like a peace offering, then turns to face me. “We still haven’t located Ghost.”
My pulse ratchets up. I keep my movements steady as I sit down. “That doesn’t surprise me. He’s not exactly the type to be found.”
Allen sighs. “You don’t seem all that worried.”
I glance up, meeting his gaze with the same cool detachment I’ve practiced my whole life. “Should I be?”
“Considering he was obsessed with you? Yeah, I’d say it’s something to be worried about.”
I blink, keeping my expression carefully neutral, while suppressing the urge to laugh. If only Allen knew how much Ghost is obsessed with me.
How much he loves me.
“To be honest, I’m more worried about Skinner being loose.” I massage my temple, while steering the conversation away from my psychopathic lover. “Skinner might not be as big a menace as Ghost, but he’s more of a threat to me.”
Allen nods. “I get it, but he’s… gone. No security footage, no activity on any known aliases. We haven’t even found evidence of him assaulting anyone else, which, given his history, sounds unlikely.” He exhales sharply. “It’s like Skinner vanished into thin air.”
Or like his body’s decomposing in an undisclosed location.
I keep my face impassive. “That sounds like a good thing, doesn’t it?”
“For now.” After a while, Allen’s shoulders drop, his gaze turning soft. “How are you holding up?”
I pause, thinking about a response that’ll invoke his protective instincts, while not being overly dramatic and causing suspicion.
“I’m functioning.”
Allen studies me. “You’re allowed to take time, you know. No one expects you to bounce back like nothing happened.”
“I was actually going to talk to you about that. I think I need a few days. Away from all of this.”
“Where are you thinking?”
“Somewhere quiet,” I say. “Maybe a beach. I haven’t decided yet. But I need time to… process everything.”
Allen nods in understanding. “You’ve earned it. Just make sure someone knows where you are, okay?”
“Of course.”
He gives a small smile. “You’ll put in the formal request?”
“I’ll take care of it today.”
He nods again, then takes a step back. “Let me know if anything changes. And Geneva…”
“Yes?”
“Be careful.”
I dip my head in acknowledgment. “Will do.”
I’ll be careful…
Not to leave a trace.
Not to get caught.
Not to enjoy it so much.
I place another shirt into my bag, along with a pair of pants. When I yank on the zipper, the teeth catch, refusing to close.
“Stupid piece of shit,” I mutter to myself.
Ghost lifts his head and winks at me. “It’s not nice to call people names.”
“Not you.”
He laces his hands behind his head, reclining on my pillows. “You unlocked a degradation kink in me, so it’d be fine if that was.”
I roll my eyes and shove the zipper harder until it finally gives. “Good. I’ve finished my to-do list.”
Ghost lifts a brow. “I don’t recall you doing me.”
“Whatever,” I say, yanking the bag off the bed. “Am I missing anything?”
“You’ve got me, so you’re good.”
I resist the urge to roll my eyes again. “I’m serious.”
“So am I.” His grin shifts into something mischievous, something that makes my pulse speed up. “I’ve got range, Doc.”
I pause, halfway to the dresser. “Range?”
He nods. “I don’t just kill people. I steal money too.”
A laugh sputters out of me, half disbelief, half nerves. “Oh, wonderful. Murder and theft.”
“Don’t forget blackmail. Extortion.” He ticks them off on his fingers like he’s giving me a grocery list. “And some light arson, when the mood strikes.”
I stare at him.
“You know. Candles, matches, corpses. It’s all about ambiance.”
I groan. “God, I can’t believe I’m traveling in public with you.”
“Correction: You can’t believe you’re traveling with me and my highly transferable skill set.”
He’s not wrong. It’s not as though I can go after Luis Dominguez by myself. Well, I can but my chances of not getting caught rise significantly if I’m with Ghost.
My phone lights up on the bed, the ringtone a soft melody. Sarah. The screen buzzes, her name flashing like a warning.
My throat tightens. I can’t answer. Not when she’ll hear my voice shaking. Not with Ghost lying on my bed and Benedetto sitting in the other room.
I silence the call.
It barely takes five seconds before a text message pings.
Sarah: Why aren’t you answering?
Sarah: Where are you?
I swallow hard and pick up my phone, glad she can’t see that my hands are shaking.
Geneva: Sorry. Busy.
Sarah: Busy doing what? Anything short of getting horizontal with someone is an unacceptable response.
A low whistle comes from the bed. I glance over, and Ghost is grinning like the Cheshire Cat.
“Horizontal, huh?” He props himself up on one elbow, eyes glittering with amusement. “Tell your friend I volunteer as tribute.”
“Shut up.”
“What? I’m flattered she already suspects. Saves me the trouble of sneaking out the back if she barges in.”
I groan and type furiously.
Geneva: I’m packing.
Sarah: Packing? For what?
Ghost waves a hand. “You should’ve just texted back: ‘Yes, horizontal. Mind your business.’”
I glare at him. “You’re not helping.”
“Oh, I’m helping… myself get laid.”
My phone buzzes again.
Sarah: Are you going alone?
The question guts me. My fingers hover uselessly over the keys while Ghost chuckles low in his throat.
“Careful, Doc,” he murmurs. “You’re about three lies away from your friend staging a rescue mission.”
My thumbs hover over the screen while panic squeezes my chest. If I lie, she’ll be at my door in ten minutes.
Geneva: Not alone. But it’s not what you think.
Sarah: So, you are with someone. Who?
Ghost’s grin disappears. “Be careful.”
I ignore him.
Geneva: A friend. Someone helping me with family stuff. It’s complicated.
The dots vanish. Then reappear. My stomach churns.
Sarah: Family stuff? Gen, if this is about your parents again…
Geneva: Yeah. That’s why I didn’t call. I don’t want to drag you into it. But I promise I’m safe.
The pause this time is longer. I pace the length of the bedroom, phone clutched tight, while Ghost tracks me with that unnerving stillness.
Finally, the reply comes.
Sarah: I don’t like this. But… fine. For now. Just text me when you land wherever you’re going. And if you disappear on me, I’ll hunt you down myself.
Geneva: Okay. I will. Text you when I land.
Sarah: Good. And Gen—don’t do anything reckless. I don’t have time to plan your funeral.
I let out a short, humorless laugh and send an eye-roll emoji before sliding the phone into my back pocket.
“She believes you?” Ghost asks.
“Temporary reprieve. She didn’t threaten to call the cops, so I’m taking this as a win.”