Chapter 42
forty-two
“I wasn’t supposed to know that detail, was I?”
The words froze Naomi to the spot, her back pressed against the wall as Julius’ face transformed before her eyes.
The warmth drained away, leaving something cold and calculating where her cousin’s familiar smile had been.
Ava made a small sound from her rocking chair—recognition, perhaps, or resignation—but Naomi couldn’t look away from Julius to check.
His eyes held hers, patient and predatory, the way a wolf might watch a rabbit realize it was already caught.
“Strangled with her stockings,” he repeated softly. “That wasn’t in any report. That wasn’t on social media.”
Naomi’s hand crept to the fox pendant at her throat, pressing the hidden button with trembling fingers. A distress call into the darkness. A prayer that Owen would come for her like he promised.
“Julius,” she managed, her voice steadier than she felt. “What have you done?”
His laugh was soft and unfamiliar. “Nothing you haven’t suspected for years, cuz. You just asked the wrong questions.”
He moved with the fluid grace she’d always admired, crossing to the kitchen drawer where Ava kept her dish towels. When he turned back, he had a handful of cord in his hands—phone chargers, she realized, and the frayed extension cord Ava used for her ancient radio.
“Sit down,” he said pleasantly, as if inviting her to Sunday dinner.
“Julius, please—”
“Sit. Down.” The veneer cracked slightly, a glimpse of something feral beneath his carefully cultivated charm. “Or I’ll make Grandmother watch what happens when you don’t.”
Naomi glanced at Ava, who sat unnaturally still in her rocking chair, eyes wide and unblinking. She looked impossibly small suddenly, shrunk by the enormity of the betrayal unfolding in her living room.
“Okay,” Naomi said, raising her hands in a placating gesture. “Okay. Let’s talk.”
She moved to the kitchen chair he indicated, body tense and ready to spring.
But Julius was faster. Before she could react, he’d grabbed her wrist and twisted, driving her down into the chair with brutal efficiency.
The cord bit into her flesh as he bound her hands behind her, tight enough that her fingers immediately began to tingle.
“Always trying to help, aren’t you?” he muttered as he worked. “Always sticking your nose where it doesn’t belong. Just like Mary Rose.”
The name sent a spike of ice through Naomi’s chest. “What about Mary Rose?”
Julius finished securing her to the chair and moved to Ava, who didn’t resist as he bound her as well. Only when both women were restrained did he step back, studying them with the detached interest of a scientist observing specimens.
“I loved her, you know,” he said, and reached into his waistband to extract a handgun. Not his service weapon—something smaller, easily concealed. “Not the way you think. Not like that. I just... admired her spirit.”
“What did you do to my granddaughter?” Ava’s voice was thin but unwavering.
Julius glanced at her, something like regret crossing his features.
“It was an accident, at first. She came at me that night, screaming about how I needed to leave her friend alone. She called me a predator.” His jaw tightened.
“She shoved me. I shoved back. She fell... hit her head on the stone edging by the porch.”
Naomi felt the air leave her lungs as if she’d been punched. All these years, the truth had been so simple, so mundane. Not a grand conspiracy, not a sex trafficking ring—just a stupid, awful accident.
But then Julius continued, and the horror deepened.
“I panicked,” he said, pacing now, the gun dangling almost casually from his fingers. “Her eyes were open, staring at nothing. There was blood. So much blood.” He shook his head. “I couldn’t let them find her like that. Couldn’t let them know what I’d done. So I hid her.”
“You buried her,” Naomi whispered, the pieces clicking into awful clarity. “You buried her like garbage.”
“I made it look nice,” Julius protested, his voice taking on a wounded quality that made Naomi’s stomach turn. “I wrapped her in her favorite blanket. The yellow one with the stars. I picked wildflowers. Left them with her.”
Ava made a sound like a wounded animal, a keening that started deep in her chest and died before it reached her lips.
“You should have stopped there,” Naomi said, her voice shaking with rage and grief. “One terrible mistake. But you didn’t, did you?”
Julius’ smile was sad, almost wistful. “No. I didn’t.
That’s the strange part—I thought I would feel horrible.
Guilty. But instead, I felt...” He considered his words carefully.
“Powerful. In control. I’d taken a life, and no one even suspected me.
I was the grieving cousin, the supportive brother. Everyone’s shoulder to cry on.”
His pacing took him to the window, where he peered out into the darkness before drawing the curtain. “After a while, I started to wonder if I could do it again. If Mary Rose was a fluke, or if I could recapture that feeling.”
“How many?” Naomi asked, needing to know and dreading the answer.
Julius tilted his head, considering. “Including Leelee? Thirteen.”
Bile rose in Naomi’s throat. Thirteen women. Thirteen lives snuffed out by the man she’d trusted, the cousin who’d comforted her through her darkest days.
“Richelle Twoteeth. Danielle Lankford,” she said numbly. “Chelsea Quequesah. Tara Rainwater. Jordann Pete. Were they yours, too?”
He nodded, pleased like a student being praised for correct answers. “All but Chelsea. I think they sent her to work in a brothel in Mexico. Richelle was the most challenging. She fought harder than the others. But in the end...” He trailed off, shrugging.
“Alice Doughtery?” Nomai whispered, barely able to get the name out past her dry lips.
“Nah, I had no interest in her. I don’t like blondes. She was one of Mitch’s Bitches. That’s what they call the girls they traffic. Mitch’s Bitches.” He snorted, then shook his head. “I don’t know what happened to her after they shipped her off. She’s probably dead.”
Dear God. Everyone thought Owen was cold, but he wasn’t anything like this. This wasn’t cold; this was empty, a black void where a human soul should be.
“How could you?” Ava’s voice cracked. “I raised you better than this.”
Julius’ expression darkened. “You raised me to be invisible. The good grandson. The responsible one. Never making waves, never causing trouble.” Bitterness seeped into his voice. “Do you know what that’s like? To fade into the background of your own life?”
“So you murdered seven women to feel special?” Naomi spat. “To feel powerful?”
“Don’t simplify it,” he snapped, his control slipping again. “It wasn’t just about feeling powerful. It was about... becoming who I really am.”
“A monster,” Ava said softly. “You became a monster, Julius.”
He ignored her, focusing on Naomi again.
“Leelee was an impulse. I saw her at the casino, and something about her reminded me of Mary Rose. Same spirit. Same light. I wanted to see if I could extinguish it.” He sighed.
“But she fought too hard, left evidence. That’s when I knew I’d need help cleaning up. ”
“The trafficking ring,” Naomi said, finally understanding. “You didn’t start it. You just used it.”
Julius nodded, looking almost impressed. “I caught them using the old logging roads to move girls two years ago. Could have busted the whole operation. Instead, I made a deal. They pay me to look the other way, and occasionally, they help me with... disposal.”
“And when I came back, started looking into Leelee’s case...”
“I got nervous.” He shrugged. “You’ve always been too smart for your own good, Naomi. Too determined. I knew you’d eventually connect the dots, especially with that ex-CIA boyfriend of yours sniffing around. So I reached out to my contacts. Asked them to take you off the board for a while.”
The betrayal cut deeper than she’d imagined possible. While she’d been beaten, drugged, terrified for her life, Julius had been here—comforting Ava, helping with the search, playing the concerned cousin.
“Why not just kill me yourself?” she asked, testing the bindings at her wrists. Too tight. No give.
“Because I love you.” He said it simply, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. “You’re family. I didn’t want to hurt you. I just needed you gone, somewhere far away, where you couldn’t interfere.”
“That’s not love,” Ava said, her voice suddenly strong. “That’s possession. Control. The same sickness that made you hurt those girls.”
Julius turned to his grandmother, something dangerous flickering in his eyes. “Don’t analyze me, old woman. You don’t understand what I’ve become.”
“I understand perfectly,” Ava replied, lifting her chin. “You’re weak. Always have been. Hiding behind badges and smiles, pretending to be a man when you’re nothing but a coward who preys on women.”
Naomi tensed, silently begging her grandmother to stop provoking him. But Ava continued, her voice gathering strength.
“Mary Rose saw through you, didn’t she? That’s why you really killed her. Not because she fell. Because she knew what you were.”
Julius’ face contorted with rage. He crossed the room in three quick strides and pressed the gun to Ava’s forehead. “One more word,” he whispered, “and I’ll paint the wall with your brains.”
“Do it,” Ava challenged, her eyes burning with contempt. “Show us the coward you really are.”
Naomi’s heart hammered against her ribs as she watched Julius’ finger tighten on the trigger. Then, just as suddenly, he stepped back, a humorless laugh escaping him.
“Nice try, Grandmother. But I’m not falling for it.” He tucked the gun back into his waistband. “Besides, I have plans for both of you. Tragic, really. The grief-stricken grandmother, unable to live with the loss of another grandchild, takes her own life—but not before killing the last one left.”
Cold understanding washed over Naomi. “You’re going to make it look like a murder-suicide.”
Julius smiled, pleased with her quick grasp of the situation.
“Always the clever one. Yes. After I’m done here, I’ll go back to work.
Help with the search for the dangerous ex-con who assaulted an officer and then disappeared with his girlfriend.
” His expression softened into something almost genuine.
“It’s better this way, Naomi. You’ll be remembered as a victim.
A tragic cautionary tale. Not as the woman who couldn’t let go. ”
Outside, a branch snapped—a sound so faint Naomi almost missed it beneath the roaring in her ears. But Julius heard it too. His head snapped toward the door, body tensing.
“Expecting company?” he asked softly, drawing the gun again.
Naomi thought of Owen, of the distress signal she’d sent. Had it worked? Was he out there, moving through the darkness toward them? Or was it just the wind, playing cruel tricks on her desperate hope?
“No one knows I’m here,” she lied, willing it to sound convincing. “Just Ava.”
Julius studied her face for a long moment, then nodded. “Good. That’ll make this easier.” He raised the gun, pointing it at her heart. “I really am sorry, Naomi. I wish there was another way.”
“There is,” she said desperately. “Turn yourself in. Confess. I’ll tell them you cooperated.”
His laugh was hollow. “Always the optimist. Always believing in the system.” He shook his head. “But we both know that’s not going to happen.”
The gun steadied in his hand, and Naomi closed her eyes, thinking of Owen—of his rare smile, of his hands gentle on her skin, of the promise in his gray eyes when he looked at her. She wished she’d told him she loved him when she had the chance.
“Goodbye, Little Rabbit.”
Something crashed against the front door—once, twice. On the third blow, it exploded inward in a shower of splinters and dust, and Ghost filled the doorway like vengeance given form, his face a mask of cold fury that made her breath catch in her throat.
For a heartbeat, the cabin froze in tableau—Ghost’s coiled violence, Julius’ stunned disbelief, Naomi’s desperate hope. Then Julius swung the gun toward the door, and the moment shattered.
“Owen!” she screamed as the first shot split the air with a crack.