29. Mandy
MANDY
Igo into town for toothpaste.
I come back with a purple shower poof, a vanilla-scented candle, and a throw pillow that says HOME SWEET HOME in aggressively cheerful embroidery. No vibrator—apparently Iron Ridge isn’t that progressive.
I put the candle on Hendricks’s bathroom counter, the poof in his shower, and the pillow dead center on his immaculate gray couch.
Smiling, I stand back and admire my work. “There. Much less serial killer chic.”
My phone chimes with a text. I pull it out of my pocket. It’s a text from Gabriel.
The Devil You Know
He wants a deal. Freedom for information.
Of course Turner wants a deal. That's what men like him do—they negotiate, they leverage, they find angles. Even locked in a cell chained to the wall, he's still playing the game.
The problem is, we're never letting him go. Gabriel knows that. I know that. And Turner probably knows it too.
No go.
I hit send and slip the phone back into my pocket.
Cole Turner can rot.
I have a girl to find.