All In (The Naturals, #3)(37)

My phone rang. I answered, still watching the little girl across the way. She didn’t reach for the lollipop. She just stared at it, solemn-eyed and still.

“Hello?”

“Cassie.”

It took me longer to recognize my father’s voice than it would have taken me to recognize Sterling’s or Briggs’s.

“Hey, Dad,” I said, my throat closing in around the words, my mind awash in all the things I’d been trying to forget. “Now really isn’t a good time.”

Across the way, the solemn-eyed little girl eyeing the lollipop was joined by her father. He held out his hand. She took it. Simple. Easy.

“I was just calling to see how you’re doing.”

My father was trying. I could see that—but I could also see the ease with which the man across the way hoisted his little daughter onto his shoulders. She was three, maybe four years old. Her hair was red, brighter than mine, but it was easy enough to picture myself at that age.

I hadn’t even known I had a father.

“I’m okay,” I said, turning my back on the scene across the way. I didn’t need to know whether or not the father would surprise his daughter with the lollipop. I didn’t need to see the way she looked at him.

“I got a call from the police this morning.” My father had a naturally deep voice.

So you weren’t just calling to see if I was okay.

“Cassie?”

“I’m here.”

“The forensics team was able to extract traces of blood from the shawl in which the skeleton was wrapped.”

My mind took that information and ran with it. If her blood was on the shawl, you must have wrapped her in it at some point before you—before you—

“Preliminary analysis suggests it’s the same blood type as your mother’s.” My father’s voice was so controlled that I wondered if he’d written this down, if he was just reading a script. “They’re running a DNA analysis. They’re not sure the sample will be big enough, but if it is, we should have answers in the next few days.” He wavered, just for a moment. “If they have to try to do a DNA analysis of the bones…” His voice broke. “That would take longer.”

“Answers,” I said, fixating on that one word. It came out like an accusation. Her necklace. Her color. “I don’t just want to know if it’s her. I want to know who did this.”

“Cassie.” That was all my father could say. His script had run out.

I turned back toward the candy store. The little red-haired girl and her father were long gone. “I have to go.”

I hung up the phone just in time for Lia to pounce.

“I know,” I said, my voice taut. “It’s not my turn to have issues.”

“Exhibit C as to why that’s the case?” Lia grabbed my arm and began pulling me toward the back of the store. “Sloane just made a beeline out the employees-only exit,” she said, her voice low. “And so did about five hundred dollars’ worth of merchandise.”





Who takes a stressed-out kleptomaniac shopping? I thought in self-recrimination as we slipped out the back exit. Seriously, who does that? The door closed behind us. Sloane was standing a few feet away, the silk shirt clutched in one hand and some kind of bracelet in the other.

“Sloane,” I said, “we have to go back inside.”

“It’s not just four bodies in four days,” Sloane said. “That’s what we missed. What I missed. January first, January second—those aren’t just days. They’re dates. 1/1. 1/2.”

“I understand,” Lia said, so convincingly that I could almost believe she did. “You can tell us all about it after we get back inside before either Judd or the sales girl notices we’re gone.”

“One, one, two.” Sloane continued on as if Lia had never spoken. “That’s the way the sequence starts. 1/1. 1/2. Do you see? The pattern hasn’t been broken, because a body every day was never the pattern.” Sloane’s voice practically vibrated with intensity. “January first, second, third, and fourth—they’re all Fibonacci dates. Thirteen, 1/3. One hundred and forty-four, 1/4.” The words poured out of her mouth, faster and faster. “I just have to figure out the exact parameters he’s using….”

At the end of the alleyway, another door opened. Lia thought fast, pulling Sloane and me back against the wall. She needn’t have bothered. The two people who exited were fully caught up in their own conversation.

I couldn’t hear what either of them was saying, but I didn’t need Michael there to tell me that emotions were running high.

Aaron Shaw. I registered Sloane’s brother’s presence a moment before I identified his companion. And Tory Howard.

Aaron said something, pleading with her. She pulled back, then went back into the building, slamming the door. Aaron cursed—loud enough that I could make out the words—then kicked the metal door.

“That’s my favorite curse word, too,” Sloane whispered.

“Somebody,” Lia murmured, “has a temper.”

The metal door banged open behind me, and I jumped. Judd stepped into the alleyway, scanning the perimeter for threats. I knew the exact second his eyes landed on Aaron Shaw.

“Girls,” he said, “go back inside.”