The Ripple Effect (Rhiannon's Law #3)(9)

In those final moments had she mourned the lost time with her son? Had she resented the fact she would never get to know the part of her who would exist despite the fact she was gone?

My stomach rolled, making me queasy. Inhaling a heaping lungful of stale New York air didn’t ease the sensation. The entire situation made me sick. Autumn had wanted to better herself and create a stable future for her child, only to have her efforts wasted in a violent and senseless act. Due to tragedy, her son would never know her, talk to her, or love her beyond a memory.

God, it pissed me off.

Move on. Focus.

After thirty minutes walking along the alley, I accepted what I already knew: Autumn had crossed over. Sometimes a ghost would remain in our dimension if they had a loved one they were leaving behind, but not always. Autumn must have seen the light, walked into it, and went on whatever journey it is we take when we die.

“Damn it,” I murmured and ducked under the yellow tape in my path.

Nothing useful to go on, nothing to help me find my target. There were only the dark images my perverse mind conjured that I didn’t want to deal with—of Autumn in the grips of death, suffering at the hands of a batshit f*ck, fighting with all she had to stay alive.

I forced the thoughts away. If I wanted to find the person responsible for Autumn’s death and use him as the sacrifice to revive Marigold Vesta, I had to be patient and bide my time. That was the best way to go about ending my debt. The only way I could end someone’s life and face myself in the mirror. Killing someone who preyed on the weak was something I could deal with. I had to stay on my toes and locate the son of a bitch.

It was time to connect the dots elsewhere.

Now for plan two.

Another stripper was killed a week before: Lucy Mueller, twenty-four years old, who had worked at The Grind. Lucy and Autumn’s deaths were remarkably similar, leading me to believe the same * was responsible. The deaths had occurred in a close timeframe, indicating said * would strike again soon. Once a serial killer got a taste for death, he couldn’t help himself. The god complex started, he experienced the thrill that was ending a human life, and the rest was icing on his demented cake.


Focus.

Since Autumn had crossed over to the other side, Lucy became the key to locating the bastard. If I could establish contact with her, I would be able to see what her attacker looked like and start tracking him down. All I needed was a glimpse of his face, one good look at the man I was searching for. Since I worked at a tittie bar, there was definitely a good chance we’d rub elbows at some point in the future.

I pictured that—me and serial killer * facing off.

He’d think he had the upper hand until I introduced him to the ass kicking he had coming. Then I’d make him apologize for what he’d done and wish he could take it all back. It wouldn’t matter what he said, the words meaningless in the broad spectrum of things. Once it was time to perform the ritual, his life would be in my hands. He wouldn’t go easy, I’d see to that. He wouldn’t deny death or the hell that waited him.

No way.

The thought provided more relief than it should have, which in turn disturbed me enough that I stopped walking. I closed my eyes, tilting my head back to take a deep breath of more stale air. Handing out death sentences should have bothered me, or at the very least caused me to hesitate or rethink my life. But the truth was, it was getting easier and easier. Before I had some sense of right and wrong, a small amount of control.

Not anymore.

The amulet started to hum, easing my self-loathing and replacing it with calm. I wrapped my hand around the stone, hating myself as I lowered my head and waited for the feeling to evaporate like rainwater on simmering summer asphalt. The confusion scattered, leaving clarity in its wake.

Murders didn’t deserve a Get Out Of Jail Free card. I could use the bastard who’d killed Autumn and Lucy to revive Marigold—correction—I would use the bastard to revive Marigold. It was him or someone who’d done nothing wrong. Sacrificing a man who took life without remorse was the right decision. I wasn’t playing God. I was maintaining the balance between good and evil.

Keep telling yourself that and you just might start believing it.

Sirens blared a few streets over, pulling me out of my doom and gloom.

Hallelujah for small favors.

I released the amulet and looked down the alley. The cops had upped security, sending drivers through the area every hour or so. Mostly it was a ploy to keep the locals happy, a display of good faith.

Don’t worry, Sir and Madam. We’ll keep the streets safe for you.

Yeah f*cking right.

After all, aside from a bartender who worked in a gentleman’s club and needed a human sacrifice, who really cared about two dead strippers?

I wasn’t even going to attempt to answer that question.

I walked by a dumpster, ready to put an end to my investigation and report to work, when a cardboard box wedged behind the trash bin caught my eye. The outer sticker was peeling, but I could see the box once contained a child’s kitchen set—one of those gigantic plastic numbers with a battery operated stove that made noises. The rectangular piece of cardboard was the perfect residence for a squatter. Maybe—just maybe—he or she might have some beneficial information.

“Knock, knock.” I tapped on the top of the box, bending at the waist to see inside.

“Go away.” The squatter was definitely a man. Judging by the way he sounded, he was an older hobo on his last lung who didn’t have a lot of time left.