“I’ve got something.” Eli came barreling into the office, breathless, snapping me out of my thoughts.

“What is it?” I waved him in, trying to adjust my composure so he couldn’t see I was unnerved.

“Boris Ranko… I tracked him down. He was up in Brownsville, which I found to be suspicious, considering how close it is to us. Anyway, I did a bit of research on him and found out he’s not exactly a Serbian drug runner anymore. He was, but fell out of his boss’ good graces. Seeing as he’s not here legally, I may have threatened deportation. Once I did that, he began to sing like a fucking canary in a coal mine.” He leaned back, a satisfied smile on his face.

“What did you find out?” I asked, on the edge of my seat.

“Viktor Popovic… That’s our man.”

I furrowed my brow, confused. “It can’t be. I heard Galloway’s story about what happened in Bosnia. He said Viktor and his wife both died the night they tried to rescue her.”

Eli shook his head, his smile growing wider. “It appears he didn’t. Yes, he was shot, but he survived. Several months later, Popovic entered the United States and was granted asylum. After that, he disappeared. No credit cards. No bank accounts. Nothing.”

“So he’s still alive?”

Eli nodded. “Ranko insisted he was, said he was supposed to meet him at an address in South Padre later this afternoon. I tried to see if Popovic changed his name when he arrived here and that’s why I couldn’t find any information about him when I ran it, but Ranko insisted his name was Viktor.”

“And where is Ranko now?”

“Handcuffed in the back of the car.”

I sighed, leaning back in my chair. “I wish there was something more. This doesn’t really prove anything. It’s just another piece in this convoluted puzzle that keeps getting bigger and more confusing the deeper we dig. We still have nothing conclusive to prove that anyone other than Mackenzie’s father was responsible for everything. Hell, I don’t even see a motive for this Viktor to want to set Galloway up!”

“I do,” Eli insisted.

“What?”

“Revenge.”

“I don’t know,” I said, getting up and pacing my office. “It’s a stretch. Do you have a photo of what this Viktor looks like so we know who we’re dealing with?”

He scrolled through his cell phone. “The only photo was from when he first came here nearly thirty years ago, so you’ll need to use your imagination and picture him as a man in his fifties.”

I took the phone from him and scanned the grainy photo from the immigration database, imagining what this man would look like after having aged several decades. He had dark hair and gray eyes. They were haunting and I couldn’t help but feel as if I knew those eyes. I continued to study the photo, mentally adding a few wrinkles on his face, graying his hair…

Time stood still as the photo transitioned from a man in his twenties to one in his fifties. It all became clear and dread coursed through me.

“Fuck,” I hissed, shoving Eli’s phone back at him.

“What is it?” he yelled after me as I ran out of the office.

“I know exactly who that is!” I responded, my phone up to my ear, anxious for Mackenzie to pick up.

Mackenzie

MY EYES FLUTTERED OPEN, scanning my surroundings. I was somewhere I didn’t recognize. It looked like a beach rental that hadn’t been used in months, maybe years. A thin layer of dust had settled on the modest furniture in the living room, the only light coming from the setting sun filtering through the rips in the curtains. And sitting across from me in that musty living room was the man I thought I trusted, sharpening a long blade.

“Richard,” I hissed, my eyes narrowing on him as I fought against the rope he had tied around my hands, securing me to an uncomfortable chair. I tried to ignore the pain in my head from where he had knocked me out with the barrel of his gun. Everything about him seemed different. His gray eyes that once made him seem distinguished and prominent now made him appear malevolent and sinister.

“Ah, look who’s finally awake,” he said in an Eastern European accent, taking me by surprise. My pulse raced, venom pooling in my veins at how easily I had fallen into his trap… How easily we all had.

“What are you doing?”

“What does it look like I’m doing?” he asked maliciously, his hooded eyes staring at me.

“Sharpening a knife,” I quietly responded, a chill spreading through me.

“What a rather astute observation.”

“What are you planning on doing with that?” I asked, even though I already knew the answer.

“I wouldn’t want to ruin the surprise.” His lips turned up at the corners. “One of my biggest pet peeves is when someone tells me how a movie’s going to end, completely ruining it for me. It makes me…” He shook his head, a wild look about him. “Hell, it makes me really just want to…kill someone.” The vein in his neck engorged, he pressed the blade into his finger and blood seeped out of it.

I swallowed hard, trying to fight back the bile forming in my throat.

“Well, I think it’s sharp enough, don’t you, Serafina?”

I cringed at his use of my real name, feeling utterly stupid for not seeing all the signs earlier. Now that he was sitting here, it all made sense. I flashed back to the night of the wedding, remembering how brooding and quiet Richard had been. It was in stark contrast to the man I knew him to be. The entire night, he had been studying my father, his eyes trained on him.

“So it was you all along, wasn’t it? You killed my mother and Charlie? You’re the one who set my father up to take the fall for all those crimes?”

“Yes…and no,” he said, getting up and stalking toward where I sat with my arms tied behind my back. “Yes, I killed your mother, Charlie, and quite a few other people. However, I didn’t set your father up.”

“So Mr. Mills did that?” I asked, wishing it wasn’t true. I didn’t want to believe the man who had been like a second father to me would do something so hateful to his neighbor and best friend.

“More or less, with a little bit of my urging.”

“Why?”

“Because your father had it coming to him!” he growled. I flinched, the fierceness in his eyes and voice making my hands grow clammy. “He was no hero. He didn’t deserve to live when so many other people…true heroes, people who didn’t cower in the face of death…had been taken. I was simply correcting the natural order of things!”

“What do you mean?” I asked, wanting to keep him talking for as long as possible.

“He did nothing! My wife, Irena, was tied to a fucking tree!”

I gasped, remembering the story my father had told me about his time in Bosnia, and a man named Viktor Popovic. Now I knew… Richard was Viktor and he wanted revenge.

“Your father was there and he did nothing! He stood aside like a fucking coward and watched as she was shot in the fucking head. Then he left me for dead, too. He is no saint. He is no hero. And he deserves to die for what he did!”

“He told me that story, how torn up he–”

“No!” He rushed toward me, his eyes on fire, holding a knife up to my throat. “You do not get to sit there and say he felt guilty. Guilty doesn’t bring my wife back!”

Resolving to stay strong, I took a deep breath. “How does Mr. Mills fit into this?” I hoped by changing the subject, he would calm down.

He glared at me, his eyes dark and sinister. Seconds passed even though it felt like hours, as he kept the knife pressed to my throat. Convinced he was going to cut me with the blade, I began to say the prayers my mother had taught me all those years ago. Finally, he loosened his grip on me and retreated to the couch, sharpening the blade once more.