Cold Death by Mary Stone (best e reader for android TXT) 📕

the chair to keep her nails from biting into her flesh. Must be nice to have someone so in sync with you. She’d never had a close friend, male or female. Growing up with a sociopath didn’t lend itself to opportunities for relationships that weren’t transactional. “If you two can tear yourselves away from the little BFF moment, I did have something to add.”

Ellie’s smile evaporated. “Go ahead.”

“Kingsley also has a tendency to fixate on young girls. Around ten, eleven, or even younger. Not in a sexual way, more like a dad.” Katarina grimaced as old memories of Kingsley’s version of paternal affection wormed into her consciousness. “A super shitty, messed up dad, but whatever.”

Ellie’s brow furrowed. “Why do you say that? The dad part, I mean?”

“Why the hell do you think? Because of how he talked to me after I went to live with him. He treated me like a parent, like I was his kid. Like we were actually related or something. Besides, in the whole time I lived with him, I never noticed him ever so much as think about sex, let alone seek it out, and he’s had plenty of opportunities with women over the years. He doesn’t seem to care about physical connection, only pain. Pretty much any kind but the sexual variety.”

Ellie rubbed her neck, her forehead lines deepening as she frowned down at the pizza box.

Seconds ticked by while Katarina waited for the detective to share what was on her mind. When she couldn’t stand the tension any longer, she pounded the table with her fist. “What is it?”

Ellie lifted her eyes to meet Katarina’s. “I was just wondering about your mother.”

Her eyebrows shot up. This? This was the question plaguing the detective? “Which one are we talking about? I had lots of mothers when I was little.”

The detective exchanged a glance with her roommate before placing her palms on the table and leaning forward, almost vibrating with intensity. “But are we one-hundred-percent sure who your birth mom was?”

What was Ellie trying to get at? Katarina narrowed her eyes, answering slowly as she attempted to unravel the detective’s sudden fixation on her genealogy. “Yeah. My biological mom was Alice Becker, and my dad was John Becker. But you know all that already, so why the…oh, hell no!” Shock rippled through her body like an afterquake, rendering her incapable of speech. When she overcame her frozen vocal cords, her skin was flaming with anger. “Are you kidding me right now? I see where you’re headed with this, and just stop already. It’s complete and utter bullshit.”

Even voicing the speculation that she and Kingsley might be related by blood seared her stomach with acid and sent nausea barreling up her throat. She pressed a hand to her belly and fought back a heave. Absolutely not. She refused to entertain such a disgusting idea.

Her parents were Alice and John Becker, who’d died when she was two, at which point she’d ended up with her great aunt, Euphemia. Anyone suggesting otherwise deserved a swift kick to the head.

As if sensing how close Katarina was to losing her shit, Ellie lifted her hands in surrender. “Okay, sorry. It was just a thought that popped into my head.”

Katarina dug her fingers into her stomach and glared. “Well, un-pop it, and let’s get back on track to Bethany. I think he’s using her as the bait.” Enough with the batshit conjectures. They needed to focus on the real task.

“Using her as bait for what?” Jillian asked.

“Any of us, all of us. The fuck should I know? I just know that it makes sense. He has a track record of using little girls as decoys or lures for his dirty work.” Her lips twisted. “I should know. When I was still a kid, he used me too many times to count as a way of getting people to drop their guards and venture close enough to trip into his web. Think about it. Bethany is the best bait he could possibly use to draw any or all of us to him, wherever he wants us to go.”

Wait. If in some horrible twist of fate Katarina truly was his daughter, then that made Bethany his…

“Motherfucker!” Horror, rage, and fear erupted, and Katarina banged her fist on the table until her hand throbbed. When that didn’t serve as an adequate release, she grabbed handfuls of her hair and pulled until her scalp burned and tears stung her eyes. How could this be happening, after she’d spent so much time and effort to free herself from him?

She sensed the other two women’s startled looks but didn’t care, and the bodyguard had taken a step closer. Let them believe she’d lost her marbles, or shoot her, even. Physical pain would be a relief, compared to this onslaught of bitter, soul-crushing futility.

They were still murmuring to each other when she began speaking, her voice low and hoarse. “Do you have any idea how hard it was for me to break free of him? Almost impossible after growing up with him manipulating me, brainwashing me, telling me how much I meant to him and that a good, grateful ‘daughter’ would never leave her ‘papa.’” She used air quotes around the words to make sure they understood she was talking figuratively. “Of course, that was when sweet-talking suited his mood. He used threats just as much. Told me how if I ever tried to leave him, he’d hunt me down like a rabid animal and put me out of my misery. But I finally did it. I dug deep and found the willpower after I found out that Bethany wasn’t really dead.”

An acrid laugh scraped up Katarina’s throat as she lifted her gaze from the table to meet Ellie’s eyes.

“How stupid could I have been? I knew what he was, knew the horrible things he did to people, yet I somehow went so many years, never guessing that he could be cruel enough to steal my newborn daughter