SIENNA'S POV
"You're lying to me."
Maya's hand squeezed mine so hard it hurt. Blood soaked through the bandages on her shoulder, but she didn't seem to notice. Her eyes—wild and scared—locked onto mine with desperate intensity.
"I'm not lying, Si. I'm protecting you."
"From what?" I leaned closer to her hospital bed, ignoring the doctors shouting at me to move back. "Maya, someone tried to kill you twice tonight. Marcus—my own partner—shot at you with a sniper rifle. Celeste is dead, and before she died, she wrote 'victim seven dies tonight' in her own blood. You're victim seven!"
Tears streamed down Maya's face. "I know."
The two words hit me like a bullet.
"You knew?" My voice cracked. "You knew you were on the list and you didn't tell me?"
"I couldn't." She pulled me closer, her voice dropping to a whisper the doctors couldn't hear. "The cases are connected, Sienna. Your murder victims—all eight of them—they were part of the trafficking ring that took me when I was nine years old."
My stomach dropped. "What?"
"Your father, Judge Cross? He's the one who sealed our records and buried the case. The lawyer you found dead last week? He defended the traffickers in court. The real estate mogul? He owned the buildings where they kept us." Maya's whole body shook. "Every person who died was involved in destroying thirteen children's lives. Including mine."
I couldn't breathe. Couldn't think. "Why didn't you tell me?"
"Because Celeste knew something about your murders." Maya's grip tightened. "She was going to tell me everything tonight after the rally. But Si, please—don't dig too deep. Some truths destroy everything."
"What truths?"
"The kind that will make you hate me." Fresh tears fell. "The kind that will ruin what's left of your life. Please, just let this go. Let the case die with Celeste."
It was the first time Maya had ever asked me to look away from the truth.
The first time my best friend—my sister—had begged me to be a bad detective.
"I can't do that," I said softly.
"Then you're going to lose everything." Maya released my hand. "And I won't be able to protect you from what's coming."
A doctor pushed between us. "Detective, you need to leave. Now. She's lost too much blood and needs surgery."
"I'll visit tomorrow," I promised Maya. "We'll figure this out together."
But she turned her face away, refusing to look at me. Like she was already saying goodbye.
I stumbled into the hospital hallway, my mind spinning. Eight murders. Thirteen trafficked children. Maya was victim seven. My father helped cover it all up.
And Marcus—the man I'd trusted, the partner I'd been falling for—had tried to kill my best friend.
"Detective Cross."
I spun around, hand on my gun.
Damien Kade leaned against the wall, looking perfectly calm despite the chaos. His silver eyes studied me with an intensity that made my heart race.
"How did you get in here?" I demanded. "There are cops everywhere."
"I own the hospital." He said it like it was nothing. "Well, my company owns it. Which means I have access to every room, every camera, every conversation." He pushed off the wall and moved closer. "Including the one you just had with Maya."
Rage flooded through me. "You were listening?"
"I'm always listening, Detective. How else do you think I've stayed alive this long?" He glanced at the armed officers stationed outside Maya's room. "We need to talk. Somewhere private. Somewhere your captain can't track you."
"I'm not going anywhere with you." I moved toward the elevator. "You admitted you've been helping the killer for two years. For all I know, you hired Marcus to shoot Maya."
Damien's hand caught my wrist—gentle but impossible to break free from. "If I wanted Maya dead, she'd be dead. I don't miss."
"Then what do you want?"
"To save your life." His voice dropped lower. "Because in approximately three hours, Captain Torres is going to receive an anonymous package containing evidence that you've been covering up these murders. Evidence that your fingerprints are on every crime scene. Evidence that you killed your own father for his involvement in the trafficking ring."
My blood turned to ice. "That's impossible. I didn't—"
"I know you didn't." He finally released my wrist. "But Marcus has been planting evidence for weeks. Building a case against you. And tonight, after Celeste's very public death, he's going to arrest you for serial murder."
"Why would Marcus frame me?"
"Because Captain Hale ordered him to." Damien pulled out his phone and showed me a photo—Marcus meeting with my old mentor in prison. "Your corrupt former captain is running everything from his cell. The trafficking ring never stopped, Sienna. It just went underground. And you're the only detective smart enough to figure it out."
I stared at the photo, feeling my world crumble. "Hale said he'd destroy me for testifying against him."
"He's keeping his promise." Damien pocketed his phone. "So you have a choice. Come with me right now and let me help you prove your innocence. Or stay here and get arrested within the hour."
"Why should I trust you?"
"Because I just saved Maya's life at the stadium." His eyes locked onto mine. "And because you feel it too—this connection between us. You know I'm telling the truth."
He was right, and I hated it. Something about Damien Kade made me want to trust him despite every instinct screaming that he was dangerous.
"Where would we go?"
"My headquarters. Luxe Security has resources the police don't—satellite surveillance, encrypted communications, and Ghost." At my confused look, he added, "My head of operations. Former CIA. He's been tracking the real killer for months."
"You keep saying you know who the killer is."
"I do." Damien's expression turned cold. "It's not Celeste. She was just a pawn—a distraction to keep everyone looking the wrong direction while the real killer completed their mission."
"Then who—"
My phone buzzed. Unknown number: Run, Detective. They're coming for you NOW.
I looked up sharply as elevator doors opened at the end of the hallway. Captain Torres stepped out with six officers, all armed, all wearing expressions that said they weren't here to talk.
"Detective Sienna Cross!" Torres's voice boomed. "You're under arrest for the murders of Judge Raymond Cross and seven other victims. Put your hands where I can see them!"
Panic seized my chest. This was happening. This was really happening.
Damien grabbed my hand. "Trust me."
"I don't—"
"Trust me or go to prison for murders you didn't commit. Choose now."
The officers moved toward us, hands on their weapons.
I looked at Torres—the captain who'd given me a second chance after Hale's betrayal. The man I'd respected and trusted. "Captain, this is a mistake. I didn't kill anyone."
"Then you'll have no problem explaining your fingerprints at every crime scene." Torres's face was hard. "Or the knife we found in your apartment with victim four's blood on it. Or the fact that you were at the stadium when Celeste Moreau died."
"I was trying to save her!"
"Were you?" Torres pulled out handcuffs. "Because witnesses say you were seen arguing with Ms. Moreau backstage thirty minutes before she was shot. What did you two talk about, Detective?"
My mouth went dry. I'd never spoken to Celeste backstage. I'd never been backstage at all.
Someone was lying. Planting false witnesses. Destroying my life piece by piece.
"Last chance," Damien whispered. "Trust me or lose everything."
I looked at the officers closing in. At Torres's disappointed face. At my entire career about to burn.
Then I looked at Damien Kade—dangerous, secretive, possibly working with the killer—and made the stupidest decision of my life.
"Let's go."
He smiled—that cold, knowing smile that made my heart race—and pulled me toward the emergency stairs.
We ran.
Behind us, Torres shouted orders. Footsteps thundered in pursuit. But Damien moved like he knew every turn, every exit, every camera blind spot.
We burst through a service door into the parking garage. A black SUV waited, engine running, driver's door open.
"Get in!" Damien shoved me toward the passenger seat and jumped behind the wheel.
Tires squealed as we raced toward the exit. Police cars blocked the main gate, lights flashing.
"Hold on," Damien warned, and punched the accelerator.
We crashed through a side barrier, metal screaming, and flew onto the street doing seventy miles per hour.
My phone exploded with calls. Torres. Marcus. Internal Affairs. Every cop in the city hunting me now.
"Congratulations, Detective," Damien said calmly, weaving through traffic like a professional racer. "You're officially a fugitive."
"This is insane. I should go back. Turn myself in. Fight the charges properly."
"They'll bury you before you get a trial." He took a corner so fast I slammed against the door. "Trust me. I've seen how this ends."
"How?"
"With you dead in your cell, ruled a suicide, case closed." His hands tightened on the wheel. "Just like my parents. Just like everyone who gets too close to the truth about the trafficking ring."
We drove in silence for ten minutes, heading toward the industrial district. Finally, Damien pulled into an underground garage beneath a building made entirely of black glass.
"Welcome to Luxe Security," he said.
The elevator required a fingerprint scan and retinal identification. We descended so deep my ears popped.
When the doors opened, I stepped into something from a spy movie—dozens of computer screens, satellite feeds, surveillance equipment I didn't recognize.
And standing in the center of it all was a man in his forties with gray hair and sharp eyes. He looked at me like I was a puzzle he couldn't wait to solve.
"Detective Cross," he said. "I'm Ghost. And we have a serious problem."
"Just one?" I laughed bitterly.
"Celeste Moreau isn't dead."
The room tilted. "What?"
Ghost pulled up security footage from the stadium. "Watch."
I saw Celeste collapse. Saw blood spreading across her dress. Saw paramedics load her into an ambulance.
"Now watch this." Ghost switched camera angles to show the ambulance driving away from the stadium. "Notice anything?"
I leaned closer. The ambulance never turned on its lights or sirens. It drove normally, like there was no emergency at all.
"We tracked it to an abandoned warehouse," Ghost continued. "By the time police arrived, it was empty. No body. No blood. No evidence anyone was ever there."
"She faked her death," I breathed.
"Brilliantly," Damien agreed. "Squib pack under her dress, fake blood, carefully aimed shot to miss all vital organs. She had maybe thirty seconds of genuine collapse before the panic and chaos let her escape."
"But why?" My mind raced. "Why fake her death at her own rally?"
"Because everyone thinks she's dead," Ghost said. "Which means she can move freely while the real killer completes their mission."
"You keep saying there's a real killer." I turned on Damien. "Who is it?"
He met my eyes, and what I saw there chilled my blood.
"Your best friend," Damien said quietly. "Maya Chen. She's been the killer all along."