SIENNA'S POV
The explosion threw me backward into the wall.
My ears rang. Smoke filled my lungs. Fire alarms screamed through the hallway. Maya lay beneath me, coughing and dazed but alive.
"Are you hurt?" I shouted over the noise.
"I'm okay. What the hell just—" Maya's eyes went wide. "Celeste!"
She tried to run toward the burning room, but I grabbed her and held tight. "The room's gone, Maya. There's nothing we can do."
"No! Let me go! She's in there!" Maya fought against me, tears streaming down her face. "CELESTE!"
Hotel guests poured into the hallway, panicking. Smoke detectors wailed. Someone was screaming about calling 911.
I pulled Maya toward the emergency exit, half-dragging her as she sobbed. We stumbled down four flights of stairs and burst outside into the cold night air.
Fire trucks were already arriving, sirens blaring. Paramedics rushed toward us.
"We're fine," I told them, waving them away. "Check the fourth floor. There was a woman in room 412."
Maya collapsed onto the sidewalk, her whole body shaking. "She's dead. Oh God, she's dead. I was supposed to protect her."
I knelt beside my best friend, holding her while she cried. But my mind was racing.
Celeste had known about the bomb. She'd smiled. She'd mouthed "help me" like she wanted to be saved, but then she'd laughed as the explosion went off.
What kind of person does that?
Unless...
My phone buzzed. Another text from the unknown number:
Victim thirteen isn't dead. The explosion was a distraction. Check the hotel's back exit. She's running. And she's not alone.
I looked up sharply, scanning the crowd that had gathered to watch the fire. Movement caught my eye—a figure in a dark hoodie slipping around the corner of the building.
Was that Celeste?
"Maya, stay with the paramedics," I said, standing up. "I'll be right back."
"Where are you going?" She grabbed my arm. "Si, please don't leave me."
"I need to check something. Two minutes. I promise." I squeezed her hand. "You're safe now."
Before she could protest, I ran toward the back of the hotel.
The alley was dark and empty except for overflowing dumpsters and a few parked cars. No sign of anyone in a hoodie.
Had I imagined it?
Then I heard voices—low and urgent—coming from behind a delivery truck.
I drew my gun and moved closer, staying in the shadows.
"—told you the timing had to be perfect," a woman's voice said. Celeste's voice. "If she'd figured it out any sooner, the whole plan would've collapsed."
"She figured it out anyway." A man's voice this time. Cold and controlled. "Detective Cross is smarter than you gave her credit for."
"Then we move to phase two," Celeste said. "Frame her for my death. Make sure she takes the fall for all of it."
My blood went cold.
"And the best friend?" the man asked.
"Maya will believe whatever I need her to believe. She always has." Celeste laughed—that same cruel laugh I'd heard during the explosion. "Victim seven was always the easiest to manipulate."
Rage flooded through me. I stepped out from behind the dumpster with my gun raised. "Police! Hands where I can see them!"
But the alley was empty.
No Celeste. No mysterious man. Just me standing alone like an idiot.
Had I imagined their voices too?
My phone rang, making me jump. Captain Torres.
"Cross, where the hell are you?" he barked. "There's been an explosion at the Riverside Hotel and witnesses say you were there. What's going on?"
"Someone tried to kill Celeste Moreau. The activist Maya's been protecting." I walked back toward the street. "There was a bomb in her hotel room. Maya and I barely got out."
"Is Ms. Moreau alive?"
I hesitated. "I don't know. The room was destroyed. But Captain, something's wrong. I think Celeste might have—"
"Come to the station. Now. We need your statement, and Internal Affairs is already here asking questions about why you were at that hotel in the first place."
"I was helping my friend!"
"Then you'll have no problem explaining that in an official interview." His voice softened slightly. "Sienna, I'm trying to help you. But you need to come in and clear this up before IA makes it worse."
He hung up before I could argue.
I found Maya talking to firefighters, her face streaked with soot and tears. When she saw me, she ran over. "Did you find anything?"
"No. Nothing." I couldn't tell her what I'd heard. Not until I understood what was really happening. "Come on. We need to go to the police station and give statements."
"I can't think about statements right now. Celeste is dead because I failed." Maya's voice broke. "I was supposed to keep her safe."
"This isn't your fault—"
"Then whose fault is it?" She turned on me, anger replacing grief. "I was her bodyguard, Si. My one job was to protect her, and I walked out of that room to talk to you. If I'd stayed, maybe I could've found the bomb. Maybe I could've saved her."
Guilt twisted in my stomach. I'd been the one who'd asked Maya to step outside. If Celeste really was dead, was it my fault?
"Let's just go," I said quietly. "We'll figure this out together."
The drive to the police station was silent. Maya stared out the window, lost in grief. I kept checking my mirrors, paranoid that someone was following us.
At the station, Captain Torres met us in the lobby. "Detective Cross, Maya Chen—Internal Affairs is waiting in conference room B." He paused. "And we have a visitor. Someone who wants to consult on the case."
"What visitor?" I asked.
"A security consultant. His company has been tracking threats against Ms. Moreau for weeks. He might have information relevant to tonight's attack." Torres gestured toward his office. "He's waiting for you."
Something about this felt wrong. "Captain, I don't think—"
"It wasn't a request, Cross."
Maya and I exchanged looks. Then we followed Torres down the hallway to his office.
A man stood by the window with his back to us. Tall—easily over six feet—with dark hair and broad shoulders. He wore a suit that probably cost more than my car, perfectly tailored and expensive.
"Mr. Kade, this is Detective Sienna Cross and Maya Chen," Torres said. "Ladies, this is Damien Kade, CEO of Luxe Security."
The name hit me like a punch. Luxe Security—the company Maya had been so excited about. The mysterious billionaire CEO who never did interviews.
The man turned around.
He was maybe thirty-five, with sharp features and silver-gray eyes that seemed to look right through me. Handsome in a cold, dangerous way. The kind of man who was used to getting exactly what he wanted.
Those silver eyes met mine, and something passed between us. Recognition? No, that wasn't right. We'd never met before.
But it felt like he knew me anyway.
"Detective Cross." His voice was smooth and controlled. "I've been following your investigation."
"Following it?" I crossed my arms. "What does that mean?"
"It means I've been watching you work this case for three weeks. Watching you fail to connect the obvious dots. Watching you waste time while eight people died." He said it flatly, like he was commenting on the weather.
Anger flared in my chest. "Excuse me?"
"Your father was corrupt," Damien continued, those cold eyes never leaving mine. "He took bribes to cover up one of the worst trafficking cases in this city's history. His death isn't murder, Detective. It's justice delayed."
I moved toward him before I could stop myself, getting right in his face. "You don't know anything about my father."
"I know everything about your father." Damien didn't back away. "I know he destroyed thirteen children's lives for a beach house and a boat. I know he looked those girls in the eye and decided his bank account was more important than their safety. And I know that whoever's killing these people is doing the work your justice system should've done twenty years ago."
My fist clenched. It would feel so good to punch that arrogant face.
"So let me ask you something, Mr. Kade," I said through gritted teeth. "Can you actually help me stop this killer before more people die? Or are you just here to insult my dead father and waste my time?"
For the first time, Damien's expression changed. The corner of his mouth lifted in something that might've been a smile.
"I think we're going to work very well together, Detective."
"I don't work with arrogant billionaires who think they know everything."
"And I don't work with cops who let their emotions cloud their judgment." He stepped closer. "But we don't have a choice. You're being framed for these murders, your partner is corrupt, and you have maybe seventy-two hours before Internal Affairs destroys your career. So either you work with me, or you go down for thirteen counts of murder."
How did he know about Marcus? How did he know about the seventy-two hours?
"Who the hell are you?" I demanded.
"Someone who's been hunting these people for twenty-three years." His voice dropped lower, dangerous. "Someone who knows exactly who the killer is and what they're planning. And someone who's decided that you're the only person who might be able to stop them."
"Why me?"
"Because you still believe in justice." Something flickered in those silver eyes—pain, maybe, or regret. "Even after everything you've lost, everything you've been through, you still think the system can work. That truth matters. That doing the right thing is worth the cost."
He turned away, looking out the window at the city lights.
"I used to believe that too," he said quietly. "Before they murdered my parents."
The room went silent.
"What does that have to do with—" I started.
"Everything." Damien turned back to face me. "My parents were investigative journalists twenty-three years ago. They were about to expose the trafficking ring your father helped cover up. Someone broke into our home, killed them both, and made it look like a random burglary. I was twelve years old."
My anger drained away, replaced by cold understanding.
"The case went cold," Damien continued. "No one cared about two dead journalists. So I spent the next twenty-three years building an empire for one purpose: to destroy everyone responsible for their deaths. Every person who trafficked those girls. Every person who took bribes. Every person who looked away."
He pulled out his phone and showed me a list of names. I recognized them all—they were the murder victims.
"Eight down," Damien said. "Five to go. And Detective Cross?" He looked at me with those cold, knowing eyes. "Your father wasn't just on the list. He was number three."
My world tilted sideways. "You... you knew my father would be killed?"
"I knew everyone on this list would die eventually." He pocketed his phone. "The question is whether we let victim thirteen complete her mission, or whether we stop her before she destroys herself and everyone around her."
"You know who the killer is."
"Of course I know." Damien smiled that cold smile again. "I've been helping her for two years."
Before I could respond, the office door burst open.
Marcus stood there, my partner, with two IA investigators behind him.
"Detective Cross," Marcus said, and his voice was full of fake sympathy. "I'm sorry to do this, but you're under arrest for conspiracy to commit murder and obstruction of justice. We have evidence linking you to all eight crime scenes."
The IA investigators moved toward me with handcuffs.
"This is ridiculous!" Maya shouted. "She didn't do anything!"
But Marcus wasn't looking at her. He was looking at Damien with pure hatred.
"And you," Marcus said to Damien. "I don't know what game you're playing, but stay away from this investigation. Stay away from Detective Cross. Or I'll make sure you regret it."
Damien's expression didn't change. "Is that a threat, Detective Webb?"
"It's a promise."
The investigators grabbed my arms. Cold metal closed around my wrists.
"Wait," Captain Torres protested. "This is premature. We haven't even—"
"She was at the hotel when it exploded," Marcus interrupted. "Her fingerprints are all over the crime scenes. And we just found this in her apartment."
He held up an evidence bag containing a bloody knife.
"That's not mine," I said immediately. "I've never seen that before."
"It has your prints on it. And blood matching victim number four." Marcus's expression was triumphant. "Sienna Cross, you're done."
They started pulling me toward the door.
"Damien!" I didn't know why I called his name. Maybe because he was the only person in the room who seemed to actually understand what was happening.
He met my eyes across the room.
"Don't worry, Detective," he said calmly. "I'll have you out in two hours. And then we're going to hunt down the person who's framing you."
"You know who it is," I accused.
"Of course." That cold smile again. "It's your partner, Marcus Webb. He's been working for Captain Hale this whole time. Setting you up, planting evidence, making sure you take the fall for everything."
Marcus's face went pale. "That's a lie. I would never—"
"Then explain the forty thousand dollars deposited into your offshore account last month," Damien said. "Or the phone calls to Hale's cell block every Tuesday at 3 AM. Or the way you've been feeding information to the real killer, making sure they stay one step ahead of Detective Cross."
The room exploded with noise. Torres demanding explanations. IA investigators turning toward Marcus. Maya shouting questions.
But I only heard Damien's next words:
"The killer isn't Celeste Moreau, Detective Cross. Celeste is alive, and she's coming for you next. Because you're the daughter of the man she hates most in the world."
My blood turned to ice. "What?"
"Your father didn't just take bribes," Damien said quietly. "He was the one who ordered the hit on my parents. He's the reason I'm an orphan. And victim thirteen has spent twenty years planning her revenge against him."
He walked toward the door, then paused.
"Oh, and Detective? That explosion at the hotel? It wasn't meant to kill Celeste. It was meant to kill Maya—victim seven. Because Elena Russo has decided that all thirteen victims need to die as penance for her sins."
"That's insane," Maya whispered.
"Is it?" Damien looked at her with something like pity. "Elena gave the traffickers your name twenty years ago, Maya. She sold you out to save herself. And now she's killing everyone involved—including the other twelve victims—to atone for what she did."
He opened the door.
"You have seventy-two hours before she dies from the poison she took. And when she dies, she's taking Maya with her."
Then he was gone, leaving chaos behind.
And I realized with horrible certainty that everything—absolutely everything—I thought I understood about this case was wrong.