“We need to talk,” he says in a grave voice.

“What about?”

“Millie, will you get in the car? Pretty please? Come on. You want to get back in time for the bail hearing, right?”

Oh, what the hell.

SEVENTY-SEVEN

“You know about Ada, I assume,” I say to Ramirez as we sit together in the front seats of his Dodge.

“I do,” he says. “Cecelia told me everything.”

“She killed Jonathan Lowell,” I say, even though part of me still can’t believe it. How could my little girl have slit a man’s throat?

“Sounds like that pervert deserved it.”

“Still.”

He shrugs. “Like mother, like daughter.”

I flinch. Ada does not know anything about my history. Maybe she would feel better if I told her…

No, I can’t tell her. I don’t want her to lose respect for me.

“So what did you want to talk to me about?” I ask.

Ramirez levels his gaze at me. His eyes are just as dark and serious as my husband’s can be. “It’s about Suzette Lowell. There’s something I need to tell you about her, and you can’t tell another soul.”

“Okay…”

“I mean it, Millie. I’ll lose my job.”

Now my interest is piqued. “I won’t tell anyone. You have my word.”

“They checked out that room below the stairs,” he says. “And guess what they found.”

If he says there was a child’s skeleton in there… “I’m not sure I want to know.”

“Millie, they found Suzette Lowell’s fingerprints.”

It takes me several moments to process what he’s saying to me. If Suzette’s fingerprints were in that room…

She knew about the room. She knew everything about that room. That’s why she didn’t want Nico at her house. It wasn’t because she was worried about him breaking something or making a mess. She didn’t want him over because she knew that her husband was a pervert.

And she let him come over anyway. How dare she? What if Jonathan hurt Nico or Ada? What if…

“I’ll kill her,” I gasp.

“What’s about to happen to her,” he says, “is going to be far worse than that. They found something else in that room.”

And then he tells me something so horrifying, I want to throw up all over the upholstery of this car.

“She’s staying at a hotel,” he tells me. “The police are planning to bring her in for questioning. I wanted to tell you first.”

My head is spinning with the revelations Ramirez has dropped on me. Suzette knew. She knew. And now she’s going to be charged as an accomplice to the terrible things her husband did. If that’s not justice, I don’t know what is.

Except it won’t change the fact that Ada is the one who killed Jonathan. It won’t change the fact that Enzo refuses to turn our daughter in and will spend the rest of his life in prison to protect her.

And then it hits me. There might be a way to fix this.

“Benny,” I say urgently. “Do we have time to talk to Suzette before the police pick her up?”

His thick eyebrows shoot up. “You’re joking, right?”

“I need to talk to her.”

“I can’t bring you with me on police business. I’ll get fired.”

“Fine.” I tap my fingers on the knee of my blue jeans. “Then drive me to the hotel, and let me talk to her myself.”

“No way. I’m not leaving you alone with that woman. The kids don’t need their mother locked up for murder too.”

“Please,” I say. “You owe me one, Benny.”

“Actually, I owe you at least ten.” He scratches the stubble on his jaw. “What do you want to talk to her about anyway?”

I nod at the steering wheel. “I’ll explain everything to you on the way over.”

SEVENTY-EIGHT

Ramirez drives us to a swanky hotel on the outskirts of town. It looks like the sort of hotel that has a spa in every room and linen that gets replaced every hour on the hour. In other words, it’s a hotel that I could never afford in my wildest dreams.

A valet takes his keys to park the car, and we walk together into the hotel and up to the concierge desk. Ramirez reaches into his pocket and pulls out his badge, sliding it across the table. “My name is Detective Ramirez of the NYPD. I’m looking for a guest of the hotel named Suzette Lowell.”

The concierge picks up the phone and calls Suzette’s room. When he reports that a member of the NYPD is here to see her, we are immediately granted access to the room. “Up to the tenth floor and all the way down the hallway,” the concierge tells us.

I walk purposefully in the direction of the elevator, and Ramirez hurries to keep pace with me. The elevator walls are entirely mirrors, which makes me feel a little sick to my stomach. Or maybe I’m sick to my stomach because I’m visiting the wife of a man who threatened both my children and she just let it happen. God knows what he would have done to Nico if Ada hadn’t intervened.

“I don’t know about all this, Millie,” Ramirez says. “I’d rather do this by the book when she’s at the station.”

“Please give me a chance to talk to her,” I say to him. “This is our best shot at getting my family off the hook. We have to try.”

He just shakes his head.

The elevator dings as we reach the tenth floor. I dismount the elevator and stride in the direction of Suzette’s room—Ramirez has to jog to keep up with me. I don’t stop until I have reached her door. I lift my fist to knock while Ramirez sighs and shakes his head.

“Just a moment!” a voice calls out from behind the door.