Page 71 of Unholy Bonds

“That’s more than enough.”

Tap. Tap. Reah’s fingers flew over her keyboard with practiced ease. Even though I had watched her work for years, it was still mesmerizing.

After a few minutes, Reah looked at me with a frown. “There are a few named Kasey Thompson from Delray, but nothing sounds like our girl. I’m going to break into the DMV records.”

“I owe you one.”

“You already owe me one million.” She laughed. “Ah, I think this is the one,” Reah said, clapping her hands. “Brown hair. Haunted eyes. Kasey Thompson from Delray. She still lives there.”

Quickly scribbling the address on her notepad, she ripped the paper and handed it to me.

“Happy hunting the Wolff.”

Smiling, I walked out of her apartment. Melissa had already dressed and was now sitting with a magazine. She gave me a shy smile when I walked out, and I could hear Reah saying, “Why do you bother? Now I’m going to have to take your clothes off again.”

I drove to Delray and parked my car in front of the apartment building, which looked like small square boxes stacked atop each other without any care for basic structural elements.

With a wince, I stepped out of the car and walked toward the apartment. There was no security, and when I pushed the door open, it creaked and groaned on its hinges before coming apart.

Shaking my head, I took the stairs because the elevator looked like it would bring me straight to hell.

Apartment 401.

“Who is it?” A weary voice asked when I knocked. The door creaked open slightly, revealing tired eyes. She narrowed her eyes before moving to shut the door.

“Kasey Thompson, please. It’s about Millicent Wark.”

That stopped her. She quickly scanned me up and down, her eyes suspicious. “Who are you?”

“My name is Ryden Sinclair. I’m a journalist at the Detroit Daily Explorer. I’m here to talk with you about K.Y. Wolff,” I said, giving her my card.

“You said Millicent Wark.” She took the card from me, studying it for a few seconds before looking up at me. The hostility in her eyes was real. She didn’t want to talk about K.Y. Wolff at all—she would rather drink poison and die. “I don’t know anything about K.Y. Wolff.”

“You do,” I said. “I’m trying to find her to corroborate her story about Millicent Wark. I want Wark to rot in prison,” I said, and Kasey’s stiff back relaxed. Sighing, she motioned me inside.

“I don’t know much about K.Y. Wolff. She found me. I was more than willing to talk about Millicent Wark. Millicent was a predator, and so were the men who frequented her.”

“I know. I’m sorry you had to go through that, but can you tell me more about K.Y. Wolff?”

Kasey shook her head, a frown on her face. “Like I said, I don’t know much. She was in a hoodie. Long blonde hair.”

“Is that all?” I asked.

Kasey nodded, her gaze contemplative. “Yes. I don’t even remember her face. She was wearing sunglasses. It was as if she didn’t want me to… you know, really see her or identify her. I didn’t care about any of that, though.”

“How did she contact you?” I asked. “Where did she find you?”

“She called me.”

My ears perked as I leaned closer to her. “Do you—have her number?”

Kasey tugged at the end of her sleeves on the table, her eyes flickering from my face to her phone, before she nodded. I dug my fingers into my thigh as I waited, waited as seconds passed.

“Here.”

Oh, finally! My whole body went lax.

“Thanks, Kasey. If you remember more, can you please give me a call?” She nodded, and I handed her my card. “Thank you.”

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