Page 82 of The Golden Hour

Fucking brilliant, fierce, fearless woman.

Wilson turns off the engine, sighing. “I wish I knew why she wanted to see this.”

Outside the car is a freaking circus. Tons of uniformed and forensic types in white coats swarm Anthony Avellino’s ranch. As I watch, a body bag is carried from the stables and loaded into the back of a white van.

“How many so far?” I ask Wilson.

Her lips thin. “Eleven and counting.” She opens her door, letting in a wave of heat and noise.

Callisto lifts her head with a yawn. “Are we here?”

I kiss her temple. “Yep.”

She looks up at me, bronze sparking in the dark depths of her eyes. “Thank you for being here, even though you’re still mad at me.”

I chuckle. “I’m not mad mad. And I’m getting over it.”

Wilson pokes her head back inside, her gaze swinging between the two of us. She winks at me. “Just a little bruised ego. He wanted to be your hero, Calli, but you didn’t need one. Right, Finn?”

I roll my eyes. “Way to rub it in.”

Callisto laughs, the sound rusty. She hasn’t had much to laugh about recently—a fact I plan on remedying for the long-term.

But first, we’re digging up a garden.

42

Though the stables stand between us and the news cameras on the street, Wilson still had a tent erected over the raised garden bed. I don’t need to ask why—helicopters crisscross overhead—I’m just grateful we won’t be featured on the evening news.

The three of us are alone in the tent, Wilson standing nearby as Finn and I dig methodically in the bed. While the work in the stables and house continues loudly outside, we’re in our own little world, undisturbed to a level that points to pulled strings.

I don’t think about what’s happening outside, though. It’s enough to know that the bones of the wrongfully dead are finally beginning their journey to rest. There will be weeks, months, and years ahead for me to think about the families reunited with the remains of missing loved ones. The reopened wounds and bittersweet closure.

Perhaps Selina’s mother, our former nanny Adele, will be found in my family’s vile graveyard. For Selina’s sake, I hope so. After all the risks she took, she deserves to know what happened to her mother.

It was Selina who put the pieces together. Months ago, she overheard Enzo suggesting to Vivian that they “clean the stables.” Since the family didn’t own horses, the conversation struck her as odd. Then, a week later, she heard Lizzie and Vivian talking in the kitchen.

“I miss visiting Uncle Ant’s stables, Mom. When are you going to bring home a new horse for me?”

“I told you already—the stables are off-limits right now.”

“But my horses are getting lonely! They need a new friend.”

“Good God, Elizabeth. You know I hate it when you talk like that. It’s so morbid.”

“Do you think I can show Calli my horses someday?”

“Maybe someday, sweetheart. Fetch me an orange, will you?”

Selina’s face should be the one on front pages and news reels nationwide, not mine. But Wilson said she doesn’t want any recognition, only to put this all behind her and live a quiet life with her family.

I wish I had that choice.

Maybe someday…

Beside me, Finn sits back on his heels and wipes sweat from his brow. “Anything?” he asks.

I shake my head. “Not yet.”

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