Page 88 of Healing the Heart

Unable to sit still, Noah rose, giving Fiona the chair, and paced. “There has to be more to it.”

“There was one police call out to the residence of Sofia Parra. Neighbors heard shouting and cursing, during which a male, possibly Jordano, reportedly called one of them—” When his gaze suddenly shifted to Fiona, unease clouding his features, she braced for the worst. “The neighbors distinctly heard the wordsfat cunt.”

Val and Esme both gasped, but, Fiona, too horrified to make a sound, covered her mouth with both hands.

“There’s more,” Noah stated. “I can tell. Give us all of it, dammit.”

“The police report also states the mother, Sofia, often went by a nickname. Family and friends called her Fi.”

“Christ!” Noah exclaimed, leaning against the wall as if needing its support. Like Griff, he drove his fingers into his hair.

Fiona reached across the table for the phone Axyl held. A brief tug of war ensued before he finally gave it up. When she looked at the image on the screen, she understood why he didn’twant her to have it. So many of the mysteries were making sense, the puzzle finally coming together.

In a voice devoid of inflection, she asked, “They never found the sister?”

“They searched but came up empty. Until this morning.”

“So help me, man,” Noah warned. “If you make me drag it out of you inch by inch—”

“They found her buried in the backyard of the house Jordano inherited from his mother. Ten feet away from where he buried Sofia twenty-two years earlier.”

The phone in Fiona’s hands fell from her icy fingers with a clatter.

Noah retrieved it and glanced at the screen. He didn’t erupt like she expected. He calmly asked, “Who am I looking at?”

“Sofia Garcia Parra and Maria Garcia. Jordano Parra’s mother and half-sister.”

“I look just like them,” Fiona whispered.

“The same brown eyes,” Val said.

“And a ton of long, wavy brown hair,” Esme added.

“And curvy,” Axyl added, which drew frowns from everyone, including Noah. “What? Like I don’t have eyes?”

“He killed them,” Fiona stated unnecessarily, but saying and hearing the words made them sink in. This changed everything. Her stalker was a freaking serial killer.

“Most likely, he had an unhealthy obsession with them for whatever reason,” Val surmised, piecing together the psychological twists and turns as she often did. “Once he killed Mama, Sister became the target. And, with her gone, he needed another target.”

“Fiona,” Esme uttered, in horror.

“When did the sister go missing?” Val asked.

“When Jordano turned eighteen.”

“That’s seventeen years without fuel for his obsession.” She looked at her husband. “How many other Fionas have there been between then and now?”

“Since he’s a serial killer, my guess is a lot,” Eric replied grimly.

“We don’t know that,” Griff replied, panic in his voice.

“How often is Val wrong?” Fiona asked.

The group’s sudden silence spoke louder than words.

Griff sat down hard in Esme’s vacated chair. “This is on me. I let a serial killer run loose in the club.”

“It’s not your fault,” Fiona assured him. “How could you have known he stole the identify of a dead man?”

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