She stared at her laptop's screen, holding her breath. The email's subject line looked like a warning flame:
“Found you, Stace.”
Stace.
The name hit her like a slap. No one had called her that in over 8 years - not since she’d buried Stacey Adams for good.
Her mind splintered into a thousand pieces, scrambling to put logic to the rising panic in her chest.
Who knew? Who could have found her? And more importantly… how?
A chill ran down her spine as her palm hovered over the mouse, fingers shaking. She clicked on the email.
I’ll hand it to you, you’re a clever girl. But how long did you think you could hide? I see you got yourself a nice little upgrade - from a stripper killer to a photographer dating the most wanted bachelor in LA. Does he know yet? Or have you already given him your
