He did recognize me.

That’s what this is about. Who I am. Who my parents are. He’s going to—

“Eden?”

I inched up to the headboard, turned and crouched there, my free hand still working at the knot. He stood with the scissors in his hand. When my gaze shot there, he lowered them. The hair was gone now. Fallen free, I thought, then I saw it behind him, on the dresser top, one pale curl carefully laid out.

I looked at him again. Yes, it was the desk clerk, but not the way I’d remembered him when I’d been lying in bed. Not a greasy slimeball. His hair was clean. His face was clean. His clothing was clean. I could say he’d washed up, but I realized this was how he’d looked in the office when he checked me in. I’d just misremembered. Reimagined him the way I’d picture a guy who’d sneak into a woman’s hotel room to rape her.

I knew that predators came in every form, but I couldn’t help staring at him. He looked too ordinary, too quiet, too well mannered.

A man that a single woman wouldn’t mind sitting next to on a crowded train.

A man like Todd Larsen.

“My—my name isn’t—”

“Eden Tiffany Larsen. A pretty name for a pretty girl.”

“No, my name is—”

“I know what they call you now. Olivia. It doesn’t suit you at all. You should go back to using your real name. Your proper one. Eden.”

He pulled the chair alongside the bed until it bumped the nightstand. Then he sat and inched it forward, getting closer still. I kept working at the cord. He glanced over, frowning, but said nothing to stop me, just laid the scissors on his lap.

“For twenty years, people have been looking for you. Some said they’d hidden you too well. But the believers never gave up hope.”

“I don’t have anything to do with Pamela and Todd Larsen. They’re my birth parents. That’s it. I don’t remember them. I’m sure they barely remember me. If you’re going to use me for revenge—”

“Revenge?” He laughed. “We don’t want revenge. We want to honor them.”

“Honor?”

“What your parents did . . .” He shuddered. It wasn’t the kind of shudder most people would give thinking about what the Larsens did. It wasn’t the kind of shudder anyone should give thinking about it.

“They made a statement,” he said. “An incredible statement.”

Statement? The Larsens killed people. Brutally murdered them. No politics involved. Nothing but death.

“Angels of death,” he said, as if reading my thoughts. “They took what they wanted without a thought for anyone but themselves. And you, of course. That’s all that mattered to them. Their family. Nothing else. They understood what it meant to take a life.”

No, I was pretty sure they didn’t. No one could destroy other human beings that way and fully comprehend what they were doing. Unless they just didn’t care.

“You look like her, you know.” He rose from his chair. “Except for the hair. Hers is dark. Maybe if you dyed it . . .”

The tip of his tongue slid between his teeth, rapturous. I glanced down at the scissors that dangled by his side and inched my fingers along the sheet.

“No,” he said, straightening. “That wouldn’t be right. It’s Todd’s color. A tribute to both of them. As it should be.” He rested a knee on the edge of the bed. “You are beautiful, Eden. A perfect blend of your parents.”

I resisted the urge to inch back. Keep still. Let him think he can come closer.

But he just stayed there. My gaze dropped to the scissors to measure the distance. He followed it and lifted them, casually, no menace, but I pretended to flinch.

“I’m not going to hurt you, Eden. I just brought these to get that.” He pointed to the curl on the dresser. “I’d never hurt you.”

“Then put them down.”

His lips twitched in a knowing smile. “Um, no. That wouldn’t be wise, would it?”

“You said you aren’t going to hurt me—”

“I’m not. But that doesn’t mean you won’t hurt me, does it? First chance you get. I know that. I’ll keep these. To defend myself and”—that smile again—“to keep you from getting your pretty hands on them and making a pretty mess of me with them.”

“I wouldn’t do that. You’re a”—I struggled for a word. Hated the one that came to mind—“fan of my parents.”

“Which wouldn’t keep them from gouging out my eyes with these if they caught me in your motel room. And won’t keep you from doing the same to get away.”

“I’m not like them. I’ve never hurt anyone.”

“But you could. You just need the right circumstances. And I’d rather not provide them.” He twisted, lowering himself to the edge of the bed, scissors resting on his thigh. “I’m supposed to help you, Eden. You walked into my motel, and I knew it was a sign.” His gaze met mine. “Do you believe in signs?”

“Only the ones that give me directions.”

He laughed. Loud and long, the sound raking along my spine. “Oh, signs all give directions. Mine told me that you needed help. They kicked you out, didn’t they? Those people who stole you from Todd and Pam. They kicked you out, and now you’re all alone. That’s why you had to come to a cheap motel like this. You don’t have any money. I do.” He pulled a thick wad from his pocket.

“I don’t need—”

“I know you do. I bet you need information, too. About them. Your parents. I know all about them and their lives and what they did. I’ll give you that, and I’ll give you money. I just want one thing.”

He rose, gaze fixed on me, eyes glittering. I inched away.

“No, not that,” he said. “I respect your parents too much for that. I just want to touch you. That’s all.”

He moved closer, hands on the bed, scissors loose under one. His breath came harsh, pupils dilated.

“You can leave your panties on. I won’t touch you anywhere you don’t want me to. I just want to touch—”

I grabbed the scissors before he could get a firm grip on them. He lunged across me. I swung the scissors with everything I had and buried the blades in his side. He howled. I yanked them out and stabbed him again. Blood sprayed across the white sheets, across him, across me.