The police station’s front steps were lined with reporters, their cameras and microphones aimed at Chief Anthony Pyg as he stood behind the podium.

  Red pushed through the crowd, notebook in hand, standing just close enough to see the tension in Pyg’s jaw.

  He didn’t want to be here.

  Good.

  “This department is fully committed to bringing swift justice to whoever is responsible for this tragedy,” Pyg announced, his deep voice carrying over the murmuring press. “I understand there’s been speculation, but let me be clear—this is an active investigation. Until we have all the facts, we will not entertain wild theories.”

  Red smirked. That was for her.

  A reporter from one of the local stations raised a hand. “Chief Pyg, is there any connection between this murder and the Wolf killings from years ago?”

  Pyg didn’t even blink. “None.”

  Red’s fingers curled around her pen.

  If you spot this narrative on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.

  Another reporter spoke up. “But the similarities—”

  “The similarities,” Pyg cut in, “are just that. Coincidence. Nothing more.”

  Red lifted her hand.

  Pyg ignored her.

  Figures.

  She didn’t wait to be called on. “Chief Pyg,” she said loudly, drawing eyes toward her. “If there’s no connection, why does the victim’s cause of death match every Wolf killing on record?”

  A ripple of interest spread through the press, cameras shifting to her.

  Pyg’s expression didn’t change. “Miss—”

  “Redmond,” she filled in. “I run The Red Files. Maybe you’ve heard of it.”

  “I don’t keep up with blogs.”

  Liar.

  Red took a step forward. “You and your brothers claimed you put the Wolf down. If that’s true, why is there a fresh body with the same MO?”

  Pyg’s eyes darkened.

  For a second, she thought she had him.

  Then, he smiled. Cold and confident.

  “I didn’t get this job because I half-assed this,” he said. “I got the job done. I put down a rabid animal. Just only wish I had done it sooner.”

  Silence.

  A few reporters muttered. Others exchanged glances.

  Red’s pulse pounded, but her face stayed unreadable. “So, what you’re saying is—”

  “What I’m saying,” Pyg interrupted, voice razor-sharp, “is that this conversation is over.”

  He turned away from the podium.

  The press erupted into questions, but Pyg didn’t answer. His officers followed him inside, the doors slamming shut behind them.

  Red stood there, jaw tight, gripping her notebook.

  Shut down. Again.

  But she wasn’t giving up.

  If Pyg thought he could bury this truth, he had another thing coming.