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The question strikes through my rib cage. My fingers dig into my throat as memory comes. Dad checking his watch through dinner. Dad pacing with his phone. The way he’d slam his laptop shut when I walked into his office. But when he came back, he was always smiling, relaxed, carrying some ridiculous souvenir and asking if his little joy missed him.

“Stop.”

Gage’s face folds around a deep-seated heaviness. “Women who knew him described the same pattern.”

A full-body ache consumes me.

He steps toward one of the cabinets and opens it. Inside are files, photographs, copies of records, newspaper articles. He removes one folder. “I traced years of his life, Jubilee. Your father used different names with different women. Most of them had money. Family money, inherited money, settlements. He built relationships, got access to accounts, moved assets.”

“Gage, stop.”

“He was connected to deaths which were accidental until you put them beside each other.”

My back hits the wall. Cold metal presses between my shoulder blades, one of the scythes hanging inches from me.

Gage opens the folder but doesn’t bring it closer. “He emptied accounts before one woman overdosed on medication she’d never abused before. Another died after a fall. One died in a car fire investigators blamed on mechanical failure. He kept track of everything. Names. Financial information. Schedules. Families. When I found him, I knew I wasn’t looking at coincidences.”

I shake my head so hard, wet hair slaps my cheeks. “You knew him as a monster.”

“Yes.”

“I knew him as my father!” My scream ricochets around the room. Gage takes it without moving. Rage and hurt seethe through my veins. “For ten years, I didn’t know if he abandoned us. If somebody killed him. If he was hiding because he thought it would keep us safe.” My voice fractures. “I never stopped searching for an answer.”

“I know.”

“No, you don’t.”

His expression changes. Not anger. Pain. Something buried beneath it, so deep and old, I forget my own for a second.

“I didn’t know you existed, Jubilee.” He drags both hands through his wet hair. “I didn’t know he had a daughter. The man I found was Jacob Ricketts. He existed in aliases, rental properties, stolen accounts, and dead women. I never found Jacob York.”

My stomach drops. Ricketts. “Oh, my God.”

Gage’s eyes sharpen. “Joshua.”

“He told you?”

“He found me today. At Hannah’s. He said he’d already spoken to you at the Festival.”

Of course he did. “I was going to verify him first.”

“I figured that out. And I understood.”

Hot defense rises through the grief. I need something solid. And sharp. Anything that makes sense. My hand brushes cold metal, and I glance sideways. A scythe. One of his fucking scythes.

I pull it from the wall.

Every muscle in Gage’s face tightens. “Jules.”

I turn toward him, keeping it between us. “Don’t.”

His eyes hunt mine, cold steel. “I’m not coming closer.”

“You kill killers.”

“Yes.”

“And people who hurt people.”