I frowned. Normally, the quiet would have been a good thing, but right now it bothered me. Rivera’s perimeter men had been gone for more than two hours. You would think that someone would have noticed and tried to contact them by now. If my men hadn’t returned from a job, I would have been doing everything in my power to track them down, in addition to circling the wagons and bringing in more guards. Maybe Rivera was too drunk to notice, or maybe he just didn’t care what happened to them. Maybe his guards were as disposable to him as all the women he’d murdered.

   Despite Mosley’s ruse to get Rivera out of the mansion, I’d still expected the place to be crawling with guards, but it was as silent as a tomb. Weird. More worry and apprehension swept through me, but we were here now, and I wasn’t leaving without Elissa, no matter what dangers we might encounter.

   I gestured for Owen to stay behind me. He nodded, and together we crept down the hallway, quietly opening every door and peering into every room we passed.

   But all of them were empty, except for their fine furnishings.

   My frustration grew with every single room we searched. The mansion was large, but it wasn’t infinite, and we were running out of places to look. Finally, I reached the door to Rivera’s bedroom, the last and final room on this floor. Once again, I stopped, listening, but I didn’t hear anything.

   I looked over at Owen, and he raised his gun and nodded, telling me that he was ready. I nodded back.

   I tried the knob, expecting it to be locked, but it too was open, just like everything else in the mansion. Surely Damian Rivera wouldn’t be so foolish as to kidnap someone and not keep her under lock and key, but apparently, he was. So I decided to roll with my good luck. I opened the door, and Owen and I swept inside the room, our weapons up and ready.

   But it was also empty.

   A massive four-poster bed dominated the space, black silk sheets trailing off one side and down onto the floor. Antique clocks, vases, and other knickknacks covered the nightstands on either side of the bed and the mirrored mahogany dresser that took up most of one wall. Empty champagne flutes and bottles littered the floor, and some stuck out from underneath the bed and the dresser. The air reeked of alcohol and cigar smoke, mixed with Rivera’s nauseatingly sweet cologne.

   But Elissa wasn’t in here, and there was no sign that she had ever been in here. No ropes or other bindings perched on the nightstands, no women’s clothes or accessories strewn across the floor, and, most telling of all, no golden tubes of Heartbreaker lipstick sitting on the dresser. Frustration surged through me, but I pushed it aside, hurried over, and opened the door to the walk-in closet, while Owen checked the attached bathroom.

   But they were both empty too.

   “Dammit!” I hissed. “She’s not here. Finn, Bria, you guys got anything downstairs?”

   Finn’s voice crackled back to me a second later. “Nothing. No sign of Elissa anywhere. Just those two women still working on those holiday decorations. I’m sorry, Gin.”

   I sighed. “Yeah. Me too. Keep looking. Owen and I will do the same up here.”

   “Roger that.” Finn signed off.

   Owen and I searched the bedroom, but there was nothing out of the ordinary, except for all the empty bottles of champagne.

   Owen shook his head. “Surely he doesn’t drink all this by himself, does he? It’s a wonder his liver hasn’t exploded by now.”

   I let out a harsh, humorless laugh. “You should have seen him guzzling down booze in his office the other night. You’d think it was water and he’d just run a marathon the way he was swilling it down.”

   That bothered me too, more than anything else about this whole situation. Sure, Damian Rivera was arrogant, and he liked to hit people. But he was also a lazy drunk. He didn’t seem to have the smarts to kidnap and kill so many women, much less to actually get away with it for so long without leaving any evidence behind. But I didn’t have time to think about it right now, so we left the bedroom and searched the entire floor again, looking for anything that might lead us to Elissa.

   But after ten minutes, I had to admit defeat. “She’s not here,” I said, talking to Finn and Bria through our earpieces again. “She’s just not here.”

   “Yeah.” Finn’s voice was as sad as mine was frustrated. “There’s no sign of her down here either. Let’s meet on the patio and regroup.”

   Owen and I went back to the office to leave the same way we’d come in. I didn’t want Rivera to know that anyone had been inside his mansion. At least, not until we’d found Elissa. Owen went over to the window and peered outside, checking to make sure that no guards had come around to the back of the house. But I lingered in front of the photos on the fireplace mantel, looking at them all again and hoping that I would find something, anything, that would tell me where Elissa was.

   For some reason, I found myself studying that photo of Damian with his parents. In particular, his mother, Maria, caught my eye. The strange thing was, the more I stared at her, the more I realized that Maria Rivera looked exactly like Elissa and all of the Dollmaker’s other victims. Young, blond, pretty. But what made my heart drop and made a chill run down my spine was her makeup.

   Her lips were painted a familiar, sickening blood-red.

   Of course, she wasn’t holding a tube of lipstick in the picture, but I knew—I knew, deep down in my bones—that she was wearing the Heartbreaker color.

   Could this all be about Maria Rivera? Did Damian have some deep-seated mommy issues that had twisted him into a serial killer? Was he kidnapping women so he could kill his own mother over and over again? If so, why? What had Maria done to her own son that was so terrible? That made him want to beat and strangle her substitutes time and time again?

   Owen noticed that I’d stopped in front of the mantel, and he came over to me. “What are you looking at?”

   I pointed to the photo. “Who does she remind you of?”