by Rita Herron
Where in the hell was he? What happened?
One minute he was heading to his SUV, the next . . . everything went blank. No, not completely blank. A stab in his neck.
Someone had injected him with a drug of some kind.
Shit.
He jerked his hands and arms, but he was trapped. Tied to a goddamn chair.
He had to get free.
Forcing himself to think, he scouted out the room for an escape route. Except for a tiny sliver of light seeping through the boarded window, the room was pitch-black. The scent of rotting wood swirled around him. A mouse skittered somewhere in the distance. Wind whistled through the eaves, adding to the chill in the room.
Who the hell had gotten the best of him? He hadn’t seen it coming . . .
Had the unsub gone after Korine?
He banged his boots on the wood floor, rocking the chair back so hard he hoped it would splinter. Instead, it hit the wall and bounced back. “Why don’t you show your face?” he shouted into the darkness. “Tell me who you are and why you brought me here!”
Silence met his shout.
Dammit. Where was the unsub? And what did the unsub have planned for him?
Fury fueled his adrenaline, and he fumbled with the ropes. He had to get free so he could stop this maniac. He just prayed she hadn’t gotten to Korine.
She was all that mattered.
Korine pressed the phone to her ear as she careened up the drive toward the address where Esme and her daughter Belinda had lived.
How would her life have been different if her father had been exposed for the man he truly was years ago? Would Belinda have healed and grown into a happy secure woman, able to love and have a normal relationship?
The wind picked up, gusts blowing leaves and debris all over the place. The house was dilapidated, the windows broken out and replaced by boards, the grass dead, trees withered and tilting at odd angles, others blown down, cracked and rotten from recent storms.
The land looked ravaged, just as Esme’s daughter must have felt.
She sympathized with her.
Still, she couldn’t condone murder.
And she wouldn’t let Hatcher die.
She cut the lights and engine and coasted beneath an overhang of trees about a half mile from the house. Parking in the shadows, she slipped out, checking her weapon as she inched through the bushes toward the house.
A dog barked in the distance. Coyotes howled. A bleak eeriness hinted at the ghosts that wandered the marsh, lost between the tides and day and night.
She crept closer, her gaze scanning the woods. This place had been abandoned at least a decade ago.
But it must hold traumatic memories for Esme and her daughter.
She made it to the porch, but both front windows were boarded over so she crept to the side to find another way in. At least a way to see inside so she could scope out the situation.
Suddenly the brush rattled behind her, and she felt the sharp jab of a weapon in her back.
“Come on in, Korine. Your boyfriend is waiting.”
Korine hesitated, her mind spinning. She recognized that voice.
It was someone she’d known all along. Someone who’d helped on the case.
Someone who’d hidden among them to cover for herself and the Keepers.
Someone she’d thought was her friend.
She whirled around and raised an arm, ready to strike a blow, but the sight of the Glock in her face made her freeze.
If she died, who would save Hatcher?
CHAPTER FORTY-SEVEN
The rancid scent of mold and dust and a dead animal assaulted Korine as she entered the dilapidated house where Esme and her daughter had once lived.
She blinked to adjust her eyes to the darkness. A scratching sound came from the corner. She jerked her head toward it and made out the shadowy outline of a man.
Hatcher. Tied to a chair. Not moving. His head slumped over.
Her heart pitched. Dear God. He had to be alive.
“What did you do, drug him?” Korine hissed.
The barrel of the gun dug deeper into her back.
“You need help,” Korine said when the woman didn’t respond to her question. “Belinda Winters . . . I know your real name, but you changed it to Cat. You changed your last name, too.”
A sarcastic chuckle. “Do you really think they would have allowed me to join the FBI if they knew my personal history?” She shoved Korine so hard she stumbled forward. She hit the wall, boards splintering beneath her feet from the rotting wood.
“I know you suffered, but I thought we were friends,” Korine said.
“Friends?” Cat laughed. “Do you know how hard it was for me to listen to you talk about how wonderful your father was?” She adopted a whiny tone, mimicking Korine. “Daddy loved me. He was such a good man; he helped other children. I have to find out who murdered him.”
“I didn’t know,” Korine said, tears lacing her voice. “Not about the abuse. So stop this now. A jury will understand, and you can get help—”
“I’ve had help,” Cat said icily. “All the damn counseling in the world can’t erase what your father did to me. That’s the downside of having a photographic memory. I could never forget anything, especially the details of what he said when he touched me.”
Korine held up her hand. “Maybe another therapist—”
“I don’t want a fucking therapist! My mother trusted him, and he locked me in this room and molested me.”
“I’m so sorry,” Korine said. “I swear I had no idea. My mother didn’t either, not until the night he planned to do the same thing to me.” She gave Cat a pleading look. “My mother killed him to stop him from hurting me or any more children.”
“Yeah, and then he died a hero while they paid my mother to keep her mouth shut.”
“I’m so sorry, Cat. Esme should have come forward.”
“She needed the fucking money!” Cat waved the gun in her face. “She thought by taking it she was doing the right thing by me, but I knew she was ashamed. She could barely look at me.”
Korine reached for her, but Cat swung the butt of the gun up and slammed it against Korine’s head.
Pain seared her skull, and stars swam in front of Korine’s eyes. “Please, don’t do this.”
But Cat wasn’t listening. She aimed the gun at Korine, then threw a punch to Korine’s stomach. Korine grunted, then dove for the gun and wrenched Cat’s arm toward the ceiling. The bullet dislodged. Plaster rained down, and Korine lurched toward her and knocked her to the floor.
They fought for the weapon, and it went off again. They rolled across the floor, trading blow for blow. Korine landed a hard punch to Cat’s midsection, then knocked the gun from her hand. It sailed toward the wall, and Korine scrambled after it. But Cat jumped her and stomped on her lower back, sending sharp spasms of pain through Korine’s kidneys.
Suddenly a thunderous roar rent the air, and footsteps pounded. Cat grabbed the gun, rolled to the left and fired.
Hatcher. He was alive. And he’d gotten free.
He dodged the bullet, then charged Cat. The two of them hit the floor, rolling and fighting for the weapon. Cat slammed her foot into Hatcher’s face, then scrambled backward and aimed the gun at him.
Korine crawled to her hands and knees, but Cat swung the gun toward her. “Move and I’ll shoot.”
Hatcher raised his hands in surrender, and Korine did the same.
Cat paced in front of them, her expression crazed. A moment later, the scent of gasoline filled the air as Cat doused the wood floors and walls.
Korine glanced at Hatcher. They had to act quickly. But the darkness hid his face.
She latched on to a mental picture of him, though. If she had to die today, she’d take that image with her.
Hatcher cursed as Korine tried to get up and tackle Cat. Cat fired at her, then at him, but they both dodged the bullets. A second later, Cat slammed the butt of the gun against Korine’s head
again, sending her to the floor.
Smiling, Cat tossed a match to the corner near where Korine lay. Flames immediately burst to life, then Cat dashed out the door and slammed it shut, locking them in.
Hatcher raced to Korine and knelt beside her. “Come on, we have to get out of here.”
He slid an arm around her waist and helped her stand. She leaned on him as they hobbled toward the door. Heat seared them as the flames climbed the wall and shot to the ceiling. Wood crackled and popped, the fire eating at it as if it were paper, spreading in orange-and-red patches.
Smoke billowed around them, clouding the air. “Stay back,” he ordered.
Summoning all the strength he had, he rammed his shoulder against the door.
It didn’t budge.
He stepped back and tried again. This time he used his booted foot and kicked with all his might. Korine raised her leg and kicked the door, too. With their combined efforts, the door splintered and cracked.
The fire was spreading across the floor fast. Heat singed his back. Another piece of wood crashed down, then more of the ceiling.
Korine jumped aside to dodge a board, but the ceiling collapsed. She screamed, beating at the flames, as the burning wood fell on top of her.
Fear paralyzed Hatcher. He’d watched his wife die at the hand of one monster.
He couldn’t lose Korine.
He snatched the burning boards away from her, beating and kicking at the flames to extinguish the fire. She beat at them as well, grabbed his hand, then they crawled toward the door.
The flames were on top of them, eating at the soles of their shoes as he helped Korine through the hole. As soon as she made it to the ground, he dove through. Panting for air, he grabbed her hand, and they ran toward the marsh.
Firelight flickered against the darkness, illuminating Cat. She stood beneath the live oak nearby, the orange glow accentuating the demented expression on her face. She was mesmerized by the flames, smiling as she watched what she thought was their demise.
He cupped Korine’s face in his hands. “You okay?”
Soot and sweat stained her cheeks, but she looked so damn beautiful he wanted to cry because she was alive.
“We have to stop her,” Korine said in a gravelly voice.
He gestured toward the opposite direction, back where she’d parked. “Get to your car where you’ll be safe.”
She shook her head. “We’re partners, Hatcher. We do this together.”
Their gazes locked, her stubbornness and courage a reminder that she was nothing like his former wife. He could be partners with her.
Not just at work but maybe in life, too.
A loud crash jolted him back to the moment. The entire house collapsed in a burning pile of rubble. Flames shot toward the sky, smoke rising in a thick cloud, sparks flying.
“I’ll create a distraction,” Korine said, “while you come up behind her.”
He nodded, and Korine dashed around the burning house. He ducked low and crept to the opposite side, moving quickly until he had a good view of Cat. Ducking behind another patch of trees, he maneuvered closer until he was only a few feet away.
Korine suddenly appeared from behind a mound of burning wood. “Cat, please, it’s over. You can’t keep killing people.”
Korine’s voice startled Cat into spinning toward her. The young woman looked incoherent, lost in her world of hurt and revenge.
As if she was in a trance, she slowly raised the gun and pointed it toward Korine.
Hatcher inched closer, his blood boiling. If this went wrong, he could still lose Korine.
No way would he allow that to happen.
He jumped Cat from behind. She yelped in surprise, and he knocked the gun from her hand and sent it sailing toward a rock. She raised her fists to fight, but he was stronger and shoved her to the ground. He flipped her over and climbed over her, using his weight to restrain her. Then he yanked her arms behind her and handcuffed them together.
Korine retrieved the gun, then walked toward them. Sadness streaked her face as she looked down at Cat. “I’m so sorry for what my father did to you,” she said.
Cold hatred streaked Cat’s eyes as she glared at Korine.
Hatcher didn’t feel as sympathetic. Cat had gotten a raw deal by being abused as a child. But it wasn’t Korine’s fault.
And neither one of them deserved to die so she could continue killing.
The next half hour was fraught with tension as the evidence team arrived along with the fire department.
Watley looked at Cat with contempt. “She tried to kill Trace, didn’t she?”
“I believe so,” Hatcher answered. “He must have figured out what she was doing, so she wanted to keep him quiet.”
Korine gestured to the burning building, then Cat’s car. “Get us every piece of forensics you can. We’ll need it.”
They nodded and went to work. Detective Brockett arrived to transport Cat to booking.
“I have to check on my mother and Esme.” When she’d been insistent on pursuing her father’s case, her mother always said that not knowing was better.
That comment made sense now.
She stepped over to her car and phoned her mother’s number, then Wyatt’s.
No answer from either one of them.
Fear crowded her chest and she rushed to Hatcher. “I have to go. Wyatt didn’t answer, and neither did my mother.”
She might have sent Wyatt into an ambush.
And what would she do if Esme had hurt her mother?
CHAPTER FORTY-EIGHT
Fear wound Korine’s stomach into a knot as she raced toward her mother’s house. Hatcher insisted on going with her, and she didn’t argue.
She might need his help.
Esme had known about her daughter’s abuse when she’d come to work for the family. She’d accepted money from Korine’s mother to pay for counseling for Cat—Belinda.
Had her mother known who Esme was when they’d hired her?
Had Esme come to work for them to seek revenge against Korine’s mother?
Hatcher slipped his hand over her shoulder and squeezed it gently. “It’s going to be okay.”
She slanted him a dark look. “Not if Esme hurts my mother or Wyatt. I can’t believe she’s been living in my mother’s house all these years and I didn’t know her history.”
“Did you know she had a daughter?”
A memory surfaced. One Christmas when Korine balked at the Christmas tree and Esme had helped her mother decorate, Esme had talked about how much her daughter had once loved the sparkly ornaments. “Esme said she’d lost her daughter, so I assumed she’d died.”
There were so many secrets and lies in her family. Her heart ached. Esme’s relationship with them was all born from deceit.
Her stomach churned as she roared down the drive to her mother’s house. Hatcher called Wyatt again, but he didn’t answer, raising her anxiety.
What if they were too late?
Hatcher didn’t like the fact that Wyatt wasn’t answering. His former partner was a trained, seasoned agent. He knew how to handle himself.
But he’d been injured and was healing, and he could have walked into a damn trap orchestrated by Cat and her mother.
There was nothing a mother wouldn’t do for her child. Korine’s mother had killed her husband to keep Korine from being molested. Esme may have blamed herself for her daughter’s abuse, may have been guilt ridden when the counseling didn’t repair the damage.
May have hated the Davenports, who’d paid her to keep quiet.
She might have even blamed Korine because she escaped without being harmed while her own daughter suffered.
Korine barreled down the drive, trees and bushes flying by. Hatcher checked his weapon and scanned the property, looking for trouble. Wyatt’s SUV was parked in front of the house. Empty. He had to be inside.
Korine threw the car into park, then jumped out, her hand sliding over her weapon as if to make sure
it was still there. Hatcher followed, the two of them pausing on the front stoop to listen.
Voices echoed from inside. A cry.
Korine eased the door open and peered in to the entryway. Another cry. Upstairs.
She inched inside. He stayed close on her heels, gun at the ready.
Korine held her breath as she started up the stairs. A sob wrenched the air. Her mother.
Then Wyatt’s voice. “Put down the gun, please.”
Korine slowly removed her weapon from her holster, then motioned to Hatcher that she was going up. Yet her mind kept going back to Cat.
Cat’s law-enforcement training taught her not to leave evidence behind. She could have interfered with forensic evidence by hacking into the lab and altering results. She could have rerouted the posts on the blog to cover for herself. And that Facebook Live post she’d claimed came from her mother’s house—Cat had lied about that, too. She had set up the post.
She’d also pointed them in the direction of the four other women to take focus off herself. And she’d probably slipped into Bellamy’s room and drugged him. But why go after Bellamy? Had he somehow caught on to who she was and what she was doing?
Hatcher eased up the stairs behind her.
“Just set the gun on the floor.” Wyatt’s voice echoed from inside the bedroom.
Voices, her mother’s and Esme’s, then scuffling.
A shot blasted the air.
Fear gripped Korine, and she hastily climbed the remaining steps and rushed to her mother’s bedroom doorway.
She swung her gun up, ready to fire, but instead of Esme holding the gun on her mother, her mother had the gun. Korine froze, assessing the situation.
Esme was perched in the wing chair, crying, while Wyatt was trying to convince her mother to relinquish the weapon. “She’s okay,” Esme said. “She had a nightmare and found that gun again. She wanted me to get rid of it, but it went off.”
“Mother, let him have the gun,” Korine said firmly.
“I had to stop him from touching those sweet little girls.”
“Your husband can’t hurt anyone else,” Esme said through her tears. “You took care of that a long time ago.”