Pretty Little Killers

by Rita Herron

  Her phone buzzed. She clenched her jaw—a text, her mother’s number. The instinct to ignore it hit her, but how could she when her mother’s condition was frail?

  “The case?” Hatcher asked.

  She shook her head. “Family. I’m sorry. I need to check in.” Motioning for him to take care of booking Banning, she stopped inside the doorway and read the message.

  Kenny was arrested on a DUI charge—he called looking for you to bail him out. Your mother overheard and is upset. Come ASAP.

  Korine’s breath stalled in her chest, and she punched in her mother’s number. The phone rang a half dozen times, ratcheting up her nerves. No answer.

  She ended the call and tried again, tapping her foot as she waited, but no one responded.

  Hatcher returned, his expression grim. “A night in jail will do Banning good.”

  “You think?” Korine wasn’t so sure. “Or it could antagonize him. He already thinks his son got a bum deal. And now we’re arresting him.”

  “He shot at us,” Hatcher said.

  Korine nodded. She shouldn’t be sympathetic to the man. The law was the law. When people took it into their own hands, anarchy would prevail.

  “I need to go.” She gestured to her phone. “Family emergency.”

  His eyes darkened, and he jangled his keys. “All right. Where to?”

  Her heart stuttered. Except for their one night of indiscretion, they’d kept their personal lives separate. The last thing she wanted was for Hatcher to witness her family drama. He’d see how screwed up her life was.

  “Just drop me at my place, and I’ll drive from there.”

  He narrowed his eyes, tension stretching between them. “If it’s an emergency, I’m driving you.” He didn’t wait for a response. He strode out the door.

  She chased him to his SUV, and he opened the back, grabbed a shirt from inside a duffel bag, then yanked off his wet one.

  Heat flared inside her at the sight of his bare chest. God, she wanted to touch him.

  Oblivious to her turmoil, he climbed in the front seat. Shoot, she wanted to see him take off his pants.

  But Hatcher was right. She didn’t need to take the time to go by her house. And she sure as heck didn’t need to think about Hatcher without his pants.

  She had to get to her mother.

  Hatcher pulled from the parking lot and followed the GPS to Korine’s mother’s house. She had virtually shut down. Not that she’d talked much about herself when he’d known her at Quantico, but her demeanor indicated she didn’t want him to ask questions.

  He had a right to know what was going on with his partner. For fuck’s sake, she might have a boyfriend or husband or crazed, jealous lover.

  He didn’t like the idea of any of those possibilities.

  “Talk to me, Korine.”

  She simply glared at him. “It’s nothing that concerns you.”

  “If we’re going to have each other’s backs, we have to be honest with each other. I need to know what I’m dealing with.”

  Her jaw tightened. “Honest? Like you were when you told me you weren’t married?”

  Anger flickered in his eyes. “I didn’t lie.”

  “You were still married.”

  “Legally, maybe,” he said in a gruff tone. “But we’d had problems for a long time and were separated. I had asked for a divorce. That’s . . . the reason I didn’t answer her phone call that night.”

  “You didn’t answer it because we were in bed,” Korine snapped.

  He shot her a look of contempt. “That was obviously a mistake on my part.”

  “On both our parts,” Korine said.

  Their gazes locked, the heat once again flaming between them. Memories of her hands and mouth touching him intimately seared him, stirring his arousal.

  He had to stop thinking about her that way. Focus on the case. On whatever secret she was hiding.

  Something had upset her about that phone call, and he damn well wanted to know what it was.

  He should have researched her in depth before he started working with her. Found out about her past, her family, her weaknesses.

  But Bellows hadn’t given him time.

  The deputy director had probably planned it that way.

  Korine fidgeted, her teeth worrying her bottom lip. She did that when she was thinking.

  “Is this about your father?”

  She jerked her gaze to his, surprise and wariness mingling. “What do you know about my father?”

  He shrugged. “Not much, just that he was shot to death when you were five.”

  Her heavy sigh punctuated the air.

  “His shooter was never found?”

  She shook her head. “This isn’t about my father.” She shifted in the seat. “My mother is suffering from severe depression,” she said, her voice brittle with anguish. “She’s digressed to a catatonic state most of the time. Her caretaker, Esme, just texted that I needed to come over. And she’s not answering the phone, so something is wrong.”

  She pointed to a long drive lined with live oaks and pecan trees. A small pond lay to the right of the house, a stately-looking antebellum mansion.

  Hmm . . . So Korine came from money.

  Funny, but he never would have guessed that from her clothes or her attitude.

  She tensed as he parked, and he touched her arm. “Tell me how I can help.”

  “Stay here,” she said sharply. “There’s no need for you to get involved in my family drama.” She climbed out, slammed the door, and hurried toward the columned porch.

  He pushed the automatic window button to lower it, then tilted his head to listen. She wanted him to stay in the car because she was a private person.

  Either that, or she was hiding something.

  If it was the latter, he’d find out.

  Partners couldn’t have secrets between them and keep each other safe.

  A gusty breeze fluttered the trees and sent dry leaves raining down on the lawn. He imagined the grass was a lush green in spring, flowers blooming in the beds in front and the garden to the side of the house.

  Now everything was brown and dead.

  His gaze tracked a lone bird soaring over the pond, then dipping down in search of food. Loud voices floated to him on the wind.

  Then a shrill scream pierced the air.

  He threw open his car door and ran toward the house.

  Korine bit her tongue, forcing a calm to her voice as she soothed her mother.

  The melody “I Feel Pretty” echoed in the background, making matters worse.

  Her mother’s shrill screams ripped into Korine’s thoughts. Her eyes were wild, frantic as she rocked herself back and forth in the wheelchair.

  “Shh, Mom, it’s okay,” Korine said softly.

  Her mother looked at her with teary eyes, eyes void of hope as if she was lost in grief and despair.

  “I know that Kenny was arrested, Mother, and that he called here looking for me.” She stroked her mother’s arms, trying to soothe her.

  “Kenny needs rehab,” Korine continued, striving for an even tone. “When I bail him out of jail, that’s where he’s going.”

  Her mother’s sobs quieted, then she looked down at her hands. She stared at her fingers as if they were foreign objects and then disappeared into that shell again.

  Footsteps sounded behind her, and Korine tensed as Hatcher stormed toward them.

  Humiliation washed over her. She hadn’t wanted him to witness this.

  But it was too late.

  He halted at the doorway, fists by his side. “Everything okay?”

  Korine gave a quick nod. “I told you to wait in the car.”

  “I heard screams and thought someone might be hurt.”

  She shot him a lethal look. “I have things under control.” She faced her mother again, heart breaking at the sight of her tormented eyes. Grief and . . . fear?

  What was she afraid of?

  Korine squeezed her mother’s h
ands. “This isn’t the first time he got a DUI. If he hurts himself or someone else, then he’ll serve time.”

  Her mother’s lips compressed into a thin line, but she remained silent and didn’t seem to realize Hatcher was even present.

  Esme darted toward her with a glass of water and one of her mother’s pills. “Here, time for your medicine.”

  Her mother shoved the pill away, then turned and wheeled herself out the back door.

  A gust of cool air filled the kitchen, the silence deafening.

  Esme trembled. “I’m sorry, Ms. Korine.”

  “It’s not your fault,” Korine said. “I’m just glad you’re here with her.” The doctor had suggested an inpatient facility, but her mother loved this house. She’d paid it off with her father’s life insurance money and made Korine promise to keep it in the family.

  Esme went to the house phone and made a call to the doctor.

  Hatcher cleared his throat, sympathy in his dark eyes. “What can I do?” he asked gruffly.

  “Meet the doctor at the door,” Korine said. “I’ll go outside and make sure she’s okay.”

  Hatcher nodded, and Korine dashed through the back door. The low lights that she’d strung around the garden glittered against the night sky. In summer the garden was vibrant, full of colors.

  Now it looked desolate.

  Bushes rustled, and she spotted her mother wandering through the garden. She paused by what used to be her biggest rosebush. The look on her face was so sad that tears pricked Korine’s eyes.

  A second later, a memory tickled Korine’s mind: she was eight years old. She’d come outside to pick flowers for the dinner table.

  Then she saw him. Kenny. He was by the biggest rosebush, on his knees, digging . . . no, he wasn’t digging. He was burying something.

  She tiptoed toward him, careful to be quiet. Kenny was nice sometimes, but other times he was mean to her. And he didn’t like to talk about Daddy.

  But she had to talk about him, or she might forget . . .

  Leaves crunched beneath her shoes. Kenny heard her and looked up. Dirt covered his shirt and jeans. His hands, too.

  Something was in his hand. One of her dolls. Jasmine, the one with the gold ringlets.

  Kenny was putting her in the ground.

  “No, stop it!” She ran toward him and tried to grab her doll from him. But Kenny was so mad. He shoved her backward. She fell into the dirt and jabbed her palm on a sharp rock.

  Then Kenny threw the doll into the hole and began to dump dirt on top of her.

  Tears flooded her eyes, and she screamed for her mother.

  But when her mother came out, she told her to hush. Then she went over and hugged Kenny . . .

  Her mother made a low mewling sound, jerking Korine from the memory. She was kneeling on the ground by the rosebush. The one where Kenny had buried Jasmine.

  Her mother was digging the dirt with her hands.

  Korine hurried to her, then dropped down beside her. “Mother, what are you doing?”

  The woman who looked back at her was a stranger.

  The one who’d lost her mind to depression.

  “The doll isn’t there anymore,” Korine whispered. “I dug her up, remember?” Of course, Jasmine had been filthy, her dress was torn, and one of her eyes had been cracked. Her mother had forced her to give the doll to charity.

  It had been years since that had happened. Why was her mother thinking about the doll today?

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  Korine thanked the doctor for sedating her mother, then kissed her mother on the cheek. “I’ll take care of Kenny. Don’t worry.”

  Her mother might not be happy with how she intended to handle the situation, but Kenny needed tough love, not coddling. She wasn’t his parent, but she was the only one left to fill that role.

  Hatcher had faded into the woodwork, but he’d witnessed enough to understand the gist of their dysfunctional family.

  And the fact that she had no control over the situation.

  The CD was still playing “I Feel Pretty” as she descended the steps, as if her mother had put it on auto repeat.

  Esme looked shaken but was cleaning the kitchen and greeted her with a tentative smile. “Do you want dinner? I made shrimp and grits for your mother, but the doctor said she’ll probably sleep all night.”

  “I couldn’t eat right now.” Korine’s stomach was churning. “Put it in the fridge for later. Maybe Mom will wake up and feel better tomorrow.”

  Esme covered the casserole dish with foil. “I’m sorry I had to call, but when Kenny phoned, she became hysterical.”

  Korine gave the little woman a hug. “You don’t have to apologize for calling me, Esme. She’s my mother. I appreciate everything you do for her. You’re a godsend.”

  Esme wiped at her eyes. “I wish I could do more.”

  Korine’s chest clenched. “You’re there for her and me. I can’t thank you enough for that.”

  Esme nodded, and Korine clicked off the CD. “She seems to be playing that a lot.”

  “I know.” Esme frowned. “It’s like she’s obsessed with it. It must bring back good memories for her.”

  And sad ones for Korine. Every time she heard the music, she had a flashback of that horrible night, of the door squeaking open and the glint of metal. Then the sound of the gunshots and blood splattering across her father’s shirt as he began to stagger . . .

  “Korine?” Hatcher’s gruff voice jerked her from the troubling thoughts. “Do you need to stay here tonight?”

  Korine shook her head. Her mother found the house comforting, but it was the opposite for Korine. She hadn’t slept here in years.

  Esme squeezed her hand. “Go home and get some rest. I’ll call you if we need anything.”

  Relief filled Korine. As much as she hated leaving Esme, she needed to escape. Being in the house, listening to that song, and hearing her mother’s screams resurrected her childhood trauma.

  Guilt followed the relief, but she shoved it aside. She had to stay strong. Survive. So she could take care of everyone else.

  “Thanks, Esme.” She turned to Hatcher. “You can drive me home if you don’t mind.”

  Like a seasoned agent, he was watching her, dissecting her. She felt vulnerable. And she didn’t like it.

  She averted her gaze as they walked to his SUV.

  The few minutes alone with Esme while Korine sat by her mother’s side with the doctor offered Hatcher insight into Korine’s family situation.

  Esme had filled him in on the brother. He was nine when their father was murdered. Korine had been five.

  After that, Kenny had become sullen, angry, and developed emotional problems that led to drinking and drug use.

  Sympathy for Korine filled him. She’d acted tough, but he’d seen the pain in her eyes.

  Although Esme hadn’t worked for the family at the time of Mr. Davenport’s murder, she claimed that Mrs. Davenport had always raved about how close Korine and her father had been.

  His stomach growled, a reminder that they’d worked nonstop all day and hadn’t eaten. “Let’s grab dinner.”

  “No, thanks. I’m not hungry.”

  “You have to eat, Korine,” he said as he maneuvered through Savannah.

  “I just want to go home,” she said, her tone short. “I’ll look over the case notes and figure out our next move.”

  For some reason, he didn’t want to leave her alone.

  A dangerous thought, but he could no more help it than he could have resisted sleeping with her that night after training.

  “We can pick up takeout, carry it to your place, and hash over the case together.” Work would deter any sexual activity.

  She glanced at him, then out the window. “Let’s go our own way tonight, then meet up tomorrow and compare notes.”

  He gripped the steering wheel with clammy hands. She was right not to invite him inside, but he still wanted to be near her. Make sure she really was okay. Hold
her and comfort her and take away her pain . . .

  Hell, he could not do that. One touch and he’d kiss her senseless and beg her to let him stay.

  Not a good idea.

  Storm clouds hovered in the sky, casting a gray blanket over the dark night. He pulled in front of her house and parked, then let the engine idle, hoping she’d change her mind.

  Instead, she climbed from the SUV.

  He couldn’t help himself. He followed her to the door.

  “Thanks for the ride,” she said as she fumbled with her keys.

  She really wanted to get away from him. Which, dammit, made his urge to stay even stronger.

  She dropped the keys, and he stooped and snatched them, then jammed them in the lock.

  “I can do it myself,” she snapped as she shoved his hand away.

  He held up his hands in submission, then saw tears blurring her eyes, and emotions sucker punched him.

  He didn’t want to get involved. Didn’t want to care.

  But he couldn’t stop himself. He gently touched her arm.

  “You don’t have to be so tough,” he murmured.

  Her body quivered. “People depend on me.”

  “Your mother’s depression sucks, but she has no right to expect you to save your brother.”

  “They’re my family, Hatcher,” she said in a strained voice. “I owe them.”

  He wrapped his arms around her and drew her to him. Anxiety tightened every cell in her body. He rubbed her back to relax her. “I’m sorry,” he said in a low voice. “I could stay or . . . you could call a friend.”

  She released a cynical laugh. “I’ve been too busy training and with Mother to have a social life.”

  That sounded like his story. “Well, we’re partners now. I’ll do whatever you want to help.”

  She leaned her head against him for a fraction of a second. Her body felt hot, shaky, needy. Or maybe that was his imagination.

  His own responded anyway, aching to be closer to her. He closed his eyes, and images of her naked and panting below him teased his mind, her luscious red hair spilled across the pillow.

  He lifted a strand of hair and swept it from her face, then she looked into his eyes. A blush stained her cheeks. Her eyes sparkled with tears and something else . . . need? Desire?