by Herron, Rita
“Because we haven’t identified the body yet.”
“What can you tell me?”
“It was a female.”
Liz’s hand trembled as she debated whether to take the flowers to the crime lab. If Harlan had left them to torment her, he would have worn gloves.
He always wore gloves.
Hate for the man who’d stolen so much from her mushroomed. If he was alive, she’d find him, and this time she’d make certain he was dead.
Determination renewed, she decided she had to play it by the book; she would take them in. She glanced around her property again, half expecting to see him watching her, but he was clever.
If he was alive, she’d see him only when he wanted her to.
Survival instincts kicked in. She wouldn’t let him win by falling apart.
Tamping down her fear, she drove to the florist and purchased her own white roses, then stopped by the cemetery. Wind tossed dry leaves across the graves, fake flowers bending and swaying beneath the force. Gravel crunched beneath her shoes. She glanced at the church next to the cemetery, willing some peace into her soul, and then hurried to her mother’s grave.
For a moment, she simply sat, taking in several deep breaths to calm herself, a technique her therapist had taught her.
As her nerves calmed and her hands stopped shaking, she removed the dead flowers from the vase at the head of her mother’s tombstone and arranged the white roses in it instead.
The activity brought a sense of peace. Memories of her childhood resurfaced. When she was a little girl, Liz used to crawl onto the bed and watch her mother brush her waist-length hair, then braid it. She’d insist her mother help her fix her own hair the same way.
Her mother’s warm smile lit up the room at breakfast, and she had the voice of an angel. A refrain of “Stand by Your Man” played in Liz’s ears, making her smile. Her mother could have made it in Nashville as a country singer.
But instead of pursuing fame, she’d devoted her life to social work, helping lost children find homes and raising money for needy children, especially orphans. Liz had spent dozens of holidays helping her decorate children’s wards at hospitals for parties and handing out gifts at Christmas in various orphanages.
Guilt swamped Liz. The morning before her mother disappeared, they’d argued. Her mother wanted Liz to help her at a charity that day, but Liz insisted she had more important plans.
Sneaking off to make out with her boyfriend.
That argument was the last conversation the two of them had before she died. Her mother had known that Liz loved her, hadn’t she?
Tears streamed down her cheeks. “I’m so sorry, Mom. If I had it to do over, I’d go with you. I’d spend every minute I could with you.” If she’d been with her mother, she might have been able to save her from Harlan.
Liz touched her throat, swallowing hard as emotions pummeled her.
The sensation that someone was watching her swept over her, and she turned and scanned the graveyard.
“Where are you, you bastard? If you want me, come and get me.”
But only the sound of the wind rustling the trees and her voice drifted back.
A second later, an engine rumbled. Liz jumped up and ran across the graveyard toward the church. A dark sedan squealed from the parking lot and swerved onto the road. She strained to see the driver, but the windows were tinted.
Furious, she hurried to her car—but went cold when she saw the passenger’s seat.
It was empty.
The flowers—her proof—were gone.
She jumped into her car to chase the sedan. Her tires squealed as she peeled from the parking lot, speeding away and veering onto a side road ahead.
Liz pressed the accelerator, gaining speed. By the time she made it to the turn, though, the dark sedan had disappeared. She slammed the steering wheel with her hand in frustration then swung onto the road.
Suddenly the sedan shot out from behind a tree, racing straight toward her.
Liz swerved to avoid hitting it head on. Tires screeched, gears grinding as she braked, but she lost the fight for control. Her car careened to the right and dove nose first into the ditch.
“I need to talk to you, Truitt.”
Truitt sat up with his knees spread, his elbows braced on top of them. He’d been pulling his hair, and the mangy ends looked scraggly and damp with sweat. “What now?”
Rafe leaned against the bars. “Tell me about the body on your property. The female body buried by the house.”
“Ah, shit.” Truitt dragged out the last word as if it had three syllables.
Rafe crossed his arms. “Who is she, Truitt? Did you practice on her before you killed Ester Banning?”
Truitt stomped toward Rafe, then pressed his face against the cell bars. “Listen to me, I ain’t killed nobody. That body belongs to my mama.”
Rafe tensed. “Your mother?”
“Yes.” Truitt’s beard bristled as he rubbed his hand across his chin. “And before you go asking, that’s what she wanted, to be buried at home.”
“It’s illegal to bury someone on your property,” Rafe pointed out.
“Mama said that farm was home, and she wanted to stay there forever.”
“Do you have any proof that those were her wishes? Maybe you just decided to save yourself some money on a funeral service and tombstone.”
“It’s not like that,” Truitt snarled. “Mama told her preacher her last wishes. You can ask him.”
“I intend to,” Rafe said. “Just as I intend to verify that that body does belong to your mother, not another victim you’ve chopped up.”
He strode from the room and then paced outside the sheriff’s office, worry knotting his gut. If Truitt hadn’t killed the Banning woman, the unsub was still on the loose.
Or he could have a partner.
He phoned Liz. Her phone rang once, twice, three times. Finally she answered, her breathing choppy.
“Liz, where are you?”
“I’m sorry, Rafe, I’ll be there soon. I had a little accident. The tow truck is here, pulling my car from the ditch.”
His pulse skipped a beat. “Are you hurt?”
“No . . . no, I’m fine,” Liz said, although her voice wobbled slightly.
“What happened?” he asked again.
“I saw a sedan leaving the graveyard and thought the driver was stalking me, so I chased after it. The sedan turned onto a side road, and I followed, but then he shot out from behind a tree and drove straight toward me.”
Rafe clenched his jaw. “Did you see the driver?”
“No, the windows were too dark.”
“What happened then?”
“After I crashed, he raced away.” She sighed deeply. “But there’s something else, Rafe. Last night I thought I saw Harlan outside my house when I got home.”
Rafe’s blood ran cold. “Where?”
“In the woods. But then he disappeared.”
Rafe remembered the chief’s comment about the FBI psychologist’s report. That Liz suffered from paranoid delusions to the point of sleepwalking at night. That she saw Harlan lurking in every corner and bush. That she’d taken antianxiety medication.
Was Liz suffering from paranoia again as a result of PTSD?
Or was Harlan back, stalking her?
Sixteen-year-old Tommy Regan pulled his girlfriend along through the woods toward Slaughter Creek. “Come on, I stashed a six-pack by the canoe.”
“I can’t believe I’m skipping school to do this,” Carina Porter said with a giggle. “My mother would kill me.”
“What she doesn’t know won’t hurt her,” Tommy said. “Besides, everyone skips now and then.”
Tall weeds clawed at Carina’s legs, the scent of damp moss filling the air. She spotted the canoe ahead, wedged
on the bank, and her heart went pitter-patter.
She was in love with Tommy. Had been for six months. Today was the day she’d decided to go all the way. What if she did something wrong?
It was her first time. Would Tommy laugh?
He jumped over a tree stump, and she followed. He gestured toward his T-shirt. “You wanna swim first, or row downstream? There’s a little nook where we can get out and party.”
She wasn’t ready to undress. Not yet. “No way I’m getting in the water. It’s thirty-five degrees outside. It’s probably freezing in the river.”
Tommy grinned. “You’re probably right.” He leaned close to her and nuzzled her neck. “But I’m hot for you.”
Carina laughed. He sounded like some slick guy from a movie.
But even if it was cheesy, she liked that he was trying to be romantic. Not like some of the jerks at school who made crude remarks about her boobs and wanting to get in her panties. At least he’d taken her on a real date. Twice to the movies. He’d even paid for their burgers after the football game, and he didn’t make a lot of money at the Burger Barn.
Tommy climbed into the canoe, held out his hand and helped her inside. True to his word, he had a six-pack of Miller Lite waiting and a picnic basket filled with goodies. She peeked inside the basket. Cheese and crackers, chips and dip, chocolate . . .
Her heart squeezed with love for him.
She settled across from him with a lovesick smile, and he began rowing, his face lit up by the morning sunlight. Winter air brushed her face as they rowed, and she smiled at the birds flitting above the treetops.
The current picked them up and carried them downstream swiftly. Within minutes, Tommy was rowing to the edge of the creek, where he climbed out and dragged the boat onto the bank.
The sound of birds screeching made her look to the right. A group of vultures was swarming in circles, some dipping down to the embankment.
One bird pecked at something on the ground, then its wings fluttered as it raised its beak.
A scream of horror locked in Carina’s throat.
“Oh, God, Tommy, look . . .”
A woman’s dead body lay in the tangled weeds.
A woman whose eyes were missing.
Chapter Ten
Nerves climbed Rafe’s neck. He’d hoped Harlan was dead, but if he wasn’t, Liz was in terrible danger.
He also had to consider the fact that the investigation into Banning’s death might have driven this latest unsub to come after her. “I’ll come and pick you up.”
“That’s not necessary,” Liz said. “The tow truck can drop me off at a rental car place.”
“No,” Rafe said, making a snap decision. Liz needed a bodyguard, and he intended to take the job. “Tell me where you are, and I’ll be right there.”
Liz sighed in defeat as if she realized it was futile to argue with him, then gave him directions. Rafe rushed to his SUV and drove along the winding mountain road, irritation mounting when he saw Liz’s car being towed from the ditch. The front was completely crushed, the driver’s door dented, the paint scratched off along one side.
He pulled over to the shoulder of the road and parked, then hurried toward her, visually assessing her for injuries. She was talking to the tow truck driver when he approached her. “Are you sure you’re okay, Liz?”
“I’m fine. My ribs are just sore from the air bag.”
He tilted her head back to examine her eyes. “You didn’t hit your head?”
“No, I told you I’m fine.” Impatience tinged her voice as she pulled away and spoke to the driver. “Thanks for coming so quickly.”
The driver handed her a business card. “We can give you an estimate on repairs and drop off a loaner for you to drive while yours is getting fixed.”
“That would be great.” Liz stuffed the card into her purse, and they watched the driver haul her vehicle away.
Rafe raked a hand through his hair. “Liz, are you sure you don’t need to go to the ER?”
“I’m positive.” Liz’s gaze met his. “I’m more irritated than I am hurt. If I could have driven out of that ditch, I would have chased down that asshole.”
“Did you get his license number?”
“No,” Liz said, frustrated. “It happened too fast.”
“You say he intentionally drove toward you?”
“Yes.”
Anger heated Rafe’s blood. On the heels of Liz thinking she’d seen Harlan at her house, the incident seemed suspicious.
Liz climbed in the passenger side of his SUV, and he drove toward her house.
“Where are you going?” she asked. “I thought we needed to be at the sheriff’s office.”
“That can wait. I want to check out your house.”
“Why? I told you I already did that.”
Rafe itched to stroke her hand, to erase the worry from her face. But he was a realist, and until he knew who had tried to hurt her, he had to chase every lead as if it was viable. “Just humor me.”
They wound around the mountain, and within minutes he was parking at her house. Liz got out, scanning the property, looking for any signs of danger.
He trailed behind her, his weapon drawn—just in case they were walking into an ambush.
Liz hated to admit that she was shaken by the accident, but she was. And those damn flowers were messing with her mind.
Rafe pulled his gun and shouldered his way past her, entering her house first. Clutching her purse so she could remove her weapon if she needed it, she followed him inside.
Together they combed through each room, but the house was empty. For a millisecond he paused, his gaze drawn to the corner where she kept the basket of knitted blankets, but Liz quickly diverted his attention, pulling the basket lid closed to hide the contents.
Rafe had no idea how dark her world had gotten after the attack.
He never would.
If he asked about her crocheting, she’d lie. Baring her soul about her hobby—her therapy—would be too painful.
And Rafe could use it against her to keep her off the job.
Her job was all she had left.
“Does it look like anything’s been disturbed?” Rafe asked.
Liz shook her head. “No, but this morning when I got up, the inside door to the porch was open. I locked it before I went to bed.”
Rafe stepped onto the back porch and studied the woods. Crickets chirped, twigs snapped, and squirrels scrounged for acorns on the leaf-covered ground.
Despite the natural beauty, it would be easy for someone to sneak through the trees, come on the property, and break in.
“Rafe?”
“You locked your car last night?”
“Yes.”
“Was it locked when you went outside this morning?”
Liz thought back. It had been locked, hadn’t it? Or had she just opened the door? She’d been freaked out, expecting someone to jump her . . .
“I think so.”
Rafe frowned. “You don’t remember?”
Liz twisted her hands together. “I . . . I was busy looking around. I told you I was spooked because I thought I saw Harlan last night when I got home.”
“Maybe you imagined seeing him. After the attack, you had spells where you saw things, imagined Harlan on every street corner.”
“Of course I did,” Liz said. “I was traumatized.”
Rafe cradled her hands in his. “So maybe this case is triggering the same reaction. You have PTSD. You took antianxiety medication, didn’t you?”
The truth dawned on Liz with sickening clarity. “How did you know that? Did you read my file?”
Regret darkened his eyes. “No, Liz. But the chief received a report from the doctor. He had to verify that you were stable enough to return to work.”
They th
ought she was unstable? Hurt welled inside Liz, and she backed away from Rafe. “So you and the chief discussed my mental state?”
Rafe reached for her again, but she shoved his hands away from her. “Liz, it’s not like we were gossiping in a bar. We both care about you. He thought I needed to know what happened in case the stress got to you.”
“In case I broke,” she snapped.
“Look, if the situation were reversed, the chief would have had the same conversation with you about me.”
Liz saw her medication on the counter and shifted so Rafe wouldn’t see the bottle. “So now you have me under a microscope, watching my every move, just waiting for me to fall apart or make a mistake.”
“It’s not like that, Liz.” Rafe’s voice cracked. “After all, I was there. I know how much you suffered. What he did to you.”
Not everything. She didn’t know if she’d ever share it all . . .
“Don’t remind me.” A coldness swept over Liz, an intense need to survive no matter what. She’d managed to be tough when she was held captive. Even during the beatings.
She could do it now.
Still, she felt raw, exposed. If she thought she saw Harlan again, she’d keep it to herself until she caught him. She wouldn’t let Rafe see her as weak.
Rafe contemplated how much he’d screwed things up with Liz as he returned Jake’s call. Dammit to hell, he should have handled things better. Should have been more tactful and never admitted he and the chief had discussed Liz’s mental state.
If he were in her shoes, he’d be pissed as hell, too.
The phone rang for the third time, and Jake finally answered. “Sheriff Blackwood.”
“It’s Hood. What’s going on?”
“Some kids skipped school to go canoeing on Slaughter Creek and stumbled on a body.”
Rafe pinched the bridge of his nose, a headache threatening. “Are you there now?”
“Just arrived. Kids are pretty freaked out. I called the parents, and they’re on their way. My deputy’s at the jail with Truitt.”
“Who’s the vic?”
“A female, no ID yet. It’s bad though, Rafe.”