by Rita Herron
“You did and so did Peyton,” Beth bit out.
They reached her car, and she removed her keys and pressed the key fob to unlock the car. Two rows over, a ball cap caught her eye. Her skin prickled. Was the killer watching them?
Ian leaned against the side of the vehicle, oblivious to her thoughts. “Peyton only recognized you because of the facial progression software. And because she’s trained.”
The keys jangled in Beth’s hand. “But you knew the moment you laid eyes on me.”
“Because I never forgot you.” His voice roughened with emotions. “Your face has been imprinted in my mind every day for the past fifteen years.”
Beth shifted restlessly. “Because you hated me for your father’s conviction.”
He shook his head. “No. I hated myself for leaving you in the lurch that night.”
Emotions vibrated between them as thick and dark as the storm clouds hovering above. The regret in his voice touched Beth deeply.
“You barely knew me, Ian. I wasn’t surprised when you didn’t show. I was a loser. I figured you had better things to do.”
The wind fluttered, rippling through Ian’s hair. Beth had the insane urge to smooth it down. As it was, it gave him a wild and untamed image. He was so damn handsome that she felt a tingle of desire.
“You weren’t a loser, Beth. And I’m not making excuses,” Ian said. “I told you I’d be there, and I should have come. If I had, you and Sunny wouldn’t have gotten in that truck, and she’d be alive.”
Beth chewed her bottom lip. Hadn’t she thought the same thing a million times? But she couldn’t allow Ian to blame himself. “Maybe,” she admitted. “But we were runaways, easy targets. I should have tried harder to convince the social worker that Herman Otter was a predator.”
“Did you tell the social worker?” Ian asked.
“Yes, but she was so busy she didn’t take the time to listen. I was a problem child. She . . . had too many cases to probe into what was going on.”
Remorse flickered in Ian’s eyes. “I’m sorry, Beth. If I could go back and change things, I would.”
Her gaze met his, some emotion she didn’t want to think about welling in her chest. “So would I.” She hated the crack in her voice. “But we can’t. All we can do is track this bastard down so he doesn’t hurt anyone else.”
Ian inched closer, making it hard for her to breathe. His masculine scent wafted around her, arousing sensations she hadn’t felt before.
The need to lean into someone. To be held by a man.
Although in college she’d dated and slept with one guy, nothing had lasted. It had felt all wrong, impersonal, as if she’d never really connected with any of them.
Trust was not in her vocabulary.
For some crazy reason, though, she sensed she could trust Ian.
“I’m glad you survived,” Ian said gruffly.
His comment reminded her of the dark place she’d lived when she’d been released from the hospital. The dark place that beckoned her at night when she was alone.
One of the counselors at the group home had encouraged her to attend therapy and take self-defense classes. She’d also introduced them to a nice little church where the preacher was kind and soft-spoken, the music calming, the people welcoming and personable.
So different from the fundamentalist snake-handling ways at the church Otter had forced them to attend. That man had ranted about hellfire and damnation and convinced Beth she would end up in hell.
Self-deprecation lingered, taunting her that she’d caused Sunny’s death. “Who says I survived?”
His expression softened. “You’re here. And you’re tough, Beth. One of the strongest women I’ve ever met.”
“Everything isn’t always what it seems,” she murmured.
Compassion filled his expression. Maybe even a sliver of admiration. Or attraction?
The urge to be closer to him made her lean toward him. His gaze fell to her mouth, and fear trampled that urge.
“I have to go,” she said, desperate to escape. “I need to get settled in the cabin.”
“I can follow you over. Make sure that reporter doesn’t bother you.”
She shook her head and slid into the car. There was no way she wanted him inside that place with her. She was too vulnerable. She might be tempted to ask him to stay.
And that would be a mistake. Beth didn’t depend on anyone but herself.
She had a job to do. She had to focus. “Thanks, but I need to do this alone. Call me if you learn anything else.”
“All right.” He laid one hand on the door to keep her from shutting it. “If you want to see the place where Sunny was found, let me know. It’s been roped off, and a guard is on duty day and night in case the killer returns.”
Beth shivered at the thought. But that sight might trigger memories from the past. Memories that would give her answers.
Maybe her abductor’s face would finally emerge from the shadows.
Admiration and regret flooded Ian as Beth drove away.
Whether she believed it or not, she was a survivor. A weaker person might have allowed the trauma from her ordeal to stunt her growth as a person. Instead of giving in to despair, she’d channeled her pain into a career to keep other children from suffering abuse and becoming victims of predators. She sought justice for those in need.
Knowing it was dangerous for Beth’s picture to go public, Ian strode toward the reporter. “Listen to me, Michaels, our team is aware that the public has a right to know what’s happening, but we have to protect the investigation.”
Hamrick looked pissed. “We’ll give you information on a need-to-know basis. But if you interfere, I’ll have you locked up.”
Ian reached for the camera. “Give me that picture you took of Agent Fields.”
Michaels scoffed. “Why would I do that?”
“Because you want the story,” Ian said bluntly. “That means you’ll cooperate and refrain from printing pictures of the agents and details of the case unless you clear it with us.”
“I won’t run it,” Michaels said. “But in exchange, I expect an exclusive.”
Ian traded a look with Hamrick, then nodded. “Deal.”
Beth needed time alone.
She felt raw, vulnerable, a feeling she didn’t like.
The sun struggled to break through dark clouds, intensifying the gloominess of a town ravaged by the tornado’s destruction and the devastation of another horrendous crime.
Memories of Sunny dogged Beth as she turned onto the road that led toward the cabins on the river.
Sunny’s pale, thin face as she’d gripped that stuffed bunny haunted her and launched Beth back in time, back to when she was still JJ.
It was raining outside, the wind howling. Sunny cried as the social worker left her with the Otters.
JJ had shut herself off from caring about anyone, hadn’t made friends with the other kids in the homes. It hurt too much when she had to say good-bye.
That night, though, as she lay in the dark, huddled beneath the faded bedspread, Sunny’s soft whimpers filled the cold room. JJ reminded herself not to care. To stay in her twin bed.
Sunny had to learn to be tough like her or she’d never survive.
A streak of lightning zigzagged through the room and Sunny screamed, a bloodcurdling sound that made JJ cringe.
Herman Otter darted through the door, fists raised as he shook them at Sunny. “Shut up or I’ll give you something to cry about.”
Sunny huddled under the covers, shaking and burying her face in the pillow. JJ wanted to attack the hateful man. Hit him with something.
But terror forced her to lie still. She’d tried fighting back once and had gotten the shit beat out of her for it.
He whirled on her, his beady eyes shooting a warning to keep her mouth shut.
JJ twisted the covers in her fingers and dropped her head onto the pillow, then froze until he stalked from the room.
When that d
oor closed and another streak of lightning slashed the darkness, JJ could see Sunny shaking under the covers. Her soft cries ripped at JJ, and her rage at Otter forced her from bed.
She crawled in beside Sunny and pulled her next to her, the bunny snug between them.
“I hate him,” Sunny whispered between sobs.
“I hate him, too.” JJ stroked Sunny’s golden hair. Sunny was so thin her bones poked at JJ as she wrapped her tighter into her embrace. “We’ll stick together and get through it,” she murmured.
Sunny lifted her head, tears streaming. “But I’m not big and strong like you.”
JJ rubbed her back. “Don’t worry. I’ll take care of you. Okay?”
Sunny’s chin wobbled but she nodded. Then JJ offered her pinky finger. “Pinky swear we’ll be sisters forever.”
Sunny joined her tiny pinky finger with JJ’s.
From then on, Sunny was JJ’s shadow.
The sight of trees ripped from their roots jarred Beth from the memory, and she wiped at the tears she didn’t realize she’d been crying.
Tall pines had been cracked in two, branches and limbs broken and scattered along the road, giving the appearance of a war zone. Blue tarps covered roofs that had been shattered by the storm, and the trailer parker had been demolished.
She felt just as ravaged as the town.
Exhausted, she veered onto a side road and headed toward Hemlock Holler.
Remembering the legend of the town, that the cries of three murder victims echoed off the mountain, sent a chill through her.
She could practically hear the cries of the dead girls who’d been left in that graveyard.
Then Sunny’s sweet voice whispered through her mind. “You pinky swore, JJ.”
Beth rubbed the penny necklace.
She hadn’t saved Sunny, but she would get justice for her.
She parked on the side of the scenic drop-off near a dark SUV. An older man in a deputy’s uniform slid from the vehicle and introduced himself as Clyde Barron. Beth showed him her credentials.
“I retired last year from the county, but under the circumstances I offered to work security till this case is solved.”
“Any trouble?” Beth asked.
He shook his head. “Nah. A few locals drove up to see the boneyard. Just curious I guess. But no one has crossed the barrier.”
“Keep us posted if anyone looks suspicious.”
He agreed and returned to his SUV while she walked to the edge of the ridge and stared across the land at the flooded valley.
The area had been roped off with crime scene tape.
The wind screeched again. Ghostly images rose from the depths of the muddy water. Something floated along the edge of the embankment.
The hair on the back of her neck prickled, and she shivered. Something shifted in the woods. A tree limb moved. Leaves fluttered down.
Eyes peered through the darkness.
Beth froze, defenses mounting as she searched the thicket of trees.
Someone was out there watching her.
Was it the killer?
He ducked behind a tree on the opposite side of the valley, frustrated that his boneyard had been exposed but grateful one grave lay untouched at the top of the hill overlooking the others.
He placed the flowers on top of it and said a prayer.
Leaves rustled to the right. He jerked his head up, senses honed.
Somebody was at the edge, gawking.
A woman.
She didn’t belong.
This holler was sacred, a grassy field where he’d laid the girls he’d saved to rest. Hemlock trees thickened the woods, but from the bottom of the holler looking up, on a clear day the clouds looked like angels praying over the land.
Just as he’d prayed for each girl he’d buried.
Prissy’s cries rang in his ears. She was just like the others. She’d disobeyed her parents. Turned against them and the Lord.
She was a heathen. She wore short skirts and tight blouses and told him she’d run away because the boy she loved didn’t want her.
Whore.
She couldn’t help it. It was the bad blood.
He hadn’t been able to let her go yet. He felt sorry for her because he couldn’t bury her here with the others.
He had to find a new home for his angels.
A ray of sunshine broke through the clouds and slanted light on the figure standing by the boneyard.
She wore black slacks and a black jacket—man clothes. Her hair was dark, pulled back in a tight bun, her mood somber.
One of the Feds. She’d come to the holler to track him down.
Then she titled her face toward the sky, and something clicked in his brain. That dainty nose, heart-shaped face . . .
He raised his binoculars and focused on her profile as she scanned the holler. Not red hair, but dark. Black. Unnatural, as if she dyed it.
Ivory skin, high forehead, those . . . eyes.
They were so blue. So familiar.
Just like . . . JJ’s.
The night he’d taken JJ and Sunny to the cave, JJ’s eyes had looked at him as if he were a monster. She hadn’t understood he’d meant to save her. That he’d been watching her for years.
A memory floated to the surface of his mind as if it had been uprooted just like the bones in the holler. The scars on her neck. On her arms. Burns.
He had to be sure it was her.
He used his binoculars to focus on her slender throat then her wrist.
Good God. It was her.
The one he’d let go because she was special.
Jane Jones.
He’d read that she had amnesia. That she didn’t remember anything about her abduction or her kidnapper.
No one knew the reason why he’d released her.
No one ever would.
CHAPTER EIGHT
Ian couldn’t get Beth—JJ—off his mind as he entered Cocoa’s Café. The delicious aromas of buttery biscuits, cinnamon rolls, spicy chili, and apple pie scented the air and made the diner feel homey and as welcoming as Cocoa, the owner.
When she’d first moved here and opened her doors, residents hadn’t welcomed her or her business. Apparently her dark-chocolate color had turned them off.
Thankfully she hadn’t allowed their attitude to deter her. She’d stepped outside, offering trays of free samples, carrying casseroles and pies to the needy, and soon her friendly spirit and home-cooked food brought them into her café.
Now she was the heart of the town.
When the residents’ morale had tanked after the Butcher case, Cocoa had thrown a party to remind people to pull together and rebuild their lives.
She was doing that again now that the tornado and floods had hit. She’d donated meals to those in need and kept a revolving door open for rescue workers and the homeless. She also set a donation jar by the cash register and collected daily.
No one could resist her positive energy and warm smile. Her robust body was in perpetual motion as she raced around the kitchen and popped out to talk to the customers.
A group of teenagers was huddled in a booth sipping malted milkshakes, talking in hushed voices as if they were nervous.
They should be nervous. A killer was targeting girls their age.
Ian’s hands knotted into fists as he strode to the bar. He wanted to find the bastard who’d murdered the girls and lock him up. He wanted to find his father and clear his name.
What if doing the first meant he couldn’t do the latter?
Dammit, he’d deal with it—that’s what he’d do.
“Hey, Sheriff,” Cocoa said with a friendly wave of her chubby hand. “I bet you’ve been working hard and built up an appetite.”
Ian glanced around the café, noting the plastic tarp covering one window and part of the ceiling. Repairs were needed, but Cocoa hadn’t let it sour her mood.
He leaned over the counter, well aware that curious eyes and ears followed him. “Yeah, we had a task force
meeting.” He scrubbed his hand through his hair. “Agents and crime investigators will be in town for a while.”
Cocoa set a glass of sweet tea in front of him. “If y’all need late-night meals, I’ll set something up.”
“Thanks.” He ordered the special to go—chili, mashed potatoes, and macaroni and cheese.
The door opened, and a man in a white lab coat walked in. Something about the man struck Ian as familiar. “You know him?”
“I know everyone in town.” Cocoa laughed and waved to the man as he took a bar stool at the opposite end. “Name’s Abram Cain. Anytime there’s an emergency, he jumps in to help. He’s been driving that blood bank bus around collecting blood for the hospitals. Said he’s hit all the churches.”
Voices and chairs scraping the floor made him angle his head sideways to scan the room. Someone in this town, perhaps in this room, could be the unsub.
“The town council is having an arts festival to raise money for repairs to businesses,” Cocoa said, making small talk. “One of the local artists who lives up in the mountains is gonna donate some of his work.”
Ian sipped his drink. He wasn’t much into art. “That’s generous.”
She lowered her voice. “I hear tell he paints religious symbolism, correlations to the wine and blood in the Bible. Jesus shedding his blood to save us from our sins.”
Ian kept one ear open to her as he scanned the crowd in case the killer was watching.
A gust of wind swept through the room as Deputy Whitehorse entered and claimed the stool beside him.
“What’s our next step?” Deputy Whitehorse asked. “Or should I be asking that Fed since he made it plain he’s in charge?”
Ian gripped his tea glass. “Let me worry about him. This is our town. You know more about these hills and the people in it than he does.”
The deputy cut him a sideways grin. “We both do.”
Ian wasn’t about to sit on his ass and let Vance take over. “I’ll get Markum to check out the church angle while you comb the mountains for a cabin, chicken house, abandoned outbuilding, any place the unsub could have kept the girls.”
“You don’t think he killed them in the holler?”