by Rita Herron
ALSO BY RITA HERRON
Romantic Suspense
Slaughter Creek Series
Dying to Tell
Her Dying Breath
Worth Dying For
Dying for Love
Contemporary Romance
Going to the Chapel
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, organizations, places, events, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.
Text copyright © 2015 Rita Herron
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced, or stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without express written permission of the publisher.
Published by Montlake Romance, Seattle
www.apub.com
Amazon, the Amazon logo, and Montlake Romance are trademarks of Amazon.com, Inc., or its affiliates.
ISBN-13: 9781503945500
ISBN-10: 1503945502
Cover design by Marc J. Cohen
To Mother
For all your loving support—you’ll always have my heart.
CONTENTS
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER TEN
CHAPTER ELEVEN
CHAPTER TWELVE
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
CHAPTER NINETEEN
CHAPTER TWENTY
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
CHAPTER THIRTY
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR
CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
SNEAK PEAK: ALL THE PRETTY FACES
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
CHAPTER ONE
“There’s been a murder in Graveyard Falls.”
Special Agent Cal Coulter pinched the bridge of his nose as his director’s words sank in. He’d been summoned to his boss’s office first thing for a new assignment on the task force he was spearheading to hunt down the most wanted criminals across the Southeast.
But Graveyard Falls? That was the little town Mona had moved to after Brent had died.
Brent, his best friend.
And Mona, the only woman he’d ever wanted.
When Brent had become romantic with her, Cal had honored their friendship by stepping out of the picture.
“I want you to head up the investigation,” Director Hiram Vance said, oblivious to his turmoil.
“Why are the Feds on this case?” Cal asked.
“You don’t know the history of that town,” Director Vance said. “For starters, it’s named after a big waterfall in the mountains. Thirty years ago, three teenage girls were murdered there, pushed off the falls and left in the elements with a rose stem jammed down their throats. They called the perp the ‘Thorn Ripper’ because the girls’ tongues and throats were bloody from the thorns.” Director Vance paused. “Each year the town holds a memorial service. That service is being held today.”
“So a murder occurred on the anniversary of the memorial,” Cal said, understanding dawning.
“Exactly.”
“The Thorn Ripper killer was never apprehended?”
“Yes, he was.” Director Vance flipped his laptop around to show Cal the screen. “This man, Johnny Pike, was convicted of the crimes. But he’s up for parole next week.”
“How’s that?”
“He was only eighteen at the time of his arrest. Due to his age and the controversy surrounding the case, the judge gave him life with the chance of parole after he served thirty years. That thirty years is up.”
Cal considered the timing. “You think this latest murder is connected to the Thorn Ripper?”
Director Vance ran a hand over his balding head. “That’s one thing I want you to find out. There are already protestors lining up to rally against Pike’s parole.”
“So someone could have killed the girl to cast doubt on Pike’s guilt? Are the MOs even the same?”
“All questions I want you to find the answers to.”
Now he understood. “All right. But odds are it’s just some local domestic. Girlfriend-boyfriend fight gone bad.”
“Could be,” Vance said. “But the Thorn Ripper case attracted a lot of publicity at the time. Pike could have developed a protégé or attracted a copycat. I need you to go to the town. Get the background on the MO, the victim. Talk to the locals. Find out if there is a connection to Pike.”
Cal stood. Any one of the theories was possible.
And if they didn’t solve the case soon, he could imagine the panic in Graveyard Falls.
Mona Monroe had moved to the small town of Graveyard Falls on a mission.
To find her birth mother.
She twisted the silver baby bootie charm on the chain around her neck, her stomach knotting. She wished she had more information.
But all she had was the envelope her parents’ lawyer had given her after their death. The letter explained that her birth mother had lived in this town. Inside, she also found a yellowed sales slip from a gift store in Graveyard Falls where the charm had been bought. It was dated the same year as the Thorn Ripper murders.
She still couldn’t believe it. Her whole life had been a lie.
But she was determined to unearth the truth.
She parked at the Baptist church, which was holding the memorial service for the Thorn Ripper victims. Every March the town honored the girls.
She’d heard the story. Three pretty, popular girls who were loved by everyone had been killed shortly before their senior prom and graduation. Just as winter barreled on with frigid temperatures and snowstorms this year, it had refused to leave the mountains back then. Outside it felt more like January than two weeks before spring.
The football star Johnny Pike had been convicted of the murders. Although Mona had never heard anyone say he had a clear motive. Just that he was a psychopath.
Apparently her mother had given birth to her months after the murders occurred. She also could have known Johnny Pike and the victims.
Whether she’d stayed in Graveyard Falls or moved away was the question.
But if she had stayed, she might be attending this memorial.
Would Mona recognize her if she saw her? See some family resemblance?
Probably not. But it was worth a shot.
If she got to know some of the locals, maybe she’d find out exactly who she was.
She pressed a hand to her stomach, feeling the loss of her own child deep down in her bones. She’d wanted that baby so badly, but a miscarriage had stolen it from her.
She would never have given up her child.
She had to know the reason her own mother had.
Cal pulled up a summary of the Thorn Ripper case to study it before he got on the road.
He had his job cut out for him just to keep this r
ecent murder out of the press before he could absorb the details. He wanted to avoid panic and sensationalism, and he needed time to analyze the situation before the reporters starting dogging him.
Information about the Thorn Ripper filled his computer screen: three girls, all homecoming royalty, murdered, found at the base of the waterfall, the stem of a blood-red rose jammed down their throats.
Johnny Pike, football star and voted “Most Likely to Succeed,” arrested by local sheriff Ned Buckley. A well of circumstantial evidence had been found implicating the young man, who was now serving his sentence in a maximum-security prison.
Although Pike had pleaded not guilty and claimed he was framed, at the last minute he’d accepted a controversial plea bargain to be eligible for parole in thirty years.
The serial killer had torn the town apart years ago. Was this homicide related?
Cal closed his laptop, then carried it to his vehicle and started the drive toward Graveyard Falls. The sun fought to shine through the gray clouds hovering above, giving the mountains a gloomy feel.
On his way out of Knoxville, he drove past the cemetery where Brent was buried.
But Cal couldn’t bring himself to stop.
Because the secrets he’d harbored for his buddy were eating him up.
It had only been three months since Brent had been in that fatal car accident. Cal had attended the funeral. How could he not?
They had been like brothers. He’d known Brent since they were kids in foster care together. Brent had taken beatings for him when they were little.
He’d owed him . . .
But things had changed the last few years. Now Cal’s grief was mixed with animosity.
And resentment that Brent had married Mona.
Dark clouds rolled in, threatening sleet as he turned on the country road toward the small town. Dead leaves swirled across the highway, broken and crumbling like ashes against the snowy ground.
The mountain roads were treacherous, and his tires skated on the black ice from the last storm. Trees stood so close together and thick on the ridges that they looked ominous, like soldiers guarding the dark secrets in their depths.
Some said the devil lived inside these mountain walls. That the mountain men were his followers.
Ten minutes later, Cal was still trying to shake off his bad mood as he parked at the clearing for tourists who came to hike the falls.
Tugging his coat around him, he yanked on gloves and started through the path, grateful he’d worn boots. Spring should be coming soon with budding trees and flowers, but just as the groundhog had predicted, winter had relentlessly stayed.
He’d thought the gossip about hearing the dead girls’ screams echoing off the mountain was just local folklore. But dammit, the screech of the wind sounded exactly like a woman crying.
Hemlocks, oaks, and white pines covered acres, magnolias and rhododendrons surrounding the base of the falls, where the water formed a deep pool. It was a good two-mile hike to the top with the 250-foot waterfalls creating 20-foot cascades, and a dramatic 130-foot drop-off at the lowest base.
Voices sounded ahead.
He spotted a dark-haired man in a deputy’s uniform talking to a young guy, probably college aged, dressed in hiking gear. North Face jacket, custom boots, and an insulated backpack—the kid came from money. He also had a high-tech camera slung around his neck.
Cal parted the limbs, fresh snow pelting him from the branches. He came to a halt, his stomach knotting as he spotted the victim.
A young woman lay at the edge of the falls, her head positioned on a jagged rock as if it were a pillow, her dress in folds around her legs, the lace wet from the water.
But it was the wedding gown and red rose that made him go cold.
The white dress was torn, marred in mud now, and a lacy garter was around her neck.
Even more disturbing—the flower petals of the rose were torn off, lying nearby, the end of the stem extending from her mouth, the rest likely crammed down her throat just like the Thorn Ripper had done thirty years ago.
CHAPTER TWO
Mona searched the crowd at the memorial service for a familiar face just as she’d searched shopping malls, grocery stores, and parks, almost everywhere she went these days, for someone who might resemble her.
Could one of the women at the service be her birth mother?
If not, where was she? And what had she been doing the past thirty years? Did she ever think about her? Miss her? Wonder what she looked like or what she’d done with her life?
A stiff wind whistled through the hemlocks and swirled dead leaves across the tombstones, nearly drowning out the pastor’s words. Sniffles echoed through the crowd, the women and men hunched together against the cold and the horror that still shrouded this town from the teenage deaths that had left everyone in shock.
No one had wanted to believe high school girls were in danger. Not in a small town where everyone knew everyone else. Where neighbors watched your back and people left their cars and doors unlocked.
Or that the resident popular football player Johnny Pike would take anyone’s life.
After all, why would he push the teenagers to their deaths? All the girls liked him . . .
According to the articles she’d read, gossip and paranoia led to different theories. Some said he was a closet narcissist. A psychopath.
But his parents had denied the allegations.
“Today we’re here to honor three girls who will forever stand in a special place in all our hearts,” the pastor began. “Tiffany Levinson. Candy Yonkers. And Brittany Burgess.”
As he named each girl, a representative of her family stepped forward to light a candle in her honor. Sara, Tiffany’s mother, Mona heard someone say. Candy’s brother, Doyle Yonkers. And Brittany’s father.
Mona’s heart squeezed for the families. She’d lost her baby in utero. She couldn’t imagine holding that child, watching it grow to be a young man or woman, then losing him or her so violently.
The service ended, and Mona strolled through the crowd and introduced herself to a few locals, but she felt like an outsider, as if she was intruding on their grief.
Now probably wasn’t the best time to ask them if they remembered a pregnant classmate. Still, she was here and she barely knew anyone in town, so she joined a group of women huddled by the photographs, candles, and flowers arranged in memoriam to the girls. One of them was Sara Levinson.
She introduced herself. “My name is Mona Monroe. I just moved here and wanted to offer my condolences.”
Sara gestured toward a woman working the crowd. “This day is hard enough without reporters like that Carol Little poking their noses in our past,” Sara said. “We’ve been through enough.”
Mona dug her hands in her pockets. She hated that the press invaded people’s grief just to get a story.
“I heard Johnny Pike might be paroled,” another woman said.
“Oh, God,” Sara said. “They can’t let that maniac back on the streets.”
“I’ve already written a letter to the Board of Pardons and Parole voicing my opinion,” a woman with dark, thinning hair said.
Mona noticed Candy Yonkers’s brother, Doyle, watching them with a frown. He must have been, what? Ten or so when his sister was murdered?
Sara cleared her throat. “Sheriff Buckley said he’ll go to the hearing and make sure the judge knows how dangerous that boy was.”
“I thought Ned retired,” another woman said.
“He did, but that doesn’t mean he can’t testify.”
Mona spotted the man they were talking about standing close by with the preacher—Sheriff Ned Buckley. He appeared to be in his late sixties with a craggy face and wore khaki pants and a hat.
He was talking to a woman wearing a big black hat and long skirt. The two of them looked serious, deep
in conversation, then the woman wiped her eyes with a handkerchief.
“Don’t worry, Felicity, Pike will never get released,” Sheriff Buckley said.
The woman looked worried, her eyes darting about, then she suddenly dashed away through the tombstones.
She must have known the victims and obviously didn’t want Pike paroled.
“Sheriff Buckley made the arrest, didn’t he?” Mona asked.
Sara nodded. “If it hadn’t been for him, there would have been more murders.”
“His daughter, Anna, dated Johnny,” the woman with the thinning hair whispered. “Some of us thought she knew what he was up to. I heard her daddy covered up for her. That’s why she left town.”
The reporter Carol Little approached the sheriff. “Sheriff, can I get a statement from you about the Thorn Ripper?”
“Leave us the hell alone.” Sheriff Buckley started to walk away, but Carol followed on his heels and caught his arm.
“But isn’t it true that you’re going to attend Johnny Pike’s parole hearing?”
Sheriff Buckley jerked around and glared at her. “Yes, it is. As long as I’m alive, that boy won’t see the light of day.”
“But it’s been thirty years,” Carol said. “Don’t you think he’s redeemed himself?”
The sheriff’s nostrils flared. “How can you redeem yourself for stealing the lives of three young women?”
But Carol didn’t back down. “Mr. Pike claims that he was framed,” she said. “With new technology, shouldn’t the evidence be reviewed? Now they could run DNA tests—”
“Listen to me, lady,” Sheriff Buckley said with a dark scowl. “Don’t stir up trouble. We make it through this ceremony every year, then we try to forget it for a while.”
Buckley glanced over the reporter’s shoulder at Mona, and for just a moment, his gaze latched with hers. His eyes darkened, his scowl growing more intense.
Then he pushed past the reporter. “Now, leave the past buried where it belongs and get out of town.”
Mona shivered. His cutting look chilled her to the bone. He’d been talking to the reporter, but he was looking at her as he said it.