Pretty Little Killers by Rita Herron

Table of Content

• 1. Unnamed
• 2. ALSO BY RITA HERRON Romantic Suspense Graveyard Falls All the Beautiful Brides All the Pretty Faces All the Dead Girls Slaughter Creek Series Dying to Tell Her Dying Breath Worth Dying For Dying for Love Contemporary Romance Going to the Chapel
• 3. Unnamed
• 4. 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. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental. Text copyright © 2018 by 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: 9781542049849 ISBN-10: 1542049849 Cover design by Damon Freeman
• 5. CONTENTS PROLOGUE 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 CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE CHAPTER FORTY CHAPTER FORTY-ONE CHAPTER FORTY-TWO CHAPTER FORTY-THREE CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR CHAPTER FORTY-FIVE CHAPTER FORTY-SIX CHAPTER FORTY-SEVEN CHAPTER FORTY-EIGHT CHAPTER FORTY-NINE ABOUT THE AUTHOR
• 6. Unnamed
• 7. PROLOGUE Five-year-old Korine Davenport climbed into her father’s lap and wrapped her arms around his neck. He was big and sweet and wonderful. “Tell me I’m pretty, Daddy.” Her daddy lifted the lid of the music box he’d just given her, and a soft melody began to play. It was the same song from the movie they’d watched last night. The ballerina with the fluffy tutu danced and twirled on the pink satin as her father sang, “You’re so pretty, oh, so pretty, so pretty and witty and bright . . .” Korine planted a big wet, juicy kiss on her daddy’s cheek. Then he helped her onto his feet, and they began to dance. This was the best day ever! Tonight, Santa would come. But she’d already gotten what she wanted—the music box and a new doll. The porcelain doll she’d seen in the store the other day that had red hair like hers and blue eyes that looked like the violets her mother grew in the garden. She was going to name her Ruby. “Look at me and Daddy dancing, Ruby,” she said as they danced through
• 8. CHAPTER ONE Twenty-five years later Korine Davenport would never stop looking for her father’s killer. She traced her fingers over her FBI badge as she glanced around the office of her Savannah row house. It was a fixer-upper in a transitional neighborhood, but she’d gotten a good deal on rent. She didn’t care about fancy furniture or expensive things. This house was just a place to hang her hat—no, her gun—at night, not a home. And she was determined to live on her salary, not her inheritance. Money left for her in a trust fund from her father’s will. Money she didn’t want to touch because it would mean she’d profited from his death. His unsolved case was one reason she’d gone into law enforcement. Night was falling, gray clouds adding a creepiness to the property. The real estate agent had hinted that the place was haunted. Ghost stories didn’t frighten her. Not when there were real live monsters out there, predators who hunted both day and night. Notes on unsolved cases were stacked
• 9. CHAPTER TWO Korine flipped on the radio as she drove to her mother’s house, her nerves on edge. Visiting her mother was painful, but she couldn’t desert her. Her mother needed her, even if she didn’t act like it. The newscaster from the local public radio station broke into her thoughts. “The safety app, thought to be a lifesaver to some by alerting people of crimes in their area, has come under serious scrutiny. Yesterday three people in the Savannah airport jumped a man they believed to be the mugger targeting tourists in Savannah’s City Market. The man turned out to be an undercover officer. He suffered a broken arm and dislocated shoulder in the assault.” Korine shook her head at the irony. The designer of that app had good intentions. Korine had thought of a dozen ways she could use it. Women, college coeds, and teens could be alerted of a crime being committed and avoid that area. People near a crime scene would know to watch out for a perpetrator and help the police by reporting
• 10. CHAPTER THREE The Keeper raised her hands and stared at the blood dotting her palms and fingernails. His blood. She hadn’t meant to get it on her. To taint herself with his evil. But she hadn’t been able to resist. His blood meant he was dying. Suffering. As he should. She tossed the gavel into her bag. She’d take it to her secret place later. Hands shaking, she turned on the hot water and shoved her hands beneath the spray. For some reason, she didn’t want to wash off the blood. But she had to. The police had found his body. They’d investigate. Hunt down his enemies as if they needed to get justice for his killer. Bitterness swelled in her chest. He deserved what he’d gotten. No one on this earth would mourn his loss. Except maybe his wife. And she was just as bad as him. She should have stood up to the man and convinced him it was criminal to allow so many predators to walk free. The crimson blood mingled with the warm water and swirled around and around like a river in the sink befo
• 11. CHAPTER FOUR “What do you think that bloody SS means?” Officer Leeks asked. Hatcher didn’t want to freak the young guy out, but a mark like this was symbolic and suggested premeditation. It also suggested that this crime was not an isolated murder. That there would be others. “Agent McGee?” “It’s the justice symbol,” Hatcher said. A car engine rumbled from the street. Hopefully, the FBI evidence response team—ERT—and medical examiner. He turned and spotted a black sedan rolling into the cul-de-sac where he’d parked. Damn, not them. Probably Korine Davenport. Knowing he had to play nice and ignore the fact that they’d slept together—and that despite his wife’s death, he’d fantasized about having her again—he walked toward the vehicle. If this wasn’t his new partner and someone had gotten wind of the murder and come to gawk, he’d make sure they didn’t contaminate the crime scene or take pictures and blast them all over social media before the police informed the family. Moonlight shimmer
• 12. CHAPTER FIVE Compassion for Tinsley filled Korine. She couldn’t imagine living every day terrified that a sadistic man like the unsub who’d held the young woman hostage might return to hurt her again. No doubt Hatcher harbored guilt over that. The fact that Hatcher’s deceased wife and this woman had been friends complicated matters more. If Tinsley knew about Korine’s night with Hatcher, she probably wouldn’t want to talk to her either. Tinsley stepped aside, and although she’d said she didn’t want to talk to Hatcher, she allowed them both entry. Korine scanned the foyer—a distressed white hutch held shoes, umbrellas, beach bags, and sun hats, all signs of home and a relaxing getaway. Apparently, though, the woman never left the house to enjoy that ocean or the sand and sun and beach. She and Hatcher followed Tinsley to a small den that looked cozy and quaint. A seashell lamp and photos of the beach, sea turtles, crabs, and the sunset added to the beach theme. A wall above her desk hel
• 13. CHAPTER SIX Fog fell like ghostly fingers across the cove, misty rain splashing onto the sand and palm trees, spreading into the mercurial water of the Atlantic as if the shadow of Tinsley’s past had followed her to Sunset Cove. She couldn’t escape it, no matter how far she’d run. And she had run, dammit. She paused by her parakeet’s cage, reached a finger inside, and stroked his head gently. When she’d finally come home, she’d been relieved to know her neighbor had taken care of Mr. Jingles. But she’d churned over the fact that she was keeping the bird locked in a cage. During her abduction, she’d learned what it felt like to be trapped. That night she’d moved Mr. Jingles with her to the cottage and opened his door, giving the bird its freedom. Mr. Jingles used to talk and sing tunes from TV commercials all the time—the reason she’d given him the name. Now, he sat quietly and stared at her as if he were angry because she’d abandoned him for so long. She’d hoped allowing him to fly aro
• 14. CHAPTER SEVEN Hatcher scanned the area as he veered onto the mile-long drive to Judge Wadsworth’s house. Live oaks dripping with Spanish moss flanked the drive, the giant branches of the trees curling and bending as if linking arms across the plush acreage to protect its residents. Yet the Spanish moss looked brittle and dry, like an old woman’s scraggly hair, casting an eeriness to the area and reminding him of the legend of Skull’s Crossing, the place where he’d lost his wife. Rumors claimed that two women were murdered there years ago, their bodies dumped in the ocean for the sharks to finish off. Yet the tides had tossed pieces of their remains in the marsh, drawing the gators as well. The women’s souls were caught between land and water, in limbo between heaven and hell. They haunted both the sea and the marsh, their cries echoing at low tide. In the past months, three more skulls had been found at the same place—three that had never been identified. Three suspected to be victims
• 15. CHAPTER EIGHT Korine contemplated Mrs. Wadsworth’s reaction and her relationship to her son as she walked to her vehicle. Hatcher paused beside his SUV, his gaze pensive. “They’re hiding something,” Korine said. “I think the judge abused his wife.” Hatcher hit the key fob to unlock his vehicle. “I agree. The son is protective of her.” “I have a feeling he and his father didn’t get along. In the family photographs, they were never together. It was always the daughter with the father and the son with the mother. They must own a place on Seahawk Island, too, close to Tinsley’s. Several of the pictures were near that cove.” “I’ll get Cat to find out,” Hatcher said. “We need to speak to the daughter.” Korine raised a brow. “Tonight?” “We don’t want to give her too much time. The mother probably called her as soon as we left to give her a heads-up.” True. Family members were always primary suspects in a homicide investigation. Eliminating them was part of the job. To do that, it was helpful
• 16. CHAPTER NINE Beverly Grant hurried into her town house and made a beeline for the bathroom. She’d forced herself to attend a special counseling session her friend Liz had organized for first responders and others who worked with violent crimes, but it hadn’t helped. She was still wound up and sick to her stomach. Five years she’d worked as a court reporter. She should be used to the ugly, sordid stories of the violence and pain humans inflicted on others. She should be immune. But every now and then some of them got to her. Especially the ones that involved children. No child should suffer. And that monster in the courtroom had shown no remorse on the stand today. Instead, he’d graced the jury with a smarmy smile as if he was proud of the child-porn pictures the prosecutor had shown. Simply typing the vulgar man’s testimony had made her feel vile inside. She flipped on the hot water and scrubbed her hands, but she couldn’t scrub the images from her mind. That sick perv had to pay. So d
• 17. CHAPTER TEN Gray clouds shrouded the morning sun, adding a dismal feel to the small garden area behind Korine’s house as she jogged up the steps and let herself inside. Her five-mile morning run usually relieved stress and helped her focus for the day. She needed a shower but poured herself a cup of coffee first, then took it to the garden, a peaceful, quiet reprieve from the city. Except yesterday she had seen someone in the bushes. Senses on alert, she scanned the area but saw nothing except the shimmering mist rising above the treetops. Morning shadows almost made them appear as spirits lingering and lost. Like some homes in the area, the owner claimed this one was haunted. A house with a history always drew interest, although those afraid of ghosts tended to shy away from buying. Others bought for the history that was part of Savannah’s charm. She didn’t mind the ghost stories. The legends of Savannah added character. Star-crossed lovers had allegedly been murdered in the garden, t
• 18. CHAPTER ELEVEN Hatcher struggled to keep his anger at bay as they left Andi Rosten’s house. He understood the Rostens’ protective instincts toward their daughter. He’d felt that way toward his wife. But he’d failed her. He didn’t want to fail Andi. Although his job at the moment wasn’t to find her rapist. His job was to find Judge Wadsworth’s killer. The next stop was to see another rape victim. “Tell me about Renee Wiggins.” “Let me pull up the files to refresh my memory. Cat said she updated them with current information.” Korine accessed the information on her iPad. “Renee Wiggins is twenty-three, was studying nursing at College of Coastal Georgia.” “Did she finish?” Korine scrunched her nose as she skimmed for information. “Not yet. She took a couple of semesters off for counseling. But she’s back at school now.” “Good for her. Where does she live?” Korine recited the street address for a small house in Brunswick. “She was engaged, but she broke it off,” Korine said, a note of sadn
• 19. CHAPTER TWELVE Rachel Willis was sick to death of the liars she dealt with every day. She slammed the door to her office, frustrated that justice didn’t always prevail. News of Judge Wadsworth’s death had hit the media first thing that morning. The creep had used his authority to browbeat women into doing what he wanted and talked down to females on the job. He tended to be lenient in cases of violence against women—one of those archaic men who held the belief that the woman had incited the man’s rage by the way she dressed or talked or by her makeup. She wouldn’t be surprised if his wife had killed him. Maybe if she did, a good lawyer could get her off. The picture of her own family, her mother and father, mocked her from the credenza. At twenty-one, she’d been idealistic and certain that she could make a difference in the world. She knew firsthand that the system didn’t always work. Her father had spent ten years in jail for a crime he hadn’t committed. Ten years of his life lost bec
• 20. CHAPTER THIRTEEN Wadsworth’s personal assistant didn’t seem surprised to see Korine and Hatcher or the warrant. Two file boxes sat on a credenza behind her desk, and a clerk carried another one in and set it with the others. Gretta Breer gestured toward the boxes. “Director Bellows phoned and asked me to gather the materials you need to review. We’ve been working all morning, pulling any cases where complaints or threats were made against the judge for his ruling or his behavior during a trial. I’ve also compiled a folder containing copies of emails, hate mail, and other threats he received.” Her face looked grim. “There’s a lot to sort through.” Hatcher nodded. The suspect pool was growing fast. They needed more manpower. Wyatt had been pestering him to stop by, but he’d avoided his former partner. He couldn’t stand to see him in pain, struggling to walk, when it was his fault Wyatt had been injured. A thirtysomething ash-blonde woman wearing a dark-blue pantsuit walked by, muttering
• 21. CHAPTER FOURTEEN Korine sized up Wyatt while he and Hatcher did the man-hug thing. Wyatt was almost as tall as Hatcher, with broad shoulders and a strong jaw. Even wearing sweats, Wyatt’s muscles bunched beneath his black T-shirt and baggy pants. Shaggy dark-brown hair framed a square face, and his skin was slightly pale, probably from being inside and his injuries. He met them at the door, leaning on a cane. She offered her hand and introduced herself. “I’m working with Hatcher now.” “It’s temporary,” Hatcher said bluntly. He must be counting the days until she was reassigned. Wyatt gave her a warm smile and his partner a dry look. “Nice to meet you, Korine. You got your work cut out for you with him.” Hatcher grunted. “How’s the leg?” Wyatt lifted his cane to demonstrate that he could stand on his own, but his wince suggested he was still in pain. “You don’t have to show off because there’s a woman around,” Hatcher said, a mixture of amusement and irritation in his voice. “I don’t wa
• 22. CHAPTER FIFTEEN As the crime scene investigators combed the yard and house, Hatcher phoned Wyatt and filled him in. Next, he called Cat at the bureau. “Pallo Whiting’s brother, Ernest, is not home. Do you have a work address or cell phone where we could trace him?” Computer keys clicked in the background. “No job. He was laid off from a construction gig because he was drugging. Oxy. No cell phone either.” Damn. “Is there another house or apartment he might go to?” Cat sighed. “Not that I have listed.” “What about his daughter and his wife?” “Wife divorced him and took the daughter away during his brother’s trial. She blamed her husband for what happened to the little girl. Denied him visitation or parental rights.” That would have been enough for motive. “Was there any evidence to support her belief that Ernest knew what the brother was doing?” A tense few seconds passed. He assumed she was skimming for information. “Ernest was called to the witness stand and testified that he had no i
• 23. CHAPTER SIXTEEN The anguish in the woman’s voice sounded real. She’d obviously loved the little girl, which meant she had good reason to hate Whiting. “Did you know that Whiting escaped prison during a bus transfer?” Hatcher asked. Her eyes widened. “Oh my God, that’s why you’re here? You think he’s coming after Lottie?” “Lottie is safe from him.” Hatcher shifted. “Did you know about his escape?” The woman shook her head no. “Do you think he’s coming after me then? Two of the other little girls’ parents and I testified against him.” “You didn’t hear from the other parents after the prison escape?” She shook her head, but her eyes darted to the side table where her phone was. He sensed she was lying, that someone had given her a heads-up. “I haven’t heard from them since the sentencing. We all needed space and time to heal.” Korine cleared her throat. “Where were you last night, Lynn?” Confusion flashed on Lynn’s face. “Why do you want to know where I was?” Hatcher folded his arms. “Ple
• 24. CHAPTER SEVENTEEN Laura Austin’s hand trembled as she punched the number of her best friend, Liz. The two of them met on the swim team in college and had been close friends since. Laura traced her finger over the photograph of her baby boy and five-year-old daughter, her heart squeezing. She’d do anything to protect her children. Anything. Although Liz didn’t have children yet, she would one day, and she would be an awesome mother. Just as she was a fierce advocate for the victims she worked with—some were abused women, others children. Domestic violence ran rampant in every city, and Liz had devoted herself to counseling victims as well as helping them maneuver the legal system and reroute their lives. She held their hands through trials, arranged for court orders, and aided in the victims’ recovery on multiple levels. The phone rang three times; then Liz finally answered. “It’s Laura, Liz. The FBI just stopped by, asking about Lynn Green and her foster daughter, Lottie.” “What’s wron
• 25. CHAPTER EIGHTEEN Hatcher gripped Banning by the collar and shook him. “You don’t get to pass out after that stunt. I know you hated Pallo Whiting for killing your son. Then he escaped and you murdered him.” Although the MO of the crime—cutting the man’s penis off—seemed more personal, a crime of passion, something the parent of one of the child victims would do. Then again, the signature SS could have been a ploy to throw off the police. Although they hadn’t divulged details of the justice symbol, so how would Banning have known about that? Banning’s eyelids flickered open, then closed, and he moaned. “Did you help him escape so you could murder him?” Hatcher barked. The big man moved his head from side to side. “You got it wrong. Didn’t kill him.” “Sure you did,” Hatcher muttered. “Really, I don’t blame you. He killed your son, so you had to pay him back.” “No,” the man mumbled again. “Wish I had, but I didn’t.” Hatcher’s breath hissed between clenched teeth, and he exchanged a questi
• 26. 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 dis
• 27. CHAPTER TWENTY Anxious to get off his wet jeans and rid himself of the river-water smell, Hatcher showered and yanked on sweats and a T-shirt. His stomach growled, and he heated a frozen pizza and reached for a beer, then decided to get a bottle of water instead. Too wired to sleep, though, he went to work. He accessed records of the Davenport murder case and skimmed the file. The sheriff had identified no real suspects or leads. The fact that Dr. Davenport was a child psychologist was interesting, especially in light of the cases Hatcher and Korine had been working lately, but his murder had occurred twenty-five years ago. There was no connection. The sheriff had questioned the families of Davenport’s clients, his secretary, and colleagues, but no one raised suspicions. He’d found no motive for murder and finally speculated that it was a robbery gone awry. The problem with that theory was that even though it was Christmas Eve and mounds of presents were under the tree, and even though
• 28. CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE Morning joggers, commuters, and tourists were already filling the Savannah streets as Hatcher drove toward Korine’s. He flipped on the radio to hear what the media had to say. “Downtown Savannah is expected to be flooded today with women from all walks of life as they take part in the Women’s Protest Movement spreading across the country. Although purported to be a nonviolent march, police will be out in full force.” The reporter continued. “In addition to women’s rights, the groups today are protesting the release of over fifty prisoners statewide. The governor, with the consent of the president, cited overcrowding and poor prison conditions as the reason for the decision. However, many of the inmates were in prison on domestic violence charges, creating fear in the minds of the victims and their families.” Hatcher parked in front of Korine’s just as a flash of dark-red hair caught his eye. That luscious hair was enough to drive a man insane. He struggled to rein in
• 29. CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO The dolls sat like beautiful little princesses on the white scalloped bookcase. Their bright hand-painted faces and eyes were a result of an artist’s touch. Their hair looked human—gold, brown, red, black; it draped their shoulders, some long and silky straight, others curled into ringlets that spiraled along the doll’s back. Rosy cheeks glowed above pink lips that smiled back at her. Tiny delicate ears were adorned with shimmering earrings that matched the doll’s dress. All chosen carefully to create the perfect image a little girl would dream about and treasure forever. Especially when that doll came as a gift. Like the ones Korine’s father had given her. She had a collection. Ones she’d gotten from her loving, doting daddy. The Keeper had wanted a daddy like that. Had wanted to be special like Korine was to her father. But she wasn’t special. She was ugly and empty. So she’d started her own doll collection. A sick weakness, an obsession that she couldn’t control.
• 30. CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE Korine’s heart ached as she signed the admission forms for Kenny’s rehab. He shot her venomous looks, then scribbled his name on the consent form with a low curse. “You may not believe it right now, but you’re making the best decision of your life,” E. L. Foote, the addiction counselor, said with a welcoming smile. “Our staff has had great success in helping patients in the recovery process.” Kenny slumped forward and stared at his hands, twisting his fingers around and around, a nervous gesture he’d developed after their father’s murder. Korine remembered fixating on his hands the day the sheriff had questioned them. Except then his fingers hadn’t been shaking from withdrawal. Two years later, Kenny had discovered their dad’s liquor stash. He’d dived in and never looked back. “I’ll give you a few minutes to say goodbye,” the counselor said. “Then I’ll show you to your room, Mr. Davenport.” Kenny shoved the chair back so hard it toppled over. The counselor didn’t s
• 31. CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR Liz Roberts forced herself to give Latoya Clinton a smile of encouragement as she gently closed the hospital room door and stepped into the hall. Anger and sadness engulfed Liz. She’d worked as a victim’s advocate for domestic violence for four years. Some thought you grew accustomed, even hardened, to the women’s and children’s stories. So not true. She struggled to not carry the victims’ problems home with her at night, to keep them from tainting her own relationships and trust, but that took work. She wanted desperately to believe in the good of others. But it was difficult when animals like Germaine Stokes took a hammer to his girlfriend’s face like Stokes had done this morning. The poor woman hadn’t seen it coming. She’d broken off their relationship the week before. When Latoya had gotten home from work last night, he’d been hiding in her bedroom closet. He’d beaten her so badly the bones in her face were crushed, her eyes were swollen shut, her lips bloody an
• 32. CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE Hatcher’s keys dug into the palm of his hand as he gripped them. “You think you read a confession of murder?” “I’m not sure,” Korine said. “The posts are anonymous. No names mentioned, and no specifics. But a couple of entries really disturbed me. I thought Tinsley might have some insight.” He didn’t want to have to face Tinsley again, but if she had answers, he had to. “You want to drop your car at the precinct?” “The women’s march is taking place now,” Korine said. “Traffic will be a nightmare. Let’s leave my car here and come back afterward and pick it up.” She was right. They needed to stay clear of the downtown for a couple of hours, especially the area near the courthouse. Korine climbed in the passenger seat of his SUV, and he started the engine. “How did it go with your brother?” he asked. She stared out the window as he drove. “He’s mad. Sullen. I just hope he stays this time.” “He’s been in rehab before?” She nodded. “Under duress. He left, twice. I told h
• 33. CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX Hatcher shifted uncomfortably as he finished the comment. He understood Korine’s suspicions. But these responses were anonymous, so Tinsley couldn’t know who’d written them. The author of that post hadn’t mentioned names either, not the name of her attacker or his alleged victims. And it didn’t fit specifically with the details of the crimes they were investigating. Tinsley bit down on her bottom lip. “This account could be of a dream or a nightmare. Sometimes victims are plagued by their experiences, and their fears and anger present themselves in dreams.” He could attest to that. For God’s sake, he was seeing his wife’s ghost. “That could be true,” Korine agreed. “There’s nothing specific that indicates anything about the judge or Whiting,” Hatcher added. “There are others.” Korine scrolled through and paused on another entry. Hatcher’s pulse clamored as he read: A MOTHER’S VENGEANCE My baby is seven years old now. Seven but I still call her my baby. I listen to he
• 34. CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN Louie Hortman had to pay. The son of a bitch acted like he was a good man, but she knew different. He was a deacon in his church, never missed one of his son’s basketball games, and regularly donated money to charities. Looks could be deceiving. He was also a smarmy teacher who’d taken advantage of the teenage girls he taught in driver’s education. The girls had been afraid to come forward. They were embarrassed. Ashamed. Thought they’d done something to invite his touch. He needed his vile hands cut off. The Keeper smiled as she removed the duffel bag from the trunk of her car. She’d been watching him for weeks. Knew his routine. Had been waiting for the right time. Today he had an opening in his schedule. She’d arranged for a private lesson. The son of a bitch thought he was meeting teenage Zoe. Zoe wasn’t coming. But she deserved justice for what he’d planned for her. The sick pervert preyed on the fact that peer pressure would prevent the girls from spilling hi
• 35. CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT A wave of dizziness washed over Korine. The dolls . . . looked exactly like the ones in her collection at her mother’s. Except someone had turned them into night-lights, making them look spooky. The brightly lit eyes pierced the darkness as if they were watching her every move. Hatcher cleared his throat. “Korine?” “My father gave me porcelain dolls for my birthdays and Christmas,” she said in a raw whisper. “I left all but one of them at my mother’s.” With the memories and her childhood. Hatcher examined the doll heads, then returned to the front door and studied the lock. “I don’t see signs of a break-in. Is there another entrance?” Korine pointed toward the hall. “There’s a patio with a garden in back.” “I’ll check it and the windows.” A memory tickled the back of Korine’s mind, launching her back in time. Her father’s smile as he placed a beautifully wrapped box in her lap. Excitement made her giddy as she touched the shiny pink bow. “Happy birthday, my pretty
• 36. CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE Tinsley startled at the sound of the rain pounding the roof and windows. The wind tossed leaves and twigs across the sand, the high tides bringing in shells and seaweed. Her nerves were raw from the visit with Hatcher and that other agent. Korine Davenport. She was tough. It would be nice to have her on your side if you were in trouble. But she could also be a formidable enemy. Though Mr. Jingles’s cage door remained open, he hadn’t ventured any farther than his post, where he remained perched with his head cocked, tiny eyes following her as if expecting her to run screaming like a banshee any minute. She pressed her hand against the glass, the cool, slick pane thick with fog. Thunder clapped, the wind roaring. She searched the gloomy outdoors, praying the Skull hadn’t found her. Although it was just a matter of time. The image of the judge’s body on her dock surfaced in the mist. Agent Davenport’s questions echoed in her head. Shivering with the cold and fear, she
• 37. CHAPTER THIRTY As the evidence team processed Korine’s house, Hatcher had a bad feeling they wouldn’t find anything. With the popularity of crime shows, most perpetrators were smart enough to wear gloves. But, hey, the team could get lucky, especially if this person was an amateur. Korine’s brows were knitted into a deep frown as she stepped onto her back patio. He snapped a few pictures of the doll heads for his own reference, then joined her. “Are you okay?” She nodded. “I checked. Kenny’s still at the center.” Her back was to him, her face lifted toward the dark clouds. The rain was slacking off, the wind shaking droplets from the branches and adding a cold chill to the gloomy atmosphere. She pivoted, her expression tormented. “How bad is that, that I suspected my own brother of this?” He shrugged. “It’s understandable. From what you’ve told me, he’s had problems for a while. It sounds like he’s jealous of you and the fact that you have your life together.” “I have my life together?
• 38. CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE Hatcher grimaced. Another murder. “Come in and give us the details,” Hatcher said as he waved the agent inside. “Jogger found the man dead in his car in a vacant lot by the park where he runs. I’ll text you the address.” “Cause of death?” Hatcher asked. “He was shot, and his hands were severed,” the agent said bluntly. “ID?” Hatcher asked. “Louie Hortman. Still had his driver’s license on him.” “Any witnesses?” “No. Officer just got to the scene. When he saw the justice symbol on the man’s forehead, he thought we should know.” Korine was already standing, ready to go. Hatcher tilted his head toward Cat. “Send us everything you can dig up on Hortman.” Hatcher spoke to the group. “Keep us updated on what you find. This unsub is going to kill again unless we stop him. Or her.” Detective Brockett cleared his throat. “I’m with you two.” Hatcher started to argue, but the body count was rising. They could use all the hands they could get. He and Korine and the detective rus
• 39. CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO Louie Hortman had deserved to die. No one would be crying at his funeral. Even his wife had gotten sick of his smarmy ways years ago and left. He’d screamed like a baby when he was shot. He’d begged and pleaded for his life. Promised not to touch another girl ever again. But he’d lied. If he’d lived, he would have gone right back to his piglike ways. Pressuring girls into sex for a passing grade. Exposing himself to shock the innocent young virgins, then promising that he’d teach them the right way to please a man so they’d be popular. His dick would never see another girl again. And no other female would have to look at it or touch it or be mauled by his filthy hands. Those fucking Feds were asking too many questions, though. Getting too close. She was the Keeper—she had to let the others know. She was doing their work. Exacting justice. Those nosy agents had to be stopped before they exposed the truth. Sometimes sacrifices had to be made for the greater good. Colla
• 40. CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE Hatcher shoved the microphone away. “Listen to me, I don’t know where you got your information, but no one has said anything about a vigilante killer, and if you announce that, I’ll have you arrested for interfering with a criminal investigation and reporting false information.” The reporter lifted her chin. “Those charges will never stick and you know it.” “Maybe not, but I can keep you locked up until we solve this case.” She glanced at Korine as if she thought she would be softer, but Korine gave her a cold look. “Let us do our jobs, and when we make an arrest, you can have the story.” A tense minute stretched between them. “All right,” Marilyn said. “But at least tell me what you have here.” “We can’t release the victim’s name until we contact next of kin,” Hatcher said. “Understood,” Marilyn said. “But you are investigating Judge Wadsworth’s murder and believe it’s related to Pallo Whiting’s death.” She pushed the microphone in front of Hatcher. “What about th
• 41. CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR An hour later, Hatcher asked the deputy to get coffee for the four women they’d brought in for questioning. He wanted them to be comfortable and relaxed so they would talk. And he wanted that damn news anchor’s head on a platter. She’d already blasted the story about Hortman’s death. “I took screenshots of the conversations in the Keepers’ chat room,” Korine told him as they stood outside one of the interrogation rooms. “If they are collaborating, it means they’re organized and know enough about crime scenes not to leave evidence behind.” The deputy returned with coffee, and Korine took a cup for herself and one for Liz Roberts inside room one. As they entered, the thirtysomething blonde looked up at them from behind the table, her sparkling blue eyes assessing them as they approached. She was not only a professional but also a drop-dead gorgeous woman who looked so sweet she couldn’t possibly have a violent streak inside her. “Miss Roberts,” Hatcher said. “I’m Spec
• 42. CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE The River Street Rapist had to be dealt with. Stopped. Punished. He was next on the list. But first she had to take care of another problem. She’d been stalking her target for days. Knew where he parked his car, where he ate. Thai was his favorite. He liked curry. He drank vodka on a hot night at the beachside bar. He preferred his women young and pretty. He slept in the nude. He was damn smart, too. But she was smarter. She was the Keeper, at least she was one of the Keepers’ hands. She watched through binoculars and spied him through open blinds. He never closed them, as if he knew someone was watching. As if he wanted the world to see his naked glory. Muscles bunched in his arms and shoulders. His thighs were solid, his abs washboard flat. He worked out. He had to in order to maintain that body. He knew the girls liked it. Used it to his advantage, to lure them to his bed. He padded naked to the bathroom. His dick was thick, long. He’d wanted to put it inside her
• 43. CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX Another night, and no answers about the murders. They were getting closer, though—Korine could feel it. “I don’t know where Ellis got those details, but there may be a leak somewhere,” Hatcher said as he parked at a pub for dinner. “I have a good mind to throw her in jail and make her tell us.” “She won’t talk,” Korine said as they went inside and claimed a booth. “She’s too determined to make her story.” A waitress appeared, and they quickly ordered. Korine mentally reviewed the theory about the conspiracy as the waitress left to get their food and drinks. Hatcher excused himself to make a call, and she washed up in the ladies room. By the time they made it back to the table, the waitress had returned with their orders. Hatcher dug into a burger while she forked up a bite of shrimp scampi. “We have to consider the fact that we might be wrong about the conspiracy,” Korine said. “But I do believe we’re dealing with a vigilante killer.” “Maybe Cat or Wyatt will find so
• 44. CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN Perspiration beaded on Tinsley’s forehead as she stared at the image in the Facebook Live post. A man was tied up, struggling to escape, his face covered by a mask. Things were out of control. The blog had started out as therapy, a way to help herself and others. But some of her followers had taken it too far. The federal agents were searching for a vigilante killer. Marilyn Ellis had aired the story on the evening news and hinted that there might be a conspiracy. Emotions boomeranged inside Tinsley. She didn’t want it to be true. Didn’t want any of the troubled souls she talked to online to be responsible. But her instincts warned her they were. A post quickly appeared beneath the photograph. You’ll be safe soon, Tinsley. Then the Skull can’t hurt you or anyone else again. No . . . Tinsley yanked on her glasses and peered at the man on-screen. His face was hidden in the shadows, also disguised by a skull mask. The Skull had always worn a mask. She’d never seen his
• 45. CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT Hatcher cleared his throat. “I’m calling an evidence team to process your house again. If I were you, I’d have a security system installed as soon as possible.” Korine winced. “It’s a rental. I’ll have to talk with the owner.” Hatcher stepped into the living room to make the call, and she checked the bathroom, closet, and her office to see whether anything else had been disturbed. The family picture she’d hung in the hallway had been removed. She hurried back to her bedroom and found the picture lying on the floor on the far side of the bed, the frame shattered. The photograph that had been inside was torn into pieces and scattered on the floor. Kenny. She’d seen him smash one of her dolls before. But she’d never thought he’d break in and destroy family pictures . . . or leave broken dolls on her bed. Hatcher inched up behind her, and gently gripped her arms with his hands. “Are you okay?” She nodded and told herself to pull away from him. But it felt so comforting
• 46. CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE Korine frantically threw on her clothes, horror striking her when Hatcher showed her the picture on the computer. A man with a skull mask was tied to a chair in the dark room. His head hung down, body limp. Was he dead or just unconscious? Hatcher put Cat on speaker. “When was this posted?” Korine asked. “About an hour ago.” Korine’s phone buzzed, and she snatched it up, half expecting it to be news about her brother. But Tinsley Jensen’s name appeared on the caller ID screen. Did Tinsley know about this? She quickly connected the call. “Tinsley?” “You have to do something,” the woman said breathlessly. “What’s wrong?” Korine asked. “Someone from the group . . . they’ve taken a man hostage. I think they’re going to kill him.” Korine motioned to Hatcher and quickly put Tinsley on speaker as well, while Hatcher relayed to Cat that Tinsley was on the phone. “Hang on, Cat—Tinsley might know who posted this.” “Who’s doing this?” Korine asked Tinsley. “I don’t know,” Tins
• 47. CHAPTER FORTY Hatcher glanced at Korine, well aware of the tension between them. They hadn’t spoken about what had happened between them, but they needed to. He didn’t want to lose his job over it. Or his sanity. And kissing her only made him want her again, which was totally insane. Detective Brockett transported the women they’d arrested to the Savannah field office for booking, while Drummond and Watley processed the house. He and Korine captured pictures of the interior of the house and chair setup, then he combed the rooms in hopes of finding something more concrete pointing to the women and the three murders. The place looked as if it had been deserted for months, maybe longer. Dust and grime had collected on every surface, and the furniture smelled musty and was threadbare. The kitchen held no perishables, simply a few outdated cans of food and a bag of flour that mice had ripped into. Drummond found a loose button in the corner of the living area not far from the chair where Be
• 48. CHAPTER FORTY-ONE Korine’s voice stopped him. “Hatcher?” His pulse pounded. Then she eased open the shower door and waved for him to join her. Heat surged through him as he shucked his clothes and stepped inside the shower. She was wet and warm and glowing from the soap bubbles dotting her naked body. He lifted a hand and tucked a damp strand of hair behind her ear, and a shy smile lit her eyes. Shy but needy. That hungry look . . . nearly drove him to his knees. She ran her soapy hands over his chest, triggering a hundred delicious sensations to ignite within him. Her touch shredded his reservations, and he reached for her. But she shook her head and pressed one hand to his chest to slow things down. His chest rose and fell on a strained breath, and he stood ramrod straight, his cock jutting out, hard and thick and aching. His hands itched to touch her all over. His lips craved hers. Instead of kissing him, though, she soaped her hands and slid them over his chest. Slowly she moved be
• 49. CHAPTER FORTY-TWO Korine balled her hand into a fist. How was it possible that Cat had traced that Facebook Live post to this address? Her mother didn’t even have a cell phone. Neither did Esme. And the post had to do with the man the Keeper had thought was the Skull, which had nothing to do with her family or her father’s death. Her mother’s cry rent the air. “Stop it! Your dad loves those dolls. He’s saving them for Korine.” Esme snatched Korine’s hand and pulled her behind the door. “I’m so glad you’re here. Kenny is out of control.” Korine touched Esme’s shoulder. “What happened to start the argument?” “I don’t know,” Esme said. “Kenny just showed up and started talking crazy, and then your mama got upset.” “Stay here. Let me talk to them.” Korine held her breath as she stepped into the doorway. “Mom? Kenny?” Her mother was sitting on the sofa, eyes glassy, rocking herself back and forth while Kenny paced in front of her. The broken pieces of the porcelain dolls lay scattered acros
• 50. CHAPTER FORTY-THREE Korine’s mother extended her hands, wrists crossed. “Go ahead, Korine. Take me in. I know you have to.” Turmoil twisted Korine’s insides as she stared at her mother. How could she possibly arrest her own mother for killing her father when she’d been protecting her? She’d also protected Kenny by keeping him from taking his father’s life. Kenny gently pushed her mother’s hands down into her lap. “Korine isn’t going to arrest you, Mom.” For the first time in her life, Korine understood Kenny’s drinking, his anger, his resentment toward her. Keeping the family’s dirty little secret had preyed on him and her mother. It had also bound the two of them together. Your brother always took care of you. Her mother’s constant pressure for her to help Kenny made sense now. A dozen emotions thrummed through Korine. “Why didn’t you tell me all this before?” “How could we?” Kenny asked, bitterness mingling with resignation in his voice. “You adored Dad and thought he could do no wro
• 51. CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR The Keeper had committed too much of her heart and soul to exacting justice to abandon her mission now. The innocent women and children who couldn’t protect themselves needed someone to watch over them. Someone to protect them when the police failed. And they failed a lot. Agents Korine Davenport and Hatcher McGee were a problem. She raised her hands and studied them. Clean fingers and nails. No blood on them. Except she could still see the blood in her mind. Blood from the evil beings who would have hurt more if she hadn’t stopped them. There were so many more who needed to be reckoned with. Milt Milburn for one. Korine Davenport claimed she was all about the law. But she was a hypocrite. She had to die. Hatcher McGee would have to die with her. Then the Keepers could continue . . .
• 52. CHAPTER FORTY-FIVE “Mrs. Davenport, you don’t have to go to the station,” Hatcher said. “Let me call Korine—” “I’m doing this for her,” Korine’s mother said. “I know how much her job means to her, and I refuse to put her in an awkward position.” Considering her medical condition, he was surprised at how determined she sounded. Of course, an hour from now, she might slip back into depression. That could be bad. “Please,” Mrs. Davenport said. “I failed her and the other little girls. I want to make up for it now.” Esme was watching him, her expression concerned. “What about Kenny?” Hatcher asked. “Does he know what’s going on?” “He was here earlier,” Esme said. “But after talking to Korine, he decided to return to rehab. He seemed committed to make the program work this time.” Good for him. This was the family situation Korine needed to take care of. She obviously didn’t want to talk about it with him. He would help her anyway. Take the choice off her shoulders. “All right, Mrs. Davenpor
• 53. CHAPTER FORTY-SIX Korine tapped her foot while she waited on Cat. A second later, Cat cleared her throat. “I found a post that might fit the unsub. Girl talks about the office space where she was molested as a child. Office belonged to a child psychologist.” A shudder went through Korine. “What else does she say?” “The psychologist gave her a music box and kept telling her how pretty she was as they danced.” She paused. “Jesus, Korine. He also gave her porcelain dolls.” Korine’s stomach roiled. That post was about her father. The girl who’d written it blamed Korine and her mother. She was the Keeper. She had to be the one holding Hatcher now. “Do you have an address?” Korine asked. “Computer was from a coffee shop in Savannah.” “She wouldn’t take Hatcher to a public place.” Korine’s mind raced. “I have an idea. Let me know if you find anything to identify the woman.” Cat agreed and hung up. Korine entered her father’s name into the search engine and found an address for the office he’d
• 54. 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
• 55. 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 daug
• 56. CHAPTER FORTY-NINE Exhaustion tugged at Korine as she let herself in her house. The emotional strain of the night had taken its toll. She flipped on lights as she entered, then undressed and showered, letting the hot water soothe her aches and pains and wash away the soot and stench of the fire. Slowly, images of Hatcher in the shower with her, running his hands over her, cradling her hips as she wrapped her legs around him and was impaled by him, replaced the gruesome memories. Only it stirred another kind of tension. She wanted Hatcher. Again. Tonight. The temptation to call him was so strong she could barely resist. But she had to. If she didn’t, she’d never be able to give him up. She scrubbed herself until the hot water turned cold. A quick towel dry, then she dragged on a tank top and pajama pants and padded to the kitchen for a glass of wine. She took the glass to her back deck, sank into the glider, and stared out into the dark woods. The storm clouds had lifted, and it was a b
• 57. STAY TUNED FOR THE NEXT KEEPERS NOVEL—COMING SOON
• 58. ABOUT THE AUTHOR Photo © 2008 Marie Williams USA Today bestselling author Rita Herron fell in love with books at the ripe old age of eight, when she read her first Trixie Belden mystery. Twenty years ago, she traded her job as a kindergarten teacher for one as a writer, and she now has more than ninety romance novels to her credit. She loves penning dark romantic suspense tales, especially those set in small southern towns. Her awards include a Career Achievement Award from RT Book Reviews for her work in Series Romantic Suspense, the National Readers’ Choice Award, and a RITA nomination. She has received rave reviews for the Slaughter Creek novels (Dying to Tell and Her Dying Breath) and her Graveyard Falls novels (All the Dead Girls, All the Pretty Faces, and All the Beautiful Brides). Rita is a native of Atlanta, Georgia, and a proud mother and grandmother.