DARK CONCLUSION

CHARLI CROSS SERIES: BOOK TEN

MARY STONE

DONNA BERDEL

Copyright © 2024 by Mary Stone Publishing

All rights reserved.

No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

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For the readers

From the first page to the final chapter, you’ve been with Charli every step of the way. Thank you for being a part of this journey, for your unwavering support, and for believing in her story. This conclusion is as much yours as it is hers.

DESCRIPTION

Endings are inevitable. Survival is not.

As the ten-year anniversary of the murder that haunts her dreams looms, Detective Charli Cross faces something even more daunting than serial killers: a high-stakes crime show interview, her last hope to solve her best friend's case. But before the cameras cool, a chilling call pulls her away—a horticulturist has been found murdered in a cryptic and unsettling scene.

Then, the unthinkable happens.

Charli’s world shatters when her partner’s teenage daughter is kidnapped, and it’s no coincidence. The monster who killed Charli’s best friend has returned, and now he’s targeting other people she loves. Taunting her. The clock is ticking, and every second brings them closer to a deadly conclusion.

And this time, failure’s not an option.

As Charli races against time to unravel a sinister web of clues and save the girl’s life, the lines between past and present blur, forcing her to confront her darkest fears. Everything is connected, and the killer has always been one step ahead—because he’s closer than she ever imagined. His real target isn’t just anyone.

It’s her.

Explosive and unputdownable, Dark Conclusion—the tenth and final book in the Charli Cross series from best-selling author Mary Stone—will make you question the people around you. Because the most terrifying monsters don’t hide in the shadows. They walk among us.

1

Ten years earlier…

Madeline Ferguson couldn’t help smiling as she and her best friend Charli Cross stopped at Bonaventure Cemetery on their way home from school. Even though it was filled with dead bodies, she loved this place. Dappled light filtered through the trees, seeming to dance on the tombstones around them, and the numerous trees offered respite from the heat. She was with her favorite person in the world, and the day was perfect.

“It sucks Mr. Ferris gave us a pop quiz today. It’s like he knew I didn’t do the Bio reading last night.” With a disgusted snort, Madeline traced a dirt picture of Mr. Ferris with her shoe, making him fatter than he really was. “I mean, I seriously don’t usually bother with the stupid reading anyway, so I guess it was pretty easy for him to catch me off guard.”

Charli threw back her head, her laughter echoing through the cemetery. “Yet, knowing your luck, you probably managed to get an A anyway.”

Madeline nudged Charli’s ankle with her sneaker. “So did you.”

“Yeah,” Charli wagged a finger at her, “but I read the assignment. And I studied my butt off.”

“You always do.”

Madeline didn’t know why her best friend studied so hard. Charli’s brain soaked up every detail like a sponge. The fact she spent so much time reviewing everything she’d no doubt already memorized was total overkill.

But that was Charli. Supersmart, prone to overanalyzing every situation and memorizing every statistic she came across. Although Madeline admired Charli’s self-discipline and drive to learn, she could never lock herself away in her room for hours on end to study. She preferred to be out in the world, enjoying every moment of her life.

While she still made excellent grades, Madeline didn’t stress about academics. There was too much else vying for her attention. She was on the cross-country team and student council. And then there were boys.

“I can’t believe Gordon Keller invited us to his pool party.” Madeline’s toes curled just thinking about it. “He’s a senior!”

Charli wrinkled her nose. “Kind of makes you wonder why.”

Ladies and gents, let me introduce my best friend, Charli. Grade A skeptic.

“Because he thinks we’re hotties.” Madeline bumped her hip against her best friend’s. “Which we totally are.”

Charli snorted. “No, he thinks you’re hot. That’s why he asked you to meet him here today.” She kicked a stone out of her way. Madeline watched it disappear into the grass. “I’m pretty sure he only invited me to the party because I’m your friend.”

Madeline gave her friend a quick squeeze on the forearm. “Don’t be so hard on yourself. I’m sure every guy in our class would love to ask you out. It’s just…”

“That they think I’m bitchy?” Charli made devil horns grow from her head with her pointer fingers.

“Not bitchy. Just a little…cold?” Intimidating was the better word. “But, like, maybe you can chill and get to know a couple of Gordon’s friends.”

The look on Charli’s face said she highly doubted it.

Oh, loosen up, Charli! It’s okay to live a little and have some fun.

Though Charli was Magaret’s total opposite, they got each other. Best friends since their teacher had seated them next to each other in fifth grade. Madeline couldn’t think of anyone she’d rather have by her side.

“Maybe so.” Charli sighed. “But honestly, I’m perfectly happy with my life the way it is. I want to get into a good college in a couple years, and I don’t need a guy to complicate things or take away from my study time.”

Take away from study time? Her friend really needed to get out more. “Listen to yourself. You’re in high school. It’s okay to study and date guys at the same time. That’s the normal thing to do.” Maybe that was mean, but it was true. Madeline threw her arm around Charli’s shoulder to soften the sting. “When’s the last time you went out with anyone?”

“You’re impossible.” Charli rolled her eyes.

Madeline squeezed her tighter. “What was it Mr. Ryerson called me? ‘Irrepressible.’ I like that.”

Charli laughed again. “‘Irresponsible’ was, I believe, the exact word he used.”

“Yeah, but he meant to say ‘irrepressible.’” Madeline spun in a lazy circle, arms thrown wide, head back as she stared up at the trees around them. She reveled in the warmth of the sun on her skin.

“If you say so.”

After an eternity of chatting and laughing, Madeline checked the time. “Well, it’s been half an hour now. Doesn’t look like he’s going to make it.”

Charli looked relieved but rallied with a supportive, “Don’t worry. He’ll regret not coming. They always do.”

Madeline gave three ceremonial pats to the bronze likeness of the Bonaventure Jogger, the first woman from Savannah to compete in the Boston Marathon. She touched the statue of Julia Denise Backus Smith every time they walked through the cemetery, the way tourists kissed the Blarney Stone. The action brought her good luck for cross-country events.

“I have to tell you about this ridiculous song I heard last night. It’s hilarious.”

Charli shook her head as they continued through the graveyard. “So that’s what you were doing instead of studying?”

“Hey, don’t hate. But seriously, listen to this. I even made up a dance to go with it.”

Halfway through the song, Madeline had Charli laughing so hard that she tripped over an uneven spot in the ground. As her friend crouched to tie her shoes, Madeline skipped farther down the path, belting out the lyrics to the catchy tune.

After a few minutes, she stopped to give Charli a chance to catch up. “Hey, you wanna go to Leopold’s for ice cream this⁠—”

Iron arms snaked around Madeline’s middle from behind, crushing her tight and pinning her arms to her side.

After letting out an embarrassing squeak, she realized who it was. “Get off me, Gordon. Your little prank’s not freaking funny.”

But when she tried to pull away, a hand clamped over her mouth.

“I’m not Gordon, love. No time for introductions now.”

Madeline froze, trying to process.

Not…Gordon.

Adrenaline ripped through her limbs, sending her thrashing against his powerful arms. Though she fought with all her strength, he dragged her like a rag doll alongside the wrought iron fence at the edge of the cemetery.

No. No. No.

His gloved hand over her mouth cut off all her attempts to scream. Hot breath tickled the back of her neck as he chuckled. Like he thought trying to save herself was funny.

Despite the panic rising in her chest, Madeline tried to think. Tried to make herself aware of her surroundings. Of something that could help. There was Charli, still tying her stupid shoe. She always had a thing about perfect double knots. They weren’t too far away yet, if she would just…

Look up. C’mon, look up!

But she kept right on with the shoe.

Madeline lost sight of her friend for a moment as a large headstone blocked her view. Then she saw Charli again, but she felt much farther away.

All of Madeline’s attempts to think vanished when they reached the fence and she spotted a large gray van parked on the street just outside the cemetery gates. No windows. Bland and nondescript, just like her mom had always warned her about.

This can’t be happening. This can’t be happening.

Wrenching her head back and forth, Madeline bit the gloved hand. As soon as her mouth slipped free, she screamed bloody murder.

“Don’t…make this…difficult.”

Like an alligator with its prey, Madeline twisted and kicked, her shrieks reverberating through the otherwise quiet space. Except she was the prey, and this man was the alligator.

Where’s Charli?

“Stop!” Way back where she’d knelt to tie her shoe, Charli began sprinting toward her. “Stop, let her go!”

Hope soared in Madeline’s chest. Charli would help her fight off this psycho. But her hope burst like a balloon when she realized they’d reached the van.

“Madeline!”

That gloved hand clamped over her mouth again.

Hurry!

Madeline raked her nails down his arms, drawing blood that dotted his skin in tiny beads. He cursed and loosened his grip.

“Let. Me. Go!”

“Bitch! You’ll pay for that.” The monster rammed her head into the back of the vehicle. Pain shot through Madeline’s skull, and her vision blurred at the edges. He held her with one arm and threw open the door, shoving her inside like a sack of potatoes.

The last thing Madeline glimpsed before the door slammed shut was Charli, at least ten yards away, her face twisted in anguish. As if she’d known before she started running…

Too little. Too late. Too. Late.

2

Present day…

Detective Charlotte Cross had stared down cold-blooded serial killers and homicidal maniacs, but as she sat on her couch, waiting for the doorbell to ring, she somehow felt more anxious than any time she’d faced off with a murderer. Less than three weeks earlier, she’d agreed to meet with TV journalist Jack Clarion for an upcoming episode of Ten Years Later, his show about unsolved murder cases.

At first, Charli had been dead set against participating in the interview. But as her fellow detective Janice Piper had so helpfully observed, the show had brought about long-overdue justice and closure for numerous victims and their families. Charli had acquiesced, hoping this episode about the ten-year anniversary of her best friend’s murder would shed some light on her killer.

Back then, after Madeline’s kidnapping but before the discovery of her body months later, Charli had told the story to anyone who would stand still for two seconds. Now, a decade later and wise enough to recognize nothing she could say would bring her best friend back, Charli found it much harder to reopen those old wounds.

In the last few months, Madeline’s killer—or so she assumed—had done enough of that himself, reaching out to Charli with taunting messages and photographs of Madeline during her captivity.

As Charli had discovered, Madeline’s own mother was responsible for some of the harassment. Marcia Ferguson had once been like a second mom to Charli, but her grief over her daughter’s abduction and murder had poisoned her mind. Turned her against Charli. That insanity deepened as the tenth anniversary of Madeline’s death neared, pushing her to leave threatening messages for, in her mind, the girl she thought should’ve disappeared instead.

But she hadn’t written and delivered all of the messages. Hadn’t handcrafted horrifying birthday gifts depicting her lost daughter’s torture. Hadn’t tossed Charli’s house and made phone calls that drove her to live at her parents’ home—and even her longtime enemy Janice Piper’s guest bedroom—for multiple weeks.

With a heavy heart, Charli recalled her final physical altercation with Marcia. That incident, and Marcia’s fierce plea for Charli to find Madeline’s killer “no matter what it takes or what you have to do,” had catalyzed her return of Jack Clarion’s call and agreement to an interview.

And here I sit, in my own private hell, as I wait for him to get here.

Grabbing an electric-blue couch pillow that matched the sofa, Charli squeezed so hard her knuckles turned white as she surveyed the tidy living room. After moving back into her own house, she’d taken time in the last few weeks to straighten up from all the recent vandalism.

Upon the death of her grandmother, Carol Cross, the house in Savannah’s Historic District had passed to Charli, coming already furnished with a mix of sixties, seventies, and eighties decor. One of these days, she should redecorate, but that required time and money, two things she never seemed to have enough of.

Really, the house wasn’t the problem, tidied up for the impending interview or not.

I don’t want to do this.

A shrill, mechanical ring sounded from the old-fashioned doorbell.

Charli jumped, bending back a fingernail on the pillow fabric. She hissed in pain as she got up.

Halfway to the front door, she realized she was still holding the stupid pillow. She turned and threw it like a football back toward the couch. It landed just short on one of her Grandma Carol’s favorite Oriental rugs. Charli growled under her breath and forced herself to complete her journey to the door.

She wrapped her fingers around the worn gold knob, hesitating as the urge to pretend she wasn’t home flashed through her mind.

Stop being an idiot! If talking about what happened helps me find Madeline’s killer, then it’s a small price to pay.

With a deep breath, she unlocked the door and twisted the knob, stepping back to let the door swing open. An attractive man with light-brown hair and brown eyes stood there smiling at her. With his tailored suit and perfect teeth, he looked like he’d just stepped off a runway.

“Charli Cross?”

She squared her shoulders, giving herself a last-minute mental pep talk. You can do anything for Madeline. “Yes, I’m Charli.”

He held out his hand, revealing manicured nails in better shape than her own. “Jack Clarion.” He shook her hand with a no-nonsense grip. “Thank you so much for agreeing to this interview.”

She nodded, struggling to find words around the sudden lump in her throat. “Please come in.”

He entered, trailed by two men carrying an array of equipment. A large white SUV was parked in the driveway with the hatch open, and Charli suspected more gear would be forthcoming. A smaller, older model crossover took up the curb in front of her house.

The first guy, with bulging muscles under a tight maroon t-shirt and short black hair, nodded at her when Jack introduced him as Brandon, the camera operator. By contrast, the lighting guy, Caspar, wore a long dirty-blond ponytail that hung halfway down his back and a button-down denim shirt. Looped over one shoulder was a thick coil of cables that looked almost like an extension of him.

As Charli escorted them into the living room, she glanced at the mirror that had borne such a hateful message—You will die!—not long before. She kept expecting those bloodred words to reappear, like ectoplasm dripping on the walls of a haunted house.

After snatching up the electric-blue pillow and dropping it back where it belonged, she turned to Jack. “I think this room makes the most sense to film in.”

Grandma Carol would have approved. This was her favorite room in the house.

“It’s perfect.” Jack turned to the two men with him, and they both nodded as they made their way to the front door. “I hope it’s okay with you if we move some furniture around. We’ll be very careful with your things, and we’ll put them all back before we leave.”

Move things around?

That was better than a break-in, but just barely. Imagining all the tiny ways she’d be lining the furniture back up with its original position after today, Charli bit back a sigh and somehow dredged up a smile. “Sure, that’s fine.”

Caspar glanced around. “Good natural lighting if we flip things around.” He dropped his yards of cable on the rug with a heavy thud and headed back outside.

Truth be told, Charli’d considered rearranging the furniture so that every time she walked into the room, she wouldn’t picture it as it was after the home invasion. Maybe…this could work okay.

Ants began crawling under her skin at the presence of so many unfamiliar people in her home.

“Excuse me, which room has the best lighting in the house?”

Charli turned as a woman entered, clutching a large rolling case. She was about Charli’s age, with short, unnatural red hair, a silver stud in her nose, and half a dozen colorful tattoos on her pale, thin arms.

“Umm—”

“I’m sorry, where are my manners?” Jack spoke as though chiding himself. “Detective Cross, this is Bonnie Sheffield, who’ll be handling hair and makeup. We were lucky to get her. She had a one-week window between film shoots in Atlanta. She’s one of the best in the industry.”

“Please call me Charli.” She turned toward Bonnie. “What kind of light are you looking for?”

Bonnie waved a hand around. “Kind of looks like this. Natural, but brighter. Easier to see how you’ll look on the set.”

As a detective, Charli’s view of the world oriented toward the unusual and the misplaced. Not the quality of light around her. She squinted at the morning sunrays drifting across the newly uncovered hardwood. “Um, that sounds like the first floor bathroom. Let me show you.”

Once in there, Bonnie glanced around at the frosted window pane letting sunlight in over the closed toilet and gave a quick nod. “Good lighting, and it’s a nice size for a house like this. The space will work just fine. Do you have a folding chair we can set up so I can move around you? It’ll be awkward if you have to sit on the toilet.”

“Of course.” Charli hurried to the utility closet. By the time she returned with a folding chair, Bonnie’s black case had expanded as if by magic to reveal a staggering number of supplies. Brushes, colors, powders, and creams blurred before Charli’s eyes in an incomprehensible rush of details.

After positioning the seat to her liking, the artist began to pile stubby tubes and shiny cylinders onto the counter. “I won’t need you for about twenty minutes.”

“Okay.” Charli stepped around the chair. “I’ll leave you to it.”

Feeling like a stranger in her own house, Charli made her way back to the living room, where an enormous pile of folded, knobbed, and telescoping equipment had appeared.

Brandon and Caspar were already busy rearranging furniture, communicating with each other through a series of grunts. They put the couch down across the room from its original location, flipping it the opposite direction to face the incoming morning light. Then they moved as one over to the coffee table and carried it out into the foyer.

In another couple of minutes, the room was rearranged. Charli blinked at the sudden and complete change of a space she’d known her whole life.

“You okay?”

She spun, startled, as Jack spoke from behind her.

Not exactly.

“Yes, it’s just…a bit much.”

He touched her arm. “I understand. Don’t worry, they’ll put everything back. Why don’t we go talk in the kitchen and let them do their thing?”

She trailed him into the room papered over with floral patterns on the walls. Passing through, he reached the nearby dining room, pulled out a chair at her own table, and offered the seat to her. A floating sensation had Charli checking to make sure her shoes still touched the floor. When had she so completely lost control of her environment?

The second I opened the front door.

Genuine sympathy filled Jacke’s eyes as she sat. “I know all of this must be hard to deal with.”

She forced another smile. “A little.”

Great, I can’t even give more than a two-word answer about that. How in the world am I going to make it through an entire interview?

“It’s hard enough to prepare yourself to open up about something so traumatic, and then we come in and take over your space and rearrange it.” He leaned forward and met her gaze. “I know that must be disconcerting. I promise we’ll be out of your hair as soon as possible.”

“Th-thank you.” She glanced past him toward her black-granite kitchen counter. “Would you like some coffee?”

Come on, Charli. Chill out. You’ve done a ton of difficult things in the last ten years, and you can get through one little interview.

“Only if you’re having some.”

Chewing her lip, Charli got up and rummaged in a cabinet for a coffee filter and her favorite dark roast. Bonnie had said she’d be ready in twenty minutes, but for the life of her, Charli couldn’t begin to guess how many of those minutes had passed since she’d left the bathroom. At least making coffee gave her hands something to do so she didn’t just sit there staring at Jack like an idiot.

With a mild squeak of wood against linoleum, Jack half turned his chair around to semi-face her. “I want to thank you again for agreeing to the interview. I know it will be personally taxing, but I’m confident that if we get the information out, someone, somewhere will know something.”

She dumped the last scoop of coffee in the filter, spilling some on the countertop. “You really think that?”

Jack twisted in his seat, his brow wrinkled in surprise. “You don’t?”

With a shrug, she gave the counter a half-hearted wipe and turned on the coffee maker. “I don’t know what to think.”

He stood and closed the distance between them, causing Charli to turn to face him. She didn’t like the feeling of vulnerability having her back to him created. “We’ll find this guy. Serial killers like to feel they’re untouchable, but they’re not. Not when we can enlist the whole world to help find them.”

Frustration rippled through Charli. “Well, this guy’s pushing ten years.”

“Don’t worry. Madeline’s killer, if he is indeed a serial killer, has gone far too long uncaptured.” With a gentle smile, Jack rested a hand on her shoulder. “The odds are against him.”

She blew out a breath. “I hope you’re right.”

He squeezed her shoulder. Charli moved a half step backward in response, and Jack pulled his hand away. “I promise you, someone out there knows something, whether they’re aware of it yet or not.”

She nodded as tears pricked her eyes. His confidence was contagious. For the first time, she let herself believe—really believe—Madeline’s killer could be caught soon. That feeling was a gift, and she savored it, clinging to that hope.

A hesitant voice shattered the moment. “Am I interrupting?”

Charli tilted her head so she could gaze past Jack at Agent Preston Powell standing in the doorway. Beneath his surfer-boy flop of sun-streaked brown hair, his handsome face seemed frozen into neutrality. At that expression, her heart did a little stutter of uncertainty.

For most of Charli’s recent case tracking down Marcia Ferguson, Preston had vanished to Henrietta on a case for the Georgia Bureau of Investigation. Gone long enough that, even though he and Charli had agreed to start dating, she couldn’t quite parse his mood. They both knew she wasn’t one to cling, so she’d thought his distance during the trip fine and normal.

But something was off.

She moved away from Jack. “Hi. What are you doing here?”

His chocolate-brown gaze met hers with almost robotic precision, neatly slicing Jack Clarion out of the conversation. In that moment, Charli would’ve given her last paycheck to read her boyfriend’s thoughts. “I came to offer moral support, although I’m not sure you need it.”

Of course not. We both know that. So what exactly does that mean?

“I can use all the moral support I can get.”

Jack stepped forward, extending his hand. “Hi, I’m Jack Clarion.”

With a smile that Charli could tell was forced, Preston shook his hand. “Preston Powell.”

“Well, Preston, you have quite a grip there.” Jack winced. “What do you do for a living?”

Preston raised his eyebrows. “I’m an agent with the GBI.”

The TV host put his shoulders back and straightened his shirt, his movements reflexive. “Ah, how interesting. You know, studies have shown that when it comes to professional careers, police and security jobs attract more serial killers.”

Preston stared at him, a thunderous expression flashing across his face. “Really?”

Jack flushed. “I’m sorry. That didn’t come out like I’d intended.”

Charli looked back and forth between the two of them, trying to understand the male pissing game they seemed to be playing.

Preston gritted his teeth. “For a guy who makes his living by talking, you’re not too careful with your words, are you?”

Charli put her hand on his arm. “Hey, it’s okay.”

Taking a breath, Preston gave her an apologetic smile. “Sorry. But you know how I feel about you doing this show.”

Jack cocked his head to the side. “Why? Because you don’t want her reliving the trauma?”

The agent jammed his fists into his pockets. “I’m afraid it’ll antagonize the killer, enticing him to come out of the shadows and harass Charli even more. Plus, there are other nutjobs and whackos who’ll likely come out of the woodwork. The last thing she needs is another stalker.”

Heat crept up Charli’s neck, and she struggled to keep her voice neutral. “I appreciate your concern. I really do, but it’s my decision to make. My choice, my risk.”

“You’re right.” Preston seemed to deflate, and his expression cleared. “It looks like you guys have everything under control.” He snaked his arm around Charli’s waist and squeezed. “I’ve got some work to do, but just call if you need anything, okay?”

That’s more like it.

“Okay. Thanks for checking on me.”

Nodding at Jack, Preston headed out of the kitchen. A moment later, his car revved to life outside.

Jack turned to Charli with an apologetic grimace. “I’m sorry. I hope I didn’t offend him.”

Charli unclenched her fists, not even knowing when she’d balled them up. “Don’t worry about it. He’s probably just a little on edge because he’s concerned about me.”

Or maybe it’s because you pissed him off with your comment about serial killers in law enforcement.

She couldn’t help but think back to when Preston had met her partner. The two had disliked each other right off the bat, but they’d both come around. Eventually.

Jack sighed. “Trauma like this, and talking about it, can cause different reactions in different people. I’m sure he just doesn’t want to see you get hurt.”

I’m a big girl. I don’t need a man to protect me.

That was what she wanted to say. Instead, Charli measured her words, trying to be diplomatic. “That might be true, but he doesn’t have the right to say what I should and shouldn’t do.”

Preston’s arrival had distracted her from her earlier jitters, but now that he was gone, they came roaring back. She dropped into a chair and twisted her fingers in her lap.

Jack nodded at the coffee maker. “Looks like it’s ready. Can I pour you a cup?”

She flashed him a grateful smile. “That would be wonderful. The cups are in the cabinet above.”

He pulled two white mugs from the cabinet and filled them. “Could I ask your opinion on something?”

“Sure.”

Jack handed her a cup. “I feel incredibly awkward even bringing this up, but some time ago, Marcia Ferguson agreed to do an interview. Considering recent circumstances, though, I’m not sure that putting her on camera is a good idea.”

Charli’s respect for the man increased by leaps and bounds. She rose, retrieving some flavored creamer from the fridge. “I agree with you one-hundred-percent. Marcia is a very sick woman, and if you interviewed her, she could be…unpredictable.” She held the bottle out for Jack, who politely declined.

He took a cautious sip of his steaming beverage and headed for his chair. “See, that was my thinking, but I wasn’t sure how it would make you feel.”

Mug in hand, Charli reclaimed her seat at the table. “I know what she’s been through, and it’s made her crazy. I can’t hold a grudge against her for that. If anything, I think I pity her more, despite everything she did to me.”

Elbows propped on the table, Jack steepled his fingers. “I think that’s very big of you, very wise.”

“The poor woman has suffered enough.” Charli traced the wood grain in the table with her index finger. “And so have I. Being angry with her doesn’t help either of us. At this point, I’m just hoping she can find peace and maybe one day heal.” She drew in a deep breath and blew it out slowly. “Now, can I ask you why you do what you do?”

“That’s an easy one. To help people.”

Charli almost rolled her eyes. “Yeah, I’ve heard that one before.”

Even said it myself on a number of occasions. While that’s part of it, the truth is so much more complicated.

Jack looked down into his mug. “I know this is going to sound ridiculous, but before I started doing the show, I was just another reporter trying to find his place. I was in San Francisco to do a piece on the rising problem of homelessness in the city. Long story short, I was mugged, and the experience haunted me.” He lifted his gaze, his brown eyes gentle on her face. “I know that must seem silly to you, especially given all that you’ve seen both professionally and personally.”

“That’s not ridiculous. You were attacked, your rights violated. That’s enough to shake anyone up, no matter who they are.” Charli tasted her coffee, letting the warm liquid soothe her mind. “I’ve seen so many people in the police station dealing with so many different emotions in the aftermath of something like that. Shame, fear, anger, hopelessness. They’re all valid.”

Jack flashed her a soft smile as he studied her. “Thanks. I know the experience changed me. What bothered me the most was that they never found the guy, and I got the impression the police never even really tried. They just wrote it off as a lost cause. Of course, that made me feel a sense of injustice, but it also made me feel doubly victimized. That’s the only way I can put it.”

Charli could relate. Though in Madeline’s case, the police had tried really hard.

At least, at first. After a while, they gave up and wrote her off as a lost cause too.

“That’s understandable.”

“I was so obsessed that it started to consume me. Then, a friend suggested I do something about it.” Jack kneaded his slacks. “She said even if I couldn’t find my mugger, there were thousands of serious, horrific crimes still unsolved. If I wanted to make a difference, maybe I could get more exposure for them, seek out people who might know something. That’s how I started the show.”

“Thank you for sharing that.” Charli understood the feeling of being victimized, knew the helplessness of waiting for someone else to solve the crime and restore sanity to the world. She wanted to let him know he wasn’t alone, but she wasn’t sure she was ready to open up that far. “I…uh…became a detective ultimately, I think, for much the same reason.”

“I suspected as much.” Jack pressed his palm flat on the tabletop. His fingertips were so close to hers, the heat of his skin washed over her hand. “Look, I want you to know that when we go in there, if there’s a question you don’t want to answer, don’t. If you want me to rephrase something or are uncomfortable, let me know.”

Charli swallowed the lump in her throat. “Thank you.” The words came out a whisper.

“You’re most welcome. This isn’t about putting you on the spot. It’s about empowering you and, hopefully, getting justice. The show has managed to do that for eighteen other families, which just astounds and humbles me.” He raised his coffee cup to her in a little toast. “I’m hoping it can help bring closure for you as well.”

3

Three hours later, Charli was emotionally wrung out, but in a good way. Jack had stayed true to his word about showing respect and giving her space when and where she needed it. She’d broken down crying twice, and he’d offered to cut those sequences, but she’d declined, asking him to use them if he could. People needed to know Madeline’s death still mattered.

They had just taken a break, and Jack strode forward to sit beside her on the couch. “How are you holding up?”

Charli exhaled. “Tired.” Lifting her hand to rub her eyes, she stopped. She’d hate for Bonnie to have to touch up her makeup…again.

He nodded. “We’ve got most of it. I propose we stop for the day and do our pickup shots tomorrow morning.”

“That sounds good.” She leaned back against the couch cushions and told herself it was too early to go to bed.

Jack grinned, revealing his even white teeth. “What do you say I take you out for lunch?”

Before she could answer, her phone rang. She got up from the couch and grabbed the device off the coffee table in the foyer.

Excusing herself, she headed for the kitchen to take the call. “Detective Cross. What’s up, Sarge?” Immediately, she winced.

As Sergeant Ruth Morris was a no-nonsense woman, the familiarity Charli had just tried with her sat wrong on her tongue. Although Charli’d always respected her boss, only recently had the two of them connected as people. Really connected. But she still got clumsy when walking that friend-boss line.

“I’m afraid you are. As in ‘up to bat.’ We’ve got a dead body. Since Detective Church is still out on medical leave, you and Detective Piper will be covering it.”

While Charli was always up to work a case, the timing wasn’t great. She ground her teeth in frustration. “Okay, I guess we can meet at the scene.”

“Up to you how you ladies want to work that out.”

Charli ended the call with Ruth just as a text came in from Janice.

Will meet you at crime scene.

Charli typed out a message.

On my way in five.

She wished she were on the way to meet Matthew—her longtime partner—but as Ruth had pointed out, he was still recovering from a broken arm, fractured ribs, and burns on his chest and face following the bombing of his truck. He’d even lost a piece of his ear, but it was healing nicely after his surgery. Oh, and there was the three-day coma.

Despite his injuries, he was in great spirits. Charli had been at his apartment just the night before having dinner with him, his daughter, and her high school friend Rebecca Larson, who was dating Matthew.

While he enjoyed medical leave, Charli found herself paired with Janice again. She’d never been crazy about the woman’s attempts to cut between her and Matthew with her unreciprocated crush on him. But forced proximity during a case together had developed Charli’s appreciation for the other detective, a woman of far greater complexity and wisdom than she’d originally believed. It helped that Janice had lent Charli her guest bedroom when push came to shove in Marcia’s threats against her.

Walking back into the living room, Charli took in the setup with dismay. There was no way the camera crew could break down in five minutes, and she didn’t feel comfortable leaving them alone in her house while she went off to work.

Jack looked up from a small video screen. He frowned. “Bad news?”

“Yeah. I have to go to work.”

He leaned forward, looking like an eager reporter hoping for a scoop. “Someone found a body?”

“Something like that.” Alarm zinged through her just ahead of her vague response as she remembered he was still part of the press, no matter how unusual his job.

“Far be it from us to get in your way.” Jack stood, setting the camera aside. “If you don’t mind, we can leave the equipment set up. As long as no one moves anything, it will make tomorrow morning faster with the pickups.”

Charli heaved a sigh of relief. “That would be just fine. I’m sorry, but I need to go.”

“And so should we.” Jack turned to his crew. “All right, everyone. That’s it for today. We’ll reconvene here in the morning. Leave whatever you don’t need tonight.”

Five minutes later, Charli was in her car, speeding toward the crime scene.

4

Charli parked in front of a moss-green house with a pitched roof and vines snaking up a pair of trellises on either side of the front door. The ivy covering was out of place on the small, run-of-the-mill house, the greenery more at home on a stately mansion downtown.

Standing in the driveway, Janice chatted with an officer whose name badge Charli couldn’t quite make out, but she’d seen him at the precinct a few times. She took a few steps, squinting as she read B. Dawson, whom she recalled Matthew telling her had transferred from another department.

Smoothing a flyaway hair from her bottle-red ponytail, Janice laughed at something the blond officer said. Uh-oh. The cop didn’t have a ring on his finger, and based on Janice’s flirtatious body language, she’d noticed that little detail too.

Charli resisted the urge to roll her eyes. There were worse things than dating a fellow law enforcement officer…as long as it wasn’t Matthew. Besides, Janice deserved a little happiness in her life. With a smile, Charli walked up to her colleagues and signed the crime scene logbook, making a mental note to joke with Janice about the attractive new kid on the block later.

As she handed the book back to Officer Dawson, he nodded toward the neighbors. “Victim is Ezra Fenton. The neighbors, Quincy and Olive Patterson, grew suspicious when a couple packages piled up on his porch. They knocked on the front door. When Ezra didn’t respond, they called the police for a welfare check.”

Charli glanced at the couple sitting on their porch, talking with a deputy. “He was lucky to have such concerned neighbors.”

“Sure was.” Officer Dawson scraped a palm across the nape of his neck. “Otherwise, who knows how long before his body would have been found?”

Probably not until it started to smell.

She took in the house, noting the open front door and the crime scene tape. “Were there any signs of forced entry?”

He shook his head. “Nope. And the front door was unlocked.”

Interesting. That meant the perpetrator might have known the victim. Charli wanted to talk to the neighbors soon, but first, she would look inside the house before forensics arrived and started processing the scene. “I’m going inside.”

Janice followed her lead, but Charli didn’t miss the little grin she exchanged with the new guy before joining her on the porch. There, they paused to pull on pairs of gloves and shoe coverings before stepping across the threshold.

Inside, the short hallway opened into a great room that combined kitchen, living, and dining rooms. The wall to Charli’s left vanished behind about two dozen long planter boxes filled with small plants. Track lighting shined down on the planters, providing the delicate greens within ample light to grow.

Bending over one of the planters, Janice sniffed. “This one is mint.” She moved to another. “Cilantro. And the one on the other side is parsley, unless I’m mistaken.”

Charli leaned in to inhale the aroma of a different set of plants, and the distinct scent of rosemary filled her nostrils. “He had his own herb garden? Inside?”

“That’s one way to keep animals out of the plants.” Janice shrugged as she turned to survey the rest of the room. “The question is, what would someone think was valuable enough in this house to break in and steal?”

“Maybe someone caught a glimpse of the herb garden and mistook it for something more medicinal, if you know what I mean.” As Charli moved deeper into the house, her thoughts kept pulling her back to the interview about Madeline.

She froze in her tracks and gave herself a mental shake. Right now, she needed to be present at this crime scene. Later, she could deal with some emotional fallout, but she had to set her feelings aside. She couldn’t fail the victim lying just on the other side of the line between her and the dining area, where he lay next to the table.

“If that’s the case, you’d think the planters would be disturbed.” Janice gestured around them. “They’re practically the only thing in this room that hasn’t been.”

She was right. The place had been ransacked. A white floor-to-ceiling bookcase built into the wall opposite the herb garden contained more gaps than spines, most of its books dumped onto the floor. Patterns in the mess indicated they’d been deliberately picked up by the armful and thrown down as opposed to knocked over in a fight or searched through with care.

Maybe Charli couldn’t determine light quality, but she could read a crime scene.

Smashed on the floor was a green lamp with a floral-patterned shade, light bulb shards spreading outward for a couple of feet. A single barstool had been tipped onto its side next to the kitchen counter, which sported old green laminate countertops. What remained of the sparse furniture included a small couch—more of a loveseat—with olive-green velvet cushions and an end table. At the table, itself perhaps too heavy to overturn, a straight-backed antique chair with carved wooden legs and arms lay keeled over, one leg cracked.

Janice raised an eyebrow. “The guy really liked green.”

Green did, indeed, seem to be his preferred color. Charli turned her attention to the body of the homeowner.

Ezra Fenton lay on his back in front of the splintered chair. Against his jeans and green leaf-pattern shirt, the crimson blood stain blossomed out like a flower around the butcher knife in his heart. He hadn’t given up without a struggle, though, as evidenced by the defensive cuts on both his muscled arms.

Appearing about average height and a bit over fifty, the victim had a strong physique. His long auburn hair was shot through with strands of silver, his brown eyes frozen open in death.

What had they seen in his final moments of life?

Perhaps it was the tangle of his legs, one bent behind the other. Maybe it was the peculiar way he had fallen on the chair with the cracked leg, or rather, how he hadn’t fallen on it. From the way his upper body contorted, he seemed to have missed the furniture. While Charli couldn’t quite put her finger on what was bothering her, something was wrong with the picture.

“You okay?” Janice’s voice came from a thousand miles away.

Charli gave herself another mental shake, realizing she’d zoned out. “Yeah, I just…I’m curious as to what Soames will say.”

Janice nodded toward the front of the house. “Looks like you’re getting a chance to ask him sooner rather than later.”

“Hello, ladies.” The Georgia Bureau of Investigation’s medical examiner spread his arms wide as he walked through the front door, a mischievous grin on his face. “How are two of my favorite detectives doing today? Have I ever told you how lovely you both look standing amid chaos?”

Janice bobbed her eyebrows. “You’re in a good mood. Things going well with my cousin?”

The grin spread wide across Dr. Randal Soames’s face. “Couldn’t be better. I have to tell you, she is amazing.”

“So I’ve heard.”

Charli caught the sarcasm but was pretty sure Janice’s tone was lost on the medical examiner. For weeks, he’d been mooning over his mysterious new girlfriend, who’d turned out to be Janice’s cousin, an actress.

Janice grabbed Charli’s elbow and steered her toward the sliding glass door that led to the back porch. “We’ll check out the backyard while we leave you and your team to it.”

Charli hadn’t finished with her visual survey of the crime scene, but Janice clearly wanted some air and didn’t want to be alone. As soon as they stepped outside and shut the door behind them, the older detective started venting. “I’m happy for them, truly. It’s just going to make Thanksgiving hard, because I’ll be the black sheep without a significant other. Again.”

Seriously?

They were investigating a murder case, and Charli’s temporary partner was worried about not having a date at her family gathering? “It can’t be that big a deal.”

Janice stopped in her tracks. “Big a deal? Think beyond big. To my parents, you’re failing your family obligations if you’re not married and producing heirs, no matter your gender.”

“That’s…harsh.” Charli couldn’t think of another word for it.

“Tell me about it.” Janice flipped her perfect ponytail over her shoulder.

Turning away from her partner, Charli surveyed the backyard, which was a veritable garden. Filled with more types of flowers, shrubs, and trees than she could even begin to count, the yard boasted a small Greek-looking fountain that stood front and center.

To the left grew several rose bushes and some variety of trees Charli couldn’t identify. Even in late November, colorful hues filled the eye. The garden, at least, appeared undisturbed.

Janice fingered a plant with bright-pink blooms. “This place is a plant lover’s paradise.”

After a cursory look around, Charli returned to the house. Because Soames was busy inspecting the victim, she strode into the kitchen, only to discover all the cabinets had been opened, their contents dumped onto the counters and floor.

Fortunately, there weren’t that many pots, pans, and dishes to contend with. In fact, she found only a single plate and a single bowl. They painted a picture of a man who not only lived alone but entertained seldom, if ever.

She explored the remaining rooms. First, the bedroom was as spartan as the kitchen, furnished only with a bed, a small bureau, and a nightstand, all of which had been tossed. A tiny closet stored half a dozen pairs of jeans and several more button-up shirts with floral and plant designs.

The second room served as an office, a small desk and a swivel chair almost filling the minuscule space. An ancient looking computer monitor had been hurled onto the floor.

That’s odd. There was no reason to do that, particularly if the murderer was emptying everything while looking for something. Why waste time throwing a monitor?

Charli stood in the middle of the room, chewing on her bottom lip. The killer had searched every room. Had they found what they were looking for or left frustrated? What did Ezra have hidden that his murderer might not have found? Forensics would no doubt do a thorough sweep.

Of course, maybe whatever they were looking for hadn’t arrived yet. To that end, Charli made a note to have the techs inspect the packages on the porch for anything that might be worth killing for.

An old flip phone lay on his desk, still attached to a charging port. With her hands gloved, Charli examined the device. There were numerous calls and half a dozen texts. She skimmed through them.

Every message but the last was from a Valerie Brown, who must have been his publisher, because she kept wanting to know why he was late turning in his manuscript. Her calls became more concerned as she asked if he was all right. The final voicemail was from his neighbor, Olive, checking in on him.

Charli put the phone in an evidence bag, then set to work going through the drawers. They’d been pulled out halfway and pawed through. Sticky notes with scribbled reminders littered the bottom of the middle drawer, and when Charli tried to pull it all the way out, it jammed on something stuck to the underside of the desk. She reached her hand in, feeling around until her fingers touched paper.

Tugging gently, Charli pulled out the item to find it was a check registry booklet. Whether it had gotten stuck there during the ransacking or if Ezra had hidden it there, she could only guess. She flipped through and paused, her fingertip frozen on the last entry.

“Find anything interesting?”

Charli jerked her head up, finding that Janice had stopped in the doorway, the space too tiny to fit them both. “Maybe.” She held out the registry. “Check out the last line. It’s a withdrawal in the amount of nine thousand, nine hundred and ninety-nine dollars.”

“Well, that amount always raises a red flag. One more dollar, and it would’ve triggered the bank to make a mandatory report to the IRS.” Janice dropped the registry into another evidence bag. “I’ll put in for a warrant to pull his bank records.”

They headed back to the great room, sidestepping a tech who was photographing the blood spatter near the victim.

Careful not to contaminate the scene, Charli stopped beside the M.E. “Did you find anything odd? Something about his body doesn’t seem right to me. Time of⁠—”

He held up a hand. “Give me a minute, will you?”

Forcing her mouth closed, Charli waited. Several moments ticked by as she remained in place, Janice continuing to roam around the house.

“You were right to be suspicious.” At last, Soames straightened from his examination, pointing as he talked. “He has rope marks on his wrists and ankles, indicating he was tied up before he was stabbed.”

As Janice sidled up, Charli frowned. “But the defensive wounds…”

He closed a small notebook, tucking it into his pocket. “I know. I need to get the body to the lab before I can give you an accurate timeline of what happened and when.”

Though Charli chafed at the delay, the GBI’s medical examiner was one of the best in his field, and she didn’t doubt he’d be able to get to the bottom of this particular mystery.

Janice nudged her. “Ready to go talk to the neighbors?”

5

Charli moved with Janice to the front door, then down the steps and to the middle-aged couple who’d been waiting on their porch with concerned, drawn expressions.

The deputy who sat with them rose, dipping his chin and flashing them a small smile as he introduced them to Mr. and Mrs. Patterson before taking his leave.

Mrs. Patterson knit her brows. “Please call us Olive and Quincy. We’re not fancy.” She had a slender build with long, wavy dark-brown hair and blue eyes.

Quincy, who looked like a giant blond linebacker, nodded. “Anything we can help with, we will. We didn’t know Ezra as well as we would have liked, but we’ve been neighbors for five years and, I’d like to think, friends.”

“We appreciate your help.” Charli gave them an encouraging smile as she crossed her fingers that they’d have information to help track down Ezra’s killer. “Would you prefer to speak out here or inside?”

Olive waved them to a pair of empty white rocking chairs. “Out here is fine.”

Charli took out her notebook and pen before settling into the rocker. “How long have you known Mr. Fenton?”

Quincy sighed. “Like I said, we’ve been neighbors for five years. We met him when we bought our house. He kept mostly to himself. Didn’t join in the Fourth of July or Halloween block parties, but he always had a smile and a friendly wave.”

“He was a horticulturist, and he seemed more at home around plants than people.” Olive studied her nails, picking some dirt out from beneath them. “When I realized he had written one of the books I used as reference material for my rose garden, I couldn’t help but approach him to ask about one of my trees that just wasn’t blooming. He was so helpful and knowledgeable.”

“He got your tree shaped up just like that.” Quincy snapped his fingers in the air. “I can’t believe he’s gone.”

Charli glanced up from her notebook. “When did you first suspect something was wrong?”

Quincy pushed a pair of black plastic frames farther up on his nose. “Yesterday afternoon, we realized he had a couple of packages on his front porch. He was always getting gardening supplies, seeds, that kind of stuff in the mail. I thought maybe one of the boxes had been there overnight, but I wasn’t sure. Then, this morning…”

“This morning?” Charli prompted.

Quincy chewed his lip. “I was heading out to work when I noticed the packages hadn’t been brought in. I went over and knocked on his door, but he didn’t answer. I went back into our house and told Olive.”

Olive sucked in her breath. “I tried calling him. In the last five years, he’s only been gone overnight three times. Each time, he had us water his plants and pick up his mail. When we ran into him last week, he didn’t ask us to do anything or mention leaving town. He didn’t answer his phone. I told Quincy maybe we should go over and see if everything looked okay.”

A shadow passed over Quincy’s face, and his frown deepened. “I walked around, trying to look through one of the windows. I managed to get a peek through the sliding glass door in the back. At first, all I could see was the mess, like a hurricane had ripped through the place. Then I saw an arm on the floor. It looked like there was blood on it.” He scrubbed his face with his hands. “I couldn’t make out anything else from the angle I was at, but that was enough for me. I called 911.”

Janice leaned back in her rocker. “Did you go inside the house?”

Quincy shook his head. “Not at first, but the officers who arrived asked if I’d be willing to look at the body to make a positive identification. That’s Ezra in there, all right. And I don’t think I’ll ever get that image out of my head. Seeing him that way was just awful.” He hugged himself as Olive squeezed his arm.

Once Soames gave them an estimated time of death, they’d need alibis from Quincy and Olive. After all, they were the only neighbors who really had much contact with him, likely the only ones who had house-sat for him before. They could be in the perfect position to know about any valuables worth stealing.

While Quincy and Olive struck her as the boy and girl next door types, Charli had learned to never underestimate what decent, normal-seeming people might do for the right price.

She twirled her pen between her fingers like a miniature baton. “Did you notice if he had any visitors in the last few weeks?”

“He kept to himself, for the most part. We never knew him to have any company.” Olive clasped her hands tight in her lap. “I always felt honored that he’d talk to me about our gardens.”

The rhythmic motion of the rocker was making Charli sleepy. She sat up straight and placed her feet flat on the porch. “Any family that he ever spoke of?”

“No.” Quincy stroked his chin. “I always got the impression he was alone in this world. There were no family photos in his house or anything like that.”

Olive dropped her gaze. “His plants were the only family I think he had. I was planning on inviting him to Thanksgiving dinner this year, because nobody should be alone.”

A dark epiphany struck Charli. She was alone at the holidays for the first time in her life. Her father had recently died of a heart attack, and her sister Cassie and her kids had gone back home after the funeral.

Panic hit her like a bolt of lightning. She was a lost, untethered child. Her throat constricted.

Everything’s fine. I’m not alone. I have family, even if they’re not here. I have Matthew, who’s like family. Settle down, Charli. You’re just freaking out because of having to talk about losing Madeline in the interview this morning.

Janice cleared her throat. “Detective Cross, a word?”

Charli stood and walked to the sidewalk before turning to her temporary partner.

“What’s wrong?” Janice folded her arms and gave her an I won’t take crap for an answer look.

She took a few deep, centering breaths. “I just thought about my father and how I won’t be sharing Thanksgiving with him this year. This will be the first real holiday without him.”

Janice gripped her shoulder. “I’m sorry. Truly, I am. I know you’ve been going through a lot and that you came here straight from the interview about Madeline.”

The words “I’m fine” were on the tip of Charli’s tongue, but she bit them back. “Thank you.”

“I can finish up here if you want to go.”

“No, I want to stay. Really.”

She had plans to meet Rebecca and Matthew for dinner, and she didn’t want to go back home before that. She needed a little more time to process her day before returning and seeing all the camera equipment still set up.

After giving her a soul-searching stare, Janice nodded. “Okay, then let’s get everything out of them we can so we can wrap up here.”

“Agreed.”

Janice glanced back toward Ezra’s house. “I think whatever happened there was a lot more than just a simple burglary gone wrong. Hopefully, our friendly neighborhood busybodies will give us something we can use.”

“Oh, they seem like nice people.”

The characterization of Olive and Quincy as “busybodies” might have been a bit harsh, but Charli had gotten a glimpse of the world Janice grew up in on their last case, where everyone gossiped about everyone else and stuck their nose into other people’s business. Such an upbringing likely made her sensitive to the topic.

Janice crossed her arms again. “I tell you what. If this turns out to be some ridiculousness about murder over prizewinning flowers, I’m going to quit.”

Charli bit back a laugh. She was more inclined to hope for a straightforward answer like that to this mystery. After spending the morning reliving Madeline’s unsolved kidnapping and murder, a clear-cut case would be a relief.

6

Chelsea Church exited the movie theater and breathed in the cool evening air. Jamming her cold hands into the pockets of her skinny jeans, she was grateful for her cozy red fleece jacket.

Abby Nelson walked beside her, chattering in excitement about the evening’s movie and gesturing with excessive enthusiasm. Chelsea’s best friend loved rom-coms even more than she did.

Chelsea had enjoyed being back in Savannah the last few weeks, and she was happier than she’d been since her parents got divorced and her mom moved them to California. It was Monday night of Thanksgiving week, and since there was no school, she’d talked her dad into letting her stay over at Abby’s house after the movie.

Her bestie had already told her about all the junk food she’d assembled for the continuation of their epic movie marathon night, including her mom’s death-by-chocolate triple fudge brownies that Chelsea hadn’t eaten in forever. She practically drooled at the thought of the first bite.

They walked around the side of the theater, heading to the drop-off zone in the back where Abby’s mom would be picking them up before whisking them off to junk food heaven. Chelsea reached for her boho bag. Her dad had gotten her a small cannister of pepper spray and taught her how to use it. She’d been carrying it around since she’d come back to Savannah, and she’d developed the habit of holding onto it when she was walking at night.

But her bag wasn’t there.

Panic rippled through her, and it took her a moment to get her heart to stop pounding against her rib cage once she remembered it was back in Abby’s room. Since she hadn’t needed her chunky key chain bearing her first initial in sparkly rhinestones, she’d just shoved some cash in her pocket when they left the house.

She forced the surge of anxiety back, clenching her fists by her sides. Chelsea had been super jumpy since her dad almost died in the explosion. Glancing around, she took note of all the people around and reminded herself that eight o’clock wasn’t the middle of the night.

Everything’s fine. Abby’s here with me. And we’re surrounded by people.

Abby switched gears from chattering about the movie, making Chelsea’s brain hustle to keep up. “I’m glad your dad’s gonna be okay. He’s always been the best, ya know. He gave the craziest piggyback rides when we were kids.”

Chelsea shuddered. Just the thought of the great Detective Matthew Church so broken crushed her heart into pieces.

“Yeah, I was so freaked out, but Dad’s going to be okay, thank god. He’s still gotta heal up from the explosion and stuff, but I’m just thankful he’s alive.”

“Cap.”

Chelsea rubbed her arms to chase away the sudden chill. “I can’t believe I was mad at him for so long. I don’t even know why. Like, from what I’ve pieced together, it was totally Mom’s fault. The whole divorce thing, you know?”

Three college-age guys walking two yards away turned to stare at them. Chelsea’s shoulders tensed, and she wished she’d brought her bag.

Relax. They’re just staring because we’re not-ugly teenage girls, not because they have ulterior motives.

She hoped.

With renewed confidence, she pushed her shoulders back for effect. The gesture definitely got attention, as they all turned away again. If that was all the guys were dishing out, then things would be just fine.

“You have to try to live with her.” Abby straightened her posture too, chest out. “It sucks to live in the same house with someone you’re constantly mad at. Totally cringe.”

No shit.

She still couldn’t believe her mom let her come back to visit her dad. Of course, her mom was newly remarried, so she probably wanted time alone with her new husband. Gag. Just the thought made Chelsea’s stomach turn.

Abby flipped her shoulder-length blond hair and spoke as though she were an expert on the topic. “I mean, I finally had to let go of being pissed at my brother for always being such a jerk. I guess he can’t help it. He’s a guy, you know?”

Funny little things happened in Chelsea’s stomach when she thought of Abby’s sexy older brother. “Is he dating anyone right now? I mean…what’s he been up to?”

Smooth, Chelsea. You just practically admitted you like your best friend’s brother.

“Ew, gross!” Abby sailed a punch into her shoulder. “I seriously don’t even want to think about you hooking up with my brother.”

Crap. She’d walked into that one. “That’s so not what I meant!”

Yes, it is.

She’d had a crush on Andrew since she was seven, but she’d never told a soul. Not even Abby. Although now, she was pretty sure the cat was out of the bag.

“Anywaaay…” Abby dragged the word out, announcing her intention to change the subject away from her brother. “You ended up with your mom. It’s natural you’d be mad at your dad, since he’s the one who bailed.”

“I wish he’d fought for custody, but I think I get why he didn’t. I mean, he didn’t expect Mom to move me all the way across the country.” Chelsea nibbled on her lip. “But she did, and things are different now. He’s going to try for joint custody.” Warmth filled her as she envisioned what that would be like.

Hanging out with Abby, just like old times. Making up for lost days with her dad…

Abby did a little hop next to her. “Oh, I wish he’d get full custody so you could move back here all the time. It’s not the same without you here.” She sniffed. “I’ve really missed my bestie.”

Chelsea missed Abby just as much. Maybe even more since she’d had to leave everyone and everything behind.

“I know, and I want to be back here too, but I don’t think Mom’ll to go for that. I mean, she should. She’s always busy, and we never get to do stuff together anymore.” Because of her new husband. “We don’t even go shopping together, like ever.”

“Now that is serious.” Abby came to a sudden stop, grabbing her arm. “Not shopping? That’s like, a war crime or something.”

Chelsea laughed so hard tears stung her eyes.

This. I miss this. No one in California gets me. Or maybe I just don’t get them.

They’d reached the back of the theater, and Chelsea wiped at her eyes as they stopped on the curb. A gray van idled nearby in the passenger unloading zone where Abby’s mom had dropped them off earlier.

Chelsea shifted from foot to foot.

Why isn’t she waiting for us where she dropped us off? Dad would have been.

Abby pulled out her phone with an exasperated sigh. “Mom should be here any sec. I told her when the movie let out.”

Chelsea scanned the parking lot, wishing the van would move on already. Most of the people who’d just gotten out of the theater had already driven off or been picked up. Out of the corner of her eye, she studied the van, waiting to see if they were letting someone out or picking someone up.

There aren’t that many people left out here.

A white SUV parked a couple rows away flashed its lights.

Chelsea pointed. “Is that her?”

Abby glanced up. “Yeah.”

As relief flooded through her, she stepped off the curb and headed for the SUV, Abby leading the way.

Running footsteps sounded behind Chelsea. Every tiny hair on the back of her neck prickled.

She whipped her head around, the air leaving her lungs in a whoosh.

Just some overly excited kids.

What was her deal tonight?

Abby peeked over her shoulder. “Come on, slowpoke. Those brownies aren’t going to eat themselves. I’m starving.”

“Sorry. Thought I heard something.” She gave a small, nervous laugh. “Guess I’m just paranoid since Dad was attacked.”

“Quit worrying. There are a ton of people around. Nothing’ll happen.” Abby gestured for her to follow. “I’ll race ya!” She took off at a sprint.

“Hey, not fair. You were already⁠—”

A hand clamped around Chelsea’s mouth.

In an instant, adrenaline flooded her system. She tried to scream but couldn’t.

Fight! Your life depends on it.

She kicked and clawed, but an arm wrapped around her middle and dragged her backward.

Hot breath tickled her ear. A sharp prick in her neck fueled her panic, and she twisted around, pummeling flesh and muscle with her fists.

Her dad’s words echoed in her mind.

Elbow him in the gut and step on his insole.

With leaden arms, she lashed out with her elbows, but her limbs grew heavier with each passing second.

The attacker tightened his grip, squeezing her body until she felt like she was in a straitjacket.

Can’t move. Must…keep fighting.

She tried to flail, to fight, to escape. Chelsea opened her mouth, the sound of her scream against his palm foreign in her ears.

Thwack!

A hand smacked her jaw, and she blinked as tears stung her eyes. Her assailant half carried, half dragged her, hauling her toward the gray van.

Why can’t I move?

Struggling against the mental fog settling over her brain, she forced herself to stay calm.

Think…do something…have to…

Strong arms hoisted her off the ground. The van door opened, and the man shoved her inside. She opened her mouth, but the screams piercing the air weren’t hers.

Abby.

The door slammed in her face as blackness claimed her.

7

Sitting next to Rebecca, Matthew took a bite of his lasagna as Charli picked at her spaghetti and meatballs. The three of them were at Angelo’s, a little Italian place that had amazing garlic bread. They sat in a nice, cozy booth for four.

Preston was supposed to be there, too, but he’d bailed at the last minute, texting Charli he had a work thing he had to take care of. She’d only gotten the excuse after she pushed, and Matthew found the whole situation suspicious.

It smelled like a brush-off. The man could have at least had the decency to call. Then again, he might have been somewhere that he couldn’t risk being overheard. Charli had seemed a little annoyed.

If he hurts her, I’ll break both of his legs.

As much as the thought appealed, Matthew would never do such a thing. Charli was, after all, a grown woman and more than capable of taking care of herself, as she’d reminded him often over the years.

Still, she was stabbing at a meatball with a sullen expression on her face he didn’t often see.

Rebecca tucked a strawberry-blond wave behind her ear. “Rough day?”

Charli picked up her glass. “Yeah, sorry.” She took a sip of water.

Matthew studied his partner. The bags under her eyes were prominent, like she hadn’t gotten much sleep. She’d come straight from work and was wearing a white silk blouse she usually saved for special occasions.

She must have been wearing the top for the interview.

Around her neck hung a thin gold necklace with a heart-shaped pendant at its base. Well, half of a heart. Engraved with the letters BFF, the small charm had been part of his partner’s attire since long before they started working together, though she usually kept it hidden under her blouse.

Rebecca turned and gave him a brief smile, but her brow was furrowed, her eyebrows drawn together above her nose. She had such an expressive face, which was one of the things he loved about her. He dealt day in and day out with cops and crooks, people who worked hard to cultivate a poker face.

His girlfriend, though, wore every emotion on her delicate features for all the world to see. And at that moment, he could read just how worried she was about her friend.

Opening up for the interview about Madeline’s kidnapping and murder had clearly taken a toll on Charli. Matthew wasn’t surprised. He’d never even heard the entire story from her from start to finish. All he’d gotten were snippets here and there. But Rebecca had been friends with Charli and Madeline in high school. She no doubt knew what had happened that day.

He should probably ask her to fill in the missing pieces for him. “Did Preston say what he was working on?”

“No. I don’t know what case he’s working on right now.” Charli put her water glass back on the table. Matthew could tell she was still fretting about the agent and his flimsy excuse for blowing her off. They’d deliberately planned the dinner to get Charli’s mind off the interview.

Thanks a lot, asshole, for being part of the problem instead of the solution.

“Don’t worry about it. I’m sure he has a good reason.” Although Rebecca had a smile plastered on her face, her eyes said she wasn’t sure at all.

Matthew sighed as he reached for his soda with his uninjured hand. Chelsea would be dating soon, and he wasn’t sure how well he would handle that, particularly if he was fretting this badly over his partner’s love life.

“At least the interview will be wrapped up tomorrow.” Charli skewered the meatball she’d been toying with for almost five minutes. “And hopefully some earth-shattering clue will come out of the show and the whole thing will have been worth doing.”

Rebecca reached over and squeezed her hand. “Something worthwhile has already come of it. I know it’s hard to believe, but talking about Madeline’s murder so openly after all this time is part of the healing process.”

His girlfriend would know. She was a counselor, after all. And Rebecca had recently confided in him that her grief from Madeline’s death was what had spurred her to pursue that field.

Charli smoothed a short black strand of hair behind her ear. “Let’s talk about something happier. How’s everything going with Chelsea?”

Despite the somber way dinner had begun, Matthew couldn’t stop the grin that spread across his face. “Great. We had a good, long talk a few days ago about the divorce, the fact that I didn’t fight for custody, the whole messy business. We both freaking cried, but it was good.”

Charli looked delighted. “I’m glad things are going so much better with her. I know you’ve missed her a lot.”

Matthew shifted in his chair. He’d wanted to share with them the decision he’d come to, but he’d been waiting for the right time. Since the dinner wasn’t going as planned, he decided it didn’t matter at this point if they went even farther afield.

His throat worked on a swallow. “Yeah. She misses me too. And her friends. She talked me into letting her stay over at Abby’s tonight. Weirdly, it makes things feel even more normal.” He set his soda down and pressed his palm flat on the table. “And I’ve made a decision. I’m going to talk to my attorney to see if I can get joint custody. Chelsea and I both want that.”

Charli’s fork clattered against the plate. “What? That’s amazing, Matt.”

Rebecca beamed at him. “I’m so proud of you. That’s a big step for both of you.”

He winked, trying to lighten the mood so he didn’t break down and bawl like a baby in front of two of the most important women in his life. “The sleepover or the custody thing?”

“Both! This calls for a toast.” Rebecca raised her glass. “To Chelsea and Matthew. May they never be parted again.”

“Hear, hear!” Charli clinked glasses with them both.

Although Matthew had known these two would support his decision, witnessing their genuine happiness for him was almost too much. He sniffled. “You guys are going to get me all choked up.” He was one lucky man.

His phone rang, and he set his glass on the table, trying to cool down the irritation simmering in his veins at whatever person was about to rain on his parade.

Couldn’t he just have this moment with no interruptions?

Pulling the device from his pocket, he peeked at the screen, his irritation turning into confusion. “Why’s Dispatch calling me? Did you get any calls, Charli?” Everyone knew he was on medical leave. Besides, as a detective, he normally wouldn’t receive calls from Dispatch.

Charli shrugged. “No idea.” She checked her phone and shook her head. “No.”

He tapped the screen. “Detective Church here.”

“Detective, we’ve received a 911 call from a Rachel Nelson.”

Shit.

Matthew gasped as the air whooshed out of him like he’d been punched in the gut. “That’s…Abby’s mom.” He should’ve been the one to take them to the movies. If something had happened to his daughter’s best friend, he’d never forgive himself.

Dispatch wouldn’t know what he was talking about, but both Rebecca and Charli jerked their heads up to stare at him.

“Mrs. Nelson reported an abduction from the movie theater at Brighton Mall.”

No.

“What?” His mouth went dry. “Who?”

“I’m so sorry, Detective. It was Chelsea. We have Mrs. Nelson on with the 911 operator still.” The voice on the other end of the line oozed sympathy, but Matthew barely heard it over the buzzing in his ears.

He bolted from his seat, jarring his still-healing ribs as his knee slammed into the booth. “On my way. Tell me everything.”

Standing beside him, Rebecca laid her hand on his arm. “What happened?”

Looking into her beautiful eyes, he said the words he’d only ever uttered in his nightmares. “Someone took Chelsea.”

8

I turned onto a smaller road and grinned. Had I stayed on the other one for another block, I could have been detected by a traffic camera. There were also a couple of ATM cameras along that route. Fortunately, I’d spent enough time scouring CCTV footage that I knew every blind spot in the city. I could drive around for hours, practically invisible.

A quick pit stop to screw a license plate back on the van took only two minutes. After all my careful planning, it wouldn’t do to get pulled over for a missing plate.

All in all, the action took me a hundred twenty seconds but was well worth my effort. I took the opportunity to glance back at my guest. She was attractive, especially unconscious. Not as pretty as Charli, of course, but how could she be?

As I drove, I pictured Charli moving through all the steps in the investigation. She would tell me all about it soon enough, not realizing her confidant was also the man she sought. The irony was too delicious, even for me. My decision to thrust myself into her life was genius.

Envisioning what Charli was thinking and feeling right then sent a shiver of delight up my spine. She was the consummate professional, and though it would be killing her inside, she’d do her best to run a clean, thorough investigation. Of course, with her partner freaking out and the specter of Madeline tormenting her, she wouldn’t be able to keep her perspective.

She’ll be tired, emotional, and sooner or later, she’ll slip up. Then she’ll be mine. More mine than she’s been at any time since I’ve known her.

With a groan of pleasure, I shifted in my seat, adjusting the bulge that’d appeared merely from thinking about her. If I wasn’t driving, I’d allow myself a few moments of gratification. But there was no time for that now.

And very soon, I’d have the real thing.

I would take my time with Little Miss Detective. It wouldn’t do to rush things with my special treasure. The thought of slowly driving her mad and making her mine in every way sent shivers throughout me. The vision of her breakdown wrapped around me like a blanket, and I reveled in it.

If only she knew how close I’d been for so long. She believed she’d done a good job of keeping me at bay, but I was right in the middle of her life. I knew every movement, every mood. So much time I’d spent watching her mannerisms, absorbing them, studying them so I could better understand her.

I’d been in her home. In her bed. Warmth spread through my belly and moved downward as I remembered the brief moments I’d spent there. Without even realizing it, she’d let me into her life. Well, I would return the favor. Soon, I would show her my home and my bed. My cock throbbed at the thought of what I would do to her there.

I glanced in the rearview mirror, just to make sure the girl was still asleep. Desire surged through me. Maybe I needed to view the girl as the appetizer and not the dessert. Either way, Charli would be the main course. A little practice wouldn’t hurt. A trial run of sorts.

Adrenaline coursed through my body. My heart beat faster, and my breathing accelerated. My palms began to sweat and tingle as I thought about what I would do to the daughter of that big oaf of a detective.

There were few highs like catching one’s prey, and I was a damn good hunter. I’d hunted by Charli’s side, and she hadn’t even realized. Intimacy with one’s prey was such a delicious thing. I relived familiar sensations like the touch of her hand, her breath upon my cheek.

She had no idea it was me. Then again, maybe she did, and that was why she was pulling me closer, desiring to let me in, wanting to give me more of her. Maybe her soul already knew me and longed for me more than she could comprehend. That would explain so much.

I daydreamed about her breasts that tantalized me every time she wore one of those tight, silky white shirts. She had no idea how much I had restrained myself.

A soft moan from the back seat returned me to reality. The child would be waking soon. Perfect timing, since we were almost home. Her poor, dense daddy would search for her in vain. Their attempts to track down owners of this make and model of van would prove fruitless. The Levi’s Call they would issue would just be a waste of time. I knew their procedures like the back of my hand, so every step of their process would be useless.

Another soft moan caught my attention. My prey was curled in a sensuous heap on the floor behind me, with no idea what awaited her. The sexy little thing was dreaming now, and I wished I knew what was going through her subconscious, but it could wait. She’d tell me.

They always did. I’d learned that from Madeline, and she’d told me everything. Her hopes. Her fears. Her dreams. She also told me all about Charli, my love, my destiny. The more she talked, the more I understood that we were fated for one another.

I glanced again at the child in the back, so young, so innocent, dreaming the dreams of youth. She should dream for a few more minutes, and that would be just enough.

And when she awoke, she’d be in my bed.

Then she’d know she belonged to me.

Just as Charli would soon understand she had belonged to me from the moment I first laid eyes on her.

9

“Someone took Chelsea.”

Charli’s world had turned upside down the moment Matthew spoke those three little words just an hour before. She couldn’t even imagine how her partner was managing to keep it together.

Officer Acosta—the young Cuban officer who hadn’t been on the force for very long—walked by her, and it was the only time she could remember seeing him without a smile. His intense frown made him look even younger as he put up crime scene tape to keep out the lookie-loos. He didn’t even acknowledge her presence like he usually did.

Everyone knew how grim the situation was, and the department had all hands on deck.

Someone from forensics was already there, and he was on the ground, taking pictures and measurements of the tire marks that had presumably been left by the kidnapper’s vehicle speeding away.

Abby sobbed and clung to Matthew as though her life depended on it, and Charli caught a glimpse of discomfort on his face when Abby jostled his sling. After signing into the logbook and speaking with the officer who’d been the first on scene, Charli made a beeline for Abby’s mother.

Pity surged through her as she studied the woman who had just collapsed on a curb, her tan arms wrapped around her knees and her blond head bowed. She could imagine the guilt and fear the other woman was going through.

Charli lowered herself onto the curb next to the woman. “Hey. I’m Detective Charli Cross.”

Rachel Nelson looked up with haggard eyes, mascara running down her cheeks. “You’re Matthew’s partner.”

“Yes, I am.” Charli smiled. “Can I get you some water, Mrs. Nelson?”

The woman shook her head. “No, thanks. And call me Rachel, please.” Lip quivering, Rachel looked as though she might fall to pieces.

Digging in her pocket for a tissue, Charli found one and handed it to the distraught woman. “Here you go.”

“Th-thank you.” Fresh tears sprang to Rachel’s eyes and ran down her face. She took a minute to compose herself. “You’re going to find her, right? That’s what you do. Chelsea told us about some children who got kidnapped around Halloween and how you found them all. And they were okay. It was in the news too.”

How could Charli tell the grieving woman that was an entirely different situation and a very different type of kidnapper? She didn’t want to upset Rachel even more, so she chose her words with caution. “We’re going to do our very best to find her. But we need you to help us by telling us everything, no matter how slight or seemingly insignificant. You never know what might be important.”

Rachel sniffled, dabbing her eyes with the tissue. “He was wearing…a black ski mask. Black pants. I think they were jeans. Black jeans.”

Pulling out her notebook and pen, Charli started jotting down the details. “Okay. What was he driving?”

A sob escaped her, and she blew her nose. “It all happened so fast. He was driving a gray cargo van. Um…a Chevy. I think it was an…Express. There were no plates. I’m positive about that.”

A gray cargo van. Charli’s throat tightened.

“Okay, that’s helpful.” She made another note, willing her shaking hand to still. “You’re doing great.”

The compliment seemed to embolden Rachel a bit. She sat up straighter. “I wanted to drive after him, but he was going so fast. And I was terrified to leave Abby alone in the parking lot. She’d been running toward me. I think they were going to race to my SUV, and Abby was ahead of her. But then the man…he took…” She crumpled again and buried her head in her hands.

Charli squeezed her shoulder. “What happened next?”

Rachel wiped at her face, smearing mascara everywhere until she resembled a raccoon. “The man came out of nowhere. One minute, I was watching the girls head my way, and the next, this guy appeared and dragged Chelsea away. I think I saw it before Abby realized what was happening. Then I drove to where she was and called 911 right away. By that time, he was gone.”

“Could you tell if he was the driver or if there was someone else?”

“I’m not sure.” Rachel clasped her hands in her lap and stared down at them. “There was a couple of seconds before he drove off, so it’s possible he was driving. I couldn’t tell from the angle I was at. I just got a good look at the back of the van.” She squeezed her hands together until the knuckles turned white. “I’m a terrible person. I was so relieved it was Chelsea and not Abby.”

The confession caused a fresh fit of sobbing. Charli knew her parents had gone through something similar, because she’d heard them talking one night when they thought she was asleep.

They were so relieved it was Madeline and not me. And they felt bad for admitting it to each other.

“That doesn’t make you a terrible person.” She reached her arm around Rachel’s shoulders. “It makes you a normal parent.”

And Matthew would have felt the same way if their situations were reversed.

“Still, I feel horrible. If I’d been a few minutes earlier…” Words seemed to fail her.

Charli glanced over toward her partner, who was talking to Abby and seemed to have calmed her down somewhat. She wasn’t sure how, given that he was beside himself.

“Have you ever seen that van before?”

Rachel chewed her lip. “I don’t know. Not that I can think of, but who pays attention to all the cars on the road or in a parking lot?”

“Have you noticed any unusual activity lately? Any strange vehicles in front of your house? It doesn’t have to be a van, just anything or anyone?”

“No. Just our neighbors.”

“Okay.” Charli made a few more notes. “How tall would you say the man was compared to Chelsea?”

The other woman frowned in concentration. “I’m not sure. His legs were spread wide, and he was hunched over most of the time he was dragging her. Maybe a few inches, but that’s just a guess.”

Charli glanced up just as Officer Acosta approached, an evidence bag in his hand.

“Excuse me just for a moment.” Charli got up and crossed over to her colleague. “What did you find?”

“Chelsea’s phone. It was at one of the exits of the parking lot in a planter. Looks like someone tossed it out a window. Tracking was on, but unfortunately, the phone didn’t make it far enough to be helpful.”

“At least we know which exit the kidnapper used.” Charli knew it wasn’t much, but it was at least something.

After another hour of talking to Abby and Rachel, both women looked as strung out and exhausted as Charli felt. She had finally sent them home with the understanding there would be follow-up questions. Meanwhile, if they remembered any detail, no matter how minuscule, they should share it immediately.

Having done as much as they could at the scene, she and Matthew checked out. They were heading back to Charli’s car when she caught a glint of light from something at her eye level. She stopped and turned her head to the left, trying to catch a glimpse of what was reflecting in the parking lot lights.

At the end of the nearest aisle, something was glistening, caught just below a branch on one of the small trees planted for aesthetics more than shade. Whatever it was twisted back and forth.

“What do you see?” Matthew’s voice was desperate as she veered off course.

“I don’t know.” Heart in her throat, she stopped in front of the tree. Dangling before her was a gold necklace with the letters BFF inscribed on the half-heart pendant. She gasped. “No.”

Matthew reached for the charm. “What is it?”

She swatted his hand away. “Don’t touch it. It’s evidence.”

“Is that the matching⁠—”

“Yes.” Charli’s breath felt clogged up in her lungs, unable to get out. “The other half of the heart that completes mine. We got them when my mom took us to the mall one day.” Pulling her own pendant out of her blouse, she clutched the worn half heart, running a finger over the letters. “We had to be…maybe thirteen or fourteen.” She tucked the charm back under her shirt.

After pulling on a pair of gloves, she took down Madeline’s necklace with care, trying not to damage the chain as she did so. When at last it was safe in her hands, she beheld the charm. For just a moment, she was a teenager again, laughing with her best friend at the jewelry store in the mall.

“What on earth is it doing here?” Matthew craned his head to get a closer look. “And what’s that attached to it?”

“It has to be a message.” Her fingers shook as she gingerly removed the small piece of paper attached to the chain.

Careful not to rip the paper, she started to unfold it. Glued inside were two pictures side by side. One was of a bruised, beaten, and most likely deceased Madeline. The other was a picture of Chelsea with her face turned up to the sky, laughing. Charli’s stomach twisted into a tight knot.

A choked noise ripped from Matthew’s throat. “That’s the shirt Chelsea was wearing this afternoon when Abby and her mom picked her up. This picture was taken today.”

Tears of frustration stung Charli’s eyes as she took great care unfolding the rest of the paper. She had to squint to make out the letters, but when she read the message, the words chilled her to her core.

I would rather dance with the girl who got away, but I’ll make do if I have to. Forever yours.

10

Matthew remembered every detail from when his soon-to-be ex-wife served him with divorce papers. At the time, that had been the single worst day of his life. Rage, betrayal, grief, shame, fear, hatred, and depression had all vied within him throughout that day. And he’d felt certain nothing could ever be worse.

He’d been horribly, horribly wrong.

As he walked into the precinct, officers scurried around and shouted to one another, Chelsea’s name on all their lips. Right then, the totality of what was happening hit him in full force. His little girl had been kidnapped, and at that very moment, she might be suffering rape or torture.

Or worse.

Squeezing his eyes shut, he leaned against the wall in the hallway. “Hold on, sweetheart. I’m going to find you.”

Every case he’d ever worked in which a woman was brutalized or murdered came back to him with a vengeance. When they were strangers, it was bad enough. But this was unthinkable.

Rage and terror filled him, whispering all the unspeakable things that could be happening to Chelsea.

“No.” His eyes snapped open, and he straightened. That mindset wouldn’t get him anywhere, and right now, he needed razor-sharp focus.

Upstairs, half the precinct seemed to be crammed into their largest meeting room. A crime scene board was already up, and with a start, he realized they’d used the picture of Chelsea he kept on his desk.

First someone took his daughter. Now someone else had helped themselves to her photograph. Never mind that they meant well. It was another violation.

Forcing several deep breaths through his system, he strained to make out what the sergeant was saying over the blood roaring in his ears.

“Whatever else you might have been working on, it’s sidelined. This is our top and only priority.” Ruth’s voice was ferocious, a mama bear protecting one of her cubs.

Matthew was one of her detectives, so by extension, Chelsea was one of hers as well. He got it. Her face was twisted in a snarl as she paced back and forth, occasionally striking the board with a long pointer she gripped in her fist so hard, Matthew was sure she’d snap it in half.

“Chelsea Church has been kidnapped, and we will not rest until she is back safe and sound. We’ve already issued a Levi’s Call. State police are on the lookout for her. The GBI will be giving this their full attention as well. Nobody comes into our house and takes one of our own.”

A pregnant pause ensued, the room becoming so quiet, Matthew heard the soft tap-tap-tap as Janice drummed a pencil eraser on the table. Despite the sergeant’s stirring words, there were no roars of agreement, just worried expressions. He was certain every individual there was thinking it could have been their kid, or niece, or younger sibling. And it could still well be if a message wasn’t sent hard and fast.

You don’t screw with the SPD.

“Detective Piper will be heading up the task force. You will get your assignments directly from her.” Ruth paused, taking a moment to meet everyone’s gaze in the room. “I’m authorizing any overtime necessary.”

Authorizing? More like demanding.

Despite the turmoil of emotions already swirling in his head, a wave of gratitude for his sergeant rippled through Matthew. As horrific as the situation was, there was no one else he’d rather have as his superior. Ruth had his back, as did Charli and the entire precinct. And he had no doubt in his mind that they’d all fight like hell to bring his daughter home.

Ruth turned to the board, where a large map of the city was posted. She smacked it with the pointer. “Here is the theater where the kidnapping occurred. We pulled CCTV footage for the entire area⁠—”

“Did you catch the kidnapper setting up the necklace?” Charli sat at the edge of her chair, as though she was ready to spring into action at an instant’s notice.

Ruth grimaced. “Unfortunately, where the necklace was hung is outside of the view of the cameras around the theater.” She tapped the map again. “We were, however, able to track the van on this route.” She moved the pointer down a series of roads until she stopped next to a significant landmark.

Matthew saw the blood leach from Charli’s face.

“That’s…”

“Bonaventure Cemetery.” The sergeant nodded. “Yes. We lost visual of the gray van at this intersection nearby. We have no idea where it went from here or if the kidnapper changed vehicles in this vicinity. But rest assured, I’ve already got officers going house to house to find any home security cameras that may have recorded our kidnapper.”

A decade earlier, Madeline had been abducted from that very place. Matthew’s skin flushed hot. The kidnapper was taunting them.

When he turned back to the board, his gaze wandered over everything posted there. Rachel had said there was no license plate, but she’d gotten the make and the model. A DMV check would tell them how many gray vans of that type were registered in the Savannah area. Of course, the vehicle could have been stolen, but even that would be something to go on.

He tried to keep his head—to work the case and look at everything logically—but that would only last for a few minutes before it all came crashing back to him that this wasn’t just any victim. This was his baby. His skin, so hot just a moment before, chilled as if he had a fever. He was shaking. Both his pulse and his breathing sped up. He recognized the symptoms of shock, but he didn’t have time to slow down.

My daughter’s out there. I have to find her. Every second lost makes that harder.

He chafed at the length of the meeting. Hadn’t Ruth covered all the important details by now? He had to call Judy. On a boat in the middle of the ocean somewhere, she hadn’t even left information about her travel plans. Typical, unthinking, self-absorbed. He did remember the name of the cruise line, though.

When he realized Ruth had nothing new to say, he stepped out into the hall. A quick search on his phone produced a customer service number for the cruise line. After about ten minutes of being transferred around, he confirmed that his ex-wife had boarded the ship. With the boat out of range, all he could do was leave a message for Judy to call him.

Finished, he returned to the conference room as everyone filed out. Some shot him sympathetic looks. Others refused to meet his gaze at all. He didn’t know which one pissed him off more.

Janice threw him a look of pity. “Matthew, standard procedure…since you’re the father, I need to question you.”

He growled. “I was at dinner with Charli and Rebecca when it happened. You know good and well I’m not your kidnapper.”

Ruth stepped out of the room, her face etched with weariness. “You know we have to follow protocol.”

“I don’t have to be happy about it.” He ran his fingers through his hair, doing his best to control his frustration. “Every second we waste on crap like this, the trail grows colder.”

“Detective,” Ruth put a hand on his uninjured arm, her voice laced with sympathy, “let me make myself perfectly clear. I’m allowing you to stay in the building and do busywork, but you are not officially on the case. And, until we clear you, like it or not, we will investigate this case by the book. As you know, parents are responsible for more than seventy-eight percent of child⁠—”

“What the actual hell?” Fury roiled through his veins. “You know me, Sarge. And that aside, I have a rock-solid alibi.”

“I’m well aware.” She patted his arm like he was a wayward child before taking a step back. “If you were in my shoes, you’d do the same thing and follow protocol because, once we find Chelsea and the bastard who took her, you don’t want to give some smarmy defense attorney a single thing to make the jury have reasonable doubt. Please just go with Detective Piper and don’t make this difficult.”

“But—”

The glare Ruth leveled at him was so hot, it could have singed his eyebrows. “No buts. The quicker you cooperate, the sooner we can start following leads and find your daughter.”

He took a few deep breaths, all the anger draining out of him along with his energy.

Ruth was right. He needed to follow proper procedure so he could start busting his ass to find the bastard who took his baby girl.

“Okay.” Without another word, he trailed behind Janice to one of the interrogation rooms.

Now he knew how all those other innocent parents felt who were frantically wondering why the police were wasting time questioning them instead of looking for their children.

Of the one percent of victims who were taken by strangers, roughly half of them never made it back home. He would not let Chelsea become just another statistic.

He entered the interrogation room and took his seat.

Janice pasted a grim smile on her face. “I know this is rough. Just breathe, and let’s get through this as fast as possible. Keep an open mind, and hopefully we can come up with something that will be useful.”

Did Janice give everyone she interviewed the same little speech? He’d never actually sat in an interrogation room with her.

“I didn’t kidnap my daughter, and you know that. But I’ll answer your questions because it’s the right thing to do.” He kept his voice level, despite the mounting irritation he thought he’d had under control. “For heaven’s sake, things are finally good between us, and Chelsea and I have both decided I’m going to try for joint custody.” He found himself blurting out information. His voice cracked halfway through, and he didn’t even care.

“That’s good.” Janice kept her tone even. “How did her mother feel about that?”

Matthew grabbed fistfuls of his hair and pulled, the physical pain interrupting the mental anguish that threatened to short out his entire system.

“Judy doesn’t know. She’s on a cruise. I called the cruise line a few minutes ago and they verified she’s onboard, but they’re in the middle of the ocean and unreachable. I left a message for her to call me.”

“Okay, that’s good.” Janice gave an encouraging nod. “Obviously, I’ll need whatever information you can give me so I can follow up with the cruise line myself and make sure she didn’t have an opportunity to disembark somewhere and fly back here.”

Hollow laughter escaped his lips. “You know, I have this sneaking suspicion she might not even fight me if I pressed for full custody at this point. There’s no way she’d abduct Chelsea.”

Janice drummed her fingers on the table as Matthew rocked back and forth in his chair, his agitation building. “Not even to spite you?”

“No, she’s not that kind of person. And at any rate, she’s too interested in her new guy to give a rat’s ass about me.”

“Okay, how about other family or friends? Anyone show an undue interest in Chelsea? Either in her welfare or…you know, in a creepy, predatory sort of way?”

The idea sickened Matthew, and he clenched his fists so hard, they ached.

“No one I know of. It’s possible there’s some family friend out in California I’m not aware of, but how many of them would bother to travel all the way here to abduct her instead of waiting until she got back to California?”

Janice raised an eyebrow. “Someone who thought they’d never be caught if they were across the country from their normal stomping grounds.”

She was right. He should’ve thought of that. Still, the possibility was a remote one.

He sighed. “Okay, that makes sense. But there’s no one I’m aware of. If Judy ever gets the message, we can ask her.”

“Is there anyone else who would want to harm Chelsea or you in any way?”

That was the dumbest question he’d ever heard. “Whatever sick bastard blew up my car, or has been stalking Charli and killed Madeline…either…both. Maybe they’re the same person.” Matthew slammed a fist on the table. “It’s not a coincidence a necklace with Madeline’s picture on it was left at the crime scene. That’s the lead we need to be following!”

The door flew open, and Ruth stood there with the strangest look on her face Matthew had ever seen. For a moment, he wasn’t sure if she would fire him or hug him.

“I think that’s enough for now.” Her voice was soft, gentle even. She turned away, and Matthew had the strongest urge to chase after her.

Rising from her seat, Janice gave him a quick nod. “All right, then, let’s find this asshole and nail him to the wall.”

11

Charli read the same paragraph on her monitor for the fifth time and swore under her breath. At five in the morning, she was punchy from lack of sleep, fear, and stress.

She grabbed some drops out of her desk drawer to help combat the burning sensation in her eyes. No way was she willing to call it quits yet, not with the twisting in her gut that had burned since she’d discovered Madeline’s necklace at the scene of Chelsea’s abduction.

This isn’t happening. I’m just having a nightmare I’ll wake up from any second. I’ll call Matthew, and he’ll get annoyed at being woken up so early, but he’ll tell me Chelsea is home and safe and everything is okay.

Unfortunately, all she had to do was turn her head to come face-to-face with her partner. The expression of complete and utter despair on his face was something she couldn’t have conjured in her worst nightmare. His own eyes were bloodshot, and in the past twelve hours, he had developed new wrinkles in his forehead. Deep ones.

He stood with his “World’s Greatest Dad” mug in hand and headed to the breakroom to get what had to be his tenth cup of coffee.

I don’t know how he’s surviving this.

Charli peered down at the notes spread out all over her desk and remembered how frantic she’d been after Madeline’s abduction. Obsessed over trying to figure out what she could, doing online research, harassing the police on a daily—and sometimes hourly—basis.

Matthew came back a minute later with eyes redder than before, if that was even possible. He sank into his desk chair and a couple minutes later was printing out a list.

Not sure what he was working on, Charli craned her neck, trying to get a glimpse of the pages spitting out of the printer. “What do you have there?”

“Registered owners for that same type of gray van in all of Georgia, Florida, Alabama, North Carolina, South Carolina, and Tennessee.”

Charli lifted her brow. “That’s a large area. I thought you already gave Ruth the list anyway?”

He gave a sharp shake of his head. “Just for owners in a sixty-mile radius. There were ten of them. But there’s no reason why the bastard couldn’t have come from farther away.”

Charli bit her lip as she pondered how to answer him. They didn’t have the resources or time to hunt down van owners across several states. The farther away they got from Savannah, the less likely they’d find what they were looking for. Of course, she was fairly certain the van was stolen. But whether from a local owner, a used car dealership, or from out of town, she couldn’t say.

Matthew sighed, rubbing the stubble on his jaw. “Look, I know that’s a larger radius than we ever look at, but what else am I supposed to do? I’m lucky Ruth is letting me do that much. What I should be doing is going out and knocking on some doors until I find out who owns that van or at least claims it was stolen from them.”

Poor guy.

“Have there been any reports of a stolen van matching that description in the last seventy-two hours?”

“No. Not in the entire state. That’s why I need to expand the search.”

Charli understood the pull to stretch the investigation as far and wide as possible, but the unfortunate result was that it would drive Matthew mad trying to chase down phantoms. There was something just as pressing he could help her with, though.

“Matt, could you help me go through the list of the Back to the Future shoe owners?”

He blinked at her as if she were speaking a foreign language. “What?”

“The shoes Madeline’s kidnapper was wearing.” She reached for the sheaf of papers on her desk. “Ruth authorized me to start making calls. She’s prepared to subpoena online auction records for any original buyer who auctioned them off.”

Matthew’s face pinched. “Are you kidding? You know how long it takes to get those records? I mean, eBay alone can take up to ten days. And what are the odds those sneakers haven’t changed hands multiple times? Face it, you’re just chasing your tail on that, and I can’t afford to waste time chasing it with you.”

Charli tried to keep her tone calm and level. “It’s not a waste of time. They only sold fifteen hundred pairs a decade ago. We’ve got the records of those original sales.”

Matthew ran a hand through his hair. “You don’t think questioning fifteen hundred people is a waste of time? Say you do find the guy with the actual pair of shoes. Don’t you think he’ll be lying his ass off about them?”

“Well, this is the only⁠—”

“It’s not like you can just rule out all the female buyers, because how do you know they didn’t gift them to a male friend or relative?” Matthew’s voice grew louder and louder. “Seriously, do you plan on running every name through the database and praying someone will pop up with a rap sheet, ideally for some sort of assault or attempted kidnapping? Come on, Charli. You’re smarter than that.”

Charli rocketed to her feet, struggling to control her temper. Exhaustion was high and tempers were short, and she knew her partner’s words weren’t a personal attack on her. With a deep breath, she headed out of the room.

Matthew called after her. “Where are you going?”

She answered him through gritted teeth, not particularly caring at that moment whether he could hear her or not. “I’m going to see what the latest is on your blown-up truck.”

After all, everything is connected. It has to be. I just have to find the right thread to pull.

12

Nothing. Charli’d found out absolutely nothing new about Matthew’s truck. She fidgeted in the hard plastic seat in one of the conference rooms, where dozens of officers were crammed in for a briefing. Ruth had called for the meeting at eight a.m., but fifteen minutes later, she still hadn’t showed.

Charli tried not to think of the time wasted while she sat there, waiting. Based on the numerous sets of drumming fingers and tapping feet, she wasn’t the only impatient one in the room.

Next to her, Matthew stared at the board with Chelsea’s picture on it as though he were in a trance. Members of the day shift who hadn’t been there all night came filing in, muttering with their bleary-eyed colleagues who caught them up to speed if they weren’t already aware of what was happening. Frightened and angry faces turned toward the door as Ruth made her appearance.

She plopped a stack of papers down at the head of the table closest to the board. “We don’t have much.”

It was a less than stirring way to start a speech, particularly given the mood of the room. Charli shifted in her seat again. She already knew that, but hearing her boss put it in such stark terms made it even more unbearable.

“But we do have something that links the kidnapper to the abduction and murder of Madeline Ferguson ten years ago.” Ruth held up an enlarged photo of the side-by-side images Charli found in the theater parking lot. “On the left is Madeline Ferguson. On the right is Chelsea Church.”

Dozens of what-ifs whirled inside Charli as Ruth explained the photos and friendship necklace. What if Chelsea was enduring the same torture Madeline had? What if they didn’t find her? What if they were too late?

The sergeant taped a stock photo of the gray van’s make and model to the board. As soon as Rachel Nelson had told them Chelsea’s kidnapper was driving a Chevrolet Express, Charli had looked it up to find a nightmare vision awaiting her. That same make and model of vehicle had driven away with Madeline trapped inside ten years ago.

Despite her readiness to face this detail in the briefing, she swallowed hard.

“Chelsea was taken, presumably by a man, driving one of these.” Ruth tapped the photo. “There are ten registered owners of vans like this in the area. Officers have already visited their homes and obtained rock-solid alibis for eight owners who also permitted searches of their vans and have been cleared as suspects. The remaining two have not been so cooperative.”

Charli noted that neither she nor Matthew had been invited to go along on those visits. She understood why, but it still irritated her. What she wanted to know was who the two holdouts were and why they were stonewalling.

Likely they’re either mistrustful of police or involved in some criminal activity. Or they just want to thumb their noses at us in spite.

A tight knot of anger formed in her stomach. If a couple of assholes wanted to show their contempt for the police by wasting time and resources in the search for Chelsea, the whole department would be pissed.

Especially Matthew.

Her partner had tensed up and was leaning forward. She swore she could almost read his mind, and she knew he wanted those two names even worse than she did. Unfortunately, this wasn’t a Liam Neeson movie. This was real life, and Matthew couldn’t afford to go off half-cocked and take matters into his own hands.

The longer this search stretched out, though, the more tempted he would be. At some point, she might need to focus on just keeping her partner from doing something stupid.

Ruth scanned the room. “I’ve reached out to Judge Price, who asked me to pass on her gratitude to Charli and this department for the heroic efforts to recover her son when he was kidnapped last month. She’s aware of the situation and has agreed to sign off on limited warrants for the two remaining vans. Officers will be executing those warrants shortly. If they find anything in either van, they’ll have probable cause to extend the search.”

Charli leaned back in her chair and laced her hands together. The kidnapper was too smart for that. She was certain of it. If it truly was the same man who kidnapped, tormented, and murdered Madeline, he had ten more years of experience under his belt. The only way he would be caught was if he started thinking of himself as uncatchable and let himself get sloppy. Given what she’d seen of his methods firsthand, she seriously doubted that would happen.

He was thorough, meticulous, and knowledgeable enough about police and forensic procedures to never leave anything behind.

Almost like a cop.

Speaking of which, where’s Preston?

Preston was on the GBI’s Child Abduction Response Team. Composed of people from numerous state agencies, each individual belonging to CART was trained to respond when a child was missing or endangered.

She gulped, recalling her conversation the day before with Jack Clarion. Serial killers liked careers that gave them access and control, and law enforcement was one of those. She bit her lip, trying not to let herself wonder if one of the very cops assigned to Madeline’s case had been the man responsible for her kidnapping and murder.

Ten years ago, Andy Carlisle had been the lead detective on Madeline’s case. If he’d ever had any suspects—cops or otherwise—that he hadn’t been able to get evidence on back then, she wanted to know. He was retired now.

She made a mental note to call him, but based on their history, she had an inkling he’d be less than thrilled to hear from her. Back then, she’d been a sixteen-year-old witness who pestered him at every opportunity. Still, she knew only too well how an unsolved case could eat at the conscience. Carlisle might welcome the chance to share insights with her now that she was a cop too.

Ruth barked out some names and handed two officers papers as they moved to the front of the room. They scooted out and hurried to do their sergeant’s bidding. Even as Charli silently wished them Godspeed, she doubted they would succeed in doing anything but pissing off or freaking out the two holdout van owners.

Sergeant Morris pounded her fist on the desk, and everyone jumped, Charli included. “All right, folks, this psycho has been eluding this department for at least ten years, and we don’t have the luxury of letting him run loose and play us for fools any longer. You all know what’s at stake. I want to see every nutball theory, every unlikely suspect, and every possible hideout destination on my desk the second after they enter your brains. Am I making myself clear?”

“Clear!” Every voice raised in unison, but Matthew’s rang out deeper and more menacing than the rest.

“Dismissed!”

Charli rocketed to her feet and was first out the door, eager to get back to her work. The thread she was pursuing was a long shot, but at least she had something solid to go on, even if slogging through names and tracing the owners of the shoes was hard, time-consuming work.

When she arrived back at her desk, she discovered an envelope from an express courier service. She started to reach for it but froze before her fingers touched it. In light of recent events, she decided to err on the side of caution and slipped on a pair of gloves before handling the envelope. She dumped the contents onto her desk.

Two photographs fluttered onto the battered wood.

The first image was of her and Madeline at Bonaventure Cemetery. Her throat constricted as she recognized the clothes Madeline was wearing. The picture had been taken on the day her best friend was kidnapped.

With her gloved hand, she picked up the picture and looked at the back of it. Block letters read, Day 1.

The other photo had landed face down, and it bore the same label. Heart in her throat, Charli flipped it over. The picture was of Chelsea and Abby, stepping out of Rachel’s SUV in front of the movie theater.

A choking sound behind her caught her attention, and she swiveled around.

Matthew stood, staring over her shoulder at the photos, all the color drained from his face. “The bastard was stalking my daughter.”

13

Charli’s knee bounced up and down as she waited on the courier company to pick up. When they answered, she introduced herself and asked about the envelope that had just been delivered.

Adam, the receptionist on the other end of the line, sounded cheerful as he described what had happened. “It was the darndest thing. When we showed up for work this morning, there was a bag hanging on the front door with the envelope, your address, and a smaller envelope with a hundred dollars cash and a note to ‘keep the change.’ We have no idea who sent it, but it must have been dropped off last night, since it wasn’t there when we closed up shop at seven.”

“Please tell me you have surveillance on your location.” Charli tried to keep her voice calm, mostly for Matthew’s sake, but also for hers.

“Yes, but the camera is on the inside of the door and catches people as they walk in. There’s nothing on the outside.”

Her heart sank in her chest. She’d been afraid of that. “How about your neighbors?”

“Same. Elvis could have placed it outside the building and left without anyone being the wiser.”

Charli struggled to control her urge to scream. “Please avoid touching the door until I can get officers over there. It’s now part of a crime investigation.”

“For real? Oh, crap!”

Oh, crap is right.

It was a long shot that forensics would find anything at the offices of the courier service. Still, not sending them down would be negligent. A strand of fiber or even hair caught on a rough shard of wood could help them solve this case. Sometimes, no matter how carefully a criminal planned, an unexpected thing like an exposed nail or a loose brick could throw a wrench in the works.

Let’s hope it did here.

“Knock, knock.”

Charli glanced up as Preston walked into the room, bearing a tray of coffee in one hand and a box of doughnuts in the other. His sun-streaked hair was tousled and in need of a trim, but it did nothing to diminish his good looks.

He gave her a sheepish smile. “I hope I’m not interrupting.”

Charli’s blood turned to lava in her veins. “Where the hell have you been?”

Preston jerked back at her tone. “I’ve been…tied up at work. Peace offering for last night?” He held up the coffee and doughnuts. “I’m so terribly sorry about Chelsea. I just had a call with a few members of the Child Abduction Response Team before I got here.”

Her blood began to cool. “And?”

Preston shook his head. “Nothing much so far, I’m afraid.” His gaze drifted over to Matthew’s desk. “How’s your partner holding up? I can’t even imagine what he’s going through right now.”

“Matthew just left to splash some cold water on his face. He’ll be back in a second.” Why was she still holding Preston at arm’s length?

Since their one awkward night together some months ago, she’d put on the brakes. But since then, Preston had shown her how good of a guy he was. They worked well together. He was funny, caring, and intelligent. And they had chemistry. After her father passed away and Matthew’s brush with death, Preston had been there for her.

But she still couldn’t lower her walls and let him in. Something was holding her back.

He set the coffee and the doughnuts on Matthew’s desk. “Yeah, but how’s he doing?”

The fact he was pressing irritated Charli, especially since the answer should’ve been fairly obvious.

“Not so hot, as you can imagine.” She didn’t feel like elaborating beyond that. And if Preston was smart, he wouldn’t ask Matthew to share his feelings when he got back.

Preston perched on the edge of her desk. “Well, his brief absence gives me a chance to apologize in private. I’m sorry I bailed last night.”

Charli held up a hand. She wasn’t in the mood to hear an excuse or belabor the point. Besides, there were more important things to deal with. “I get it. Things come up. And it’s fine. Really.”

He crossed his arms with a sigh. “Well, I’m glad you get it, but it’s not fine. Once I heard what happened last night, I felt even worse.”

She arched an eyebrow at him. “So you come bearing caffeine and sugar as penance?” Charli hadn’t meant to be cute or funny. She was just very tired and had been super focused for hours.

“Do four dark roasts and a dozen doughnuts help?” Preston winked, his face breaking into a shit-eating grin.

Her walls dropped a few inches.

Heat rose to her cheeks, and if they weren’t in the middle of a life-or-death situation, she’d be tempted to lean over and kiss him. “That should just about cover it. But you won’t get off so easy next time.” Who was she kidding? She wanted to kiss him now.

“Is that right?” He leaned forward until his face was just inches away from hers. “I’ll keep that in mind.” With a strong hand, he tilted her chin upward, brushing a feather-soft kiss across her lips.

Every nerve in her body was a live wire, dancing to life in an instant. She licked her lips. But every minute she wasted, the trail of Chelsea’s kidnapper grew colder.

Palms on the edge of the desk, she pushed, rolling her chair back to put some distance between them. “Preston⁠—”

“Don’t say it. I know this is not the time or place. But I want you to know I’m here for you.” He stood, raking a hand through his hair. “And I came to offer my help. What can I do?”

He was imploring her with such earnestness that she sighed, picked up part of the Back to the Future shoes list, and handed it to him.

He furrowed his brow. “What’s this?”

“A partial listing of people who bought the Nike Mag, also known as the Back to the Future II shoes, eleven years ago.”

“Okay…so what does that mean?”

“There were only fifteen hundred pairs sold, and a year later, Madeline’s kidnapper was wearing one of those pairs.”

Preston jerked his head up, eyes intense and probing. “And you honestly think slogging through this list and tracking down every owner of those shoes will help you find Chelsea in time to save her?”

Something in the way he asked and the way he was studying her got under Charli’s skin. Maybe it was that he was the second person to question her decision to pursue this angle, particularly when she was convinced it was connected to Madeline’s killer.

Anger flared inside her. “It’s the only lead I have, and I’m not too lazy to put in the effort, even if it is fifteen hundred names, because saving Chelsea, or any kid for that matter, is worth it.” She hadn’t meant to snap, but good grief. Did Preston not realize any lead was worth pursuing?

Preston hunched his shoulders. “Sorry. I didn’t mean…never mind. Of course I’ll help try to narrow this list down.”

Charli pointed to an empty chair on the other side of her desk as her anger relented. “Thanks. Might want to get your laptop.”

It was not the most friendly or elegant way to deal with him, but she was feeling neither friendly nor elegant. She hadn’t slept in twenty-four hours. She was woozy. Her brain felt fuzzy. Her clothes had taken on that lived-in sensation. And she couldn’t stop imagining Chelsea in the same condition Madeline had been found in, her partner’s daughter kidnapped by the same man who’d murdered her best friend.

Preston rounded the desk. “It’s in my car. I’ll get it in a bit. Any instructions?”

“Check for criminal records. If you find one, flag it.” She ran her hand over her face and picked up one of the coffees.

Matthew walked into the office, looking more in control than when he’d left. He stopped short at the coffee and doughnuts on his desk. “All for me?”

“’Course not. Hand me one of the jellies, will ya?” Charli reached for the pastry without peeling her focus from her computer screen. She’d found one buyer—thirty-seven a decade ago—who had a history of assault, including domestic.

Paper still in hand, Preston walked over to Matthew and patted him on the back. “Hey, buddy.”

Matthew grunted. “I see she’s got you working on the freaking shoe list too.”

“Yeah.” Preston cut his gaze at her. “But I’m willing to help however I can.” His voice was far more cheerful than it had been just a minute earlier. “Hey, Charli, can I go ahead and cross off the female buyers if I can confirm the shoes are theirs and they still have possession of them?”

“Yes, but be certain.”

Charli surveyed her own section of the list.

Maybe the nutball ideas are exactly what we need right now.

14

All the eye drops in the world couldn’t help Charli’s blurring vision as she tried to focus on her computer screen. It wasn’t even ten in the morning, and she’d already flagged three out of a hundred names on the list for past criminal activity. One of them was for fraud, though. Based on the guy’s rap sheet, she figured he’d purchased the shoes with the intention of making knockoffs.

Tilting back her coffee mug, she remembered she’d drunk the last of the coffee well over an hour earlier. With a yawn, she dragged herself to her feet, which took more effort than it should have. She was low on both caffeine and sleep, and as long as Chelsea was missing, she would need a lot more of the former since she’d be getting none of the latter.

As she staggered down the hall to the breakroom, each one of Charli’s muscles begged her for rest. Ignoring her body’s demands, she made a beeline for the coffee maker. Only the dregs were left, so she made a fresh pot, tossing in an extra scoop for good measure. As she waited, she splashed some cold water on her face, hoping it would help.

Her phone rang, and she yanked it out of her pocket. She half expected Detective Carlisle to call with some forgotten piece of evidence from Madeline’s case. Unfortunately, Charli hadn’t gleaned any useful information from their recent conversation.

She frowned at the caller ID. “Hello, this is Detective Cross.”

A warm male voice came over the phone. “Hi, Charli, this is Jack Clarion. We’re at your house and you don’t appear to be.”

Her heart sank as she checked her watch. “Oh no. I’m so sorry for not calling. I’ve been at the police station all night. We’ll need to postpone.”

“Is everything okay?” The concern in his voice washed over her like warm honey. Her shoulders slumped as she fought to keep holding it together.

“There’s been…um…a…uh…significant development in the case.”

“Oh, of course. You’re a very busy detective, and work comes first.”

He didn’t understand which case she was talking about, of course. Part of her wanted to let it go, but another part of her wanted him to understand there was nothing more important than finding Madeline’s killer, especially now.

“We’ve had a development in the case.” She paused, hoping her emphasis on the word would clue him in.

“In…oh, wait, do you mean Madeline’s case?” Excitement flared in Jack’s voice.

The coffee maker beeped at her, and she picked up the pot with her left hand, trying to pour the steaming beverage into her mug without spilling it. After sloshing liquid everywhere but into the cup, she put her phone on speaker and placed it on the counter.

“Yes, but I can’t really go into details.”

Charli winced as Ruth walked in and hoped it wasn’t obvious how bad her hand was shaking as she tried to pour the coffee. At least with her right hand, the liquid was making it into the cup.

“But that’s fantastic!” Jack’s enthusiasm would have been contagious if she weren’t so exhausted. “What amazing timing. What can we do to help? If you need us to, we can slap together a few scenes, air them on TV, and ask the public that anyone with information come forward.”

She was about to say no when Ruth made a noise in her throat.

“Jack, can I put you on hold for a second?” She reached for paper towels and wiped up the mess.

“Sure, whatever you need.”

Charli hit mute and peered up at her sergeant.

Ruth nodded toward the phone. “That’s Jack Clarion, correct?”

“Yes.”

“Did you tell him there’s been another kidnapping?”

“No. But with the Levi’s Call that was issued, he may know about it by now anyway.”

Ruth leaned against the counter. “Let’s think about this for a moment. The man has massive reach, and we’re not in a position to turn down help at this point.”

Sucking her lip between her teeth, Charli stared at her boss. “True. What are you thinking?”

“Well, let’s look at the big picture.” Ruth tapped her fingers against her thigh. “There’ve been no local kidnapping murders in the last ten years that bear any resemblance to Madeline Ferguson’s.”

“And…”

“Now, unless that was just some bizarre one-off for her murderer, which I highly doubt, that means there are other victims somewhere else, well outside our jurisdiction, that we haven’t even heard about. If we can tie this case to others, we can get FBI assistance as well, which could be invaluable.”

“Jack Clarion is a civilian.”

“Yes.” Ruth waved her hand at Charli’s phone, where Jack presumably sat still on mute. “But in many ways, he has more reach than us and the FBI combined. We might need his help to appeal to a mass audience. Someone out there knows someone who’s been killed. Someone out there knows the killer. We just need to reach them, and Jack Clarion can help us do that.”

“So you want me to bring him in and tell him what’s going on?”

“Just generalities. He doesn’t need all the particulars just yet, but I want you to keep him close so if we need him, he’ll be there.” She jerked her chin up. “Am I making myself clear?”

Charli nodded. “Crystal clear, ma’am.”

“Good. Now, how about you hand over that coffeepot and let the rest of us have a shot at getting caffeinated?”

Charli flushed and put down the pot, moving away from it as Ruth grabbed a mug from the sink. She picked up her phone and took it off mute. “Hi, Jack. Sorry about that.”

“Not a problem. How can I help?”

“Actually, I’m working on figuring that out.” She wasn’t used to sharing when it wasn’t absolutely necessary, but Ruth was right. Finding Chelsea was their only priority. “You may have heard about the kidnapping…and, well, it’s connected to Madeline’s case.”

15

At nearly noon, Charli took a break from working on her list of sneaker buyers from ten years before and dropped her head into her hands. So far, she hadn’t found anything useful. Her follow-up phone call to Rachel Nelson was just as unproductive. Neither Abby nor her mom had thought of any more information about Chelsea’s kidnapper.

She raised her head and checked on Preston, who was working across the table from her in one of the conference rooms. “Any luck?”

Preston groaned. “It’s like looking for a needle in a haystack. I’ve tracked down five shoe buyers who are since deceased. I’ve tried talking to next of kin to see if they know what happened to the shoes. One woman had no idea what on earth I was even talking about. Apparently, she and her uncle never really spoke, and she’s never even seen the Back to the Future movies.”

What the hell? “You’re kidding.”

He made a face. “No. I thought everyone had seen them.”

A commotion in the hallway got Charli’s attention, and she got up to check it out. She propped open the door. “What’s going on?”

Officer Acosta flashed her a smile as he headed to the stairs. “Mr. Clarion brought lunch for the precinct.”

Charli’s eyebrows shot up. That was certainly unexpected. Well, at least the lunch part of it. She’d expected him to show up sometime in the last couple of hours since they’d talked on the phone. But she never dreamed he’d treat the precinct to lunch. Her stomach growled.

Preston glowered as he came up beside her. “Show-off.”

Was he jealous of the attention Jack was getting? Charli studied him through narrowed eyes. He’d been acting weird since yesterday morning. If he didn’t like the man, he should just come out and say it.

Maybe he was just grouchy and running on fumes?

Before Charli could say anything, she caught movement. Jack Clarion had squeezed his way up the stairs past the throng of cops hurrying down. He held a large bag with what looked like half a dozen sandwiches and several bags of chips in it. From his other hand dangled a bag with a couple of two-liter soda bottles. He smiled when he spotted Charli.

“Special delivery.” He lifted the bags up. “I knew there was no way you’d take time out to go to the food, so I figured the food should come to you.”

Charli smiled, ignoring the look Preston gave her as he left the room, mumbling something about washing his hands before eating. “My stomach was just starting to growl.”

“Then I’m here to save your day. Well, at least your stomach.” Jack grinned, looking every bit as handsome and put together as he had the day before. Unlike Charli and half the precinct, he’d apparently gotten a full night’s sleep. “Brandon and Caspar are downstairs unloading the van. We got enough for everyone.”

“That’s incredible. You didn’t have to do that.”

Jack set the bags on the middle of the table and started unpacking them.

The smile disappeared from his face and his brow furrowed as the crime scene board—sparse as it was—caught his eye. “It’s the least I can do. When you told me someone had been kidnapped…well, when you hear something like that, you can’t just sit around and do nothing. So I did what I could, small as it is. If you guys don’t have to leave to get food or waste time trying to order in, then you can spend more effort finding the victim.”

Charli glanced over Jack’s shoulder as Matthew paced the hallway, phone to his ear. “The victim is my partner’s daughter.” She stepped closer to Jack and lowered her voice, bobbing her head in Matthew’s direction. “Her name is Chelsea.”

Jack’s eyes widened. “That’s terrible! I am so sorry. When you said there’d been a kidnapping, I had no idea it was someone you knew.”

Charli nodded as the horror of the situation pulled at the edges of her mind. She could not—would not—break down. Having a meltdown wouldn’t help her find Chelsea.

She pinched the bridge of her nose, taking a deep breath as she willed herself not to let any tears fall. “We have to get her back.”

Jack put a hand on her shoulder, and although she wasn’t the touchy-feely type, the weight and the warmth comforted her. “You will. And anything I can do to help…I’m here.”

Ruth appeared in the doorway, and Charli took a step away from Jack. She didn’t know why she was so embarrassed, as if she were in eighth grade and the teacher had caught her hiding out with a boy.

“Sergeant, this is Jack Clarion. Jack, this is my sergeant, Ruth Morris.”

Jack stepped forward with an outstretched hand. “I’m pleased to meet you, ma’am. I hope you’ll forgive my team and me for descending in this manner. We wanted to officially offer you our services in whatever capacity you can use them, even if it’s just being coffee runners.”

Ruth gave him a faint smile as she shook his hand. “Coffee runners and lunch bringers are always welcome around here. I think, though, that you have a great many other talents we might be able to employ if things go much longer.”

He clasped his hands in front of him. “We’ve been able to use the show as a tool to help bring people to justice. When we’ve aired programs, we typically get several high-value tips from members of our viewing audience. Those tips have directly led to the arrests of several murderers, including three serial killers.”

Ruth nodded. “Impressive. Which ones?”

“The North Bay Killer, The Dollhouse Killer, and BlackJack, the Jack the Ripper wannabe who left playing cards at the crime scenes.” Jack ticked the names off on his fingers.

“I watched your program on that last one. Chilling.”

Jack made a show of shuddering. “Truly a disturbed individual. Of course, I was horrified when I heard BlackJack managed to escape a prison transport last year.”

“As we all were.” Ruth sighed as she shook her head. “Some bad guys can only be stopped one way. Tell me, Mr. Clarion, have you discovered any other murders across the country that you think might be linked to Madeline Ferguson in any way?”

Jack grimaced. “I’ll be honest. I haven’t had an opportunity to delve into that, and generally, I find it easier to let my audience do the legwork in those areas. After all, as I’m sure you’re aware, each year in this country, there are roughly twenty-five thousand homicides and almost a million and a half assaults that result in emergency room visits.”

Charli nodded along with the statistics, which she was only too aware of. “And then there are the missing persons whose bodies are never found.”

Jack tilted his head toward her. “Couple that with the vast numbers of assault victims who never go to the hospital or fill out a police report. Madeline Ferguson was killed nearly a decade ago. Multiply all those numbers by ten, and the amount of information, the number of potential victims, becomes staggering.”

Charli was passionate about statistics. One figure specifically had been broadcasting through her head for the last several hours, that roughly three quarters of slain kidnapping victims were murdered within three hours of being abducted. More than fifteen hours had passed since Chelsea’s abduction. Her chances of survival—let alone being found—dwindled with each passing minute.

She shoved that thought to the back of her mind. Statistics didn’t tell the whole story, and there were always exceptions. Which Chelsea would be! She refused to think differently.

Jack’s phone dinged. He pulled the device out of his pocket and checked the screen, brow furrowing. “What the hell?”

Pounding footsteps on the stairs grew louder until Brandon, the camera operator, appeared in the doorway of the conference room. He clutched his cell phone in his hand. “Jack!”

Jack waved the camera operator inside. “What’s wrong?”

“Dude, social media is blowing up. Your Instagram just got hacked.”

“My Instagram?” Jack looked down at his phone as it dinged again. “Why mine?”

“I don’t know. You need to check it out.”

Jack pulled up his social media. From where she was standing, Charli could tell he was studying a picture, but she couldn’t make out any detail.

Jack’s face blanched. “Holy shit. Who would do such a thing?” Hand trembling, he held out the device to Ruth, who snatched it from him.

The sergeant swore as she stared at the photo and handed the phone to Charli without a word.

The picture on the feed was of a young woman chained to a bed, her shirt ripped in several places and eyes wide with fear. The girl was Chelsea.

Bile rose in the back of Charli’s throat as she read the caption.

#Charliisnext #thecountdownhasbegun #missingChelseayet?

Jack staggered over to the table and sank into a chair, burying his face in his hands.

Ruth turned to Brandon, her face a thundercloud. “Who has access to his social media? An assistant? Someone in marketing?”

“I don’t know.” Brandon’s head was on a back-and-forth swivel he seemed unable to stop. “My baby sister lives on Insta. She was the one to call and tell me he’d been hacked.”

From his chair, Jack let out a strangled sob. “No one should have it. I was hacked about a year ago, and I thought I had everything locked down since then. I haven’t even aired anything yet. How does this bastard know I’m here?”

Charli forced herself to look away from the sickening image. “He’s been stalking me, so he probably saw you come by my house yesterday or today. The one good thing is this means she’s likely still alive.”

A hand clamped down hard on Charli’s shoulder, and she jumped. When had Matthew entered the room? He took the phone from her and nearly sank to his knees when he saw his daughter. Charli took as much of his weight as she could, leading him to a chair.

“Detective Church!” Ruth’s stentorian voice boomed out, halting everyone in their tracks. “I need you to keep it together. This helps us. Get downstairs to Computer Forensics and get them busy trying to figure out who hacked that Instagram account and where they did it from.”

As a battle of emotions raged on Matthew’s face, he nodded and headed downstairs, still clutching Jack’s phone.

Jack jumped to his feet and paced the room. “Clearly, I hit a nerve with this freak if he bothered to drag me into it like this. But he won’t stop me. We’re going to find this monster and put him away.”

“Glad to hear you say that.” Ruth pointed at him. “I want you to do what you can to start prepping a short video in case we need to put one out in about twenty-four hours.”

He hurried to the door. “I’ll take my team and get some extra footage, maybe up at the cemetery where Madeline was kidnapped.”

Ruth held up her hand. “While you’re at it, get some from the movie theater parking lot where Chelsea Church was kidnapped as well. Detective Cross can text you the address once you retrieve your phone from forensics downstairs.”

“Yes, ma’am.” Jack disappeared down the hall.

Ruth turned to Charli. “Detective Cross, check in with Computer Forensics and keep tabs on their progress. And do whatever you can to get your partner back on task.”

Before Charli could answer, the sergeant spun on her heel and marched out of the room, shutting down whatever discussion might have followed.

16

Ten years ago…

Madeline’s father had told her something when she was little, and she’d been struggling for days to remember what it was. He’d been sick and dying, and she had fretted that she couldn’t fix him and make him better like he always fixed her toys.

What had he said?

Squeezing her eyes tight until tiny bursts of light appeared in the darkness, she tried to hear his voice.

“Don’t worry about what you can’t do. Just do what you can do.”

She gasped in relief as the memory finally became clear, just like a thorn being released from flesh.

“Just do what you can do.”

She didn’t know how much she could do in her situation, but she had to try. Madeline exhaled long and hard as she wiggled her toes to force some blood back into her feet. The chains binding her ankles had worn raw grooves into her flesh, and even the slight movement made her whimper in anguish. She bit her lip against the sound, trying not to attract the attention of her captors.

She couldn’t do anything about the chains, although she’d struggled until her skin was bruised and bleeding, but she could wake up her feet that had fallen asleep. The process was so painful that, ultimately, she didn’t know why she bothered. Maybe it was because her mom once told her that if she didn’t stomp her feet when they’d fallen asleep, she might lose them forever.

What a morbid thing to say to a six-year-old.

Her mother had always been a bit different. Odd, even. She thought every man she saw had an ulterior motive, particularly the post carrier, who she was convinced was spying on them by going through their mail.

What was her mother doing now?

She’d lost track of how long she’d been trapped in the dingy basement chained to the filthy bed. The room reeked of fear and sweat and other smells she didn’t want to acknowledge, let alone think about. The bed itself was soaked with her urine and feces.

I have to escape.

She told herself that a million times a day, but somewhere along the way, she’d stopped believing she could. Her back spasmed as a cramp seized her.

Please, somebody rescue me.

Her breasts ached. While it was probably from all the bruises on them, she was terrified she might be pregnant. She’d heard that was one of the first signs.

I can’t be having a child by one of these monsters. Please, God, don’t let it be true.

In the beginning, Madeline had been certain someone would rescue her. She strained to make out the sound of police sirens day and night. Little by little, she’d stopped listening, stopped expecting, stopped hoping.

Clank!

The bolt on the door at the top of the stairs flew open, and she shuddered violently. Which one of the men was coming?

The older one mostly watched, goading the younger one on. In the beginning, he’d been impatient and had been the first to rape her, telling the younger man that he was “showing him how it was done.”

Madeline had believed that was the worst thing that could happen to her.

She’d been so very, very wrong.

A figure darkened the door before flicking on the light switch at the top of the stairs.

It was the young man. She wasn’t sure of his age, but she was convinced he was older than her by only a few years. With light-brown hair and eyes that bore right through her, he was only a few inches taller but far stronger than she was.

Tears leaked out of her eyes, stinging her cracked, swollen lips as they fell. She wasn’t sure why she still cried. Part of her brain advised her to get used to it, that this was her lot in life. She guessed the tears came from the last bit of her that resisted.

He didn’t close the door behind him, even though the older one had lectured him about it. Instead, he came sauntering down the stairs, the hungry look in his gaze telling her he wanted something from her, something very specific.

For the thousandth time, she prayed for the ground to open and swallow her.

“Why the tears, love?” A devilish smile played at his lips. “Aren’t you glad to see me?”

He ran a finger over her cheek, and she stilled, willing herself not to react.

Resistance only excites him.

The best thing she could do was comply with whatever he made her do. Eventually, he would get bored and leave. But not before he’d had his fun.

She opened her mouth, tongue so dry she could barely speak. “Feet…are asleep.”

“Well, that was naughty of them.” He gave her right foot a hard slap, then the left one.

Pain seared through her limbs as she cried out, warm liquid seeping into the mattress under her. She’d held it so long, she’d forgotten she had to go.

The monster pulled a folding chair up next to the bed and sat beside her. He clucked his tongue. “I see you’ve wet the bed again. You know what that means.”

Madeline squeezed her eyes shut, a wave of nausea washing over her.

Yes, she knew very well what that meant. A shower with steel wool and rubbing alcohol, with both sick bastards administering her “cleansing.”

I just want to die. I can’t take this much longer.

He tweaked her nose. “I’ll make you a deal. You tell me more about Charli, and I won’t tell my friend you wet the bed this time.” He leaned closer, whispering in her ear. “I might even let you stand for a few minutes.”

She nodded, afraid to speak lest he hear hope in her voice. Her eagerness would only fuel his sexual desires.

“Good girl. Now tell me all about her.”

She didn’t know what his obsession with Charli was about, but it had been present since the beginning. Maybe he regretted that he’d kidnapped her instead. That he hadn’t grabbed them both. Madeline often fantasized that he’d taken Charli and not her, and then guilt would swallow her whole for wishing this fate on her best friend.

“She’s…smart.” Madeline coughed, her throat on fire from the effort. “She’s good at puzzles…crinkles her nose when she’s working on one.”

“Show me.”

She demonstrated, doing her best Charli impression, hoping and praying he’d hold up his end of the bargain for her compliance.

The pervert closed his eyes and tilted his head back, lips parted, as though picturing every word in his mind. The gesture was sick and creepy, and Madeline’s flesh crawled.

He moaned. “And?”

She swallowed, trying to work up enough saliva to coat her mouth. “Charli is…one of those girls who is super pretty, but she has no idea.”

“Oh, yes.” His tongue slid out and licked his lips all around. “She doesn’t know it, the little minx.”

Bile rose in the back of Madeline’s throat. “Kind…the best friend anyone could ever want. She’d give you the shirt right off her…” She stopped talking as the old adage took on a sinister overtone given the circumstances.

“I’ll take that shirt right off her sexy little back. So sweet and soft.” He groaned deep in his throat.

Madeline shuddered, forcing herself to continue. “She’s a straight A student…and she’d want you to let me stand…because she’s fair.”

He opened one eye and regarded her. His face was full of lust, but for once, it didn’t seem to be aimed at her. Not yet anyway. “Sneaky, but a deal is a deal.”

A key appeared in his hand as if by magic, and Madeline forced herself to stay still as he unlocked the manacles around her ankles. As they fell away, the relief was instantaneous. She forced herself to stay still, though. Unless he unlocked her wrists as well, she’d have no chance to escape.

She had no idea where the older one was, but she hoped he was far away from there. She didn’t think she could get past them both.

“Charli knows…that it’s easier to get blood flow back in your legs and feet if you stand up.”

“Of course she does.” He narrowed his eyes. “Because she’s a smart girl.”

He moved to the head of the bed and unlocked her left wrist from the bedpost. Madeline tensed but forced herself to keep it together. Then he released her right one.

With a groan, she wobbled to her feet, not having to fake the unsteadiness. How long had it been since she’d stood instead of lying flat on her back? As her legs trembled beneath her, needles of pain pricked her feet when the blood began moving again, aided by gravity. She took a step, and her knee buckled.

He reached out to grab her elbow, and something in her snapped, the will to survive overpowering her resolve to give up and die.

She punched him in the eye, just like she’d rehearsed so many times in her head. But when she lunged forward, her weak legs betrayed her, and she fell headlong. Fueled by adrenaline and fear, she got up on her hands and knees and, by some miracle, made it to the stairs. She began scrambling up, clawing at each step like her life depended on it.

And it did.

Halfway there, the door at the top was in sight. Hope bloomed in Madeline’s chest, growing stronger with every step she climbed.

She was going to make it. Then she’d lock the monster in the basement and run like hell until she made it to a neighbor’s house. She would see Charli again. Her mother⁠—

A hand grabbed her hair and yanked her backward. She tumbled down the stairs, pain roaring in her ribs as she collapsed in a crumpled heap. Sobs racked her body as he dragged her back to the bed. He snagged one wrist and handcuffed it, then the other.

Hatred burned through every fiber of Madeline’s being. “You want to know about Charli? She’s coming for me. She’s smart, and she’ll find you. And when she does, she’ll kill you!”

Tears rolled down uncontrollably, stinging the fresh cuts on her cheeks. His leering face hovered in front of her, inches away. His mouth clamped down on hers, biting her lips so hard, they bled. When he pulled away, blood trickled down his chin. Her blood.

Sticking his tongue out, he tasted the sticky liquid with a noise of pleasure.

The monster was enjoying it. And he’d let her almost escape on purpose. He’d given her a false sense of hope, only to snuff it out again.

“I hope your Charli does find me.” His voice rose in his excitement. “Because I have such plans for her. Our little…tryst…will pale in comparison.”

He turned and walked up the stairs, slamming and bolting the door at the top.

As the tears began to dry up, Madeline stared at her wrecked nails. She used to pride herself on keeping them so clean and neat, painting them all sorts of different colors. Now the only colors they sported were black grime and red blood.

The nail on the index finger of her right hand was broken in half, down to the quick. And the right side stood up in a horrid, jagged edge that kept catching on everything. She’d tried biting through it with her teeth, but she couldn’t stand the taste of it in her mouth.

Her gaze fell on the wooden headboard. Had someone once found the poop-brown wood with the tiny, dingy green vine attractive? The posts holding the headboard to the frame were chipped, the veneer peeling back to expose cheap pine underneath. She touched one with her finger.

“Don’t worry about what you can’t do.”

Then she twisted her finger to the side and embedded her jagged, broken nail into the wood. She began sawing back and forth.

“Just do what you can do.”

As a small, bloodstained groove formed, she attacked it with more vigor. When she was gone, someone needed to find her. Needed to find the monsters who’d done this and stop them before they could torture and kill anyone else.

Someone needs to remember what happened to me.

As one leg of the M for Madeline appeared, she nodded in satisfaction. It was tedious work, but she had nothing but time.

Until it ran out.

17

Sixteen freaking hours.

That was how much time had passed since Matthew got the call about Chelsea the night before.

Matthew had spent nearly half an hour sitting and glaring at the computer forensic team, willing them to work faster. Somewhere in his brain, it seemed perfectly reasonable that the steady force of his terror and rage would spur them on to blinding speed.

He knew the idea was preposterous, but with his child in danger, rationality went right out the door.

One of the guys spun around in his chair. “This is going to take quite a while. Why don’t you catch a nap or get yourself something to eat? You’re not helping anyone by just sitting here, and you need to keep up your strength.”

Matthew inhaled deeply, ready to give the man the tongue-lashing of his life. He was going to explain that food and sleep didn’t exist in a world where a murderer had his daughter. Before he could let loose, a hand landed on his shoulder, fingers squeezing hard.

For a moment, he assumed it was Charli, but the pressure was stronger than what she would normally apply. She wasn’t an overly touchy-feely person, and if she bothered to touch at all, it was much more reserved. This was the grip of someone who had no fear of intimacy, platonic or otherwise.

He lifted his gaze to Janice, who studied him with a grim expression. For a split second, his heart stuttered as he feared that she was bringing him bad news. A moment later, he managed to breathe again when she gave him a forced smile.

“Come on, Matthew. Let’s get a sandwich in that mouth before you say something we’ll all regret.”

Blunt. To the point. Janice.

He’d always appreciated that about her, which had made her recent flirtations bizarre to him. If she had wanted to go out, she should’ve just said so. He would have likely declined because he didn’t think of her as more than a friend, but it would’ve saved them both so much awkwardness.

Of course, none of that really mattered now. Nothing mattered except finding Chelsea and getting her back safe and sound. Nonetheless, he stood and followed Janice out of the room. He swore one of the tech team sighed in relief as he crossed the threshold. Well, he’d give them only so long to find something, and then he’d be back.

Clenching his fists tight, he followed Janice like a puppy into the empty breakroom.

One of the tables contained platters of sandwiches and chips. Another table sported stacks of plastic cups and dozens of two-liter bottles of various sodas.

He remembered overhearing something about sandwiches before seeing the picture of Chelsea on Clarion’s Instagram.

Janice pushed him over to a chair at an empty table and forced him down with an iron hand. She fixed him a plate, handing him what looked like roast beef and provolone on white.

He gave her a defiant glare before taking a giant bite. As the food hit the back of his throat, he started to gag. He wasn’t sure if his body was rejecting the food so much as his mind was revolting at the idea of eating with everything that was going on.

Janice leaned over him. “I know it’s hard, but you have to swallow some of this down. Your daughter is counting on you. I’ll get you some coffee.”

Matthew massaged the kink in his neck as he tried to chew the food he’d already bitten off. It wasn’t easy work, and he couldn’t even taste anything, but he forced himself to try. He’d witnessed firsthand what happened to grieving people when they refused to eat. He couldn’t let himself get run-down like that, not when Chelsea might need him to spring into action at any moment.

When Janice returned and offered him a steaming beverage, he waved his remaining half of the sandwich at her. “There, now you can stop nagging me and focus on doing something useful for once.”

She raised an eyebrow as she pulled out a chair. “I know how much strain you’re under, so I’ll let that comment go. But you need to get your head in the game, because right now, you’re not much use to yourself or Chelsea.”

Get my head in the game? Seriously?

“What the hell does that mean?”

Janice sat next to him with a sigh. “There’s no point in you wasting your time yelling at other people about their jobs. We’re all working as fast as we can. We all want to find Chelsea, and that’s why half the force has pulled an all-nighter and is still going.”

She looked away, and Matthew took a sip of his coffee. It wasn’t good, but at least it was hot. He would have preferred it with a shot of something stronger mixed in, but as badly as he could use the relaxant, he couldn’t allow himself to be even a tiny bit impaired. And, like it or not, Janice had a point. The anger was blinding and impairing him.

“Thank you for the coffee.” It was as close to an apology as he could manage.

“You’re welcome. I’m sorry all this is happening, but now that you’re coming back to sanity, maybe we can do some brainstorming.”

“I’d like that. And I miss being friends.”

The words just sort of slipped out, surprising him as much as they did her, going by her widened eyes. He mulled what he’d said over and realized it was true. While he had never regarded Janice romantically, she had been what he would consider a good, close friend. After all, as a drinking buddy, she’d helped him get through his divorce and a lot of other garbage.

She picked at her manicured nails. “I’m sorry for my part in all the crazy. You’re a good man, Matthew Church. Those are hard to come by, and for a little while, I let myself mistake our friendship for something more. Maybe because I’d given up hope of finding what I’m looking for elsewhere.”

“You’re a catch, Janice. There’s a good man out there who’s going to figure that out. And if he hurts you, I’ll break his legs.” He raised the coffee to his lips, appreciating the sensation of heat as the liquid poured down his throat. “Are we good now?”

Janice flashed him a tired smile, bumping his good shoulder with hers. “Yes. Now, let’s work the problem.”

“Okay. You’re the head of the task force. Where do you suggest we start?”

Janice smoothed her black pantsuit. One of her more stylish outfits, but uncharacteristically rumpled. He remembered her hair being pinned up in a bun the night before. Now red strands had slipped out and were cascading down, but she didn’t seem to care.

“I think for now, we approach this from the premise that everything is connected. It’s a strong assumption that whoever murdered Madeline and is stalking Charli is the same monster who kidnapped Chelsea and blew you up along with your truck.” Janice nibbled her lower lip as she thought it all through.

Matthew was good with the assumption. He was sure Charli would urge caution about jumping to conclusions if she was there, but they couldn’t afford to treat this like two separate problems. Not from where he stood.

“The only question I haven’t been able to satisfactorily answer is why.”

Janice lifted her shoulder. “I think it’s to isolate Charli, make her vulnerable, weak, throw her off her game.”

Matthew grunted and shook his head. “Then despite all his stalking, he doesn’t know her very well. Something like that makes her stronger, more determined, focused.”

“We’ve been treating the truck bomb as an attempted murder.” Janice rested her elbow on the table and cupped her chin in her hand. “What if it wasn’t?”

Matthew was tired—no, he was exhausted—but he was pretty sure she’d just jumped her train of thought. “I’m not following.”

“What if the goal wasn’t to kill you, but just to maim you or even scare you?”

“Either way, mission accomplished. But why stop short?”

“Because you’re right, with you dead, Charli would just get obsessive and focused. With you injured or scared, she has to focus more time and energy on making sure you’re okay.”

Matthew swore under his breath. “This is an interesting theory, but a split second earlier, and I would have been dead. The killer would have had to see me stepping out of the truck and then activated the bomb if they only meant to injure me.”

Janice tilted her head, light sparking in her eyes. “How many people could have seen you step out of the truck from where you were?”

Taking a deep breath, Matthew closed his eyes and forced himself to recall the scene. He’d gotten out of the driver’s seat because he’d left his cell phone at Charli’s house. How many steps had he taken before the bomb went off?

He opened his eyes. “Most of the trick-or-treaters and their parents were indoors by that point, although there could have been a couple of stragglers down the street behind me. The house opposite Charli’s was dark, and the shutters were drawn, but it’s possible someone was hiding in there. Otherwise, the only people I’m aware of that had any chance of seeing that I was getting out of the truck were Charli…and Preston.”

“Preston.”

There was something intense about the way she said his name. Matthew snorted and shook his head. “No, not Preston. He’d just gone inside. The guy might be a lot of things, but I don’t see him as a serial killer.”

“Are you sure?” She tucked a fallen strand of hair behind her ear. “He could’ve been watching through a window. What do we really know about him anyway?”

He raised an eyebrow. “He cares about Charli, and he’s a fucking GBI agent.”

Matthew hadn’t liked him at the beginning, but then, he was never a fan of state police, in particular pompous pretty boys, which was what he’d pegged Preston as. Reaching back in his memories, he recalled the road trip he’d taken with Powell to a casino in pursuit of a lead. It hadn’t been the worst time of his life. In fact, he was convinced they’d bonded.

He gritted his teeth. The GBI agent did seem to come and go as he pleased, being very available sometimes and almost unreachable at others. “I can’t believe Preston has anything to do with this.”

Janice crossed her arms. “Let’s take a step back for the moment and revisit the mechanic.”

“The dead mechanic.”

Janice fidgeted in her seat. “Yes, killed to protect the identity of whoever paid him to sabotage your truck.”

Matthew took a sip of coffee, surprised to discover he’d drained the cup. “Okay, what about him?”

“We know he was depositing cash amounts of nine thousand, nine hundred, and ninety-nine dollars in his checking account to avoid being reported to the government.”

Matthew crushed the empty cup in his hand. “Yeah, so?” He tossed the flattened trash at a recycling can a few feet away. It hit the rim and toppled in.

Two points.

“Whoever was paying him was doing so in cash. Now, unless he was working in an all-cash business or selling drugs or something, the killer would have had to withdraw those funds from a bank, and since our dead mechanic doesn’t strike me as the mastermind type…”

“Then our killer was making withdrawals of those same amounts and handing them over to the mechanic.”

Janice leaned back. “Exactly!” A strange expression came over her face, and she sat back up. “Hang on. The horticulturist.”

“What horticulturist?”

“The dead plant guy who Charli and I were investigating.” She snapped her fingers. “In the check registry we found, he’d made a withdrawal for that exact amount.”

Matthew’s brow furrowed. “Do you think there could be a connection?”

“I don’t know, but what I do know is that we have a warrant for his bank records.” She reached for her phone. “He’s obviously not the kidnapper, since he was already dead when Chelsea was taken, but that at least gets our foot in the door at his bank.”

Matthew jumped up and headed out of the breakroom. Janice scrambled after him and grabbed his arm. “Where do you think you’re going?”

“Simple. There’s still a few hours left before the close of business.”

Janice held up a hand. “I’m going to stop you right there. It’s both our hides if you get that involved in this investigation. Ruth’s already going out on a limb for you by letting you be here and not sending your ass home through all of this.”

If Janice thought he was going to twiddle his thumbs and do nothing, she’d lost her mind. “I can’t just sit by. Besides, it’s not an official request.”

“No, I know what you have in mind, and I think it’s worth trying.” She jabbed her finger into his shoulder. “But you’re not going out there. I’ll send Marv. He’s been dying to do something more active since last night, and this will get him out of my hair. Hopefully, this will be a lead we can follow.”

Matthew leaned against the wall in the hallway, the wind emptied from his sails. This plan was better, as much as he hated to admit it. “Okay, send Marv.”

18

I’m doing legwork regarding footwear, and I am losing my mind.

Charli studied the long list of names before her in one of the conference rooms. At already one o’clock in the afternoon, she’d been working on this list for hours. Even with splitting up the list between her, Matthew, and Preston, the sheer magnitude of the task was daunting. She’d taken a brief nap earlier, but even after that little bit of sleep and cup of cold coffee she’d just downed, her brain struggled to get in gear.

Slow and steady. That’s what ninety percent of investigative work is about. You can do this.

The issue really wasn’t chasing down fifteen hundred pairs of shoes. The problem was that it devoured time when they had no time to spare. She found herself wondering how the other detectives were doing in their various areas.

As much as she hated not being on top of every aspect of the investigation, she didn’t envy Janice her job of task force coordinator. Charli would rather be doing the work than overseeing those who were.

She dialed the next number on her list, hoping they answered. For more than half the numbers, she’d been forced to leave a message. Many people no longer answered calls from numbers they didn’t recognize. She took some small comfort in the fact that, at least for the few landlines people had given on their purchase orders, the caller ID would come up as Savannah Police Department. That, at least, should encourage more people to answer.

A woman picked up. “Hello?”

“Hello, ma’am, I’m Detective Cross with the Savannah Police Department. I’m trying to get in touch with Viola Dickenson.”

“I’m Viola. What’s this about?” Worry tempered the other woman’s voice.

“Hello, Ms. Dickenson. This might sound strange, but I’m calling to inquire about a pair of shoes you bought several years ago, a pair of Nike Mags, also known as the Back to the Future II shoes.”

Viola laughed. “Oh, wow, you had me scared there for a minute. I thought it was something serious.”

It’s deadly serious. Please just tell me you have the shoes sitting in the back of your closet so I can cross you off.

“Ma’am, as it turns out, we’re trying to track down a particular pair. Can you tell me what happened to the pair you bought?”

“Oh, sure. My no-good, cheating boyfriend stole them from me eight years ago when he moved out. He gave them to the little hussy he was cheating on me with.” Her voice was filled with venom. “I hope they gave her blisters.”

“I’m sorry to hear about your loss. Did you know any men, your ex, perhaps, who wore the same or similar size shoe?”

“No. He had giant elephant feet. You know, he complained when they first arrived because he thought they were for him, and he couldn’t wedge his feet in them. I told him they were my birthday present to myself, since he couldn’t be bothered to get me anything decent. I used to wear those things constantly. You want me to give you his number?”

“Yes, please. That would be helpful.”

After hanging up, Charli made a notation on her master list, then crossed the name off her call list. They’d been Viola’s shoes—not to mention an unusually small size—and in her possession when Madeline was kidnapped. Those weren’t the shoes they were looking for.

Before she could dial the next number, Matthew came back, seeming to be in much better shape than when he’d left. His hair was slicked back, his cheeks pink, suggesting he’d washed up in the men’s room. It was more than that, though. He wore a contemplative look that was more focused and less wild.

“You okay?”

The question was stupid on the surface. His daughter had been kidnapped. Of course he wasn’t okay. What Charli really wanted to know was if he’d really pulled himself together a bit more.

He nodded and sat with a weary grunt. “Had a long talk with Janice. We’re working the angle that the guy who paid the mechanic to blow up my car is the kidnapper. There’s a warrant to search that dead plant guy’s bank records, and she’s sent Marv to go serve it.” He pinched his nose. “Maybe he can sweet talk a manager into spilling how many customers pulled out nine thousand, nine hundred, and ninety-nine dollars from their account in the last week or so.”

Charli dropped her gaze to the table. That was an extreme long shot and possibly a waste of department resources. Still, she could see why Janice might have gone ahead and assigned Marv to give him something to do and to help calm Matthew down. If he found something…well, it would be a win-win, if not a downright miracle.

He’s looking for a needle in a haystack.

She peeked at her phone number list.

Then again, so am I.

Preston hung up his phone and spun around in his chair. “That’s the thirtieth person who admitted to selling the shoes to a foreign buyer online immediately after receipt.”

Charli rubbed her neck, trying to work out a kink. “Then that’s thirty names we can cross off.”

“There’s more. I’ve got fifty collectors who’ve left them mint in box, never worn, never even opened. Now, honestly, that’s a shame, but at least it helps narrow things down. Another half dozen women have them in their closet, although most admit they haven’t worn them much since the first few weeks they had them.”

“Do those half dozen women have men in their lives with access to their closet?” Charli hated asking the obvious. She did trust Preston to be thorough, but she couldn’t help herself.

“Yes, but none of them wear the same size shoe.” His triumphant smile almost teased her lips into turning upward, but instead she dropped her gaze back to the list.

“Great, let’s keep going.”

After another forty-five minutes and countless phone calls later, Matthew’s cell phone rang. “It’s Marv.” He put the device on speaker. “Hey, man, what did you find?”

Officer Marv Cooper’s voice came through the line. “In addition to Ezra Fenton’s withdrawal, there was one other account holder who withdrew that exact amount in the last two weeks. Unfortunately, that was all the information I could get without a subpoena for the other account.”

Matthew groaned. “I hope she was pretty, at least.”

“She was a looker.” Marv’s voice softened. “Hang in there, buddy.”

19

Charli looked up as Officer Acosta knocked on the doorframe of the conference room she was using. He nodded at her. “Sergeant has called for everyone to gather in Conference Room B in twenty minutes.”

“Thank you.” Charli rubbed at her burning eyes as the officer moved on to deliver his message to the next group. She realized with a start that she must have fallen asleep for a few minutes. Her phone held the first six digits of the last number she’d tried to dial.

I need to get some rest. It’s getting late in the afternoon, and that short nap I had earlier today isn’t going to cut it.

She upbraided herself, afraid to even think of sleep while Chelsea was still out there. Guilt surged through her as she looked over at Matthew. Her partner was wrapping up a phone call, voice tired, shoulders slouched, but still going. He hung up and looked at her, the whites of his eyes red, from lack of sleep or crying or both.

A quick glance over at the empty chair nearby revealed that Preston was no longer there. She frowned and met Matthew’s gaze once more.

What was that scowl about?

Before she could ask, he gestured toward the door. “He took off about five minutes ago. Didn’t say where he was heading, but I was on a call.”

Charli checked her messages on her phone and discovered that Preston had texted her.

A quick flash of anger poured through her.

Why the hell hadn’t he woken her? He knew they were up against the clock. That was what he should have done instead of running off, leaving her with just a text. And she shouldn’t have been nodding off in the first place.

She read the message.

Boss called me in for a meeting with CART at my office. Back as soon as I can be. So sorry. Try to get some sleep.

Still irritated, she fired back a single word.

Okay.

Couldn’t he do a video conference with the Child Abduction Response Team? Forcing herself to put down her phone, Charli stood and stretched. In the remaining eighteen minutes before the meeting, she could probably make another two or three calls to some of the west coast numbers on her list. When she looked down at it, though, her vision blurred.

Matthew was already onto the next call.

She caught his eye. “See you in a bit.”

He nodded and waved.

In the restroom, Charli scrubbed her face and the back of her neck. A little soap and water went a long way, but they couldn’t alleviate the stench of old clothes, stale coffee, and desperation.

Having done what she could, Charli headed to Conference Room B. It was better than sitting idly for a few more minutes. She slipped into a chair close to the front that still gave her a good view of the boards and the rest of the room.

She was surprised to find Jack talking with Ruth while everyone else filed in. Neither of them glanced up, and she slunk down into her chair, not ready to interact.

The room filled, and Matthew was one of the last to arrive. He had to squeeze his way past several officers to claim the seat next to Charli. She hadn’t exactly been holding it for him, but everyone else shied clear of it. As he sat, he gave her a grim nod.

Here we go.

Now at the front of the room, Ruth turned to address the troops. “Thank you all for the effort you’ve put in so far today. I’m beyond proud of this precinct and the hard work and sacrifice that have kept you here this late or brought you in this early.” She heaved a sigh. “Unfortunately, we are no closer now to finding Chelsea Church than we were yesterday at this time.”

There was an outburst of noise and movement that died down as soon as Ruth held up her hand for silence. Once she had it, she continued.

“The warrants for the vans turned up nothing, leading us to conclude that the vehicle used was most likely from out of state.”

Charli had no need to share in the groans of disappointment, since she’d never believed the warrants would turn up anything in the first place.

Ruth turned to Janice. “Detective Piper, where are we on tracing possible routes the van might have taken after hitting the camera dead zone?”

Janice glanced at a document in her hand before answering. “Of the fifteen possible routes from the van’s last visually identified location, eight of those lead past cameras. However, none of the footage captured the van. We are exploring the other seven potential routes and also looking into the possibility that he changed vehicles.”

Charli winced. That was a lot of ground to cover, and none of the news was good. If the kidnapper had changed vehicles, he literally could have taken Chelsea anywhere, a totally different part of the country, even. She hazarded a glance at Matthew—his face a thundercloud. No one needed to explain to him that the odds of finding his daughter now had dropped astronomically low.

Ruth turned to study the kidnapping board behind her. Charli had the oddest impression that the other woman wasn’t looking for a piece of information but was taking a moment to compose herself. Either way, when the sergeant turned back around, her face was as neutral as a mask.

“In other news, the kidnapper has chosen to engage. He hacked Jack Clarion’s Instagram and posted a picture of Chelsea in captivity. Mr. Clarion has been working on a program about the Madeline Ferguson murder ten years ago, and we believe the killer in that case is the same man who took Chelsea.” She tipped her head toward Jack. “You may know Mr. Clarion from his numerous TV specials profiling cold cases and unsolved murders. Computer Forensics is still tracing the hack to his account, but we’re hopeful we’ll get some information from that.”

Charli shook her head without meaning to.

“You disagree, Detective Cross?” Ruth’s eyes had locked onto her with laser focus.

She hadn’t meant to make herself the center of attention, but since it was already done, Charli took the opportunity to express what she was thinking.

“He’s been careful this whole time. I doubt he would have hacked Mr. Clarion’s Instagram if he didn’t feel secure in his ability to do so anonymously. For all we know, he hired a third party to do it.”

And then likely killed them.

Under the room’s LED lights, every weary line on the sergeant’s face was pronounced. “Your concerns are noted, but for now, this is one of the best leads we have, so we’ll let the team follow it to wherever it leads.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

Ruth shifted her weight. “I’m sure some of you met Mr. Clarion and his team earlier today. They have offered to work with us to help get the word out and hopefully bring Chelsea Church home. Mr. Clarion.” She stepped back and allowed Jack to address the gathered officers.

Scanning the room, he nodded at several. “My team has spent today gathering extra footage and editing together a quick five-minute segment that we have ready to go out tomorrow. I’ve called in some favors, and we’ll get coverage by all the major news outlets as well as featured play by several streaming services. Someone out there knows something, and I just hope and pray we can reach them.”

Charli glanced around the room, finding the looks on the sea of faces grim.

Jack took a ragged breath. “Of course, none of this would be possible without the cooperation of Sergeant Morris or Detective Cross. I just want to thank them both for all their efforts.” With a nod, he resumed his seat.

Charli’s cheeks superheated as every eye in the room turned toward her. She understood better why Preston had cautioned her against putting herself out there. These were just her fellow officers who already knew her. What would it be like when a quarter of the country’s population was focused on her?

“Thank you, Mr. Clarion. Public Relations, get with him after this briefing to see how we can better assist.” Ruth stepped forward, her boots clacking on the tile. “We are also working on the possibility of a connection to the previous bombing attack on Detective Church.”

As Ruth went over some more information—all of which Charli was already privy to—Charli’s attention drifted. She was trying to put herself into the mind of the killer, but it was a futile task. She could not grasp how anyone could perpetrate such heinous crimes.

When the meeting was over, she was somehow even more tired. She opted to move her stuff back to her office now that Preston was gone. After collapsing into her chair, she picked up the printout of the next group of buyers she needed to call. Fidgeting with her phone, she jumped when it rang.

I didn’t call anyone.

She blinked, realized the call was incoming, and swiped to answer the medical examiner.

“Hey, Dr. Soames. What have you got for me?”

“A prescription for you to get some sleep. Seriously, have you been to bed yet?”

“That seems like a very personal question.”

She waited, expecting Soames to laugh or make some funny comment.

Silence stretched out for several seconds before he responded.

“Uh, I know you’ve got way more important things going on, and I’m sure you don’t have the time or headspace to deal with it, but I’m reporting in with what I’ve discovered about Ezra Fenton, your murdered horticulturist.”

Had it only been a day since she’d visited the man’s house? That case seemed like a distant memory. “What did you find?”

“Well, I was correct. He had rope fibers on his wrists and ankles, suggesting he was tied up. Moreover, the angle of the stab wounds would be consistent with him being seated at the time they were inflicted. Interestingly enough, the wounds on his arms that looked defensive at first glance were not.”

“They weren’t?” Charli’s curiosity kicked in, and she sat up straighter as her weary mind started churning through possibilities.

“Nope. If I had to guess, I’d say they were staged to appear that way.”

Charli picked up a pen and started tapping it on her desk. “But why?”

“As always, you’re the detective. Figuring out the how is my job. The why I leave up to you.”

“Gee, and who says you don’t share?”

“Wait, someone says I don’t share?”

Charli couldn’t decide if the concern in the man’s voice was fake or genuine. She rolled her eyes and tapped her pen faster. “Anything else?”

“Yes, I did find something really interesting.”

“I’m all ears.”

Again, she waited for a witty comeback, but Soames was clearly not up for his usual jocularity. Given the circumstances, she didn’t blame him.

“I ran Fenton’s DNA against the national databases. It matched with a previously unknown perpetrator sample from a kidnapping and murder ten years ago in Idaho.”

Charli’s heart began to pound. “Are you sure? The dead plant guy’s DNA matches that of a known violent criminal?”

“I’m certain. I’ve alerted authorities involved with that case, and I’m emailing you the information now in case you want to follow up.”

Could it be a coincidence that a probable kidnapper and murderer had been killed right as another one was stalking the streets of Savannah?

The pen flew out of Charli’s fingers as she lost control of it and just missed hitting Matthew in the head. It bounced instead off the edge of his computer monitor. He shot her a what the hell was that glare, and she held her hands up in apology.

Her email alert went off as the message from the M.E. came through.

“Thank you, Dr. Soames. As always, you are unmatched in your field.”

“Thank you. And might I say⁠—”

Charli’s finger slipped, and she accidentally hung up on him before he could finish his sentence. She opted not to call back and instead clicked on her email, desperate to know how a horticulturist with ties to a kidnapping and murder in Idaho might fit into the puzzle that had been plaguing her for months.

20

After an eternity of fitful dreaming, Chelsea’s eyelids fluttered open. Why was she so groggy?

That question soon gave way to a much more pressing one.

Where am I?

Last she remembered, she was at the movies with Abby. And now? She took in the dingy interior lit only by a few bare bulbs scattered throughout the space. There was a table in the far corner and a staircase with a door at the top. The absence of windows convinced her that she must be in a basement.

How did I get here?

Unwelcome memories flooded her mind. A man grabbing her and shoving a needle into her before tossing her like a rag doll into the back of a gray van. Waking up sometime later only to be drugged again.

With a cry, Chelsea jerked herself completely awake. She tried to sit up, but something stopped her, yanking her back down.

Turning her head to the side, she made out restraints on her wrists and ankles. She was tied to a bed, unable to get up. Terror knifed through her.

Heart pounding, she rotated her wrists in their bonds, testing them. Sweat poured down her back despite the chill in the basement. The ropes were looser than she would have expected, and she twisted one hand, tucking her thumb in toward her palm. Stiff, coarse fibers burned as they slid with agonizing slowness over the back of her hand. She squeezed her fingers together so tight, they ached and began to throb.

“Please, please, please…”

She had no idea how long she’d been out or when her kidnapper would return, so she worked as fast as she could, grinding her teeth against the pain.

Her hand slipped partway through, the rope catching on her knuckles. After arching her fingers back to the point of agony, Chelsea yanked as hard as she could, and her hand came free. With a gasp, she pulled her other hand loose, the rope dropping next to her head.

As she sat up, something caught her eye. Carved into the headboard were two initials. M.F. Who did the initials belong to? Someone else had been captive here, long before her by the looks of it. Hot acid burned Chelsea’s throat as she tried not to think about M.F. and whatever might have happened to them.

Instead, she turned her attention to her own predicament and how she was going to escape. As her fingers pried at the knots on the ropes binding her ankles, she prayed the door at the top of the stairs was unlocked.

If she were a kidnapper, she would have locked the door, but maybe he was sloppy, assuming she’d still be unconscious or she wouldn’t have been able to untie her hands. The knots on her ankles were proving far more stubborn. As she worked on them, her skin burned with the friction, and she bit her lip to avoid crying out in pain.

She looked back up the stairs. With the ropes so tight, she wouldn’t be able to do anything but hop. And there was no way she could jump up the stairs, particularly since there was no handrail to hold for balance. Her stomach twisted as every wasted second ticked by. She needed to move fast if she had any hope of escape.

I could crawl up the stairs. Maybe I could find a knife in the kitchen to cut through these. That is, if there’s no one up there. If there is, I could use a knife to threaten them and get free.

The plan was crazy optimistic on every level. And there was no way she could know what waited behind that door. But there was only one way to find out.

She either had to take a risk and attempt to escape or stay in this filthy basement and await her fate.

Heck, no. I’ll escape or die trying.

She hoped it didn’t come to that. Her dad had to be worried sick.

Her hands were slick with sweat, yet the knots refused to budge. She swung her hobbled legs over the bed, gripping the edge of the mattress for balance. Teetering on unsteady feet, she swayed and waited for the dizziness to pass.

She didn’t know what that psycho had drugged her with, but apparently, some of it was still in her system. Awkward as it was, she somehow managed to hop to the bottom of the stairs without losing her balance.

It’s like Jenny Reid’s eighth birthday party and that crazy game with the balloons tied to our ankles.

Once at the stairway, she leaned forward until she could touch the fourth stair up. Putting her hands down, she managed to hop up with her feet in a sort of leapfrog maneuver.

Which was a game at Cindy Nelson’s party in third grade. Who knew party games would be more important than my classes in school?

Anklebones exploding with pain as they knocked together, she hopped up each step as fast as she could. The closer she got to the door, the higher her anxiety ratcheted. She had no idea what came next.

“One step at a time.”

That was what her father used to say to her when she was little. And now his advice was literal.

Chelsea had neared the top when a clicking noise caused the hair on her arms to stand on end. There was nowhere to hide. She was one-hundred-percent exposed on the stairs, with no way to ambush him.

Why didn’t I come up with a better plan?

Before she could decide whether to try to make it up the stairs or to get back down, the door flew open with a crash into the wall. Chelsea jumped, losing her balance. Her arms windmilled as she smacked sideways into the wall. Pain zipped through her brain as her teeth pierced her lip, coating her tongue with blood.

An iron hand clamped down on the back of her collar and hoisted her into the air. The sudden pressure on Chelsea’s throat cut off her air supply, and she wheezed, panic filling her when she couldn’t suck in any oxygen.

“Well, well, well. What do we have here? A little bird who hasn’t realized her wings have been clipped. Did you think you were going to fly away, little bird?”

Dangling in the air inches above the stairs, she lashed out at the figure, but her fist glanced off his leg with no visible effect.

He laughed lightly at the effort, as though it amused him. “A little bird who still has a lot of fight in her. That’s good. I like to see them struggle, their little hearts beating so fast before they explode.”

Still carrying her by her shirt collar, he walked down the stairs. She wanted to scream, to fight back, to kick him in the balls and escape, but she was helpless. Another wave of terror rippled through her. What would happen when they reached the bed?

He laughed again. “Not so feisty now, are we?”

Even in her oxygen-deprived state, something in his voice was familiar. Seeing his face might help, but he was still behind her.

They reached level floor, and he dropped her face-first onto the bed. She sputtered and gasped, vision starting to clear as she sucked in several breaths. Before she could react, he’d yanked her right hand behind her.

Cold steel touched her skin as a handcuff snapped around her wrist. With her left hand, she searched for something she could hit him with, but there was nothing. He captured that wrist with ease and cuffed it to her right one.

He slapped her butt. “There, the naughty little bird is all secure now.”

I know that voice. Who is he?

Tears of fear and frustration burned Chelsea’s eyes. She’d never been good at recognizing voices. In second grade when they’d play Doggie, Doggie, Where’s Your Bone?, Chelsea had never managed to identify the person who took the object.

Of course, they usually disguised their voices. Chelsea didn’t think her kidnapper was altering his, but she still couldn’t identify him. All she knew was it was somehow familiar. She’d heard it before, even if she couldn’t remember where or when. But none of her former teachers or her friend’s fathers would do something like this. She was certain of it.

A rasping noise followed as he attached something to the length of chain between the two handcuffs. Chelsea managed to twist her head just enough as he secured the other end of the chain to the bed frame.

He flipped her over as if she weighed nothing and straddled her, grinning down with a lecherous gaze. He was white with light-brown hair, maybe in his thirties, with features that some would call attractive but that she could see only as evil. He also looked frustratingly familiar.

Beneath Chelsea, the handcuffs at her back bit into her skin, and she winced in pain as his weight bore down as well.

“What do you want with me?” She tried to sound angry and defiant, hating the quiver in her voice.

Show no fear.

That was what her dad had taught her about walking into places where muggers or other attackers might lurk.

“Don’t look like a victim, and the would-be attacker will almost always go after someone else, someone who looks scared and weak.”

But this guy had already attacked her, and she had a sinking feeling he’d picked her on purpose.

The slimeball’s mouth curved up as he ran a finger down her cheek. She twisted her head and snapped her teeth at the digit, but he moved lightning quick. Her jaws ached as her teeth slammed against each other, catching only empty air.

He made a tsking sound and waved the offending finger in front of her face. “Now, now. Didn’t your daddy teach you better than to bite the hand that feeds you?”

Hatred boiled in her veins. “I’m not a dog! And even if I was, you don’t have any food.”

He threw back his head and laughed. “You are priceless. All that time studying you, and yet I really had no clue how much fire there is in you.”

Bravado fading fast, Chelsea forced herself to lift her chin. “Y-you’ve been watching me?”

“Every move.”

Crap. She had been targeted. “Why me?” The words came out a whisper.

He ran his tongue over his lips in a slow, exaggerated fashion. “Well, as scrumptious a little morsel as you are, and as much as I’ll enjoy lapping up every little bit of you, don’t flatter yourself that this is about you in any way. You’re just icing on the cake as far as I’m concerned. You are, however, serving a very important function.”

Chelsea glared up at him, summoning as much hostility into her eyes as she could. “To give you some lessons in manners?”

“No, love.” He traced her lips with his fingers. “I’m going to have Charli Cross. You’re just the bait I need for the trap I’ve set for her. I’d love to stay and…chat, but I’ve got work to do.” As quickly as the monster had come, he left, slamming the door at the top of the stairs.

Tears burned Chelsea’s eyes, but she would not—could not—give up now. She twisted around so she could get a good look at where the chain connected the handcuffs to the frame. The old, chipped wood looked weak.

Wood rot? The place she and Mom had first moved into out in California had some of that around the window in her bedroom, and the wood just broke apart.

Breaking the bed frame might take a while, but at the moment, Chelsea had nothing better to do.

21

Nearly twenty-four hours after Chelsea’s kidnapping, Charli reached the point where even caffeine wasn’t helping. But as much as her body needed several hours of sleep, she just couldn’t stomach the thought of wasting time while her partner’s daughter was at risk.

In her desk drawer, she kept an energy shot that had been in there for some time. It was for emergencies, and this qualified as an emergency. But in her state of exhaustion, was taking the shot even safe? Charli had no idea what the ingredients were. Rummaging around until she found the small bottle, she tried to make out the minuscule print.

“Is the Energizer Bunny herself finally running out of energy?” Janice quirked a half-hearted smile as she walked into Charli’s office.

Despite the other woman’s drooping posture and the bags under her eyes, her clothes had a pressed appearance. Charli tried to recall what the detective had been wearing earlier, wondering if she kept a change of clothes in the office. Charli used to do that, but the last time she’d changed clothes at work, she’d forgotten to bring something back to replace them.

My mind is rambling. I’m too tired.

She tossed the bottle back in her drawer and shut it. “What can I help with?”

Janice produced a file from under her arm and deposited it onto Charli’s desk. “I’ll save you the trouble of going through the folder. Those are the financials on Ezra, our dead plant guy, that Marv got from the bank manager. He pulled that nine thousand, nine hundred, and ninety-nine dollars out of his checking account the day before the mechanic’s second deposit in the same amount.”

Tapping the file folder, Charli mentally catalogued the findings in the home. “And we found no cash at the house.”

“Which leads me to one of four conclusions.” Janice raised her fingers as she ticked them off. “One, our thief knew about it and that’s what he stole. Two, our thief was looking for it, but Ezra had it hidden somewhere so well that neither he nor we found it. Three, Ezra spent it somewhere else. Four, Ezra’s money was given to the mechanic, either by him or by someone else.”

“The mechanic received two payments of the same amount. If one payment came from Ezra, the other one would have had to come from somewhere or someone else.” Charli cocked her head. “Potentially from that other account the manager told Marv about.”

Janice steepled her fingers. “It’s a long shot.”

“But one worth investigating.”

We can’t afford to overlook any leads.

“That was my thought.” She rolled her shoulders back, stretching her neck from side to side. “Any potential connection to the truck bombing is a potential connection to the kidnapper.”

Charli’s mind should have been racing, but instead it was like an old creaky wagon wheel stuck in the mud. “True. And speaking of Ezra Fenton, Soames called with an update on him. He said Ezra was tied up and the defensive wounds were staged.”

“That’s…odd…right? Sorry. I’m tired, and my brain’s not working so fast.” Janice pinched the bridge of her nose.

“I’m right there with you, but it is odd. And it gets weirder. Soames matched Ezra’s DNA with an unknown sample from a kidnapping and murder ten years ago in Idaho.”

Janice pulled over a chair and fell into it with a grunt. “Are you telling me our dead guy might be a kidnapper and murderer, but not the one we’re seeking?”

Charli nodded. “Sure am.”

It’s bizarre, but crazier things have happened.

She lifted her brow. “And he might somehow be connected to the attempt on Matthew’s life and possibly our current kidnapper and murderer?”

“That’s about the size of it.”

With a groan, Janice dropped her face into her hands. “What the hell is going on around here? How many freaking serial killers are we dealing with?” She straightened up, leaning back in the chair. “Isn’t one enough? No, how about two? Can we go for a third?”

“Something tells me we’re not talking about margaritas.” Having appeared without a sound, Ruth darkened the doorway. “Although when this whole ordeal is over…” She mimed taking a shot. “What’s going on?”

Charli summarized the latest information, and Ruth let out a low whistle.

“My thoughts exactly.” Janice dragged herself to her feet. “Charli and I are going to go take another look at Ezra’s house, bearing in mind this new information.”

Grabbing the energy shot out of her drawer and stuffing it in her messenger bag, Charli rose on unsteady feet. She gripped the edge of the desk, taking a couple of quick, deep breaths to force fresh oxygen to her brain.

Ruth folded her arms and refused to budge from the doorway. “The only place the two of you are going right now is Conference Room C. We have some cots set up in there, and I’m ordering the two of you to go get some sleep. Four hours minimum.”

Charli made a show of putting her bag on her shoulder. “I’m okay, Sarge. Really. Let someone else take my cot.”

“Absolutely not.” Ruth fixed them with her steely gaze. “I started having people sleep in shifts earlier today, and your numbers are up.”

Janice hunched her shoulders. “But ma’am⁠—”

“Don’t ‘but ma’am’ me. Did you not hear me? It’s an order. You two head to Conference Room C now, and I don’t want to see your faces until at least midnight. Am I making myself clear?” If the sergeant gritted her teeth any harder, the vein in her temple would pop.

Logically, Charli knew her boss was one-hundred-percent right. Emotionally, she wanted to claw her Ruth’s out for suggesting they sleep while Chelsea was still out there. In the end, logic won out as she yawned so hard, her vision blurred.

“Clear.” Janice didn’t sound any happier about it than Charli felt.

Charli dropped her bag into her desk drawer, grateful she hadn’t downed the energy shot earlier. Like a scolded puppy, she left the room and followed Janice to the temporary sleeping quarters.

“So what does this make Ezra?” Charli lowered her voice as they approached the conference room. “Victim? Coconspirator?”

“I wish I knew.” Janice shrugged. “I don’t think we’re going to get any answers about that until we can get over to his house and find out. We might want to wait for sunup, though, because I want another look at that garden.”

“All right.”

They made it into the conference room and found a dozen cots laid out. Ten of them were already occupied, one by Matthew, who was sleeping on his back and snoring like a hibernating bear, his sling holding his injured left arm against his chest.

Charli eyed her partner’s inert body in surprise. “I wonder how Ruth got him to sleep.”

Janice made a face. “Tranquilizer?”

With a grin, Charli led the way to the two empty cots in the back corner and collapsed onto one, kicked off her shoes, and sprawled out. Once Janice situated herself on her cot, their heads were close together.

Shifting to get comfortable, Charli tried and failed to shut off her racing brain. “You think Ezra had some grudge against Matthew he had no idea about?”

Janice flipped onto her stomach and propped her chin in her hands. “How would that be possible?” She chewed on her lower lip. “I wish I wasn’t so tired. I just can’t think it through like I should.”

Tired was the understatement of the century. “Me neither. And as much as I’d like to keep brainstorming, we need to get some rest.” She lowered her voice more, casting a glance at Matthew’s form. “For Chelsea’s sake.”

Janice peered around at the other sleeping forms. “It’s like we’re at a slumber party and we’re the only two left awake.”

Charli rolled onto her back and stretched her arms behind her skull. She turned her head to look at Janice. “Aren’t the last ones awake supposed to play pranks on those who are asleep?”

I’m being ridiculous. Clearly, I’m more sleep deprived than I realized.

A wicked gleam lit up Janice’s eyes, and she leaned closer. “We could get some warm water and dip their hands in it.”

Charli studied her, not comprehending. “And?”

“And it will make them wet their pants.”

“You’re kidding!” Charli clamped her hand over her mouth as the outburst echoed around the room. After a few seconds, she peeked around and was relieved to see no one awake. “That actually works?”

Janice nodded. “I did it to my cousin at her thirteenth birthday party.”

“That’s so mean!”

“So is my cousin.” Janice gave a soft chuckle. “If you met her, you’d totally approve of what I did.”

Charli propped herself up on her elbow. “Wait, this isn’t your cousin the actress who’s dating Soames, is it?”

“No. This is my cousin the investment banker who’s uppity and likes to pretend she knows more about money and investments than anyone who ever lived. The truth is, she can’t pick a stock or a mutual fund to save her life.”

“Oh.” Charli couldn’t stop the giggle that escaped her lips. She wouldn’t even know how to go about picking a stock or a mutual fund either, but Janice’s disdain amused her.

“Or we could freeze someone’s bra.” Janice looked around the room and sighed. “Too bad everyone here who has one is still wearing it. That would have been fun.”

“You’re awful.” Charli imagined the reaction if one of her male coworkers opened the freezer in the breakroom to discover that and found herself snickering.

“Yeah, but you love it. You wish you were as naughty as me.”

I do.

Charli realized that with a start. Janice was so much freer than she was. Then again, knowing what she did of the other detective’s background, she imagined how hard Janice must have fought for that freedom.

From the doorway, someone cleared their throat. “Detectives, get some sleep. What do you think this is, a sleepover?”

Against her better judgment, Charli burst out laughing. Now it really was a slumber party.

22

Charli gripped the safety bar tight, squeezing her eyes shut as the roller coaster creaked up the track. “Remind me again why I let you talk me into this.”

“You’re going to love it. I promise!” Madeline gave a little squeal of excitement. “When we drop, you have to throw your hands up. Wait, are your eyes closed?”

“Umm…”

“They are! Charli, open them right now. You don’t want to miss this view.”

She opened her eyes to narrow slits. “I can’t look down.” She peeked at her best friend beside her, who had an ear-to-ear grin on her face. “And there’s no way I’m letting go of this bar. What if I fall out?”

“You won’t fall, Charli.” Madeline patted her knee. “Almost at the top. Come on, loosen up. You need to have fun every now and then. Take a break from studying. Live a little.”

At least if she were studying, she’d have her feet planted firmly on the ground where they belonged.

Up, up, up the coaster crept, rattling and clanking on the track as it reached the top of the incline. It came to a groaning halt.

Ready or not, here went nothing. Charli licked her lips, tightening her death grip around the bar. “I don’t know about⁠—”

Whoosh!

Their little car dropped without warning, going from zero to sixty in under three seconds.

Madeline shrieked beside her as the wind whipped through her long blond hair. “No hands!”

Charli wasn’t about to loosen her grip, not for anything in the world. “Be careful!”

For the longest ninety seconds of Charli’s life, the ride from hell twisted and turned and went upside down, sloshing the contents of her stomach around like a spin cycle on steroids. She would not puke. She. Would. Not. Puke.

“Was that awesome, or what?” Madeline bumped shoulders with Charli as the coaster slowed and headed for the tunnel at the end of the ride. “Told ya you wouldn’t fall out.”

When they’d almost reached the passageway, a blast of cold air hit Charli, cooling her overheated cheeks. “I guess it wasn’t so bad.” She shivered as the darkness enveloped her. “But I vote we stay on the ground for a while. Want to get something to drink?”

Silence.

“If you passed out after all that talk, I’m never going to let you live that down.” She reached for her friend as the coaster emerged from the tunnel. “Madeline?”

An arm wrapped around her throat like a snake. “I’ve got your friend. And you’re never going to find her.”

She knew that voice. Panic sliced through Charli like a knife. She tried to scream, but no sound came out.

The shadowy figure loomed over her, choking the life out of her, the world around her growing darker and darker…

“No!”

Charli bolted upright on the cot, beads of sweat rolling down her back. Around her, several officers roused, glancing about with wild eyes.

She whisper-yelled, trying to keep from waking the ones who were still sleeping. “So sorry. Had a nightmare.”

With her eyes still closed, Janice grumbled. “Must have been a doozy.”

You have no idea.

One by one, all the other officers settled back down on their cots, most seeming to fall back asleep the moment their heads hit the pillow. Moving as quietly as she could, Charli slipped on her shoes and left the room.

Back at her office, she glanced at her watch. Although it was just after one in the morning, there was no way she could go back to sleep after that nightmare. And since she’d been running on fumes for so long, nearly five hours was practically the sleep jackpot.

She crossed her arms on the desk and rested her head on them. The voice in the dream echoed in her mind. She could’ve sworn it was Preston.

Why would I dream Preston Powell was the kidnapper? It makes no sense.

He had been acting rather odd of late, including missing dinner with her, Matthew, and Rebecca.

Where was he when Chelsea was kidnapped?

Her brain spun in feverish circles. The whole idea was simply ludicrous.

Try as she might, she couldn’t stop the horrible suspicions chasing each other around her brain. Neither forensics nor she had been able to figure out who left the mysterious birthday present—a gruesome framed photo of Madeline during her captivity—on the porch of Charli’s parents’ house. All she knew was her brother-in-law had found the gift there and brought it inside.

Preston could easily have dropped the package on the porch on his way in. No one would have paid any attention whatsoever.

She pressed the heels of her hands into her eyes, her mind desperate to deny the possibility—because if Preston had killed Madeline, then she had slept with her best friend’s murderer. And potentially Chelsea’s.

Charli wiped the sweat from her forehead and upper lip.

You’re being paranoid. That’s just a series of coincidences. You could just as easily blame Ruth or Janice or half a dozen other people for the picture at the birthday party. This is ridiculous.

She pulled out her phone and texted Preston.

Hey, I’ve got a theory I need to discuss. Call me ASAP.

She hit send and waited for a reply. Preston almost always responded promptly, no matter the time of day or night.

Except for the week when he was pretty much unreachable. He was there, though, when Matthew’s truck was blown up. Did he have his hand in his pocket when it happened? Could he have triggered it?

She leaned her head on her cool desk, wishing she could quiet the voices in her head. Anxiety was ratcheting higher with each passing second that she didn’t get a text back.

Dammit, Preston. Why couldn’t you have just come to dinner with us? It would have saved me a ton of stress.

She needed to talk to someone. She couldn’t tell Matthew. If he thought for even a moment that she suspected Preston, he might go off half-cocked and do something stupid or dangerous or both. And she didn’t want to drag Janice into a discussion of how her personal and work lives might have been colliding in an ugly way.

I wish I could talk to my mom. This is just the kind of thing she could have helped me reason through.

Although Carrie Cross had passed away from lung cancer a few years ago, not a day went by that Charli didn’t think of her. And right about now, she could really use some advice.

Five long minutes passed with no response from Preston. Intending to call him, she picked up the phone but instead found herself texting someone else.

She had no idea if Jack was up, but she fired off her message anyway.

Not sure if you’re awake. Need to discuss some theories, and I had questions about some of Dillard Payne’s protégés.

Charli hadn’t even put her phone down on the desk before it trilled.

“Hello?” She couldn’t keep the eagerness out of her voice as she answered.

“Hi, got your message and I thought it was probably an easier conversation to talk through than text.” How did Jack sound so awake and alert in the wee hours of the morning?

“Thank you for calling.” A wave of relief crashed over Charli. She didn’t need to be alone with her thoughts.

“Not a problem. Like I said before, I’ll do whatever I can do to help.” He paused. “Do you think Madeline’s killer was one of Payne’s mentees?”

“We don’t know, but it is a possibility we’re exploring.”

“Okay, wow. That guy had a habit of picking the most psycho of the psycho.”

No kidding.

“What can you tell me about his recruits?” Charli’s muscles began to uncoil. Talking about serial killers was familiar territory.

“You know, the FBI probably has a lot more information, profiles, and all of that than I do. They haven’t released much yet. I know tips from a couple of my shows helped to capture two of his students, but they’re still super tight-lipped with me, even about those two.”

Charli drummed her fingers on her desk, impatient and wanting to cut to the chase. He was right, of course. The FBI would have a ton more information. Too much. And if she asked the wrong person, she’d find herself drowning in minutiae as she looked for the facts she needed.

“I understand, but I’m not looking for official files or standard profiles. I’m looking for your insight. You’ve been trying to get justice for victims for a while now, and I know you’ve helped catch several killers. Hell, you even impressed my sergeant, and that’s not easy to do.”

“I’m glad to hear that, but it’s my viewers who deserve the praise. Truly. They’re the ones with the courage, the insight, the intuition. I just disseminate as much information as I can.”

Many people in Jack’s position would be cocky, so she appreciated his humility. “Okay, then I need you to disseminate as much information to me as you can.”

“Fair enough. Where do you want to start?”

She pulled out a notebook and pen. “What types of people did Dillard Payne like to recruit?”

“Just remember my data set is limited, so I doubt an actual profiler would give two cents for my opinion, but…from what I could tell, he recruited young men who craved power.”

Charli scribbled down Jack’s words, but she wanted something more specific than that. “That could describe most people on the planet. Very few people don’t secretly want power of some kind.”

Jack sighed. “True. Well, from what I’ve gathered, he recruited bored young men with nothing better to do. Middle- or upper-class families. I believe he looked for people who liked not just power but also a sense of order.”

The boredom aspect was intriguing. She pictured kids burning ants and other bugs with a magnifying glass, playing God and killing just because they had nothing better to do. “Tell me more about a sense of order.”

“Well, if you think about the men we know Payne trained, you’ll find a security guard, an accountant, a police officer, and a drill sergeant.”

“All careers that require discipline and enforce order.” Charli jotted down the list, pausing before adding another possibility to her list.

GBI agent?

She stared at the words, a chill traveling down her spine.

“Yes, exactly.”

Charli’s heart sank. “Do you think Payne created this need for order in those he molded, or do you think he recruited young men who already had that quality?”

“I’ve often wondered that myself.” The sound of a cap being twisted off a bottle came through the line, followed by a gulp. “I think it’s probably a safe guess it was both. I mean, in training them to do what they did, he obviously had to give them instruction, rules to follow to avoid capture. But he had to be certain they could follow those rules, that they weren’t just agents of chaos.”

“Do you know if his protégés closely stalked their prey or chose women more at random?”

“You know, that’s an excellent question.” Jack sounded stumped, and she waited while he mulled it over. “I think there’s a lot of assumptions the women were either taken at random or chosen a day or two before their abductions because they caught the killers’ eyes or because they frequented areas that were more remote.”

But Chelsea was taken in a parking lot full of people. Totally different from two teen girls walking through a cemetery.

Charli’s heart slammed against her rib cage. If only they’d walked a different route home that day. A thought that had haunted her for ten years. “That makes sense.”

“Yes. However, I do believe the Ridgemont Killer confessed to stalking one young woman for months before trying to abduct her. I think he even insinuated himself into her life. Her name was…Mary Blake. That was it. He was dating her best friend, but Mary seemed to be his target all along. Fortunately, he was caught in the act.”

Charli’s hand shook as she wrote down insinuated himself into her life. “So stalking their prey isn’t out of the question.”

“No, it seems not.”

Dread ran through Charli as she struggled for the words to respond. She wasn’t ready to say Preston’s name out loud yet, not in connection with this. She needed more time to think and do some digging.

Charli laid her pen down. “Thank you, Jack. You’ve been very helpful.”

23

Charli was on edge as they headed to Ezra Fenton’s home at six in the morning. Both she and Janice hoped there was some clue there that might lead them to Chelsea’s kidnapper. Maybe Ezra had withdrawn the money for innocent reasons, but they were in agreement that it was likely used to pay the mechanic.

Charli was always lecturing Matthew about not going with his gut instincts and not jumping to conclusions. In a way, she felt like a hypocrite, but as Janice pointed out as they’d fallen asleep the night before, too many things were going on for it to just all be coincidence.

Like with Preston.

She couldn’t dislodge the thought from her mind. Too many coincidences revolved around Preston, not least of which was his appearance in her life just about the same time Madeline’s killer started reaching out to her.

Breathe. Just breathe. In this country, everyone is innocent until proven guilty, and everything you’ve got on Preston is circumstantial at best, paranoia at worst.

Preston was either innocent or guilty. Bottom line. But either way, she felt like an idiot and the world’s worst detective for not being able to figure out the truth.

“You okay?”

Charli jumped as Janice broke the silence, pulling her Mercedes up outside Ezra’s home. “Just really hoping we find something concrete in here. I’m tired of chasing shadows.”

“I hear you on that.” Janice put the car in park, unbuckling her belt. “Let’s approach this as though he’s a serial killer and not a murder victim. Maybe it will help us see something we missed before.”

“Sounds like a plan.” Charli stepped out of the car, breathing in the fresh air and hoping it cleared her head. “We’ve got this.”

“Of course we do. We’re the most badass detectives in the SPD.”

From the way Janice sauntered up to the house, it was clear she was owning that title, whether or not she actually believed it. Charli had to admire her moxie.

After ducking under the crime scene tape to let themselves in, they stood in the entryway, surveying the dining room where Ezra Fenton had died. A blood stain on the floor marked the spot where he’d lain.

“You want the living room or kitchen? Or do you want to flip for it?” Janice fished for change in her pocket.

“Living room.”

Janice nodded. “Works for me. I’d rather go through the pantry and everything in it than have to search all the books. You know, you can tell a lot about a person by what they have, and don’t have, in their kitchen.”

Charli’s gaze swept the room, taking it in as a whole before she started to tear it apart piece by piece. “You don’t say.”

“I once caught a killer based on the condition of her pots and pans.”

Charli shot a quick glance at the other detective, suspecting that must be an interesting tale. But she didn’t have time for stories, interesting or otherwise. Not now. She just hoped searching Ezra’s place again would give them exactly what they needed and not be a huge waste of time.

Right now, Chelsea’s life was on the line. They couldn’t afford to go down any rabbit holes.

The right side of the room had the built-in bookshelves, which she decided to save for last. She started on the left. An end table with a lamp on it was her first focus. She pulled out the drawer, checking inside the opening, and underneath. She even did a quick search for a false bottom.

Next, she turned the small piece of furniture upside down to inspect the underside. Satisfied it was clean, she turned her attention to one of the chairs.

“Charli, come look at this!”

“Coming.” She found Janice in the kitchen with her eyes narrowed as she inspected a drawer with spices inside.

Janice pointed to the contents. “Anything strike you as odd here?”

Charli craned her neck to see around the other woman. There was the usual assortment of spices just like any home might have. One of them, however—the rosemary—was a different brand altogether, packaged in a larger jar than the others. It looked full, as though it had never been used. Most of the other spice jars showed some signs of depletion.

Janice waved at the display. “The man has an herb garden inside. I remember being impressed by it when we were last here. I can see why in some seasons he might use dried herbs. It’s also possible these are older than the herb garden. But the whole thing seems off somehow, like it’s staged.”

Charli pointed to the rosemary. “Check that one.”

With gloved hands, Janice grabbed the bottle out of the drawer and inspected it. “Seal is broken, but it doesn’t seem used.” She snagged a paper towel and put it down on the counter, then unscrewed the lid and upended the rosemary over the towel. It came pouring out, and along with it a small, dark piece of metal.

Charli stepped closer. “A key?”

Janice held up the object for Charli to inspect. “Yeah. What do you think this goes to?”

It didn’t have the right shape or configuration to be a house key. “Something he didn’t want found. Maybe it belongs to a safe or a safe-deposit box?”

Janice twirled the item in her fingers before bagging and tagging it. “I have a feeling we should make it a top priority to find whatever this opens.”

Charli agreed.

Come on, Ezra. What were you hiding and where? Did it have something to do with Matthew? With Madeline?

She tore her gaze away from the key. She wouldn’t get any answers just standing there staring at it. “Heading back to the living room.”

“Be on the lookout for a small keyhole.”

Back turned to Janice, Charli rolled her eyes. Of course she would. She walked back into the living room. Where would Ezra hide a safe? She gravitated toward the bookcase.

On the second shelf from the bottom in the middle section were two framed photographs. That was unexpected, since they hadn’t found evidence of any family when they went through the house the first time. Perhaps they were photos of friends⁠—

Her stomach twisted as a stark realization punched her in the gut. The pictures hadn’t been there before.

As she stepped forward, her mouth went dry, and her heart began to pound. Something wasn’t right here. The photographs were standing perfectly centered and symmetrical while everything else in the room had been thrown into turmoil, either by the intruder or the forensics team.

Charli licked her lips, afraid of what she was about to see.

Don’t be ridiculous. It’s just a couple of pictures that got overlooked. Or someone put them away with respect. There’s nothing to be frightened of. It’s not even seven in the morning yet. The sun is shining. The birds are singing. The photos are…

The photos are…

She swayed on unsteady feet. The photos were of people she knew.

Slapping a hand over her mouth, Charli raced to the bathroom, barely making it to the toilet in time to lose the fast-food breakfast they’d grabbed on the way over. Tears spilled from her eyes, though from the violence of her stomach upset or something else, she wasn’t sure.

“You okay?”

Charli lifted her middle finger to the closed door as she threw up again. Do I sound okay?

Janice knocked and turned the knob. “Charli, are you⁠—?”

“Don’t!”

Pull your crap together.

Taking in several shaky breaths, Charli flushed the sick away before washing her face and hands, trying to ignore their trembling. She walked back out into the hall to face the concern and questions in the other woman’s eyes.

Charli nearly choked trying to get the words out. “The killer has been here since we were.”

Janice’s jaw dropped. “Ezra’s killer? How do you know?”

“Maybe not Ezra’s killer. But Madeline’s killer and Chelsea’s kidnapper…” Charli couldn’t get the rest of the sentence out. Instead, she led Janice back to the living room and pointed to the two framed photos on the bookshelf.

The first picture was of a wide-eyed, terrified Madeline. She was chained to a bed, but otherwise didn’t look much worse for wear, unlike the other images of her. Scribbled beneath the photo was the inscription, Day 2.

Almost all the details in the second photograph were identical. Same chains, same bed, same caption. Same terrified expression.

Only one detail was different. The frightened girl in the second photo was not Madeline but Chelsea.

Charli’s stomach threatened to revolt once more. “It’s happening all over again, and he wants me to feel as helpless as I did back then.”

24

Tears burned Charli’s eyes, but she refused to let them fall. Her fear morphed into a white-hot anger.

I want this bastard dead.

The thought was so clear, so powerful, that it shook Charli to her core. And for the first time in her life, she felt herself capable of taking a life in cold blood.

Maybe that’s what he wants, to drive me to this. To make me like him.

She knew she shouldn’t let him manipulate her like that, but he was clearly a master, and Charli had so much baggage she’d never even unpacked—let alone dealt with—that it was easy for him to play her like a fiddle.

“If he was here, then we need to call in forensics, case the neighborhood, and see if any of the neighbors saw him.”

Janice was right, of course. Other questions plagued Charli at that moment, though. “Why did he put the pictures here? How did he know we’d come back?”

Janice studied the photographs. “Well, I think both our instincts were correct here. There is obviously some connection between Ezra and the kidnapper.”

Charli swallowed hard. “But what is it?”

“I don’t know. I’m calling in forensics. Would you call Ruth to send some officers out to the neighborhood? If our killer was here, maybe someone saw him, or their doorbell cameras did.” Janice pulled out her phone and made the call.

For the next half hour, Charli wandered around the house, checking for more surprises as they waited for the team to get there.

This is insane. He left those for me. He knew or guessed I’d be here today. No one knew that. Well, almost no one.

After being awake for so long, the meager sleep she’d gotten the night before was inadequate for her brain to tackle a problem such as this.

When forensics arrived, Janice showed them the key she’d found before heading outside.

“I’m telling you, I can’t shake the feeling that whatever was really important to him would be out here.” Janice scanned the ground as she walked. “He worked with his hands in the dirt all the time. It’d be simple to dig an extra hole.”

As Charli took in the huge expanse of the backyard, with its winding trails and dozens of species of plants and flowers, she had to admit she had no idea where to even start. “I mean, we could bring in a backhoe to dig this whole place up, but if whatever we’re looking for is small or delicate, we risk losing or crushing it in the process.”

Janice crouched down and ran her fingers across a leafy fern. “I know.”

“And how can we be certain that whatever the key fits isn’t inside the house?” Charli sighed. “Like under a loose floorboard or in a closet somewhere.”

Janice shrugged. “No way to be certain. But if whatever we’re looking for is inside, hopefully, forensics will find it.”

“Hey.” An idea worked its way into Charli’s tired brain. “When we came here the first time, you pointed out all those herbs in planter boxes.” The guy was certainly crazy about plants to have an indoor herb garden, an outdoor herb garden, and a plethora of flowers and other plants in the backyard.

“Yeah, I remember.”

“Well, what if he hid something in them? Maybe under the rosemary?”

“Because the key was in the bottle of dried rosemary.” Janice tapped her nose. “Good thinking.”

“Thanks. It might be too convenient, but it’s worth a shot. Let’s snap some photos of the planters, and then we can see if there’s anything buried at the bottom.” Charli knew that deep down, some criminals wanted to get caught, including serial killers. Maybe, just maybe, they were about to get lucky.

Several minutes and a lot of digging later, the hope in Charli’s chest deflated like a week-old balloon. Their search had turned up nothing.

Janice dragged an arm across her brow. “That was a bummer. I vote we go back outside.”

Charli led the way, trying to shove aside her hunch that they were wasting precious time.

Nothing about the well-kept garden struck her as extraordinary. Neat rows of various herbs and flowers adorned the yard, leaving only one corner free for a small portable greenhouse, the kind Charli had seen in the local hardware store’s garden center.

“Do you think he has rosemary out here?” Since rosemary was such a staple, it only made sense he would have the herb both in his planters and in his outdoor herb garden.

Janice headed to that side of the house and began poking around. After a couple of minutes, she waved Charli over. “Bingo. You want to start digging? I’ll get some photos of the rosemary and the rest of the garden.”

Charli pulled on a fresh pair of gloves and grabbed the spade they’d used inside. “Sounds like a plan.” Heart pounding like a bass drum, she gingerly tilled the soil.

And tilled.

And tilled.

Dammit.

Frustration welled up in Charli, and she stood, tossing the tool aside.

Camera in hand, Janice walked up beside her. “No luck?”

Shaking her head, Charli chewed her lip. “None. But I was thinking…what plant was on the cover of his first book?”

“I don’t know. Let me check.” Janice busied herself with her phone for a minute and then waved it in triumph. “Calathea. Apparently, the plant is the origin of the term ‘turn over a new leaf’ and is the symbol of new beginnings.”

She’d never even heard of calathea. “What does it look like?”

Janice turned her phone to give Charli a good view. When they both scanned the garden and found nothing, Charli waded through the greenery to the small greenhouse in the far corner.

Inside, warmer air played over her skin like a breath of spring. Janice followed her in, nudging her to step forward so she could close the door, shutting out the November morning.

As she moved aside, Charli spotted the plant in question tucked in among a multitude of tropical plants she couldn’t identify to save her life. She crouched beside the plant and began to dig at the base. “If you were trying to put your past behind you but just couldn’t get rid of it altogether, what better plant?”

“Good idea. Do you want me to take a turn?”

“No. I’ve got it.”

Something about this felt right to Charli. The symbolism spoke to her. When the spade hit something metal, she wasn’t even surprised. She moved some dirt out of the way to reveal a metal box with a lock.

“Wait!” Janice hurried off, returning a minute later with one of the forensic techs who had the key from the rosemary jar.

Charli rose to her feet, brushing the dirt from her pants. “What is rosemary supposed to symbolize?”

“I think…” Janice pulled out her phone and was soon nodding. “Yes, remembrance. He turned over a new leaf but had a need to remember his past.”

The forensic tech scowled. “That’s a lot of meaning to read into this.”

“Yes, but,” Charli held up a finger, “a horticulturist would know the history of flowers and plants and their meanings. Flower language used to be a big deal. An entire conversation could be had with plants without a word ever being spoken.”

Janice sighed. “Back when life was less complicated. And sometimes more beautiful.”

Charli wasn’t sure things back then had been any less complicated than they were now, but she held her tongue.

The tech lifted the box free and, after a quick examination, fitted the key into the lock. It turned with ease, and a moment later, they were peering into the depths of the container.

Janice held a hand to her throat. “What in the…”

Seven clear specimen cases each contained a single lock of long shiny hair of various colors and textures.

Red. Brunette. Black.

Charli’s breath hitched, jagged as a broken rock inside her.

One of them was the exact same color as Madeline’s.

25

Charli tore her gaze from the serial killer trophies and brushed the remaining dirt from her slacks. Even though the lock of hair was blond like Madeline’s, that didn’t mean it was hers. Especially since she was still convinced that whoever had taken Chelsea had also killed her friend. Of course, it didn’t preclude Ezra from being a confederate of the man they were looking for.

His confederate…and possibly his victim.

She turned and started walking back toward the house.

Janice caught up to her. “You okay?”

That was an impossible question to answer, because the response would take more time than they had. Too many emotions swirled within Charli, scattering her thoughts in a thousand different directions. “Let’s just say no and leave it at that.”

She was grateful when Janice nodded without asking any follow-up questions. As Charli stepped back inside the house, her phone rang, and she hastened to answer.

“Hello, this is Detective Cross speaking.”

“Detective, my name is Valerie Brown. I received a message about one of my writers, Ezra Fenton.” The woman clucked her tongue. “I can’t believe he’s dead.”

“I’m sorry for your loss.” The perfunctory response was all Charli could manage.

“Thank you. It’s all come as quite a shock. Still, I knew something had to be wrong when he didn’t turn in his latest manuscript. He’s always so punctual.”

“What else can you tell me about Mr. Fenton?” Charli put the phone on speaker so Janice could listen as well.

“He sent me a manuscript seven years ago. Normally, I don’t look at unsolicited material, but his writing style even in his query letter was very striking. Beautiful, haunting, even. And he was just writing nonfiction about plants. He clearly had a passion for the topic. So I took a chance, and it turned out that the reading public loved it too.”

Charli phrased her next question carefully, given what they’d just found in the man’s garden. “How well did you know him personally?”

A heavy sigh came over the line. “Not as well as I’d have liked. I try to befriend my writers, but Ezra was a hard one. I swung by his neck of the woods a couple of times, but I couldn’t even get the man to go out to lunch with me. I think he liked his plants more than people.”

You were probably very, very lucky he refused to go out to lunch.

“Do you know anything about his background, where he came from before he lived here?”

“No. He didn’t like to talk much about himself. Occasionally, he’d say something to make me think he had a colorful past. Something recently happened, though, that I think might interest you.”

Charli’s pulse quickened. “What is that?”

“An attorney just left my office. He had a copy of Ezra’s will and instructions as to what he wanted done with his remains. Apparently, he named me the executor of his estate.” The literary agent sounded more than a little weary, and Charli sympathized, having handled her father’s estate after his death.

Her heart clenched at the memory of her dad. “I’m sure you’ll do a fine job.”

“Thank you. According to the paperwork I’ve looked at, Ezra arranged to be buried in a burial pod beneath a tree so his body might nurture it as he decays. Given who he was, that makes sense, but until this morning, I’d never even heard of such a thing.”

Charli had to admit she hadn’t either. And she couldn’t decide if it sounded peaceful or macabre. “That’s an interesting choice.”

“It sure is. He also gave me the right to do whatever I see fit with what he called a ‘very special book.’ He buried it in a box in his garden under the forget-me-nots.”

Charli glanced at Janice, who raised her eyebrows. They needed to get their hands on that book. “Did he say what was so special about it?”

“No.” The literary agent seemed to be rustling some papers around, as a crackling sound came through the line. “This is all just very strange and stressful. I’m still not sure how to deal with any of it.”

“I can imagine.” Charli made her voice low and soothing, like a lullaby, in an attempt to keep the woman calm and get more information out of her.

“I have to call the burial pod place next. Do you have any idea when the body will be released?”

“The coroner would be able to supply you with that information.” Charli rattled off the phone number, making sure the other woman had it written down.

As she did so, Janice headed back out to the garden. Charli hurriedly ended the call, then jogged outside to discover a flurry of activity close to the porch where the forget-me-nots grew. The plants were bare of flowers, but given that it was late November, that wasn’t a surprise. Janice was crouched down as one of the forensic techs excavated the area around the plant with great care. Charli joined her.

He dug farther than she’d needed to when digging under the calathea for Ezra’s trophy box. At long last, he hit metal, and Charli found herself holding her breath as he disinterred a long, flat box. There was a latch but no lock.

The man opened the box, hinges groaning in protest. Nestled inside was a thick leather journal. She sat back on her heels as he pulled the book free of the metal and opened it.

Come on. Read it out loud.

“What does it say?”

The tech read the first couple of sentences. “I know what it is to be a man, for today, I have killed a woman.”

Charli and Janice half read, half skimmed the rest of the book, which seemed to be Ezra’s journal. It was fascinating and illuminating reading. As they turned each page, Charli couldn’t help but wonder what would happen to the book. After it was eventually released from evidence, it would likely make its way to Valerie’s hands. What the agent did with it was anyone’s guess, especially in light of the intensely personal things he’d written about her.

The journal confirmed their theory that Ezra was a killer himself. As it turned out, he was another pupil of Dillard Payne, the recently deceased serial killer who trained so many others across the country.

With prose that was mostly tender but sometimes passionate, Ezra wrote of Dillard’s psychological seduction, their first victim together, and all the people Ezra murdered afterward. As shudder-inducing as the contents were, Charli couldn’t deny that the man was a master of words. No one could ever hope for a more poetic, or thorough, confession.

He also wrote about his own personal turning point when he tried to defeat his inner demons once and for all but succeeded only in caging them. Gardening, he claimed, had given him a different focus, and he credited it with helping him change his life. The last entry of the journal, though, took a darker turn.

Charli nudged Janice. “Check out what he wrote here.”

All has come to rot and ruin. The roots so carefully planted, the seeds of a life so carefully tended, laid waste by the axe of a stranger who knows where I was first uprooted from and by what name I was first called. He knows everything, about the roses I have untimely plucked, my desire for godhood, and my struggles with that desire. Everything is lost, the entire harvest destroyed.

He has demanded money of me to keep my secret, and I have complied but only to buy myself time. Such as him have no need of my thousands. Surely, he has some darker purpose for them. And I know he will not be long placated. I have only bought time in which to pack my most precious belongings and leave this place where I have taken root and even thrived.

My greatest regret in leaving this life, this place in the sunshine, is that I will no longer have correspondence with sweet Valerie. She truly is a rare and precious flower, so unlike all those I plucked. Twice she sought out an audience, and twice I was forced to deny her, because I feared myself and what tremors might overcome me in her presence.

Curse this unseen pest and marauder who disturbs my bed and poisons my water. Even the sun has dimmed since his appearance, so that I no longer thrive but must choke on the brambles he has sown around me.

I must flee, but I must do so carefully, lest he fly after me and again burn my fields and strip bare my branches. The planning must be meticulous but swift. I must be gone in another three sunrises.

Charli held her breath as she finished reading Ezra’s final entry. Valerie had been right. His writing mesmerized her. Purple prose, to be certain, but a pleasing shade, like a deep violet that lured the viewer with the richness of its color.

Janice put down the book. “I guess he never made it to that third sunrise.”

26

Rage and fear competed for dominance as Matthew’s daughter’s cries echoed through the night. “Hold on, sweetheart. I’m coming.” He ran like hell, straining to see in the darkness as his sneakers slapped the pavement.

A shriek pierced the air. “Hurry, Dad! He’s going…kill me.”

“Where are you?” A fresh wave of panic surged through him, fueling the boost of speed as he ran. “Chelsea? Talk to me.”

“Too…late.” Her sobs rang out, piercing his heart like an arrow. “Love you…Daddy.”

No. No. No.

“Where? Tell me where you are!”

A hooded figure loomed ahead and blocked his path. “You should never have let her out of your sight. Now poor little Chelsea will pay for your sins.”

Hot tears dripping down his face, Matthew swung his legs over the side of the cot. Sometime during the night, he’d stopped counting the nightmares that robbed him of the rest he so desperately needed.

When he got his hands on the bastard who had his daughter—whoever he was—there would be consequences. Consequences of the permanent variety. He just hoped and prayed he wouldn’t get there too late.

After pouring coffee into a breakroom travel mug, he headed down to Computer Forensics to see what anyone had found out, if anything. He figured he would have heard about any earth-shattering developments, but it didn’t hurt to be the proverbial cattle prod.

When he walked into the room, people glanced up at him, flinched, and refocused on their tasks.

Good. Remember why we’re all here and just what’s at stake. I need you at your best.

Although Ruth was allowing him to hang around and do busywork, he suspected her ulterior motive was to make him stay at the precinct. Under her watchful eye, he couldn’t go haring off on his own investigation. Officially, he wasn’t on the case. But unofficially, no one was about to deny him any information.

Problem was, there wasn’t any new information to share. After ten minutes with the forensic team, he’d learned nothing new and his stress levels were through the roof.

Reaching his office, he dropped into his chair and frowned at Charli’s empty desk. He yanked out his phone and tried calling but got her voicemail, which meant she was likely on another call.

Whatever she was doing, it had better be important. Huffing out a sigh, he dialed Rebecca’s number.

She answered on the third ring. “Everything okay?”

“As okay as it can be under the circumstances.” He put the phone on speaker and propped an elbow on the desk, lowering his chin in his hand. “I know you’re busy. I just…”

Just what?

“It’s okay. I’m off this week for Thanksgiving. And you know you can call me anytime.”

His heart did a little leap at her kind words. “Oh, that’s right. I forgot all about the holiday. I didn’t need anything. But I feel like I’m going crazy with nothing to do but busywork. I feel like I’m just sitting here doing nothing while Chelsea…” His voice hitched on her name.

“Hey, I get it. You’re handling this so well. And you have an incredible team working around the clock to find your daughter.”

He swallowed back the knot of emotion. “Yeah. You’re right. Still, though, I’m…I’m terrified. What if…what if we never find her? Or what if it’s too late?” The thought of the sick bastard harming his baby made him want to vomit.

A clinking sound came through the phone, like a pot or pan being placed in the sink. “I know it’s easier said than done, but try not to let the what-ifs consume you. You’ve got to be strong for Chelsea, because when, not if, she comes home, she’s going to need her dad.”

Dropping his arm and straightening, Matthew rolled his neck from side to side to work out the kinks. “I’m trying. I really am.” He winced when his neck popped and gingerly rubbed the sore spot. “So what are you doing with your time off?” Though his entire being was consumed with finding his daughter, he needed a moment to talk about something mundane.

“Well, I’ve been doing some cleaning, knocking out a little Christmas shopping. Today, I’m baking.”

His lips attempted to form a grin and failed. “I thought I heard some pots and pans.”

“You’d be right.”

“What are you baking? Anything I like?”

Her laughter rang out, a soft, throaty sound. “I’ve never known you to not like food, so…”

He huffed in mock annoyance. “Hey, now. Watch it.”

“That’s not a bad thing. I’m a foodie too, you know.” She laughed again. “I’m making snickerdoodles.”

“The cookies with cinnamon and sugar?”

“Yep. My grandmother’s recipe.”

“Chelsea loves those. I don’t have a clue how to make them, though.”

For a moment, Rebecca was quiet. “Well, we can remedy that. You, Chelsea, and I need to have a cookie-baking and movie-watching marathon in the near future.”

He chewed on his lip. “I’d like that.”

And his daughter would be ecstatic. Matthew only hoped he’d have more opportunities like that to share with Chelsea. One thing was certain…he’d never take those times for granted again.

After ending the call a few minutes later, he stood and headed to Ruth’s office. Though he rapped on the half-open door, he didn’t wait for her to answer before marching in and plopping down in the chair across from her desk.

On the phone, she held up a finger and mouthed, One second. “That’s right. I probably won’t be making it home until this mess is over. Love you too.”

As his boss ended the call, Matthew knew the only reason she wasn’t yelling at him about barging in was because it was his daughter who was keeping her—and most of the force—at work and away from their own families.

She took a sip from a coffee mug, made a face, and set it on the desk. “Detective, how can I help you?”

“I just wanted to check in. I visited forensics, but they don’t have any new information to share. And I called Charli, but it went to voicemail.”

“Detective Cross is at the Ezra Fenton crime scene with Detective Piper.”

“They must think there’s a connection to my daughter. Otherwise, why in the hell are they wasting time?” Matthew didn’t normally talk to his sergeant this way, but he didn’t have the luxury of mincing words.

Ruth blinked at him several times before answering. He wasn’t sure if she was about to yell at him or hug him. Either option would be disconcerting.

Matthew started to rise, but Ruth gave him a pointed look.

“I know you’re under a tremendous amount of stress, so I’m going to let that little outburst slide.” She tapped some papers on her desk and schooled her features. “The moment I have something new to report, you will be the first to know.”

27

Charli’s stress levels were through the roof as she sat in Janice’s car outside Ezra Fenton’s house. By now, she’d been transferred four times, and the FBI phone hold music had looped so many times, she could hum along with it. She was ready to hang up and call Ruth. If anyone could move mountains, it was her boss.

Already, she’d had to ignore a call from Matthew. If it was crucial, though, he would have also tried calling Janice, since she was the head of the task force looking for Chelsea.

Wouldn’t he?

Just settle down. You need to get this taken care of, and then you can call Matthew and head back to the precinct.

A clicking sound heralded another completed transfer and an agent picking up their line.

“This is Special Agent Olympia Smith with the FBI. How may I help you?”

“Hi, Agent Smith, I’m Detective Charlotte Cross of the Savannah Police Department. I’m trying to get information about a serial killer, and I need to give some information as well.”

“Of course, Detective. What’s the name?”

“Dillard Payne. We’ve found one of his protégés.”

“Let me see what we have on Dillard Payne.” A clacking of keys came through the line. “Is the protégé still alive?”

“No. Murdered, actually. The name he was going by is Ezra Fenton. From the journal we found, we’re certain that’s not his real name. His killer is possibly someone who knew he had been trained by Payne.”

“I’ve got Payne’s file pulled up now. You know, this Ezra Fenton, or whoever he really is, isn’t the first one of Payne’s mentees to end up dead.”

Charli pulled out her notebook. “Really? Just how many protégés have been killed?”

“Five, including Ezra, and what’s interesting is it’s the first five trainees he ever had.” Agent Smith cleared her throat. “I think it’s significant. It’s possible they’ve all been killed by the same person, and whoever that is will kill the seventh one next.”

Did I miss something?

“Why not the sixth one?”

“Because Brock Jameson, the sixth protégé, is in prison serving eight consecutive life sentences.”

The name rang a bell. “Brock Jameson…wasn’t he one of the killers who was caught after a viewer tip from that show Ten Years Ago?”

“Yes. That was, oh, five years back.”

“Hmm.” Charli mulled that over.

So the FBI thinks Payne’s little cadre of serial killers is being stalked and killed by a serial killer. And number six is likely safe because Jack Clarion and his TV show helped capture him. Unless the serial killer can get to number six in prison, he’s going to have to move on. That will break his pattern, though. I wonder if he might try to take his frustration out on Jack instead for depriving him of his prey.

A chill crept down her spine, and Charli had an urge to call Jack and warn him.

Keys clacked again in the background. “Number nine was captured two years ago.”

Charli made a note. “Agent Smith, would you send me information on one through five, who they were, and how they were killed? It sounds like your department is working an interesting angle, and I want to see if our guy here fits the pattern somehow.”

“Absolutely. And if you figure something out, I’d love to discuss it and run it up the chain.”

“Of course.”

Charli rattled off her email address, and Agent Smith sent over a file.

She opened it and scanned the names and dates, the hairs on the back of her neck prickling. “Are you still there?”

“I am.”

“You guys think Carter Williams was the first protégé that Payne trained?”

“That’s our working theory. Why do you ask?”

“Because our victim, Ezra Fenton, was recruited by Payne a year before Williams.”

“No kidding.” Olympia’s voice rose in excitement. “Either our serial killer is killing out of order, or he didn’t know about Fenton and assumed, like we did, that Williams was first.”

Charli studied the email again. “Either way, it’s very interesting.”

28

Since her stomach had recovered from being emptied at Ezra’s house, and it was early afternoon, Charli asked Janice to stop at a drive-through for burgers. She’d gotten Matthew’s voicemail, but he hadn’t answered when she’d called back.

After arriving back at the precinct, Charli hurried to her office, but Matthew wasn’t there. Disappointed, she deposited a sack of hamburgers on his desk and stowed her messenger bag in her desk’s bottom drawer. A handful of papers lay scattered around, including the shoe list.

The two purchases she had flagged were front and center. One was a woman named Rendi Cartwright who died soon after making the purchase. Charli had been unable to find where her pair of shoes had gone after her death. The second was a mega collector named Guillermo De Luca who had gone to college in Georgia during the time of Madeline’s kidnapping and murder.

Matthew appeared to have dropped his list on her desk. She skimmed through it, all the names crossed out except for one. The sale had been to a PayPal account using an email with a handle of ObsessedintheUS. The address attached was a P.O. Box. Next to it, Matthew had scribbled something down.

Charli leaned closer to the paper to read the note.

With a whoosh, all the air left her lungs.

Belonged to P. Powell.

Her blood ran cold, and her chest constricted until she couldn’t breathe. No. This couldn’t be happening. Why wouldn’t Preston have told her he had a pair of the shoes? There was only one possible answer.

She grabbed her phone from her pocket and tried calling him again. He hadn’t returned her call from the night before, which wasn’t like him. It rang three times before going to voicemail.

“Preston, it’s Charli. I’m worried that you didn’t return my call from last night. Is everything okay?” She struggled to keep her voice stable as she finished leaving a message. The last thing she wanted was to let him know how freaked out she was.

As she hung up, her heart slammed against her rib cage like a captive animal.

Breathe. There must be an explanation. Something you’re overlooking. Maybe Preston has a legitimate reason not to return your calls.

She searched her phone messages, remembering that Preston had once mentioned the last name of his supervisor in a text. She found it at last and called the GBI.

“I’d like to speak with Agent King, please. Let him know it’s Detective Cross with the Savannah Police Department.”

“Please hold.”

Three minutes crawled by, and a deep male voice answered at last. “Agent King.”

“Hello, this is Charli Cross with the Savannah Police Department. I’m trying to get in touch with Agent Preston Powell.”

There was a clucking sound on the other end of the line. “That’s concerning. Frankly, I was about to reach out to you. I know you and Agent Powell are…friendly.”

Her heart pounded faster, pain shooting through her chest. “Why were you planning on calling me?”

“To be honest, Agent Powell has been pretty distant for the last few days.”

Charli squeezed her eyes shut. No. “What do you mean?”

“We don’t know where he is. He checked in with the team for one of our CART meetings regarding Chelsea Church, but that’s it. Other than that, we haven’t heard from him. We’re very concerned.”

Charli struggled to force air out of her lungs so she could ask her next question. But only short, grunting gasps came out.

“Detective Cross, are you okay?”

Not at all.

“I’m…I’m concerned too. H-how long have you known Agent Powell?”

“He transferred into this office several months ago.”

Just before I met him.

“Where was he before that?”

“Give me a moment to look that up.”

“Okay.” The clickety-clack of a keyboard came through the line as the pain in her chest only increased. How could she have been so blind? She was usually so careful about who she let into her life.

“It looks like he transferred here from Oregon. He was with the Oregon State Police.”

Oregon bordered Idaho. Where Ezra Fenton had killed his last girl before moving to Savannah. Had Preston figured that out while working in that office and tracked down Fenton? Was her boyfriend really one of Payne’s protégés, and if so, was he systematically killing the others?

Her head spun. “Thank you, Agent King. I’ll keep you posted if I hear anything.”

I’m going to faint.

One of Charli’s college professors once explained that people fainted to make it easier for blood to reach their brains. As soon as she ended the call, she bent over, putting her head between her knees and breathing in. If she could equalize the blood in her body, she might not lose consciousness.

Several deep breaths later, still shaking from the shock of the news, she attempted to pull herself together. Ruth must be informed immediately. They needed to start a hunt for Preston Powell. If luck was on their side, Chelsea might still be alive.

That son of a bitch. Did I sleep with the man who raped and tortured Madeline?

Disgust filled every fiber of her being, and she wanted to scream and scrape away at her skin, remove every bit of it he had ever touched. She was so stupid. How could she not have known? The man she’d sought for ten years had been in her bed, and she’d never even known it.

As questions swirled in her brain, the room began to spin again. She took a few more slow, deep breaths, gripping the edge of her desk to steady herself.

I could be wrong. Maybe he’s innocent.

She didn’t believe it.

Maybe he’s been killing Payne’s protégés, but he’s not one himself. Maybe he didn’t kill Madeline or any other woman. He’d only been twenty-two at the time.

She chided herself. She’d been a law enforcement officer long enough to know people could kill at just about any age.

But even if all that’s true, he’d still be a serial killer. What have I done?

Preston could have easily left every note and every photo. He had access to her and her entire life. The man could have waltzed in anytime he wanted without arousing suspicion from her sister or even her partner after he’d gained his trust.

Matthew is going to kill him.

A sob escaped her.

Not if I kill him first.

After a few more minutes, her head began to clear enough for her to sit all the way up. Feeling ridiculous, she grabbed her phone and called Ruth. “Sergeant, could you come to my office, please?”

Ruth must have heard the distress in her voice, because she didn’t even for a second suggest Charli come to her. “I’m on my way.”

The call ended, and Charli sat there, willing the nausea to subside and berating herself as the world’s biggest fool. There had to be time to fix this mistake before anyone else got hurt.

Boots tromping in the hallway heralded Ruth’s appearance. The other woman walked in the door and stopped short, staring at her in consternation.

“Detective, are you ill?”

She shook her head. “We need to get a subpoena for Preston Powell’s financials, phone records, all of it.”

Ruth scowled at her. “The GBI agent you can’t decide if you’re actually dating? Why? There are proper channels for doing background checks on people you want to get involved with, but this isn’t one⁠—”

“He may have kidnapped Chelsea and killed Madeline Ferguson.”

The sergeant’s jaw dropped. “Are you…are you serious?”

“Unfortunately.” Charli licked her lips, her mouth feeling like she’d swallowed a cotton ball. “I talked to his supervisor, Agent King, and he told me Preston has been off the grid for a few days.”

Ruth swore, eyes narrowing as the vein in her temple threatened to rupture. “Tell me everything. Start from the beginning.”

With a shaky breath, Charli laid out her case to Ruth as clearly and succinctly as she could. She was most of the way through when the sergeant interrupted her.

“What you have is a lot of circumstantial evidence and paranoia.”

Charli picked up the piece of paper Matthew had written on and handed it to Ruth. “There are only three real suspects left in regard to the owner of the shoes. Matthew must have just finished running down this one.”

Ruth studied the paper, eyebrows shooting up. “P. Powell bought a pair of the shoes the kidnapper was wearing?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

Why didn’t I prioritize this list back when Cass told me about the shoes? Maybe I could have figured out it was Preston before he took Chelsea.

Guilt carved another hole into her soul.

“Is this our P. Powell? Are you absolutely sure?”

She wasn’t sure about anything except the fact that this job was going to give her a heart attack. “No, I’m not positive. But he’s not answering his phone since last night. He bowed out of dinner and had no alibi at the time Chelsea was kidnapped, and he’s gone AWOL from the GBI. He left here last night before the briefing because he supposedly had to go brief his team there in person.”

Ruth dropped the paper back on Charli’s desk. “Which we now know was a lie.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

With two fingers, Ruth massaged her temple. “We’re still going to need more than this to hang him. But I think Judge Price will be happy to issue us subpoenas on what we have. We just need to be careful. Either we’re dead wrong and we’re about to besmirch the good name of a fellow officer of the law, or we’re right and we’re going up against someone who knows our playbook and has been five steps ahead of us this entire time. God help us all.”

Rapid footsteps echoed in the hall just before Matthew appeared in the doorway. “Good, you’re back.” He narrowed his eyes at Charli. “You got my note?”

Under her partner’s gaze, Charli’s heart sank. She nodded, unable to meet his eyes.

Matthew faced Ruth. “What are you prepared to do?”

Ruth lifted her chin. “Everything the law will allow me to do.”

“That may not be enough.” Matthew’s jaw set in a hard line. “This bastard has my daughter.”

“And we will find her and get her back.” Ruth sucked her lip between her teeth. “Now that we know who has her, the advantage is on our side.”

That was a lie. Going up against an enemy who knew their playbook would be nearly impossible, and Charli knew that.

Matthew scrubbed a hand over his face, a mixture of anger and despair on his features. “I hope and pray it is.”

Taking a deep breath, Ruth stood and moved toward the door. “Right. I’m going to contact the GBI, verify that Powell is AWOL, and see if they can help. I’ll put out an APB for him and see if Computer Forensics can track his phone.”

Matthew whirled on her. “What do you mean he’s gone AWOL from the GBI?”

Ruth was already out the door with that no-nonsense stride that defied anyone to get in her way. “Ask your partner. The two of you have a lot to talk about. And not a word of this to anyone else until I can make an announcement.” She glanced over her shoulder, giving the duo an I’m-dead-serious look. “We have to do this by the book, and we need to be smart. If anyone here is an accomplice or confidant of his, I don’t want them knowing that we know until we’re ready.”

29

Everything was going even better than I had dared to dream. I’d gone over my plan dozens of times over the past weeks, but I hadn’t anticipated that Charli would be so blind to the truth. It was gratifying. I was an even better actor than I gave myself credit for.

Ten years. I’d waited so long, telling myself I didn’t need her. That other women were enough. But as the anniversary of the day I missed her approached, I started writing her notes. Then just her nearness no longer satisfied me.

I broke into her house, wandered around.

Smelled her scent.

Even lay in her bed, wondering if she would return home and find me there.

Oh, the things I would’ve done if she had.

But even that trap smacked of simplicity. I wanted more. Not just her body, but also her mind. Her soul. So I’d set about staging her downfall, long gone by the time she arrived and found a hint of the intimacy of my presence in her life. Her destroyed home only the beginning.

Now, tonight…tonight, she would be mine. I was sure of it. Unable to contain my excitement, I unlocked the door and headed downstairs to visit my tasty little morsel of bait, the thing that had finally sent Charli over the edge.

Chelsea was waiting for me with defiant eyes that belied the shaking in her hands she struggled so hard to conceal. Silly girl should have known better than to try hiding anything from me. Just this once, I’d forgive her. Although not my type, she was beautiful. I would have had a hard time passing her by on the street without thinking about her pale, creamy skin and her toned body and what I could do with them both.

“Good afternoon, love.”

She stuck her tongue out at me in a gesture that she no doubt meant as rude, but as that little pink tongue slipped back inside her bloodied lips, I groaned.

The little siren lay on her side, arms behind her shackled to the bed frame. Her developing breasts heaved like two young birds struggling to break free of their cage.

After stepping onto the bed I sat, straddling her. The seductive scent of raw fear rolled off her, but she would never show it. I had to hand it to her. She was tough, and I couldn’t help but wonder if that came from having a cop as a father or if it was just genetic. After all, her dear old dad had proven harder to get rid of than I anticipated. Maybe survival ran in the Church veins.

I leaned down, kissing the corner of her mouth and getting a taste of the dried blood. “You know, ten years ago in this very bed, I killed a girl not much older than you. Her name was Madeline, and she was Charli’s best friend. You have a lot of her spunk.”

Her eyes went wide, making her look like an anime character. With mounting anticipation, I pulled my knife from its sheath at my back and used it to push some hair back out of her eyes. Holding her breath, she stilled, biting her already bloodied lip.

I leaned forward, grinding against her hips. “Careful, love. You’re dessert. You keep looking at me like that, though, and I’m going to have to eat dessert first.”

She shrank into the mattress, disgust twisting her features. “What do you want?”

It was one of my favorite questions. “Oh, on the one hand, I want what every guy wants, to screw as many pretty young things as I possibly can.” I traced my knife down the side of her face to the top of her shirt. I teased it with the tip of the blade until I pierced the material, making a small hole. I sucked in my breath in anticipation. “But on the other hand, I want what very few guys want…to watch your blood flow all around me.”

Her face paled. “You’re a monster.”

I licked my lips. “So I’ve heard.”

Chest heaving, she took a deep breath. “Why do you hate Charli?”

Ah, leave it to a child to ask the pertinent question. “I don’t hate her at all. On the contrary, she’s the prize I’ve been chasing for years. You see, I was determined to take both Madeline and Charli. But I was only able to grab one of them. I took Madeline, and while I found her…satisfying, I’ve been driven with the need to have Charli ever since.”

Chelsea shuddered, her mouth opening and closing a few times before she spoke. “Wh-why could you only take Madeline? Were you by yourself?”

“So many questions.” I traced her cheek with my finger. “My…mentor, if you will, was waiting in this house. He sent me on a solo mission.”

She jerked her face away from my touch. “And you couldn’t handle two teenage girls?”

This girl had spunk, just like Madeline did. Like I knew Charli would. I shifted, my pants getting a little too tight for comfort. “Because of a little thing called a shoestring, I was forced to choose.”

Chelsea’s forehead scrunched up in thought in the most adorable way. “You…you think you chose wrong?”

“Not exactly. I just regret not taking both. During my time with Madeline, she told me everything, and I do mean everything. Mostly, though, she talked about Charli, how amazing she was. The more she talked, the more determined I became to have Charli too. Over the years, I followed her career…her life. So here we are.” I spread my arms to indicate the room around us.

“What is this, your do-over?” Revulsion filled her voice.

Leaning into her, I lowered my face close to hers. “I wouldn’t judge, little missy. What if you could go back in time and not go to the movies the other night but instead stay home with your dad, safe and sound?” Chelsea’s lips trembled, and tears brimmed in her eyes as I tapped her on the nose with my knife. “I think you’d give just about anything for that do-over.”

With much reluctance, I sheathed my knife and got up. Thrilling though Chelsea was, she wasn’t my ultimate objective. I fussed for a moment with her legs, and this time, she didn’t bother asking what I was doing.

To repeat history, I had to remove the shackles, since Madeline hadn’t worn them in the beginning. Judging from the raw circles on her pale ankles, I imagined Chelsea was glad to have them free. And I wasn’t worried. There was no way she could escape with only her legs free.

For just a moment, I took off the handcuffs—reveling in the gleam of hope that entered her eyes—then snapped them on her wrists again, in front of her this time. Just that little move broke off a shard of her spirit. I could tell by the way that gleam dimmed.

Using an old photo of Madeline for reference, I stood back and admired my handiwork before snapping the picture I needed.

This was day three.

“You know something, love? I tried to let it go. I tried to show restraint, even. I’ve had girls in several states. After a while, I started to notice a pattern, and last year, I realized something. I was standing over yet another…disappointment, and while the young woman in question looked very much like Charli, she wasn’t anything at all like her on the inside. That’s when I knew I had to come back here. The good detective and I have unfinished business.”

The teen kicked out from the mattress, clipping my kneecap. “Go to hell.” If looks could kill, I’d be a smoldering heap of ashes on the floor.

Making a wide berth to avoid her flailing legs, I strode to the head of the bed with a tsk. “Is that any way to talk to me? I think you need a little lesson in manners.” I gripped her throat, squeezing her trachea until she gasped and sputtered. Increasing the pressure, I kept squeezing until she stilled, eyes wide with terror. I released her, giving her a resounding smack on the cheek.

She wheezed and coughed, rasping in air with greedy gulps. I didn’t imagine she’d kick me again anytime soon. With one last glance, I turned and headed for the stairs, closing the door.

A few steps toward the front door, I stepped over the man’s unconscious form and smiled. After the cocktail I’d injected him with, he’d be out for a while, but I’d restrained his hands and feet to be safe. He would be so very useful, but I didn’t want to risk him waking up and thwarting my plans.

Outside, I rounded the back to a small shed. After unlocking the door and stepping inside, I retrieved my treasured photo album from underneath some loose floorboards.

As I flipped through it, pleasure welled up in me at the pictures of all my previous girls. I came to the last page—which I had already marked with Charli’s name—written in red pen with a flourish. Closing my eyes, I shut the book and hugged it against my chest as I imagined our bodies twined together.

It was only a matter of time before she was mine.

30

When Chelsea was five, her dad sat her down for a very serious talk, telling her about strangers and the dangers they presented. While other kids her age were learning about “stranger danger” and how they should avoid strangers and always tell an adult they trusted when they encountered one, she was learning defense tactics if one of those strangers got their hands on her.

A door slammed upstairs, jolting Chelsea out of her thoughts. She was reasonably certain her abductor had left the house, which meant it was time to make her move. After waiting a few more seconds without hearing any noise, she breathed a sigh of relief. She’d been working on breaking the old, rotted bed frame, but the task was slow and tedious. Now that her feet were free, she had no doubt she’d break through the wood in no time.

She spun around to get a better angle, gathered her strength, and kicked at the post with her heel as hard as she could. A cracking sound offered encouragement. Two more swift kicks, and the post shattered, sending splintered bits of wood in all directions. Sliding the chain off one of them was easy. She was still handcuffed, but at least she was no longer chained to the bed.

Her exhilaration was short-lived. She still needed to escape the room and the building.

I need a weapon.

Turning her attention to a small table in the corner, Chelsea walked over, tilted it on its side, and stomped hard on the leg, snapping it in half. She picked up the broken lower half, gratified to see a sharp point. Hefting the table leg in her hand, she was satisfied it would make a lethal stabbing weapon if she could summon enough force. Given the rage and fear inside her, that shouldn’t be an issue.

Clutching her weapon with both hands, Chelsea scurried up the stairs, doing her best to ignore her bleeding wrists. She’d deal with that later. Reaching the top, she tested the door, relief flooding through her when she found it unlocked. Was that monster so cocky he hadn’t bothered to lock the door? Whatever the reason it was unlocked, it didn’t matter. What mattered was getting out of here, right now.

Heart thundering in her chest so loud she was afraid it was audible, she eased open the door a crack. What if he’d slammed the door as a ruse? He might be lurking, just out of sight.

She peeked out with bated breath, not daring to move as the seconds ticked by.

One.

Chelsea pushed the door open a little more.

Two.

She stuck her head out, scanning the room around her. Nothing.

Three.

Satisfied she was alone, she swung the door open farther.

Creeaaakk!

The hinges groaned so loud, anyone in the house would surely hear it.

She froze, a fresh wave of panic gripping her chest.

Crap. Crap. Crap.

Brandishing the table leg like a baseball bat, she took a few tentative steps forward, twirling around to inspect the dimly lit room. A light was on overhead, but that was the only illumination. The room’s windows seemed to be covered over on the outside with some sort of metal.

Her stomach lurched when her gaze landed on a still form a few feet away. A body—an adult, their hands and feet restrained. No movement. She backed away from it, not wanting to see the face of someone who was probably dead.

Chelsea moved over to a window. A piece of metal was welded over the outside. From there, she went to the door. It was locked from the outside. Frustration overtaking her fear, she kicked the frame. The sound of someone whistling a tune on the other side sent her scurrying into the back room and looking for someplace to hide.

There was another door in the rear, this one mercifully unlocked. Slipping through and gently closing it behind her, she found herself in a bedroom. But the windows in it were also covered over.

The bed in this room was a stark contrast to the sparse bed in the basement. This one looked inviting with its fluffy pillows and downy bedspread.

What is this place? An abandoned cabin in the middle of the woods? Who has a house with just one bedroom, prison windows, and a basement like that? A psychopath, that’s who.

Hearing the squeak of hinges from the front of the cabin, Chelsea flattened herself against the wall behind the bedroom door. The room didn’t have so much as a closet, and there was nowhere to hide. The bed was too close to the floor for her to squeeze underneath, and even if she could, the comforter wasn’t long enough to conceal her.

At least if he came into the room, the door would swing open, hiding her. She tightened her fists around her makeshift weapon. Her heart slamming against her rib cage like a bass drum, she trembled from head to toe as she waited.

Creaking floorboards gave away the presence of someone in the main room. What they were doing or where exactly they were, she couldn’t tell. A dull thud followed by a low groan gave her hope that maybe her kidnapper had hurt himself.

“And stay down.” The muffled words came through the door.

Was he talking to the body on the floor? Did that mean whoever was there wasn’t dead? If that was true, she might have an ally in this place.

Footsteps in the main room pattered toward her, and her blood ran cold. She’d left the basement door wide open.

Any second now, he would charge into the bedroom, and there’d be no opportunity to sneak past him. On the other hand, he might come straight to where she was.

She strained her ears. The footsteps were growing louder, more distinctive.

He must be coming my way.

Palms sweating, Chelsea struggled not to yelp as a splinter from the shattered table leg she was holding wedged itself into her left index finger, just under the nail. Tears welled in her eyes, and she blinked them away. She couldn’t afford to be blinded.

As the knob began to turn, she held her breath, biting her tongue hard.

Please don’t find me. Please don’t find me. Please don’t find me.

The door rocketed open and smacked her in the face before she could put up her arms to protect herself. She slumped against the wall, dazed and unprepared for the door to smash into her a second time.

The monster reached around and plucked her weapon out of her hands with a wicked smile. “Come on, love, did you really think I’d leave the door to the basement unlocked if I didn’t have a silent alarm on it? I also have the whole place rigged with cameras.”

A ball of despair sank into the pit of her stomach like lead. “You bastard!”

He gasped, covering his mouth as he shook his head. “Such language.” He wagged a finger at her. “What would your daddy say if he heard you talk like that?” A raucous laugh erupted from his lips, and he slung her over his shoulder and headed for the basement.

31

Charli hadn’t thought she could feel more fear and misery until she had to spend fifteen minutes alone with Matthew. Never once in his tirade against Preston did he say anything accusatory toward her or blame her for letting the man get into her personal life. In some ways, that made the whole situation harder.

Matthew had left the office grumbling about getting some fresh air. She suspected he was going out on his own looking for Preston. But she kept her concerns to herself. She had no idea how Ruth would react—and no way of knowing which people, if any, the sergeant was looping in on the Preston as a suspect debacle.

Charli’s cell rang, and she snatched it up. Jack’s name flashed across the screen.

“Hey, how’s it going?” She struggled to keep her voice calm.

“Hello, Charli. Are you okay? Has something happened?”

She ground her fingernails into the seat of her chair. “Nothing’s changed. Why? Did you hear something?”

If Jack had heard about the suspicions swirling around Preston, there was definitely a mole in the office.

“No, but your voice sounds really off.” He made a sympathetic noise into the phone. “I guess that’s what stress and lack of sleep do.”

She grunted. “Not to mention too much caffeine. Were you calling for a reason?” She banged her head against the back of her chair.

Just great. Not only can I not sound calm, but now I’m coming across as downright hostile.

Jack didn’t seem to notice, which she took as a small blessing.

“Actually, I feel terrible bringing this up. I’ve wrapped up interviews in the area, and I’m booked on a flight to Chicago tonight. I’m supposed to be spending the Thanksgiving holiday with my sister and her family in Oregon. In light of what’s happened, I feel like maybe I shouldn’t go. I mean, if there’s anything I can do to help…”

For a moment, a pang of jealousy shot through Charli that he was getting to spend the holiday with family and she wasn’t. She chided herself for being petty and for even worrying about something like that with Chelsea still missing and the killer on the loose.

“Please, go home and be with your family. You never know how precious they are until they’re not there.” She bit her lip so hard, she tasted blood. She hadn’t meant to be so maudlin.

“Thank you.” His voice was a whisper. “You’re so right. Are you sure there’s nothing more I can do right now? I’m still massaging footage for a short broadcast if Sergeant Morris decides to go that way. I’ll have my laptop with me so I can continue to work on it.”

“She hasn’t shared her plans with me regarding the broadcast, but I’ll let her know you’re on standby and are heading to Oregon.”

“I would appreciate it. What about you? Is there anything I can do for you specifically?”

A spasm ripped at Charli’s chest.

There’s been too much for too long. I can’t take much more.

“Did you find anything else that might help us? Even just the smallest piece of information that might be new or different or…anything.” The pleading and desperation in her own voice was painful to her own ears.

“I…uh…did hear one thing that was disturbing, but I haven’t been able to substantiate it.”

Charli bolted upright in her chair, heart pounding. “What is it?”

“This might sound crazy, but I don’t feel comfortable talking about it over the phone, particularly since you might be overheard.” He took a deep breath. “Look, I’m going to be at my hotel restaurant in a few minutes having dinner before I head out. If you could meet me there, I could explain.”

“I’ll be there in fifteen.”

“Okay. Thanks.” Relief flooded his voice. Clearly, he had some deep concern, and she was eager to discover what it was and how it might help her find Chelsea and her kidnapper. Charli ended the call and grabbed her bag.

She made it to the hotel in ten minutes, breaking her personal rule to never speed. If ever there was a time to break the law, it was now. She parked and strode inside. To the left of the lobby was the restaurant with red-flecked wallpaper and white iron-scrollwork chairs and tables. The room gave off a casual chic vibe. More than a coffee shop and less than a formal dining experience.

At a table in the far corner sat Jack. He motioned for her the moment she was in his line of sight. She hurried to the table, heart in her throat. What bit of information was too sensitive to share over the phone? A sinking sensation in her stomach suggested it might be just one more nail in Preston’s coffin.

Jack stood and gestured toward the chair opposite him before resuming his seat. Dropping her messenger bag on the table next to her, Charli leaned across even as she sat, unable to hide her eagerness.

“Are you hungry? Can I order you something?” Jack’s gaze was intense as he studied her face.

Her breath was trapped in her chest, but she managed to keep her voice firm and calm. “No. Just tell me what you know.”

He put his fork down as he scooched his chair closer. Bending his head toward her, he raked his hand through his light-brown hair. “A few weeks ago, I got an anonymous tip. The caller claimed to have information about Madeline Ferguson’s killer. He said he had reason to believe the man was a member of law enforcement.”

The hair on Charli’s neck stood on end. And he’s just now telling me this? “Did he have any proof?”

Jack shook his head. “No, but he seemed confident he could get some. He gave me a phone number to call when I got to town, but I’ve tried dozens of times in the past few days, and there’s been no answer. I’m afraid either he was a complete crank yanking my chain or…”

“Or?”

He dropped his gaze to his hands on the table, which were resting close to hers. “Or something’s happened to him. What if he wasn’t a kook? What if he did know something?”

Charli grabbed his hand. “Give me the number, and we can track it.”

He shook his head. “I already asked your Computer Forensics department, and they said it was a burner phone, no way to tell who owns it. It seems the battery is dead or it’s been turned off.”

“Did he give you anything else? An address, a name?”

“He called me twice, and all I managed to get out of him was his first name, or at least what he was willing to let me call him.”

“Which was?”

“Ezra.”

32

Charli leaned back in her chair with a gasp. It was entirely possible Ezra had made those calls. Was Ezra’s killer the man they were hunting for? Ezra wrote in his journal that someone had discovered his identity and was blackmailing him. That person could have been a corrupt cop…or a man who was a serial killer himself.

Or both.

This couldn’t be happening. Her brain kept denying what she still didn’t want to admit to herself, that all of the evidence pointed to Preston.

“Charli, you okay?”

Jack’s voice cut through the fog, bringing her back to the moment. His face was twisted in concern, the corners of his lips turned down and his brow furrowed.

“No. Yes. It’s…complicated. But thank you for bringing this to my attention.”

He shrugged, and she became aware that she was still holding his hand on the table. Charli realized she should let go, but that physical contact was the one thing still anchoring her to the here and now.

Half of her mind was in the past with Madeline, imagining the horrors that someone—perhaps Preston—had visited on her. The other half of her mind was racing ahead to when they would find Chelsea. Would they reach her in time? Would they catch her kidnapper?

He squeezed her hand and let go. “I just hope it helps. I mean, I know it’s not much to go on at all.”

She gave him a tiny smile. “It’s more than you know.”

He took a sip from his water glass. “Okay, now I’m curious.”

Charli wanted to tell him, but discretion was the word of the day. As Ruth had said, the fewer people who knew about their suspicions, the better. “I’m sorry, but I can’t tell you. Not just yet.”

He sighed. “Frustrating, but I get it.”

“Thank you.” Charli pushed her chair back. “I should get back to the precinct.”

“Of course. I’ve got to finish up and head to the airport in a few minutes anyway.” He paused, his gaze lingering on hers. “Unless you need me to stay.”

A sudden urge to say “yes” nearly overcame her. It was ridiculous, and she fought it down. “No, go be with your sister and your family. I…Sergeant Morris will let you know if we need anything from you.”

He smiled. “Okay. Take care of yourself, Charli. Call if you need anything at all. I mean it. You’re not alone.”

She rubbed her arms, reliving so many memories of times she’d felt alone. “I’ll be fine. Don’t worry.”

She sensed Jack could see right through her lie, but he didn’t call her on it. He glanced over her shoulder.

Giving her a shy smile, Caspar, the lighting guy from his production crew, approached their table. “Sorry to interrupt, ma’am. Jack, the taxi will be here in five minutes. Brandon’s out front with all the equipment.”

Jack sighed and stood. After pulling his wallet out of his pocket, he threw a few bills on the table. “I guess it’s time to go.”

Genuine regret tinged his voice. Charli wouldn’t have thought it possible, but she had enjoyed his company and shared a real bond with him. She chose to believe it was because of their dedication to bringing killers to justice, though she couldn’t deny the connection simmering between them.

Once he had put away his wallet, Jack extended a hand, helping her to her feet like a true gentleman. The gesture was quaint and sweet. Somehow, the chivalry didn’t seem even remotely smarmy coming from him.

“It has been an honor to work beside you the last few days. I hope we meet again under more favorable circumstances. And I promise you, I won’t rest until we have found Madeline Ferguson’s killer.”

“Thank you.” Charli struggled to get the words out around a sudden lump in her throat.

She turned and walked with him out of the restaurant. Brandon was standing next to a giant mound of equipment. He and Caspar both gave her warm smiles, each shaking her hand and expressing their gratitude for her help.

Caspar explained the absence of the fourth member of their little team. “Bonnie said to tell you goodbye. She had to fly out last night to a movie shoot in London.”

Charli nodded. “I’m not surprised. She’s excellent at her job.”

When she turned to Jack, the handshake felt inadequate, but under the circumstances, a hug didn’t seem right either. She stood, peering up at him, lost for a moment in his gaze.

He reached out to her, then let his hand fall back at his side. His features twisted into a pained look. “I know. I understand.”

His words floated down to her, spoken in a soft, yearning voice.

I wonder if all his interviewees feel as attracted to him as I do right now?

She flushed, embarrassed that she was thinking about him in that way, particularly with everything that was happening.

She gave him a sharp nod. “Have a good flight.” It was one of the lamest possible things she could have said. But it was also the safest. She swept the three of them with her gaze, then turned and bolted toward her car.

Charli fought tears on her way back to the precinct. She had to admit, she was a complete mess.

Too much for too long.

That was the mantra that kept running through her head. When this was all over, she needed a vacation, a good long one far away from everyone and everything.

I hear the West Coast is nice this time of year. Or I could go somewhere tropical. Cassie and the kids might want to come.

By the time she made it back to the precinct, she’d almost wrestled her emotions back into the box. The slightest jostling of that box could cause an explosion that would put a volcano to shame, but for now, she had a lid on her feelings.

She took several slow, deep breaths and unbuckled her seat belt.

Focus, Charli. You have a job to⁠—

The trilling of her cell phone through the car’s speakers made her jump. Though she didn’t recognize the number, she answered.

“This is Detective Cross.”

Silence.

She tried again. “Hello?”

“Hello, Charli.” The voice was distorted almost beyond her ability to understand. “Meet me where you failed to save Madeline at 9:47, her exact time of death. Come alone, or Chelsea dies.”

Click.

Tiny hairs stood up on the back of Charli’s neck as air punched from her lungs.

She checked her watch. How was she going to get there in time? Her deadline was in ten minutes. Ten. Freaking. Minutes.

Buckling her seat belt, she whipped out of the parking space and dialed Matthew’s number. After the sixth ring, it went to voicemail.

Heart pounding, she tried to gather her thoughts. “Matt, listen. I got a call from the killer. I’m headed to meet him at Bonaventure Cemetery. There’s no time to follow protocol. He…he threatened your daughter.”

She left a few more details, then called Ruth. No luck. Where the hell were they? After leaving messages for the sergeant and Janice, Charli broke her personal rule of never breaking the speed limit once more and drove like Chelsea’s life depended on it.

And it did.

Hang in there, Chelsea. I’m coming.

33

Ten years ago…

“Faster, faster!” Madeline shouted, the wind whipping her long hair behind her.

Her arms were wrapped tight around Charli’s waist, and she was leaning against her back. Beneath them galloped Remember, a gorgeous stallion whose coat burned a brilliant white.

Madeline wore sunglasses to protect her corneas when she looked at him. Behind them, guards were pouring out of the dungeon, screaming as their arrows whizzed through the air close to Madeline’s head.

She screamed and buried her face in Charli’s back. Her brave friend never faltered. She kicked the horse, and they were running faster, faster than even the wind itself. Charli had saved her from the terrible trolls who lived in the dungeon.

“Thank you, Charli. You’re the best friend anyone could ask for.” She whispered the words as warmth grew inside her.

She’d forgotten something.

Madeline tried to shake off the feeling, but it persisted. She turned and peered back at the dungeon. Had she left something behind? No. That didn’t seem right.

She knew she’d forgotten something.

Though it bothered her, she tried to push away the unsettling feeling. This was a joyous moment. She was free at last, rescued by her best friend. They were racing the wind and winning.

After what seemed like forever, they made it to a peaceful green clearing and Charli slowed Remember. The stallion bobbed his head up and down as he picked his way through a field of poppies.

Charli turned around, and Madeline stared in shock. Her friend’s face was just a blur, no discernable features.

What was…what was happening?

Madeline raised a hand to her own cheek in panic.

Did she still have a face? Would anyone know her? Would she recognize herself?

She threw back her head and laughed. But the sound was unfamiliar. It sounded like howling…like a pack of wild wolves. Some were soft, some were loud, and others were mere whispers and echoes of a whimper.

Faceless Charli was trying to tell her something, but without a mouth, she couldn’t form any words. It didn’t matter, though, because they were free. Even as they stood at a standstill, the wind whipped through her hair.

A black projectile shot past her. The object hit the ground several feet in front of them and turned into an older man with a book raised in one hand.

A second black projectile shot past on the other side, and when it split the ground, a young man rose up. He would have been handsome if not for the flames that shot from his eyes. He lifted a knife in his hand and rammed it right through the white horse’s heart. The animal screeched and fell.

Charli went catapulting into the sky. She sprouted magnificent wings and flew off.

“Don’t leave me!”

Madeline shrieked at the disappearing form even as she collapsed on top of the dead horse. She howled again as the two men loomed over her. The coppery scent of blood filled her nostrils. The magnificent animal blinked out of existence, taking all the brilliant white light with it.

“Don’t go! Please…don’t leave me.”

Madeline was back in the dark basement, chained to a bed. She snarled like a rabid animal at the older man as he sat by her side.

Her long, dirty fingernails bent backward as she clawed through the mattress, trying to reach him so she could slash out his wicked eyes.

He turned to look at something past her. “She’s done. You won’t get anything more out of her. She’s more animal than human now.”

“But I don’t want it to end.” The monster’s voice echoed from behind her. She spun, snapping at a hand that was reaching for her hair, almost catching it this time.

“It’s only the end of the first. There are many more out there waiting for you to release them.”

Impatient. Angry. Hard. The old one’s skin burned when it touched hers, and she hated it. She wanted to rip the skin off and find out what caused the heat beneath it. How could it burn so hot?

“But I’m not ready.”

Petulant. Bruising. Tearing. The young one’s knife mocked her, threatened her, just as his body did—the mere presence of him. There was not a part of her body or soul that wasn’t bruised, cut, and bleeding, both inside and out. Even from five feet away, he was inside her now, tearing, burning, destroying.

She would kill him before he could kill her.

Her eyes were so crusted with dried tears that she could only open them to mere slits. But she could see well enough to attack her defiler.

“Do it and you shall finally fulfill your purpose. And hers. Don’t disappoint me in this.”

Angry words followed, so many of them, shouting. She didn’t try to follow. It didn’t matter. The young one had worshipped the old one, but now he was angry.

Steel fingers wrapped around her upper arm, jerking her upright on the bed. She stared into the face of the young one. Lust was in his gaze, but it was different this time. There was something more. Grabbing her filthy shirt, he ripped it from her emaciated body.

Mama…hold me.

His wicked knife glinted in the dim light. He put it to her cheek, ready to start carving again.

Madeline twisted her head and bit down, her teeth tearing through the meat on his wrist. He screamed and jerked back, a piece of his flesh still clenched between her teeth.

“It’s time, son.”

The young one lunged forward, ramming his knife in her chest. She tried to scream, to beg, to plead, but she choked on the blood that filled her mouth.

Charli…best friends…forever.

With hunger in his gaze, the monster yanked out the blade, plunging it into her flesh again.

And again.

Stab.

“Fulfill your destiny.”

Twist.

“As I fulfill mine.”

Plunge.

The searing pain in Madeline’s chest faded, replaced by a brilliant white softness. Charli’s wings, wrapping around her. She leaned into them and closed her eyes for the last time.

Love you…Mama.

Don’t…forget me…Charli.

34

Charli’s dashboard read 9:45.

Two minutes until her deadline.

Two minutes until the time when Madeline had died.

The gate of the cemetery rose up out of the darkness, tall and imposing. It was open during the day. That was how the killer had been able to drive right up to her and Madeline.

Given the state of Madeline’s body when they’d found it, they’d never been able to establish with any certainty what week or month she died, let alone the exact time. That new piece of information was both a revelation and a gauntlet slapped in her face.

If she’d had time to plan, fellow officers would be spread around the city in unmarked cars. Plainclothes police and SWAT would be strategically positioned all around the cemetery. She’d be wearing a wire.

She wasn’t waiting.

She was going in blind.

She checked the time again.

9:47.

How the hell Charli made it on time, she had no idea.

She parked behind a Nissan near the gate and got out, shining the penlight on her keychain in through the windows.

Nothing.

Turning to the gate, she touched it, surprised to find it ajar. She gave it a shove. Damn thing was stuck. No way was her car going to fit.

She glanced at her watch.

9:48.

Heart in her throat, Charli squeezed through the gate. She barely registered the ripping sound her coat made when it snagged.

Time was ticking.

She had to keep moving.

She shined her penlight and walked forward. With every step, a sense of déjà vu deepened. She was moving backward in time, the years shedding behind her.

At last, she reached the spot where she’d been when Madeline was taken. She peeked at her wrist.

9:50.

Holding her breath, she listened for footsteps.

Silence.

“Show yourself!” The words exploded from her chest, a decade of agony and helpless fury spewing out of her.

The night mocked her with its silence. She turned in a slow circle, casting her light over everything.

Shit.

A figure loomed in the dark.

She jerked back, reaching for her gun. Terror gripped her heart and squeezed. Her muscles went clumsy, and the light dropped from her hand.

She cursed and crouched to grope around for the flashlight. Once she had it, she angled it upward to illuminate the figure.

Only a dress form. The kind used by tailors.

On it was a shirt identical to what Madeline wore when she disappeared.

With a sob, Charli staggered forward. She reached for the material.

This wasn’t the same shirt.

It couldn’t be.

This one was brand-new. She’d seen the pictures of the original, dirty and torn on Madeline’s thin and abused frame.

“You bastard.”

A red paper heart was pinned over the left breast. Charli shined the light on it, achingly aware that she was completely exposed as she did so.

She glanced over her shoulder, expecting to see the killer sneaking up on her.

The space was empty.

She turned back to the heart and the writing on it.

Nice try. Leave your phone and gun right here. Keys are in the Nissan. Drive it to Madeline’s house. Don’t attempt to contact anyone. XOXO.

Ice surged through her veins as she read the note again.

She shouldn’t comply.

She wanted to wait for the law enforcement officers Dispatch had sent when she called on the way over.

But there wasn’t time.

Now she was just a woman needing answers.

Needing closure.

Needing revenge.

And if she didn’t acquiesce, Chelsea would die.

But she couldn’t just walk into this asshole’s trap without one last attempt to contact her team. Placing her hands over her mouth, as though to cover sobs, she spoke in a low but clear voice.

“Hey, Siri. Call Janice.”

Heart pounding, she waited.

And waited.

But the call wouldn’t go through.

Dammit.

He must have put a jammer somewhere to interfere with her calls. And no doubt he’d be tracking the Nissan when she got in it. Was there anything the bastard hadn’t thought of?

Hoping she wasn’t signing her own death warrant, she dropped her gun and cell phone into the dirt at the base of the dress form. But not before texting her destination to Matthew. As expected, the message didn’t go through, but if he got her earlier voice message and followed her here, he’d know where to go next when he found her phone and weapon.

Stripped of every tie to the outside world, she hurried back to the gate. She left the part of her jacket sleeve still hanging on the gate, a breadcrumb for someone to follow. Jogging to the Nissan, she yanked the front door open.

There, on the driver’s seat, was a stack of clothes with a note on top.

Leave all your belongings and your clothes on the ground. Put on this outfit. I’m watching you.

Charli dropped the note on the ground with a curse. She turned and shouted. “Where are you, coward? Come out and show yourself!”

Her words echoed in the dark, coming back unanswered.

I’m not undressing for his benefit.

She glanced down at the clothes on the seat and her heart stuttered. Resting on top of the pile was a neon-purple shirt she knew all too well. It was the shirt she’d been wearing when Madeline was kidnapped.

But that’s impossible. I burned that shirt.

With shaking hands, she picked the garment up. The bastard remembered what she’d worn that day. And he’d found an identical shirt.

Beneath the top was a black bra and a pair of black skinny jeans, much like the rest of that day’s outfit. Her mind reeled. From the uneven way the pants were folded on the seat, she could tell there was something else, something bulky underneath. Holding her breath, she picked up the jeans.

Her heart stuttered, and she forgot to breathe. There on the seat were the Back to the Future II shoes she’d been trying so hard to hunt down. A note was stuffed inside the left shoe.

Looking for these?

Charli’s knees started to give way. She caught herself on the door of the Nissan, dropping the clothes she was holding as she did so. Tears fell hot and fast. A voice in her head screamed at her to get up, that Madeline might be dead, but she still had a chance to save Chelsea. She pulled herself up to standing and locked her knees.

Tears streamed down her face as she shrugged out of her coat. It fell to the dirt. Charli unbuttoned her white silk shirt, which was already ruined as she had predicted it would be. She flung it far from her.

Her hands hesitated as they moved to the clasp of her bra. She hadn’t finished stripping, but already she felt naked and exposed. He said he was watching her. That must mean he had a camera positioned toward her, likely more than one. He could easily have installed a camera somewhere in the Nissan.

She didn’t want to be naked for him to stare at. Then again, if it truly was Preston, she didn’t have anything he hadn’t already seen. Her stomach churned, and she choked back vomit that rose into her mouth. The liquid turned to fire in her belly as she swallowed it back down.

“Why are you doing this to me?”

The scream hurt her throat but again yielded no reply.

Because the sick son of a bitch wants to relive that day, so he’s dressing me up in my old clothes.

She unhooked the bra and held it out to the side, defiance in her gaze as she let it drop. Cold air hit her chest, and she reached for the black bra and purple top. Once they were on, she kicked off her shoes, carefully sending one into the footwell of the Nissan. Then she shed her slacks and donned the black skinny jeans.

Once the other officers found the Nissan, they’d be able to tell she’d been in it because of the shoe.

If only she could stall. Could wait for their arrival.

But there wasn’t time.

Sitting in the driver’s seat, she picked up the first tennis shoe and eased it onto her foot, her sobs increasing. Her foot was swimming in it. As she picked up the second one, she managed to get a look at the size. If she wasn’t mistaken, it was the same size ordered by P. Powell.

Body trembling, she got the second shoe on even though her fingers had gone numb. Most of her body had. Shifting forward in the seat, she closed the door. As she turned the key that was in the ignition and started the car, Charli belatedly realized it could have been a trap and a car bomb could have taken her out.

Nothing happened. There was no explosive roar, just the gentle hum of the engine.

If he wanted me dead quick, he had plenty of chances. No, he has a little drama he wants to act out, and for the moment, I have no choice but to play along.

Putting the car into drive, she headed down the street, aiming the vehicle toward a place she knew well and had hoped after recent events never to visit again.

How long would it take the others to figure out what had happened? Charli knew that from this moment on, she had only her wits to rely on. This was what the killer wanted. He might have had a decade to plan this encounter, but she’d had years to dream about what she would do if she ever met him face to face.

Madeline hadn’t lived far from the cemetery. Charli would likely be at the house before anyone got her voicemails about meeting the killer. She turned onto a small, dark street that was about halfway there.

Please be alive, Chelsea. I don’t want him to hurt any⁠—

A vehicle rammed into hers from the right. Her hands jerked as her car was forced to the side of the road. She slammed her brakes with a light pole filling her vision.

Time passed, and Charli woke up, lungs aching from the airbag’s deployment. She couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t even move.

The door flew open, revealing the devil himself, a ski mask pulled down to cover his face. Syringe in hand, he plunged the into her neck as he chuckled.

The liquid burned as it went in, and her vision blurred.

She opened her mouth, but the only sound was the roaring in her ears.

Must…fight…back.

Charli closed her eyes as darkness claimed her.

35

Fifty-two freaking hours.

That was how long Matthew’s precious daughter had been missing. And now his partner was gone too. If anyone had told him three days ago that he’d be racing against the clock to find two of the most important people in the world to him the night before Thanksgiving, he never would have believed them.

As Matthew sat with Janice in one of the conference rooms, they scrolled through every piece of CCTV footage in a ten-mile radius from the cemetery. He wasn’t sure which was more shocking, how much coverage there was of some areas or how little there was of others.

Despite being tired, his mind was clear and focused. At some point—he wasn’t sure when—Matthew had left rage and exhaustion behind, replacing them with complete focus and clarity.

Chelsea and Charli needed him.

He would find them.

Nothing else mattered, and there was no wavering in his mind.

The officers who located Charli’s car and clothes detected no signs of struggle. They found a note on the ground directing her to strip naked and change clothes. Where that message had come from, they were still working on. Forensics had found fresh tire tracks at the scene that didn’t belong to Charli’s car and theorized she’d either driven off in it or been taken away in it.

Attempts to track her phone got them nowhere. Though its last ping to nearby cell towers put her in the cemetery, the device had vanished. Maybe the kidnapper took it when he forced her to switch cars? What about her sidearm?

Matthew wiped a hand down his face. Speculation would get him nowhere.

All he knew was that Charli had vanished without any of the tools she’d need to get out of a scrape.

Either way, they were looking for a car that left that area probably within fifteen minutes or so of her arriving there.

The phone rang, and it took him a moment to even register it.

“You gonna answer that?” Janice’s voice was low and gravelly from lack of sleep.

Matthew glanced at his device on the table, surprised to see it there. As Randal Soames came up on the caller ID, he answered.

“I’m here with Janice, Doc. What have you got?” Matthew dropped the phone back onto the table with a thunk, pressing the button for speakerphone.

“We got back an analysis on the locks of hair you found in Ezra’s garden. They belong to seven missing girls whose bodies were never found. I’ve sent the information to the FBI and local authorities for every case.”

Janice grunted, her gaze still trained on the computer monitor in front of her. “Any chance one of those girls is Madeline Ferguson?”

Soames sighed deeply on the other end. “No such luck.”

Janice blew out a breath. “One could hope.”

“And one could be disappointed.” Matthew had known Madeline wouldn’t be among Ezra’s trophies. After all, the man had been killed before Chelsea was snatched, and Matthew was one-hundred-percent convinced Chelsea’s abductor was the same guy who took Madeline.

Janice shot Matthew an irritated glance. “Anything else of interest, Dr. Soames?”

“We’re not going to be able to release the crime scene for quite a while. Soil samples revealed traces of human remains in the garden.”

Maybe the remains of his last victim?

Matthew gritted his teeth. Who the remains belonged to was unlikely to get him closer to catching the monster he was looking for. Best not to get sidetracked.

“Lovely.” Janice shook her head. “It just keeps getting better and better. Nothing new regarding Madeline, Chelsea, or Charli?”

“I’m afraid not.” The M.E.’s voice was contrite.

“Keep working at it, Dr. Soames. Thanks.” Matthew couldn’t muster more than that.

“I’m here for the duration.” The usually jovial man’s voice was grim as he hung up. If Matthew had any headspace to spare, he would have found that depressing.

Without removing his gaze from the footage he was scanning, Matthew sighed. “Remind me how any of what he just said helps us.”

Janice took a deep breath and blew it out. “Not sure it does yet. It’s connected, I’m certain of it, but I’m not sure it’s going to make sense until this is all over.”

Matthew rolled his eyes. “Great, thanks.”

She huffed. “If you want platitudes and wild speculation, go talk to someone else.”

Before he could retort, something on the screen caught his eye. He leaned in for a better look. “Check this out.”

Janice slid closer to him. “What do you have?”

“That Nissan that was in the vicinity of the cemetery turned down this street and never left it as far as I can tell.”

“Maybe they live there or are visiting.”

Matthew rubbed at his eyes. “I don’t think so. A gray van that looks a lot like what Rachel Nelson saw leaves the far side of the street five minutes later moving at a hell of a clip. I don’t have evidence of it entering the street in the half hour before that.”

Janice stiffened as their gazes met. “I’ll get one of the black-and-whites to swing by.”

Matthew punched something else up on his computer and then tapped the glass with his forefinger. “Look, accident reported on that street ten minutes after the Nissan disappeared. Someone hit a power pole.”

There was something there. He felt it in his gut.

Hold on, Chels. Hang in there, Charli. We’re coming for you.

He pulled the footage of the van back up and indicated the right side. “Look at that. You see the ripple there? I’d be willing to wager he sideswiped someone.”

Janice enlarged the picture to get a better look. After studying it, she sat back, lacing her fingers behind her head.

“Like a Nissan.”

“Exactly.” He tapped the photo of the van again. “I think Charli’s in that van.”

36

Charli’s head was pounding, and her mouth was dry and chalky. An unfamiliar room met her blinking eyes. As her fuzzy thoughts started to come into focus, she scanned the area. While there was overhead lighting, there were no windows. The walls and floor were all concrete, and a set of concrete stairs led up to a closed door. She had to be in a basement.

Where am I? Where’s Chelsea?

She didn’t know what she’d expected, but waking up alone in a chair in an empty room was certainly not it. She would have anticipated finding Matthew’s daughter nearby, or discovering the kidnapper lurking in a corner there, waiting to pounce the moment she regained consciousness.

What if Chelsea’s already dead?

She squeezed her eyes shut for a moment, willing that not to be true. Her heart was racing, though whether from fear or from a side effect of whatever she’d been drugged with, Charli didn’t know.

As the night’s events came back to her, she tried to rise, only to realize her hands and feet were tied to the worn wooden chair. She tested her restraints and groaned. They were snug. She blinked, her mind and vision still hazy.

Across from her was a filthy, dilapidated bed, or what was left of it. Someone had busted up part of the rotted headboard. And based on the splintered wood that peppered the frame, the damage was recent. Blood spattered the mattress in a thin line near the headboard.

Chelsea’s blood. It had to be. So where was she now? Had she escaped? Was she still…alive?

Please let her be.

Something caught her eye on the headboard, and she strained to make out what it was.

She gasped.

In crude letters, the initials M.F. were carved into the wood.

Madeline Ferguson.

This was where the killer photographed Madeline and Chelsea. This very room was where her best friend was tortured and killed. A shiver ripped through Charli. She recognized it from the photographs. The initials were just confirmation.

The spirit of her best friend was trapped in these walls. If she closed her eyes, she could almost hear her. Not in a fake way like the false psychic had tried to do. This was real. She sensed Madeline all around her, and waves of sorrow roiled within her.

Tears leaked out from Charli’s closed eyelids. Somehow, Madeline’s death seemed more real here in this basement at this time than it had even when her body had been found. Phantom screams seemed to fill the room, and she could swear the scent of Madeline’s perfume still hung in the air.

That’s not even possible.

Her logical mind struggled to understand what her senses were telling her. How could her best friend—murdered ten years earlier—fill this space with her spirit, her essence? Was this what everyone meant when they talked about closure?

Charli gritted her teeth as tears blurred her vision. She would not be the next to carve her initials in that headboard, hoping someone someday would find it and know she had been there.

Leaning back in the chair as much as her arms would allow, she began working at the knots with her fingers while her gaze continued to rove around the basement. Except for the bed and the chair, the only other piece of furniture was a small broken wooden table in the corner that sagged on three legs. Her heart skipped a beat when she spotted a crumpled red heap on the floor…the fleece jacket Chelsea had been wearing when she was kidnapped.

Please, God, let her still be alive somewhere.

Sobs racked her body, making it hard to work on the knots around her wrists. She kept at it, though, as she was still very conscious of the stakes. She had a finite amount of time before the door at the top of the stairs opened and she’d be face-to-face with Madeline’s killer. When that happened, she needed to not be tied to the chair like a helpless creature.

Charli forced herself to take several deep breaths. She had to focus if she wanted to help herself, let alone Chelsea. She glanced again at the room. Was she still in Savannah? Georgia, even? She had no idea how much time had passed since that bastard plunged a needle into her neck.

With no windows, she couldn’t estimate the time of day or how long she’d been unconscious. Aside from shielding the activities in the room from prying eyes, the occupants’ inability to mark the passage of time was a great terror tactic, one used in some interrogation techniques.

Or torture.

The image of Madeline’s decayed, ravaged body and the photographs she’d seen recently all sprang to mind. The medical examiner at the time had determined that Madeline had been tortured repeatedly, over a period of time, before she died.

Charli’s clothes that the killer had provided seemed to be intact, and she was relieved that she was still wearing underwear. She was taking that as a good sign.

The rope was strong but supple, which was bad news for her. The knots were holding really well, no matter how she worked at them. Whoever had tied them knew what they were doing. Panic rose in her chest as the seconds ticked by without her making any headway. She twisted her wrists, trying to get more slack, but she only succeeded in giving herself rope burns.

Tears started flowing again, but they stemmed from the physical pain. In some ways, that was easier to cope with.

A clunking sound echoed through the room, and her eyes flew open. She blinked as fast as she could, struggling to shake away the tears, since she couldn’t wipe them.

Time had run out.

The door at the top of the stairs began to open, and her heart became a drum. The moment of truth. Dread filled her as the door creaked, its maw opening with nothing but darkness beyond.

Ten years of waiting, wondering, searching, and it was all at an end. A form started to take shape in the darkness and moved forward into the light.

Charli strained to see the face of Madeline’s killer. As he came into view, her mouth went dry.

As she suspected, she knew him.

37

Revulsion flooded Charli as her brain tried to deny the truth. At the top of the stairs was Preston Powell.

“You bastard!”

It was him all along. He used me, played me. I let him into my life, into my⁠—

Preston tilted forward and folded in half. He hit the third stair down and kept tumbling downward, his body hitting the concrete floor with a sickening thud.

Charli gaped at the dried blood on Preston’s motionless form.

Is he…dead?

She strained her eyes, focusing on his chest. After a couple seconds, it rose and fell the barest amount.

What’s going on?

Charli’s gaze traveled back to the top of the stairs where another figure was emerging from the shadows beyond.

She couldn’t believe it. After blinking twice, the other man hadn’t moved.

It was Jack Clarion.

Knife in hand, he wore an expression of concern. “Charli! Did he hurt you?”

Her mind raced to process what was happening. “N-no. How are you here? How did you find me?”

Jack dropped the knife, and it fell with a clatter. He started down the stairs. “I couldn’t get on that plane. I was thinking about you and everything that’s happened to you. I just kept going over and over everything in my mind. Something felt out of place. I called a friend who did a title search. She discovered Preston Powell owned a small house on the outskirts of Savannah, and something just clicked for me.”

“Does Ruth know you’re here?”

“No, I came straight here. I wasn’t sure if someone at the precinct was in league with the killer.” He stepped off the last stair. Glancing down at Preston’s body, he gave it a wide berth. “I kept thinking about how many serial killers work in law enforcement of some type.”

Relief was slowly flooding Charli. She had been rescued, even if the hero who swooped in was unexpected. “And you thought of Preston.”

He nodded. “There was just something about the guy…” He ran his hand over his face. “I don’t know.”

“I understand. Here, get me untied before he comes to.”

Jack sat across from her on the edge of the bed. As his eyes met hers, they shined with something Charli couldn’t put her finger on. Admiration, maybe? “I would never have forgiven myself if he hurt you.”

“It’s okay. I’m not hurt. But we’ve got to find Chelsea. I don’t even know if she’s…”

Jack’s lips trembled as he closed the distance between them. He threw his arms around her, holding her close. “Oh, Charli. I’m so glad you’re safe with me. I’m…I’m falling in love with you.”

He loosened his hold and brushed the hair out of her eyes. On the inside of his wrist, she noticed a small white scar. But before she could ask him about it, he bent down and kissed her, lips warm and soft on hers.

She jerked in shock. We don’t have time for this. We have to find Chelsea. And we have to restrain Preston before he comes to.

At her movement, Jack pulled away. “I understand. There’s so much to do and so little time.”

What the hell? “What?”

“It’s a puzzle. You like puzzles, don’t you?” He stroked her nose. “Show me that cute little crinkle while you figure this one out.”

She stared at him, her brain trying to fit the pieces together.

Jack laughed. “Ah, there it is!” He bent down to kiss her nose.

Charli twisted her head to the side so fast, her neck popped. “How…how did you know I like puzzles?”

“Oh, love.” He leaned in close, his breath hot on her face. “Madeline told me.”

Charli’s heart skittered and skipped a beat. “What?” Her mouth went dry, like she’d swallowed a glass full of sand.

His hands moved to the knots, and she felt a hard tug. He turned to her with a triumphant smile. “There, that should continue to hold for a while.”

Jack stood. The gentleness of his face changed to something hard and sinister. “Poor little Charli. You honestly thought your lover was behind the whole thing, didn’t you? I’m not entirely surprised, but I am a little disappointed. After all, I had thought you of all people would realize that Agent Powell wasn’t capable of that much imagination. I, on the other hand…”

The room began to spin, and Charli willed herself not to be sick. “You!”

“Surprise!” Jack held his hands out as he did a little dance, eyes glittering as his gaze traveled over her body. “I’ve been waiting for this moment for ten long years.”

The world turned upside down, spinning out of control. She swallowed down her nausea. “You…you killed Madeline…and kidnapped Chelsea. What have you done with her? Is she alive?” She struggled to get the words out, wresting each one forth with great effort.

None of this makes sense. It can’t be him. He’s on my side.

He tapped his chest. “Yes. Me. All me. All along.” He puffed himself up, proud as a peacock. “And don’t worry about the girl. You’ll never find her.”

No. Was Chelsea…dead?

“But you help find killers…” Charli started working at the knots binding her wrists again, even as her brain tried to grasp the truth. Despair washed over her as she realized he had indeed tightened her restraints even more.

A smug smile settled onto his face. “Ingenious, no? Whoever suspects the guy who works so hard to bring justice to so many? The funny thing is that the adoring public helps me out in ways they can’t even imagine.” He smoothed his shirt down, as though preparing for an interview.

“How?” Even as she struggled for words, Charli knew she had to keep him talking if she was to have any chance of freeing herself.

A groan escaped the crumpled heap that was Preston. Jack spun around, walked back over to him, and kicked him in the head. It took everything in Charli not to scream out in protest. If she made a big deal about it, Jack might decide to continue hurting Preston or even kill him altogether.

“That ought to keep him quiet for a while.” Jack planted his hands on his hips. “I have to say, he was very distressed when he realized the trap I’d set. Of course, I can’t kill him just yet. I have to keep him alive until I’m ready to kill you and the girl. It will be perfect. I’ll call the police, distraught and horrified.”

Oh, god. How long has he been planning this?

“Tell me where Chelsea is, you bastard! What did you do to her?”

He clucked his tongue at her. “Patience, patience, my pretty little Charli. I’m still telling a story about your boyfriend.” He unbuttoned the top button of his shirt. “I’ll say I received a tip and found the place where’d he been keeping you both, but I arrived too late to save you. He tried to kill me, but I ultimately killed him in self-defense using his own gun. I’ll be declared a hero. Pretty clever, don’t you think?”

Hearing Jack talk so casually about murder sent a shockwave through Charli. She pushed down her fear, reminding herself that she’d escaped bad spots before. She needed to keep her wits about her and not let him rattle her with anything he might say.

Pull yourself together.

She took a deep breath. Keep him talking. “You were saying how your audience helps you. How?”

Jack clasped his hands together like a kid in a candy store. “Absolutely. You see, I’ve made a career out of catching all my murderous siblings, and the public has been very obliging in helping me do just that.”

“Your…siblings?” Charli licked her lips as she continued to work the knots.

He wagged a finger back and forth. “Not blood, mind you. Well, actually, you could say they’re blood siblings from a certain point of view, I guess.” He paced closer to her, and Charli froze. “You see, Dillard’s true gift was not killing, so much. It was finding young minds that could be molded into little versions of himself.”

That tracked with what information the FBI had shared about Dillard and the search for his protégés. “A killer who created other killers.”

He leaned down to whisper in her ear. “Exactly.” He took a step back and turned toward the ruined bed. “Every year or so, he’d move on to a new town and find a new young man, or occasionally a new young woman, to take under his wing and play papa to.”

“So why hunt down your siblings?” There was some give in the rope on her left hand, and she redoubled her efforts, focusing there.

Jack laughed again. “Isn’t it obvious? I wanted to be an only child. For that to happen, the others just had to go. Plus, like I said earlier, it’s good to help people get closure.” His hand lingered on the broken headboard, caressing the initials carved there. “You know, getting to participate in their grief process is quite cathartic.”

Charli’s stomach roiled. The man was a total monster. How could she have been so blind to miss that? How could she have thought there was a connection between them?

There is. It’s Madeline.

The thought brought bile up to the back of her throat, and she coughed hard.

He perched on the end of the bed. “I’ve been watching your career with great interest for years now. It’s made me feel like a proud papa, knowing you went into law enforcement because of me. It’s beyond flattering. I should be telling all the other surrogate fathers out there that my little darling grew up to be a fierce protector of the downtrodden.”

“You. Are. Not. My. Father.” She spat the words at him, repulsed that he should have the gall to think of himself in those terms.

Jack cocked his head to the side as he studied her. “Maybe not, love, but even you’ve got to admit something.” With the lightness of an Olympic fencer, he lunged forward and put his hands on the chair on either side of her thighs, swaying over her. “I’ve had a greater role in making you the…woman…you are today than your father ever did.”

The idea was sick and twisted and he clearly believed it.

Even worse, she believed it too.

Hot tears burned her eyes, and she wanted to run as far and fast as she could. She worked the knot harder. “Get away from me!”

He laughed again. “I don’t think so. Not this time. You were the one who got away, all those years ago. I’ve been waiting a long time for this, and I’m going to enjoy every moment we have together.”

Desperation was like a living thing. She’d been marching toward this moment for a decade, only to have her search for the truth end in violence and pain. Maybe she could do some good before she died. “Then why don’t you let Chelsea go? Where is she, upstairs?”

It was a gamble, but she had to know if Matthew’s daughter was still alive and where this pervert had her stashed.

“Charli, Charli.” He lifted one hand to her face and stroked her cheek. “You know what they say, waste not, want not. Don’t worry about little Chelsea. I’ve got her safely tucked away.”

Charli twisted her face away from his touch. “But I⁠—”

With a low growl, he grabbed her chin and forced her to look into his eyes. His face softened, and he smiled. “She’s not the one you should be worried about anyway.”

38

Matthew had been right about the Nissan. They hadn’t even needed to send Janice’s black-and-white to check. An officer on the scene of the accident had confirmed Charli’s missing shoe in the floor when they contacted her. However, no surveillance cameras had caught the van Matthew suspected of running her off the road and taking her.

Janice fidgeted with a marker between her fingers. “It’s the same trick from when he took Chelsea.” She moved over to a giant map of the city that someone had tacked to the wall of the conference room. Uncapping the marker, she drew a circle that encompassed both the area where they had lost Chelsea’s kidnapper’s van and where Charli’s abductor’s van had disappeared.

“Walk me through what you’re thinking.”

“We’ve got a dead zone in here. Now, I’m trying to cross-reference the nearest cameras to this area going in every direction. I’m thinking he’s heading away from town.” She drew four lines on the map in a green marker. “If he took any of these streets, he would eventually run back into cameras.”

Matthew stood and joined her in front of the map, wondering how big a quadrant they would need to search. He traced a line from the area out to the far outskirts of town. “Any cameras out this direction?”

Janice scrubbed her hand across her forehead. “None. At least, none that we know of and have access to.”

Wisps of red hair were falling loose from her bun, and her clothes were rumpled like she’d grabbed them from a heap on the floor. In all the times they’d gone out drinking, he’d never once seen her disheveled like this.

She’s worried about Chelsea and Charli.

The thought meant a lot to him.

Matthew picked up a red marker and circumscribed an area encompassing about four square miles. He leaned his aching head against the wall next to the map. “That’s a damn lot of ground to cover.” His brain reeled at the enormity of the job, but he forced himself to stay on task. The number of structures was large, but it was still finite.

“Assuming he didn’t head out of town altogether.”

Matthew shook his head. “No, he’d want to keep close enough to the action and Charli so he could make appearances whenever he wanted to. Plus, isn’t there something statistical about how far afield killers hunt?”

“You’d have to ask Charli. She goes crazy for that stuff.”

I want to ask her desperately. I wish she and Chelsea were here right now.

Grief began to well up in Matthew, and he shoved it down hard. He didn’t have time for his fear and anxiety to consume him. His daughter and his partner needed him to be at his best, and that meant doing whatever it took to keep his mind clear and focused.

Even if it was killing him.

His phone chirped, and a text message popped up from his sister Kathi, asking how they were doing. She’d gone home more than a week ago and apparently was getting worried since she hadn’t heard from him in several days.

How was he supposed to text her and tell her he’d lost his little girl? That she’d been stolen from him?

The back of his throat burned, and again, he stuffed the emotions down deep. He’d call Kathi when it was over. One way or the other.

Janice chewed her lip as she put her hand in the section he’d outlined in red. “Who or what is in this red zone out here that might be of interest?”

Matthew exhaled hard. “Nothing, unfortunately. Only leads are Preston Powell and whoever else owns a pair of those damn shoes that we haven’t been able to track down.”

Janice frowned. “Are there any of those we still haven’t identified the owners for?”

He drew in a shaky breath. “Let me go double-check the master list Charli was keeping. Last I heard, there were less than a dozen names, and I think she cleared most if not all of those.”

“Go ahead and check. When she hit Powell’s name, she might have just stopped.”

“On it.” Matthew left the conference room and rubbed the sleep out of his eyes as he headed for Charli’s desk.

Once there, it only took a few seconds to find the final list she’d been working on. As he studied it, he realized Janice had been right. It looked like she’d stopped at Powell’s name and hadn’t cleared the final three.

With a heavy grunt, he sat in her chair and grabbed his cell. He didn’t care that it was one-thirty in the morning. He was going to make some calls. The first two disgruntled customers made it abundantly clear that not only did they not appreciate being woken up but also that their shoes were unlikely to be the ones that Madeline’s kidnapper had worn.

The third call was to an Althea Carraway. Her phone number was no longer in service. He turned to the computer and searched her name in a general database. It turned out she had died nine years earlier.

“Okay, Althea, who got your shoes?”

Her online obituary revealed she was survived by a twenty-year-old son, James. His fingers flying on the keyboard, Matthew searched property records in the area. He bounced his knee up and down as the page loaded with agonizing slowness until it showed a house downtown that had belonged to Althea and had eventually been sold by her son.

James Clarion.

Matthew blinked hard as he reread the name.

Jack Clarion?

No. That couldn’t be true.

Could it?

A sense of dread filled Matthew as he grabbed his phone and called Jack’s cell number. It rang four times before a sleepy sounding guy with a voice much deeper than Jack’s answered.

“Hello?”

“Hello, this is Detective Matthew Church of the Savannah Police Department. I need to speak with Jack Clarion.”

“Jack? Jack should be in Oregon with his sister. This is Brandon, his camera operator.”

Something is seriously wrong here.

“Why are you answering Jack’s phone?”

“I just heard it ringing in my suitcase. I grabbed it. I have no idea how I ended up with his phone.” Brandon was clearly starting to wake up, the grogginess fading from his voice.

Matthew’s heart raced. “Any chance he has your phone?”

“No, man. Mine’s in my pocket. Like I said, I have no idea how I got Jack’s phone.”

“Where are you now?”

“On a layover in Boston. Is everything okay?”

Matthew forced himself to give a calm reply. “If Jack reaches out to you, tell him to call me immediately, that it’s a matter of life and death.”

“Dude, I will.” Brandon’s voice was alert now. “I’m sorry. I don’t have another number, or I’d give that to you.”

“It’s fine. Just if he calls, let him know.”

“I will.”

Matthew hung up and sprinted back to the conference room. Janice was still sitting in her chair, but her head was lolled to the side, and she was snoring.

He grabbed her shoulder and shook her. “Janice, wake up!”

Her head jerked upright. “I’m awake. What is it?”

“Jack Clarion. He has the shoes. He grew up around here with his mom, Althea Carraway. He goes by Jack, but his first name is James.”

“Holy shit!” Janice jerked toward the computer. “I’m on it. I’ll see if there are any properties under either of their names in the area. Go tell Ruth.”

Matthew headed for his boss’s office, barging in without knocking.

She looked up at him, startled. “Detective?”

“James Clarion goes by Jack. Grew up around here with his mother and has a pair of the shoes.”

Ruth’s jaw dropped. “Wait a minute. First Charli is accusing Preston, and now you’re accusing Jack?”

He nodded. “Althea Carraway, Jack’s mom, died nine years ago. She was one of the original shoe owners, but she bought a man’s size shoe. Janice is looking for properties that are in either of their names right now.”

She dropped her forehead in her palm, squeezing her eyes shut. “What the hell is happening?”

“It’s Clarion. I’m certain of it. I feel it in my gut. The man’s made a living tracking down other serial killers.” He gripped the back of the chair in front of her desk. “Who better?”

Before Ruth could respond, Janice appeared in the doorway. She thrust a piece of paper at Matthew. “I found a cabin on the outskirts of town, in the map’s red zone. It belonged to a James Carraway until a few weeks ago, when it was apparently deeded over to Preston Powell.”

“What the hell? Are you telling me now that the two of them are in this together?” Ruth jumped to her feet, sputtering.

Matthew grabbed the piece of paper from Janice and ran. Ruth shouted for him to wait up, but he didn’t care.

He knew where his little girl and his partner were being held, and he had to get there before it was too late.

39

Though Charli knew some of Savannah’s finest law enforcement officers were searching for her, the clock was ticking. She needed to buy time.

I just have to think this through. There is a way out of this, a way to beat him at his own game. He’s so proud of himself and all his deception. I need to keep him talking about that, about Madeline, about anything, no matter how awful. I’ve got to buy time to give Chelsea and Preston a chance of making it out of here alive.

If they weren’t dead already.

She glanced at Preston’s crumpled heap of a body at the foot of the stairs some twenty feet away and drew a long, shuddering breath. “I’ll make a deal with you.”

“I don’t think you’re in any position to be making deals.” The monster reached down and tweaked her nose. “But I’ll humor you. What do you want?”

Here goes nothing.

“Untie me, and I’ll cooperate with you. These ropes are digging into my skin.”

He tapped his chin like he was legitimately considering her request. “Define ‘cooperate.’”

“I’ll do anything you ask. Anything.”

Like hell I will.

“Okay.” He searched her face. “You’ve certainly trusted me these last several days.” He winked. “I guess the least I can do is return the favor.” Standing just inches in front of her, he lifted the corner of his jacket, revealing a holstered Glock 17. “But don’t get any heroic ideas, love. You try anything funny, and I’ll put a bullet in your boyfriend’s skull. Are we clear?”

White-hot fury rolled through Charli. “Crystal.” Well, the gun complicated things. Still, being untied was one step closer to getting out of this hellhole.

“Good girl.” He patted the gun and knelt in front of her, his gaze on her face as he untied her ankles. “I knew I had to have you, ever since Madeline woke up here in that bed and started telling me all about you.” He moved behind her, undoing the ropes around her wrists.

A part of Charli died inside. “She talked about me?”

Finished with her bonds, Jack sat on the bed across from her, knees only inches away from hers. “Oh, she hardly talked about anything but you. She told me how you would find her and kill me. She was convinced you were going to find her and rescue her.”

Oh, Madeline, I’m so, so very sorry for the hell you endured.

“Tell me about…your time with Madeline.”

The bastard’s eyes lit up. “Ah, yes, I’m sure you want to hear all about what happened to your BFF.”

Out of the corner of her eye, she caught movement. It was so slight that she thought she’d imagined it until she caught the motion again.

Preston. He was alive.

Jack’s back was partially toward him, and Charli didn’t dare turn her head even the smallest bit and risk tipping the psycho off.

Charli nodded. “I want to hear everything.”

“Everything?” Clarion’s brow furrowed. “That will take quite a while. Then again, we’ve waited this long. There’s no harm in prolonging the start of our…pleasure a little longer.” His face twisted into a devilish smile.

Fury burned inside Charli’s every cell. She tamped it back. She needed to be smart. To think. “Yes. Everything.”

He licked his lips. “She was every bit the damsel in distress. I see you more as the self-rescuing type.”

“In some ways.” Charli fought back the urge to vomit. She’d say anything to keep him talking and give her time to formulate a plan.

She’d imagined this moment many times, although in all her daydreams, she’d been seated across an interrogation table from the son of a bitch who’d tortured and killed her best friend. Never had she envisioned facing him here, on the verge of this dark conclusion.

Some monsters manage to masquerade as regular people. Clarion’s been doing it his entire life.

And she wasn’t in the safety of an interrogation room, surrounded by friends and colleagues, the one in control of the situation. No, she was alone in a hostile environment, and the monster was the one in control.

Not for long.

She clung to that hope.

“You know, it’s a pity you never came close to finding her. All that searching in vain. You never even found me.” Jack looked so smug, she barely managed to stop herself from spitting in his face.

That wouldn’t help drag things out, though. It would just anger or excite him, and she needed to keep him calm and moving slow.

Preston stirred again, and it took everything in Charli not to look at him. She needed Jack’s focus on her and her alone.

Charli licked her lips. “What else did Madeline say about me?”

The myriad emotions she felt knowing that Madeline and Clarion had talked about her were too immense to catalogue.

No amount of therapy can ever make this okay.

Clarion reached down and tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. The intimacy of the act turned her stomach, and the urge to punch that smug expression off his face nearly overwhelmed her.

Stay calm. It’s your only chance of survival.

He smiled down at her more like a lover than a serial killer. “She talked about how pretty you were and how you didn’t know that you were stunning. She was right, you know. The pixie cut is cute, but it’s meant to disarm people, keep them at arm’s length. It makes you look like a child, which is what I suspect you want. That way, people underestimate you and men overlook you.”

He was uncomfortably close to the truth on that one, and Charli had to work to keep herself from squirming as he laid her soul bare. It was so wrong that the person who understood her the most was the one who had hurt her the most.

Maybe he’s right. He did more to shape me into the woman I am than anyone else.

The thought made her squirm. “You’re very observant.”

“All part of my job.” He chuckled. “I see you, though. Really see you. You’re breathtaking. If you ever let yourself have a grown-up haircut and made yourself a little more approachable, every man in this state would be falling all over you.”

In her peripheral vision, Preston eased himself into a sitting position. After his tumble down the stairs, Charli was shocked to see him breathing, let along moving.

Please don’t make a sound.

She forced out a few loud coughs, holding her chest for effect. “What else did Madeline tell you about me?”

“In the end?” A predatory gleam shined in Jack’s eyes. “She told me everything. Your nicknames for each other, your secret code, how much you loved her stuffed elephant, Mr. Toot Toot. You see, we had a long time together, and she told me everything I wanted to know about you.”

Hearing him name Madeline’s beloved toy made Charli sick.

He likes to talk about himself and his accomplishments. Play to that.

“What about the psychic who knew about Madeline?”

Jack’s chest puffed out in pride. “Me. I paid her to get inside your head and rattle it. After all, I wanted you off your game to make it a little easier for me.”

Inch by inch, Preston crept toward them. Charli didn’t dare move, not even her eyes, but she needed to warn him about Jack’s gun.

“Afraid you couldn’t have caught me if you didn’t?” Charli lifted her chin in defiance, baiting him on purpose. “Are you scared you’re not as smart as me? That’s right, isn’t it? That’s why you’re carrying a gun.”

Slowly, Preston. Don’t make a sound.

Jack’s nostrils flared. “Of course not! After all, despite your considerable prowess, you have a lot to learn still. I can’t believe you didn’t even run a background check on me before letting me into your home. If you had, you’d know I don’t have a sister, so I couldn’t be flying to visit one for Thanksgiving. You’re shockingly naive sometimes.”

Charli silently berated herself. She had been far too blind, too trusting. “You’re right. I let my guard down, and I shouldn’t have.”

“Ah, so cute.” He reached out, caressing her cheek. “And yet still naive.”

Gag me.

“I prefer optimistic.”

Jack tilted his head. His eyes took on a faraway look. “You have no idea how much I’ve regretted not being able to get both you and Madeline all those years ago.”

“Did you have a choice in the matter?” Charli studied his face, searching for the truth.

He pinched his mouth. “Not exactly. Dillard Payne, my mentor, was waiting here for me. We’d tracked Madeline for some time. She was the one he chose.” Jack sighed. “I’m not sure Dillard would have cared, though, if I’d grabbed you instead. To him, one girl was the same as another. The only thing that was ever different for him was whoever he was mentoring at the time. Truly, I think that was the thrill for him.”

“You mean he liked to watch? Coach from the sidelines?”

“Mostly, but he wasn’t afraid to go in for a few plays. He insisted on it, in fact.” Jack hmphed. “I didn’t like sharing Madeline any more than I liked being just one of his numerous protégés.”

Madeline, how I wish I could have saved you from these evil, disgusting men.

“That must have been frustrating.”

He didn’t like sharing the attention or the spotlight. She might be able to use that to her advantage.

“You have no idea.” He ran a hand through his hair.

I definitely hit a nerve.

“I suppose it was you who bribed the mechanic to blow up Matthew’s truck?”

Preston was close now, and Charli fought down the panic that rose in her chest. He had no weapon, he was injured, and they were running out of time. She didn’t know what he had up his sleeve, but at least he had the element of surprise. For now.

Somebody, please come already. Anybody.

“Yeah. Guy got lucky.” He shrugged. “In the end, though, I still got what I wanted out of it. I even managed to use other people’s money to get it done.”

The second bank withdrawal. It had been Jack all along. “And of course you killed the mechanic and Ezra Fenton.”

“But of course. And soon, Preston will be joining them. I still can’t believe how you followed the breadcrumbs I set out for you. It worked even better than I planned.” The bastard was just gloating now.

Stay calm. You’ve got this.

“You got me on that one. I never even saw it coming.”

Jack grinned, showing his pearly white teeth. “Lucky for me, I guess.”

Preston was dangerously close to Jack, and Charli was afraid to wait any longer.

She was certain she deserved an Emmy for her ability to disguise the hatred that simmered just below the surface, and even more for what she was about to do. “Jack, could I ask you something? It’s kind of…an odd request.”

He slid his hand down her arm to rest on her wrist. “What is it?”

Once she made her move, Preston had to be lightning fast, or this monster would kill them both. She took a deep breath. “I want you to…kiss me…again.”

Lust flickered in his gaze, and he stood. “I thought you’d never ask.”

Revulsion zinged through her. She crooked a finger at him. “Is it okay if I stand?”

He nodded, closing the gap between them and crushing his lips against hers as he closed his eyes and groaned.

Charli pressed her palms against his chest, making a choking sound in her throat. She pulled back an inch. “Feeling…lightheaded. S-sorry.” Charli sprang into action, thrusting her knee into the monster’s groin. “Now!”

Preston’s arms snaked around Jack’s neck, jerking him backward.

Not waiting a second, Charli lunged for the gun at Jack’s side. She slid it from the holster in one swift motion. “Don’t move!”

Shock registered on Jack’s face, and he gasped and sputtered for air.

Charli kept the weapon trained on the monster who’d killed her best friend. “Put your hands up slowly. Do exactly as I say.” She narrowed her eyes at the person she hated most of all. “Are we clear?”

Eyes bulging, Jack made a choking noise, and Charli motioned for Preston to release him.

The door at the top of the stairs flew open, and Matthew appeared in a firing stance, gun sweeping the room.

Not taking her gaze or gun off Jack, Charli called out to her partner. “I need your cuffs.”

Matthew took the stairs two at a time. Weapon still in his right hand, he tried to reach for his handcuffs with his left arm, but the sling limited his movement.

Preston reached for the cuffs. “I’ve got them.”

Charli glared at Jack. “Put your hands behind your back.” As Preston snapped the cuffs around his wrists, Charli Mirandized him.

Hatred burned in Matthew’s gaze as he looked Jack in the eyes. “Where’s my daughter?”

Mouth curved in a small smile, Jack shrugged, refusing to speak.

“You son of a⁠—”

“Hey! Up here!” Janice called out from the top of the stairs. “We’ve got Chelsea. She’s okay!”

Matthew’s face crumpled in relief. He fell back a step with a sob, letting his weapon clatter to the floor and clutching his side with his good hand.

As sirens pealed in the distance, Charli took a shaky breath. Her arms ached from holding the gun on Jack, but she wasn’t lowering it, not for an instance, not before he was in the back of a squad car.

Ten years, Madeline. It took me ten years, but I got him.

40

Charli looked around and marveled at what a difference two days could make. Her surroundings seemed surreal. Was she still in the nightmare of the last several days, still trapped in Clarion’s cabin? Was the turkey dinner she was sharing with friends at her sergeant’s home just a dream?

Because they’d arrested Jack Clarion on Thanksgiving Day, they’d postponed their celebration until Saturday. But it didn’t matter what day it was. Charli had never felt more thankful in her life.

Matthew reached for his third helping of turkey, smiling at Ruth’s husband. “Sir, you’ve ruined me for anyone else’s turkey. You have to tell me what your secret is.”

Vance Morris took a sip of his iced tea and set the glass on the table. “No can do. It’s a family secret. But you’re welcome at our table anytime.” Apparently, he’d spent the day cooking, along with their two grown sons and their girlfriends, who were visiting for the holiday.

They had processed Jack Clarion, and since he was suspected of killing in multiple states including Georgia, Pennsylvania, and California, the FBI had already taken custody of him. Charli had been a little surprised at how okay she was with that.

On reflection, she figured she’d had enough up-close and personal time with the killer she’d been hunting for a decade to last her the rest of her life. After the last few days, she dreaded seeing him again at his trial, even though she would be there as a witness.

It just doesn’t feel real. Finding Madeline’s killer has consumed so much of my life, my identity. What now? Who am I if I’m not the woman searching for her best friend’s murderer?

She wasn’t the only one whose life was changing. As much as he’d tried to put his personal issues aside at work, Matthew had struggled with his own demons since his divorce. But now with Chelsea and Rebecca seated on either side of him, her partner was the poster child for serenity.

And no one deserved happiness more than these two. Matthew and Rebecca hadn’t been dating—hadn’t even been acquainted—for very long, but they just seemed right for each other. Now that his relationship with his daughter was on the mend, and he was going to pursue joint custody, Charli wouldn’t be surprised if Matthew popped the question in the next year or so.

And thankfully, Chelsea hadn’t sustained any severe physical injuries, only some scrapes and bruises. Her emotional trauma, though, was a different story. Healing from her experience would take time, but Charli knew she was in good hands with Rebecca. Counseling was, after all, what she did for a living.

Seated across from the trio, Charli was next to Preston. She sneaked a surreptitious glance at him. Because of his encounter with Jack Clarion, he’d suffered multiple shallow stab wounds, a cracked rib, several bruises, and a concussion, but he’d survived. And that was what mattered.

That and the fact that he wasn’t Madeline’s killer.

Absolving her guilty conscience about ever suspecting him in the first place was going to take a while. But if the roles had been reversed, she couldn’t help but think Preston would have doubted her too.

But he’s forgiven me, Chelsea’s safe, Madeline finally has justice, and I’m surrounded by friends. There was a time not so long ago when I felt all alone. I have a lot to be thankful for.

Although Preston was already healing nicely after his brief stay in the hospital, Charli had asked if he wanted to stay home today. She would have gladly spent a quiet day with him.

But he insisted on being here, not wanted to be stuck in his tiny apartment he’d rented for his stints in Savannah while everyone else was celebrating and stuffing themselves with turkey. He kept giving her small, pained smiles. There was a lot they needed to discuss, but it could wait until the turkey and stuffing had all been eaten.

Charli’s thoughts wandered to Janice. By all rights, the other woman should’ve been there sharing the feast and the victory, but she’d felt bound to spend Thanksgiving weekend with her family. She had promised, though, to give them all the scoop on how Dr. Soames survived his first get-together with his girlfriend’s—and Janice’s—family.

Oh, to be a fly on the wall at that dinner!

Matthew’s phone rang, and he winced. “Sorry, I should have put it on silent.” He retrieved the device from his pocket and frowned at the screen for a moment. “Oh.” He glanced at Chelsea. “It looks like your mom is finally returning my call from several days ago.”

Chelsea rolled her eyes. “Way to go, Mom. So on top of it.”

Matthew answered and put it on speaker.

Judy’s voice came over, loud and grating. “All right, I’m here. Now what’s so important that you had to interrupt my cruise?”

Chelsea grinned at her dad and mouthed, I’ll talk to her. “Hi, Mom. We…um…didn’t know how long it would take to reach you, and we just wanted to wish you a happy Thanksgiving.”

“Yeah, happy Thanksgiving.” Matthew echoed his daughter but with much less enthusiasm in his voice.

“Oh, you had me worried. If that’s all, happy belated Thanksgiving to you both. Love you, Chelsea.”

“Love you too, Mom.”

“That’s it. We’ll talk to you when you get back.” Matthew ended the call and made a face. “Not looking forward to that conversation.” Laughter erupted around the table.

Ruth shook her head, making small, disapproving sounds. “That woman takes clueless to a whole new level.”

“Tell me about it.” Matthew rolled his eyes. “For once, though, I’m grateful. If Judy had known Chelsea was abducted, she’d have been frantic. And stuck out in the middle of the ocean.”

After dinner, Charli found herself on a sofa in the living room with Preston. He tried to put his arm around her shoulders but failed when he gasped in pain. Charli empathized with him, though fortunately, her assorted cuts, bruises, and rope burns were minor compared to his injuries.

She put her hand on his knee. “Stop trying to be a hero. You’ve already done enough of that.”

“Nah.” He grinned. “We were a team. And a damn good one, I have to say.”

With a chuckle, Charli leaned back and got comfortable. “I have some questions.” Between paperwork, processing Jack Clarion, a night at the hospital with Preston, and the holiday festivities, the last few days had been a whirlwind.

He nodded. “So I gathered. First off, my older cousin Peter has a pair of those shoes. I didn’t even think much about it because he’s paralyzed from the waist down. No way he was walking around abducting girls.”

Charli felt like an idiot for even entertaining the thought of Preston as an abductor and killer. “Makes sense. But why were you even there at the house?”

Preston’s face flushed. “I guess I played right into Clarion’s hand with that. He contacted me to tell me he had come into the possession of some…ah…sensitive footage showing you and me…you know, in your bedroom.” Preston shook his head. “He acted such the charmer, like he was doing the honorable thing by giving it to me. Anyway, he flaked on our first meeting⁠—”

“So that was why you missed dinner.”

“Yes. And, of course, when we did finally meet up, the bastard knocked me out and abducted me.” He pressed his lips together. “I never saw it coming.”

The blush on Preston’s cheeks must have been contagious, because Charli felt her own skin heating up. She patted his knee. “I appreciate the gallantry.”

He sighed. “Obviously, he was just lying about the tape. I gather he was planning on setting me up as the fall guy, and I fell for it. I feel so stupid.”

“You weren’t the only one.” She squeezed his hand.

Charli glanced around the room. Ruth and Vance were adorable together. They had their heads together in the kitchen, and it looked like they were conspiring to serve up dessert. He said something that made Ruth laugh harder than Charli had thought possible of her.

Of course, they weren’t the only ones in the cuteness overload competition. Seeing how Matthew, Rebecca, and Chelsea were clinging to each other tugged at her heart. They were like family to her, and she was so happy they had all come together.

Clarion had told her some things she hadn’t been able to get out of her head.

But the past was over, and the future was unknown. That was how it should be, and there was nothing she had to do. The feeling of freedom and release was overpowering.

Charli leaned against Preston, careful to not jostle any of his injuries. “I’m sorry.”

“For suspecting me of being a serial killer?”

“No.” She tilted her chin up and studied him.

“Then what?” He held her gaze, his eyes filled with warmth.

“For keeping my walls up and being so closed off…and for not giving you…us…a real chance.”

His eyebrows shot up. “Does that mean you might be ready to try?”

She gave him a shy smile. “I think I’m ready to start pursuing my own happiness, and I’d like to start with you.”

Preston leaned down and brushed his lips against hers. “Deal.”

As Charli snuggled in closer to him and let the drowsiness from the turkey take over, the guilt that had weighed her down for a decade lifted. In its place was a sense of peace, enveloping her like a warm, cozy blanket.

And though she couldn’t explain how, she knew Madeline was at peace too.

The End

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How did it all start for Charli Cross?

I hope you enjoyed Dark Conclusion. I have a very special and exclusive FREE Book offer for you! Before Charli Cross became a police detective, she was a precocious teenager trying to find her place in this world...until she wandered into a sinister web of lies. Curious to see what happens? Then please accept my offer of a very special and exclusive bonus story that follows Charli as she embarks on a dark journey to discover the truth. Interested?

Click HERE to get your free copy Now

**Available Nowhere Else!**

If you loved Charli Cross, I have another series I’d love to introduce to you, Ellie Kline Series. You know Ellie Kline from the Charli Cross Series and now you can learn more about her as she works her thrilling cold cases.

Cold Truth (Ellie Kline Series: Book 1)

Ellie Kline can’t remember most of her kidnapping when she was fifteen, but that night has shaped her life. Instead of cowering, that horrible night made her strong. Determined to prove herself as a cop despite being heir to the Kline fortune, she never backs down, and she never takes no for an answer. When the daring takedown of a suspect catapults her into the spotlight, it earns her a promotion... and the admiration of a killer. Now a detective assigned to the Cold Case Unit, Ellie is drawn into the mysterious murder of a young, unidentified college-age woman with no missing persons’ report, no leads, and no evidence.

Click HERE to download Cold Truth now!

SERIES READING ORDER

Dark Journey (Charli Cross Series: Bonus Story)

Dark Purpose (Charli Cross Series: Book One)

Dark Greed (Charli Cross Series: Book Two)

Dark Power (Charli Cross Series: Book Three)

Dark Malice (Charli Cross Series: Book Four)

Dark Silence (Charli Cross Series: Book Five)

Dark Obsession (Charli Cross Series: Book Six)

Dark Bet (Charli Cross Series: Book Seven)

Dark Mask (Charli Cross Series: Book Eight)

Dark Suspicion (Charli Cross Series: Book Nine)

Dark Conclusion (Charli Cross Series: Book Ten)

HAVE YOU READ MY OTHER SERIES?

Latest Series:

Sky Stryker Series

Journey Russo Series

More Series:

Emma Last Series

A Villain's Story Series

Winter Black Series

Amelia Storm Series

Ellie Kline Series

Shadow Island Series

Stella Knox Series

Kylie Hatfield Series

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

How does one adequately express gratitude to all those who have transformed a shared dream into a stunning reality? Let us attempt to do just that.

First and foremost, our families deserve our deepest thanks. Their unwavering support and encouragement have been our bedrock, allowing us the time and energy to translate our collective imagination into the words that fill these pages. Their belief in our vision has been a constant source of strength and inspiration.

As coauthors, our journey has been uniquely collaborative and rewarding. Now, with Mary also embracing the additional role of publisher, our adventure has taken on an exciting new dimension. This transition from solely writing to also publishing has been both a challenge and a joy, opening doors to share our work more directly with you, our readers.

We are immensely grateful to the entire team at Mary Stone Publishing — a group who believed in our potential from the very beginning. Their commitment extends beyond editing our words; it encompasses the tireless efforts of designers, marketers, and support staff, all dedicated to bringing our stories to life. Their expertise, creativity, and passion have been vital in capturing the essence of our tales and sharing them with the world.

However, our greatest appreciation is reserved for you, our beloved readers. You took a chance on our book, generously sharing your most precious asset—your time. It is our fervent hope that the pages of this book have rewarded that generosity, offering you a journey worth taking and memories that linger.

With all our love and heartfelt appreciation,

Mary & Donna

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Nestled in the serene Blue Ridge Mountains of East Tennessee, Mary Stone crafts her stories surrounded by the natural beauty that inspires her. What was once a home filled with the lively energy of her sons has now become a peaceful writer's retreat, shared with cherished pets and the vivid characters of her imagination.

As her sons grew and welcomed wonderful daughters-in-law into the family, Mary's life entered a quieter phase, rich with opportunities for deep creative focus. In this tranquil environment, she weaves tales of courage, resilience, and intrigue, each story a testament to her evolving journey as a writer.

From childhood fears of shadowy figures under the bed to a profound understanding of humanity's real-life villains, Mary's style has been shaped by the realization that the most complex antagonists often hide in plain sight. Her writing is characterized by strong, multifaceted heroines who defy traditional roles, standing as equals among their peers in a world of suspense and danger.

Mary's career has blossomed from being a solitary author to establishing her own publishing house—a significant milestone that marks her growth in the literary world. This expansion is not just a personal achievement but a reflection of her commitment to bring thrilling and thought-provoking stories to a wider audience. As an author and publisher, Mary continues to challenge the conventions of the thriller genre, inviting readers into gripping tales filled with serial killers, astute FBI agents, and intrepid heroines who confront peril with unflinching bravery.

Each new story from Mary's pen—or her publishing house—is a pledge to captivate, thrill, and inspire, continuing the legacy of the imaginative little girl who once found wonder and mystery in the shadows.

Discover more about Mary Stone on her website.

www.authormarystone.com

Donna Berdel

Raised as an Army brat, Donna has lived all over the world, but no place has given her as much peace as the home she lives in with her husband near Myrtle Beach. But while she now keeps her feet planted firmly in the sand, her mind goes back to those cities and the people she met and said goodbye to so many times.

With her two adopted cats fighting for lap space, she brings those she loved (and those she didn't) back as characters in her books. And yes, it's kind of fun to kill off anyone who was mean to her in the past. Mean clerk at the grocery store...beware!

Connect with Mary Online