by Rita Herron
Self-recriminations shouted through his head. He didn’t like the worry nagging at him. Or that he’d hugged her the night before. And that it had felt good.
Emotions could cloud his judgement. And he’d worked too damn long to find his sister’s abductor to allow anything—especially a woman—to interfere.
Still, he should have provided her with backup. Using his flashlight to illuminate the soggy ground, he followed Ellie’s footprints. He wished to hell he knew his way through the woods, but the AT map, with its large scale and details, was worthless.
Broken brush and crushed leaves served as a lead, then he followed more of her muddy boot prints up a steep hill toward another ridge.
Using his binoculars, he searched the forest. Trees swayed. The frosty air bit at his face.
He shouted Ellie’s name, but the wind hurled the sound into the depths of the sea of pines and hemlocks. Where the hell was she?
Pausing, he tried the radio again. Static crackled and popped.
No Ellie.
Pulse hammering, he climbed to the top of the next hill, then scanned the woods in all directions.
Shit. There she was. Lying face down at the foot of a slope. A noise jerked his attention to the ledge above, and he raised his weapon. McClain stood in the shadows, staring down at her.
Blood stained the rocks, and Ellie wasn’t moving.
57.
Sharp, icy pins stabbed Ellie in the face. Someone was calling her name. But pain splintered her head and she didn’t want to open her eyes.
“Ellie, talk to me. Are you all right?”
A gentle hand touched her shoulder, but she winced as the throbbing intensified.
“El, wake up,” the voice said gruffly.
The hand again. This time brushing over the back of her head. Then slowly rolling her over. A dizziness engulfed her, making bile rise to her throat. She tasted blood. Tried to open her eyes. A sliver of light seeped through the darkness. Too bright, like a flashlight. She blinked against it.
Squeezing her eyes closed again, she swallowed hard to tamp down the nausea.
“El?”
Cord, his gruff voice, soothing, worried. He was here, stooped beside her. His hands roaming over her arms and legs, checking her for injuries.
She pushed him away as jumbled memories of the night before returned. Cord was angry at her. She’d been mad at him.
The dolls… the killer had been at her house.
Her head was throbbing like a mother.
“Look at me,” Cord demanded.
Worry mingled with the anger in his voice. Forcing her eyes open, she slowly adjusted to the light. The jagged branches above her looked like ghostly fingers against the gray sky. The wind whistling off the mountain sounded like a banshee.
She shivered and struggled to focus.
Cord’s face. Wide Jaw. Scar on his forehead. Smoky eyes darkened and narrowed in concentration.
Footsteps crunched the twigs and brush somewhere nearby. Someone else was coming.
“Ellie?”
The husky, deep voice registered. Special Agent Derrick Fox.
Reality crashed back. The grave they’d found. The shadow on the hill. Running.
She’d almost reached him. Then… he’d snuck up behind her. Caught her off guard.
Dammit. She’d been ambushed like an amateur.
Irritated with herself, especially in front of these two strong men, she pushed to a sitting position. The world spun like she was on a tilt-a-whirl. The trees were falling sideways. The ground opened up to swallow her. Knocked out twice in three days—she’d need a check-up for sure. But not yet.
She dug her fist into the ground and gritted her teeth to steady herself.
“I’ll call an ambulance.” Derrick speaking.
“No, I’m fine.” Ellie would not be carried off the mountain like a damsel in distress. She was tough. She knew the trails and how to survive. She’d taken plenty of falls before. And she’d take more, but she wouldn’t let it deter her.
“Let me look at your head.” Cord this time, his voice commanding.
She muttered a few choice words but allowed him to part her hair and examine it.
Derrick knelt in front of her. “What happened?”
“I was chasing him and lost him for a moment. Then I saw something.” She winced as Cord removed a blood stopper and cleaned the gash with antiseptic. “When I turned, he must have snuck up behind me.”
“It’s messy,” Cord said. “But not too deep. Although you might need a stitch or two.”
“Just clean it and put a butterfly bandage on it,” Ellie said beneath her breath. “I don’t have time to go to the ER.”
“Don’t be stubborn, Detective,” Derrick replied. “You won’t be any help if you have a concussion or you’re bleeding all over the damn place.”
Ellie shot him a seething look. “I told you I’m fine.” She snagged Cord’s arm. “Just clean it. I have to get back to the gravesite.”
Cord went still. “You found another one?”
“In the wildflowers above Hemlock Holler,” Ellie said. “I need to look at that marker.”
“I can handle it,” Derrick insisted. “Go to the hospital.”
She shook her head. No way was he going to cut her out of the case. This was hers, and she’d promised herself and the Matthews she’d find Penny.
Cord gripped her arms and forced her to look at him. “You know the drill, El. If you feel dizzy or nauseated or have double vision, get checked out. No questions asked. You should have a CAT scan anyway.”
“What I need is to get back to work, not take orders from the two of you.” Determined to prove she was capable, she brushed her hands on her pants, wiping away mud and dirt, as she pushed to her feet. But the world tilted again, the ground moving back and forth as rocky as the river current after a thunderstorm.
“Easy now.” Derrick steadied her. “Did you get a look at the man’s face?”
“No, he stayed in the shadows.”
Derrick slanted Cord a suspicious stare. “How did you know Ellie was here?”
Cord straightened. “I heard the call about Hemlock Holler.” He gestured toward the ridge where Ellie had fallen. “I was on my way there when I saw Ellie.” Cord crossed his arms. “What were you doing when Ellie was attacked?”
Derrick’s dark brown eyes flared. “Preserving the gravesite until the ERT and ME arrived.” His voice turned to ice. “Interesting that you found the first grave, and you’re out here alone when Ellie was assaulted. Then again, you’re always alone, aren’t you?”
Cord started to speak, but Ellie threw up a warning hand to both of them. “Enough with the pissing contest. Let’s get back to that gravesite. I want to see if there’s an indicator of another grave we should be looking for before this blizzard hits full force.”
Yanking her hood up to ward off the icy rainfall, she left them both and headed back down the trail.
58.
As Ellie approached the latest gravesite, the ERT was combing the area for forensics. Another little wooden doll poked through the dirt, mired in the snowy ground with the bones.
Coming to a halt, the world blurred again. Something about those little dolls seemed familiar. But she couldn’t put her finger on where she’d seen one. Maybe at a local craft fair?
Perhaps she should check artisans in the area?
Derrick and Cord strode up behind her, both dour-faced and silent.
“A female again?” Derrick asked, his voice raw.
“Yes,” Laney murmured. “This one looks as if she suffered from a broken femur at one time.”
Derrick’s face paled slightly. “You’re sure?”
She gestured toward the markings on the bone. “Looks like the break was treated, but the bone is still crooked.”
Derrick walked over to the edge of the holler and looked down at the brown layers of dead brush and hemlocks. He stood so still that he looked as if he was barely breathi
ng.
Cord knelt and examined the grave marker. “The angel again. Could indicate whoever buried the girls is religious.”
The angel had been etched on the stone with its finger pointing upward. Above it a carving of a rock with lines trailing down it, like tears.
No, not tears. Blood. Holy hell. It was another landmark.
She angled the picture toward Cord. “Do you see what I see?”
Cord tilted his head and examined it. “Bloody Rock?”
“Right.” She stood, hands on her hips. “I’m going to check it out.”
Derrick was still staring out into the woods, his expression so full of anguish it took her breath away.
“Derrick?”
“My sister broke her arm riding a bike when she was five.”
A heartbeat passed. “It might not be her,” Ellie said in a lame attempt to comfort him.
Bleak acceptance flattened his eyes. “But it might.”
She wouldn’t offer him false hope by arguing. He’d probably been down that road a hundred times.
Instead, she focused on what she could do. “He left another message. There’s another grave.”
He pivoted towards her. “Where?”
“The etching resembles a place called Bloody Rock. It’s about ten miles from here.”
“Why doesn’t he bury the girls together?” Derrick asked, his voice gravelly. “It’s like this is some twisted game. Killing them isn’t enough. Now he wants to lead us on a cat and mouse chase to find their bodies.”
Ellie shrugged. “Or he needs to keep moving so he doesn’t get caught.”
59.
Although Ellie was anxious to head to Bloody Rock, Derrick refused to leave until the bones had been fully recovered. He was adamant they wouldn’t separate again. He stood close by, watching, tormented by the possibility that the remains belonged to his sister.
She couldn’t imagine the depth of his grief.
Cord checked in with the SAR teams combing the woods for Penny but they had no news, then he had to leave to help rescue a stranded group of hikers. Meanwhile, the ERT processed the scene, taking photographs, searching for forensics in the surrounding area. They carefully collected the cross marker and stone to send to the lab.
“Derrick thinks those remains may belong to his sister,” Ellie told Laney. “Can you rush the autopsy?”
“I’ll see what I can do,” Laney agreed.
Another half hour, and Laney and her team were ready to transport the bones.
It was afternoon now, and the temperature had already dropped well below freezing, the wind chill in the teens. Sleet was turning to snowfall, clinging to the treetops and the frozen ground. “I’m heading to Bloody Rock before the snowstorm worsens,” Ellie told Derrick. “If you want to go to the morgue, go.”
He shook his head. “There’s nothing I can do there. I’m with you.”
He gestured for her to lead the way, and she zipped her coat, pulled up her hood and checked her map. The ten-mile hike was a tough uphill climb.
Leading the way, she was more determined than ever to find this monster.
The terrain was rough, overgrown, and they prodded through masses of vines and heavy brush. Derrick kept pace with her as briars and sticks scratched at their legs, and more than once Ellie nearly slipped on the rocks. Snow thickened into thumb-sized flakes, blurring into a white haze.
If Penny was still alive, hypothermia might kill her. Soon, she might need her own grave. The thought made Ellie push on, despite the frigid conditions.
Remembering Derrick’s earlier fall when they reached a narrow ridge, she pressed her back against the slab of rock and slowly inched one foot at a time. The drop off was at least seventy-five feet, certain death if she slipped over. Below, creek water rippled, and jagged stones jutted out from the unforgiving mountain wall.
She held her breath until her foot landed on solid ground on the other side, then watched as Derrick maneuvered towards her. His boots occasionally hit loose ground and rock that crumbled, raining over the edge. But he was concentrating and crossed in half the time she did.
As soon as he joined her, they paused to take a breath. “Why is it called Bloody Rock?” Derrick asked.
Ellie wiped snow from her eyelashes with a gloved hand. “A violent battle occurred with Native Americans who lived in these mountains. So much blood was shed that people claim it still shimmers off the rocks at dusk.”
Derrick turned pensive. “These areas must have significance to the killer or the gravedigger. But what do they mean to him?”
“We’ll ask him that when we find him.” Ellie trudged on.
Afternoon shadows fell across the already grisly wilderness as they hiked in silence, and they slowly maneuvered across a makeshift bridge created by logs another hiker had lain across a creek. Icy water gurgled and sloshed over the rocks below.
Three more miles, and they reached a clearing where a giant boulder stood, a familiar landmark that she recognized from trips with her father. They’d collected arrowheads here.
Rubbing her gloved hands together, she visually scoured the area. Her stomach clenched. Another grave was nestled between the trees, protected by the rocks.
Derrick cursed. “Grave number three.”
Bending down, Ellie spotted the Roman numeral. Another angel. Another simple wooden cross.
“The angel ushers young ones to the heavens,” Derrick said in a pained whisper as he knelt to examine the grave.
Cord had said the same thing.
Something else niggled at the back of Ellie’s mind. Her father’s notes on another case. He’d mentioned Bloody Rock.
She carefully combed the area, searching for any signs to identify the gravedigger. A hair. Torn piece of clothing. Footprints.
But the snow was accumulating quickly, obliterating tracks. Wind whipped fresh snowflakes around her, and a foreboding feeling filled the air. She raked her hand over the brush and spotted something shiny protruding from the weeds. Reaching out, she pulled the object from where it was caught in the vines.
An antique gold pocket watch. Thumbing it open, her heart stuttered at the sight of the white face with its contrasting black roman numerals.
The watch… it belonged to her father. Her grandfather had passed it to him when he died. Her father always carried it with him. She’d seen it on his belt just the other night.
Which meant that Randall had recently been at Bloody Rock.
60.
Bloody Rock
Derrick brushed snow from the marker as he studied the grave. Ellie had squatted down to examine the neighboring rocks.
The angel… it seemed familiar. Then again, angels, crosses and other religious symbols abounded in cemeteries.
Ellie returned to Derrick’s side, her hands in her pockets. “What did you say about the angels?”
Derrick could hear his father’s voice. “Angels mark the graves of children and infants and symbolize innocence. The angel ushers the young child into the heavens.”
“Where did you hear that?” Ellie asked.
His throat muscles worked as he swallowed. “My father told me that when he described the angel statue his parents put on their daughter’s grave. His sister died young.”
Ellie’s brows puckered together. “How did she die?”
He could sense that Ellie was reading more into his statement. “I don’t know. My father didn’t like to discuss it.”
“How old was she when she died, Derrick?”
Derrick’s gaze locked with hers. “Six.”
His father’s sister had been the same age as Kim when she disappeared.
But he could not let his mind go there. His father would never have hurt his own sister. Or his own daughter, either.
Yet Randall’s insinuation that his father could have faked his death teased Derrick’s mind. Over the years, he’d sometimes sensed that he saw his father in a crowd, watching him. Or at a park, in the distance. Every year on the a
nniversary of Kim’s disappearance, a white lily appeared on his mother’s doorstep with no card or indication who’d left it.
Derrick had suspected whoever had abducted Kim had put it there to torment her.
But none of the other parents whose children had gone missing mentioned receiving flowers of any kind.
Ellie broke the awkward silence. “I’m going to call it in.”
He glanced at the darkening sky, the snow falling in a thick sheet. Only an inch of accumulation now, but at this rate and if the meteorologist had predicted correctly, they’d have a foot by midnight. Blizzard conditions.
Too harsh for a little girl out here alone. Was her kidnapper taking care of her, or had he already killed her like these other little ones?
Fresh rage shot through him. Had the girls suffered?
What had sweet little Kim gone through before her death?
61.
As daylight faded and the storm worsened, they plowed on. The gravestone markings at site three led them to site four, again miles apart. At grave number four there was another Roman numeral, another etching of an angel and another wooden doll. But no sign of Penny. Ellie couldn’t shake the horrible feeling that her tactics were all wrong, that they’d wasted a day chasing the dead rather than a girl who might still be alive. As the day wore on, her father’s watch also weighed heavily in her jacket pocket, and on her mind. She’d bagged it as evidence, but hadn’t mentioned the find to anyone.
The ERT teams were working overtime and battling against the elements to find what evidence they could before the snow buried it. Any clue as to the killer might lead them to save Penny.
Grave number five had been dug beneath an overhang at Blindman’s Bluff, a point in the trail so entrenched in the steep ridges it was impossible to see from just around the corner. More wildflowers dotted this grave, the purple buds wilting as snow completely buried them.
Ellie searched the grave marker for a symbol indicating another grave but didn’t find one. “There’s no marking,” she said, frustrated. “But there are more victims. We know that.”
