Pretty Little Killers (The Keepers Book 1)

by Rita Herron

  But that was impossible now.

  Kenny had been in turmoil for years. Now she understood the reason he’d started drinking.

  He’d been plagued by what had happened that night.

  But . . . she still couldn’t believe that her father, the man she adored and loved so much, would have hurt a child.

  Or her.

  Slowly, she approached her brother and gently touched his back. “Kenny, you must have been mistaken and misunderstood what you saw. Dad would never—”

  “Dad molested that little girl, Korine,” Kenny said matter-of-factly. “I saw it. She was naked and crying, but he kept touching her and telling her it was okay, that he was loving her.”

  Tears burned the backs of Korine’s eyelids, fighting to come out. “No, Kenny . . .”

  “Yes,” he said, his voice resigned now as if he’d finally unleashed a heavy burden. “I never told you because I didn’t want to hurt you.”

  Denial and shock battled inside Korine. “You said you had to stop him?”

  Pain streaked his face. “I had to protect you. I . . . ran upstairs and found his gun and . . .”

  “And you shot him?” Korine said. “Mom was asleep and you shot Daddy.”

  “That’s not the way it happened!” Their mother lurched up from the sofa and grabbed Korine’s arm. “Your brother didn’t shoot your father.”

  Korine was shocked at her mother’s tone. “But he said—”

  “He was going to, but I woke up and saw him with the gun.” Korine’s mother’s eyes were filled with anguish. “He told me what was happening, but I didn’t believe him.”

  Kenny crossed to their mother, knelt in front of her, and cradled her hand in his. “It’s okay, Mom—I saw what he was doing. I wanted him dead. I was supposed to protect Korine.”

  “I’m sorry I didn’t believe you when you first came to me,” their mother said in a haunted voice. “But I didn’t want to believe it.”

  Because it was too horrible to believe. Parents had trusted him to help their children in their most vulnerable state.

  Yet he had preyed on them.

  Her mother pressed her hand against Kenny’s cheek. “I was supposed to protect you and Korine, and I failed.”

  Kenny shook his head, but their mother continued. “I couldn’t let you shoot your daddy.” She angled her head toward Korine. “So I took the gun, and I ran downstairs.”

  Korine stared at her mother in shock.

  “Then I heard that song.” Korine’s mother pulled away from him, stood, and picked up the music box.

  Raw pain streaked her mother’s face as she opened the lid and the music began to play. “I heard the music and your daddy singing, ‘You’re so pretty, oh, so pretty, so pretty and witty and . . .’”

  The song catapulted Korine back in time.

  “When I looked in and saw the doll and the two of you dancing, I knew . . . Kenny was right.” Her mother’s voice broke. “I saw the way your daddy was looking at you, and I remembered one of your daddy’s patients. The mother, she came in one day and said he touched her daughter.” Korine’s mother paused, her body stiffening. “I didn’t want to believe it, but later I found more dolls and another music box, and I remembered hearing the music playing one day when I stopped by his office. I was going to surprise him and take him to lunch, but he had the door locked and was in there with that child.” Tears rained down her face. “He got so mad at me that day. He told me never to come to the office again.”

  Korine pressed her hands to her head, willing this to be a bad dream.

  But her mother continued, “When I saw him looking at you like that, I . . . realized it was true.”

  Kenny put his arm around their mother’s shoulder. “Mom, don’t. It’s all right.”

  “It’s not all right. It hasn’t been for years. You’ve suffered long enough. It’s time for the truth to come out.” She gave Kenny a hug, then faced Korine. “Your brother didn’t shoot your father, Korine. I did.”

  CHAPTER FORTY-THREE

  Korine’s mother extended her hands, wrists crossed. “Go ahead, Korine. Take me in. I know you have to.”

  Turmoil twisted Korine’s insides as she stared at her mother. How could she possibly arrest her own mother for killing her father when she’d been protecting her? She’d also protected Kenny by keeping him from taking his father’s life.

  Kenny gently pushed her mother’s hands down into her lap. “Korine isn’t going to arrest you, Mom.”

  For the first time in her life, Korine understood Kenny’s drinking, his anger, his resentment toward her. Keeping the family’s dirty little secret had preyed on him and her mother.

  It had also bound the two of them together.

  Your brother always took care of you.

  Her mother’s constant pressure for her to help Kenny made sense now.

  A dozen emotions thrummed through Korine. “Why didn’t you tell me all this before?”

  “How could we?” Kenny asked, bitterness mingling with resignation in his voice. “You adored Dad and thought he could do no wrong.”

  Kenny was right.

  “You were so little,” her mother said in a raw whisper. “And I felt so guilty. I should have gotten you out of the room before I shot him, but I was so crazed and out of my mind when I realized what was happening that I didn’t think. I just wanted him away from you.”

  Kenny rubbed their mother’s shoulders. “Mom was just taking care of us, Korine. She doesn’t deserve to go to jail for that.”

  “You could have told the police,” Korine said. “They would have understood.”

  “What do you think our life would have been like then?” Kenny growled. “The news would have been plastered all over the place. Everyone at school and in the neighborhood would have gossiped about us.”

  Korine tried to imagine how her mother had felt when she realized what her father was doing. How shocked and hurt and desperate she’d been to protect her children.

  How horrified she’d been, knowing the publicity would ruin them for life.

  “I’m sorry, Kenny,” Korine said. “Now I see why you hated me all these years.”

  “I never hated you,” Kenny said gruffly. “But I couldn’t stand knowing what he was and hearing you talk about him like he was your hero when Mom was the real hero.”

  Korine wiped at a tear. “You’re right about that. And now that I know the truth, I promise to help you. It’s time you got your life together and put this behind you.” Although she was going to need time to assimilate it.

  She didn’t know what she was going to do about her mother, though. She’d arrested four women the night before for being vigilantes.

  How could she not go to the police with the truth about what happened to her father?

  But her mother didn’t deserve to be locked away. And she’d never survive in prison in her condition.

  “Mom, everything’s going to be all right now,” Kenny said, his look imploring Korine to play along. “I’ll clean up this mess while you rest.”

  Korine stepped toward the hallway to retrieve her mother’s medication. Esme was standing in the doorway, wringing her hands in the bottom of her apron. She had an odd expression on her face.

  “You heard?” Korine asked.

  Esme nodded. “You want your mother’s sedative?”

  “Please.”

  Esme started toward the kitchen, but Korine caught her. “Can we keep this between us for now?”

  Esme’s dark-brown eyes met hers, turmoil in her expression. “Of course, honey. Of course.”

  Korine thanked her and waited for her to return. Esme carried the pill inside with a glass of water and a cup of hot tea and settled her mother in the recliner while Kenny cleaned up the doll pieces.

  When he finished, Kenny moved to the window, staring out. Korine gently touched his shoulder. “I’m sorry that you suffered all these years, that I didn’t understand. It must have been awful, keeping that horrible
secret.”

  A peace like she hadn’t seen in years replaced the turmoil in his eyes. “I hated for you to know, Shortstop.”

  Tenderness for her brother swelled inside her. It had been years since he’d called her that nickname.

  She held out her arms, and he pulled her into a hug, and they cried together for a long time.

  Hope budded that Kenny might overcome his addiction problem and be able to heal.

  The morning sun was streaking the sky as she glanced outside. She’d waited two decades for the truth. For justice.

  Maybe justice had been served the day her father died.

  Hatcher gripped the phone with a sweaty hand.

  “Officer Leeks checks out,” Wyatt said. “No history of violence. No ghosts in his closet that might trigger him to start vigilante killings. He has a wife, two kids, a mortgage, and visits his mother in a nursing home every Sunday.”

  He certainly didn’t fit the profile of a killer. “Any medical training suggesting he’d know what kind of drug might mimic a heart attack?”

  “Nothing to indicate that, but with the Internet these days, anyone can find that information in seconds.”

  “True.” Hatcher tossed the disposable cup of stale coffee into the trash. “Thanks for looking into him. I’m going to request another officer stand watch over Bellamy.”

  “Probably not a bad idea.” Wyatt hesitated. “I’m still researching the women you arrested and their lawyer. So far, they’re squeaky clean.”

  “Thanks, Wyatt.” Hatcher ended the call, then phoned the SPD and requested a replacement for Leeks.

  He paced the hall outside Bellamy’s room while he waited on the officer to arrive. A thirtysomething, slender guy in uniform introduced himself, and Hatcher explained the situation.

  “Call me the minute he wakes up,” Hatcher said. “And don’t let anyone but the staff in the room.”

  “Copy that,” the officer said.

  Hatcher headed outside to his SUV, his body tense. He couldn’t get Korine off his mind. The sex with her had been incredible.

  But that nightmare had plagued him. Then he’d seen the text, and he’d turned to the bottle.

  Had she phoned Bellows and told him he was drinking?

  Korine asked the cab driver to wait while she retrieved her overnight bag. Last night she hadn’t wanted to stay alone in her house.

  Hatcher obviously regretted making love to her, and she refused to be the clingy, needy woman who begged him to love her.

  She rushed inside and was just bringing her bag to the cab when Hatcher drove up. He climbed from his SUV, his expression stony.

  “What the hell are you doing?” he asked.

  She forced an even keel to her voice. “Going back to my place. I need to clean up that mess.”

  “You can call someone to do that,” Hatcher said.

  She lifted her chin. “I know that. But I also have a family situation to handle.”

  Hatcher slammed his door closed and strode toward her. “Get in. I’ll drive you.”

  “That’s not necessary. I’ll take the cab.” She motioned for the cab driver to put her overnight bag into his car. “What happened with Bellamy? Did he talk?”

  Hatcher shook his head. “He had an allergic reaction to some medication and flatlined. The doctors revived him and are running tests to determine what happened. He’s still unconscious.”

  “Do you think someone intentionally drugged him so he couldn’t talk?”

  “It’s a possibility.”

  “Then the women we arrested may be innocent.”

  “Or there’s another unsub working with them.”

  Korine tensed. “If so, the vigilante killer may not be finished.”

  Hatcher nodded grimly. “What’s going on with your family?”

  Emotions pummeled Korine. She hadn’t had time to process the truth about her father and his murder yet.

  How could she share something so personal with Hatcher when they had no future together?

  A pang hit Hatcher in the chest as Korine left. She hadn’t answered him.

  He supposed he didn’t blame her, not after the way he’d stormed out earlier.

  What the hell was he going to do about her?

  After they’d made love, he’d instantly regretted it. Panicked.

  Even though it was the best sex he’d ever had in his life.

  He wanted her again, dammit.

  But . . . he couldn’t take her to bed and not offer her something. But what? A partners-with-benefits relationship?

  That would never work.

  It wouldn’t be fair to either of them. Eventually she’d want more. He didn’t have any more to give.

  Did he?

  Had she ratted him out to Bellows?

  Rubbing his hand over his bleary eyes, he went inside the cabin. But images of undressing Korine in the den and carrying her to his bed rose in his mind to torment him.

  Fatigue pulled at him, but when he entered his bedroom and saw the rumpled sheets, an image of Korine naked in that bed filled his vision.

  There was no way he could sleep.

  He cursed, dragged off his clothes, and headed into the shower. The cold water pelted him and woke him up like a shot of caffeine, then he switched it to warm and scrubbed his body. But even as he showered, he remembered Korine’s soapy hands gliding over his skin, and his body hardened.

  Frustrated, he turned off the water, stepped from the shower, and dried off. His phone was ringing.

  Hopefully Bellamy had regained consciousness.

  He rushed to answer it, but the name Davenport appeared. Korine had said she was having family issues. Maybe she’d gone to her mother’s.

  He quickly connected, expecting to hear Korine’s voice, but it was the caregiver instead.

  “Agent McGee. It’s Esme, Mrs. Davenport’s caretaker. She wants you to come over.”

  Hatcher scratched his chin. “Is Korine there?”

  A tense second passed. “She left earlier. Mrs. Davenport wants to speak to you in private.”

  “What is this about?” Hatcher asked. “Is Kenny at the house, giving you problems?”

  “Kenny’s gone,” Esme said. “But it’s urgent you come.”

  Hatcher’s blood ran cold. Had something happened to Korine?

  “Please hurry.”

  The phone went silent.

  Esme’s concerned voice echoed in his ears as he quickly dressed, strapped on his holster and gun, snagged his keys, and raced to his car.

  He peeled from the drive and raced toward Savannah and the Davenport estate. The sun peeked through the clouds, announcing morning and a new day, although he felt dismal inside.

  The drive took less than ten minutes but felt like an hour. He parked, jumped out, and hurried to the door. Before he even knocked, Esme waved him inside.

  “Follow me—she’s waiting for you.”

  Hatcher scanned the living area for Korine or Kenny, but it appeared Esme and Mrs. Davenport were alone. He followed Esme to the living room and found Korine’s mother sipping tea.

  When she saw him, an odd expression flickered in her eyes, but she looked more lucid than when he’d met her. Esme placed her hand on the woman’s shoulder and squeezed. “Agent McGee is here. You had something you wanted to tell him.”

  Korine’s mother stood and walked toward him.

  “Thank you for coming.”

  A bad feeling seized him. He should have called Korine.

  “What can I do for you?”

  Pain streaked her eyes, and she held out her hands, crossed at the wrists. “It’s time I did the right thing. My daughter has worked for years to put her father’s killer away. Now she knows the truth, I want you to take me in.”

  “I don’t understand,” Hatcher said gruffly. Was she having an incoherent moment?

  “I killed my husband,” Mrs. Davenport said, her eyes flat. “I did it to save Korine from that horrible father of hers.”

 
“What do you mean?” Korine had sung her father’s praises.

  “He molested some of his patients,” Mrs. Davenport said matter-of-factly.

  Again, he glanced at Esme for confirmation, and she nodded.

  Hatcher rubbed his forehead. “Does Korine know this?”

  “I just told her,” Mrs. Davenport said.

  Jesus. No wonder she hadn’t answered his question.

  “She won’t arrest me, but I insist you do,” Mrs. Davenport said in a no-nonsense voice. “It’s time we make things right.”

  Hatcher swallowed hard. “I think we should call Korine.”

  Mrs. Davenport’s lower lip trembled. “Just take me in,” she shouted. “I want to make a statement.”

  Hatcher glanced at Esme for some clue about what to do, but she looked upset and shrugged.

  He took Mrs. Davenport by the arm. He refused to handcuff her. She wasn’t dangerous.

  Korine was going to hate him anyway when she discovered that he’d escorted her mother to the police station.

  CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR

  The Keeper had committed too much of her heart and soul to exacting justice to abandon her mission now. The innocent women and children who couldn’t protect themselves needed someone to watch over them. Someone to protect them when the police failed.

  And they failed a lot.

  Agents Korine Davenport and Hatcher McGee were a problem.

  She raised her hands and studied them. Clean fingers and nails. No blood on them.

  Except she could still see the blood in her mind.

  Blood from the evil beings who would have hurt more if she hadn’t stopped them.

  There were so many more who needed to be reckoned with. Milt Milburn for one.

  Korine Davenport claimed she was all about the law. But she was a hypocrite.

  She had to die.

  Hatcher McGee would have to die with her.

  Then the Keepers could continue . . .

  CHAPTER FORTY-FIVE

  “Mrs. Davenport, you don’t have to go to the station,” Hatcher said. “Let me call Korine—”

  “I’m doing this for her,” Korine’s mother said. “I know how much her job means to her, and I refuse to put her in an awkward position.”