by Rita Herron
CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN Perspiration beaded on Tinsley’s forehead as she stared at the image in the Facebook Live post. A man was tied up, struggling to escape, his face covered by a mask. Things were out of control. The blog had started out as therapy, a way to help herself and others. But some of her followers had taken it too far. The federal agents were searching for a vigilante killer. Marilyn Ellis had aired the story on the evening news and hinted that there might be a conspiracy. Emotions boomeranged inside Tinsley. She didn’t want it to be true. Didn’t want any of the troubled souls she talked to online to be responsible. But her instincts warned her they were. A post quickly appeared beneath the photograph. You’ll be safe soon, Tinsley. Then the Skull can’t hurt you or anyone else again. No . . . Tinsley yanked on her glasses and peered at the man on-screen. His face was hidden in the shadows, also disguised by a skull mask. The Skull had always worn a mask. She’d never seen his
CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT Hatcher cleared his throat. “I’m calling an evidence team to process your house again. If I were you, I’d have a security system installed as soon as possible.” Korine winced. “It’s a rental. I’ll have to talk with the owner.” Hatcher stepped into the living room to make the call, and she checked the bathroom, closet, and her office to see whether anything else had been disturbed. The family picture she’d hung in the hallway had been removed. She hurried back to her bedroom and found the picture lying on the floor on the far side of the bed, the frame shattered. The photograph that had been inside was torn into pieces and scattered on the floor. Kenny. She’d seen him smash one of her dolls before. But she’d never thought he’d break in and destroy family pictures . . . or leave broken dolls on her bed. Hatcher inched up behind her, and gently gripped her arms with his hands. “Are you okay?” She nodded and told herself to pull away from him. But it felt so comforting
CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE Korine frantically threw on her clothes, horror striking her when Hatcher showed her the picture on the computer. A man with a skull mask was tied to a chair in the dark room. His head hung down, body limp. Was he dead or just unconscious? Hatcher put Cat on speaker. “When was this posted?” Korine asked. “About an hour ago.” Korine’s phone buzzed, and she snatched it up, half expecting it to be news about her brother. But Tinsley Jensen’s name appeared on the caller ID screen. Did Tinsley know about this? She quickly connected the call. “Tinsley?” “You have to do something,” the woman said breathlessly. “What’s wrong?” Korine asked. “Someone from the group . . . they’ve taken a man hostage. I think they’re going to kill him.” Korine motioned to Hatcher and quickly put Tinsley on speaker as well, while Hatcher relayed to Cat that Tinsley was on the phone. “Hang on, Cat—Tinsley might know who posted this.” “Who’s doing this?” Korine asked Tinsley. “I don’t know,” Tins
CHAPTER FORTY Hatcher glanced at Korine, well aware of the tension between them. They hadn’t spoken about what had happened between them, but they needed to. He didn’t want to lose his job over it. Or his sanity. And kissing her only made him want her again, which was totally insane. Detective Brockett transported the women they’d arrested to the Savannah field office for booking, while Drummond and Watley processed the house. He and Korine captured pictures of the interior of the house and chair setup, then he combed the rooms in hopes of finding something more concrete pointing to the women and the three murders. The place looked as if it had been deserted for months, maybe longer. Dust and grime had collected on every surface, and the furniture smelled musty and was threadbare. The kitchen held no perishables, simply a few outdated cans of food and a bag of flour that mice had ripped into. Drummond found a loose button in the corner of the living area not far from the chair where Be
CHAPTER FORTY-ONE Korine’s voice stopped him. “Hatcher?” His pulse pounded. Then she eased open the shower door and waved for him to join her. Heat surged through him as he shucked his clothes and stepped inside the shower. She was wet and warm and glowing from the soap bubbles dotting her naked body. He lifted a hand and tucked a damp strand of hair behind her ear, and a shy smile lit her eyes. Shy but needy. That hungry look . . . nearly drove him to his knees. She ran her soapy hands over his chest, triggering a hundred delicious sensations to ignite within him. Her touch shredded his reservations, and he reached for her. But she shook her head and pressed one hand to his chest to slow things down. His chest rose and fell on a strained breath, and he stood ramrod straight, his cock jutting out, hard and thick and aching. His hands itched to touch her all over. His lips craved hers. Instead of kissing him, though, she soaped her hands and slid them over his chest. Slowly she moved be
CHAPTER FORTY-TWO Korine balled her hand into a fist. How was it possible that Cat had traced that Facebook Live post to this address? Her mother didn’t even have a cell phone. Neither did Esme. And the post had to do with the man the Keeper had thought was the Skull, which had nothing to do with her family or her father’s death. Her mother’s cry rent the air. “Stop it! Your dad loves those dolls. He’s saving them for Korine.” Esme snatched Korine’s hand and pulled her behind the door. “I’m so glad you’re here. Kenny is out of control.” Korine touched Esme’s shoulder. “What happened to start the argument?” “I don’t know,” Esme said. “Kenny just showed up and started talking crazy, and then your mama got upset.” “Stay here. Let me talk to them.” Korine held her breath as she stepped into the doorway. “Mom? Kenny?” Her mother was sitting on the sofa, eyes glassy, rocking herself back and forth while Kenny paced in front of her. The broken pieces of the porcelain dolls lay scattered acros
CHAPTER FORTY-THREE Korine’s mother extended her hands, wrists crossed. “Go ahead, Korine. Take me in. I know you have to.” Turmoil twisted Korine’s insides as she stared at her mother. How could she possibly arrest her own mother for killing her father when she’d been protecting her? She’d also protected Kenny by keeping him from taking his father’s life. Kenny gently pushed her mother’s hands down into her lap. “Korine isn’t going to arrest you, Mom.” For the first time in her life, Korine understood Kenny’s drinking, his anger, his resentment toward her. Keeping the family’s dirty little secret had preyed on him and her mother. It had also bound the two of them together. Your brother always took care of you. Her mother’s constant pressure for her to help Kenny made sense now. A dozen emotions thrummed through Korine. “Why didn’t you tell me all this before?” “How could we?” Kenny asked, bitterness mingling with resignation in his voice. “You adored Dad and thought he could do no wro
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.” Considering her medical condition, he was surprised at how determined she sounded. Of course, an hour from now, she might slip back into depression. That could be bad. “Please,” Mrs. Davenport said. “I failed her and the other little girls. I want to make up for it now.” Esme was watching him, her expression concerned. “What about Kenny?” Hatcher asked. “Does he know what’s going on?” “He was here earlier,” Esme said. “But after talking to Korine, he decided to return to rehab. He seemed committed to make the prog
ram work this time.” Good for him. This was the family situation Korine needed to take care of. She obviously didn’t want to talk about it with him. He would help her anyway. Take the choice off her shoulders. “All right, Mrs. Davenpor
CHAPTER FORTY-SIX Korine tapped her foot while she waited on Cat. A second later, Cat cleared her throat. “I found a post that might fit the unsub. Girl talks about the office space where she was molested as a child. Office belonged to a child psychologist.” A shudder went through Korine. “What else does she say?” “The psychologist gave her a music box and kept telling her how pretty she was as they danced.” She paused. “Jesus, Korine. He also gave her porcelain dolls.” Korine’s stomach roiled. That post was about her father. The girl who’d written it blamed Korine and her mother. She was the Keeper. She had to be the one holding Hatcher now. “Do you have an address?” Korine asked. “Computer was from a coffee shop in Savannah.” “She wouldn’t take Hatcher to a public place.” Korine’s mind raced. “I have an idea. Let me know if you find anything to identify the woman.” Cat agreed and hung up. Korine entered her father’s name into the search engine and found an address for the office he’d
CHAPTER FORTY-SEVEN The rancid scent of mold and dust and a dead animal assaulted Korine as she entered the dilapidated house where Esme and her daughter had once lived. She blinked to adjust her eyes to the darkness. A scratching sound came from the corner. She jerked her head toward it and made out the shadowy outline of a man. Hatcher. Tied to a chair. Not moving. His head slumped over. Her heart pitched. Dear God. He had to be alive. “What did you do, drug him?” Korine hissed. The barrel of the gun dug deeper into her back. “You need help,” Korine said when the woman didn’t respond to her question. “Belinda Winters . . . I know your real name, but you changed it to Cat. You changed your last name, too.” A sarcastic chuckle. “Do you really think they would have allowed me to join the FBI if they knew my personal history?” She shoved Korine so hard she stumbled forward. She hit the wall, boards splintering beneath her feet from the rotting wood. “I know you suffered, but I thought we
CHAPTER FORTY-EIGHT Fear wound Korine’s stomach into a knot as she raced toward her mother’s house. Hatcher insisted on going with her, and she didn’t argue. She might need his help. Esme had known about her daughter’s abuse when she’d come to work for the family. She’d accepted money from Korine’s mother to pay for counseling for Cat—Belinda. Had her mother known who Esme was when they’d hired her? Had Esme come to work for them to seek revenge against Korine’s mother? Hatcher slipped his hand over her shoulder and squeezed it gently. “It’s going to be okay.” She slanted him a dark look. “Not if Esme hurts my mother or Wyatt. I can’t believe she’s been living in my mother’s house all these years and I didn’t know her history.” “Did you know she had a daughter?” A memory surfaced. One Christmas when Korine balked at the Christmas tree and Esme had helped her mother decorate, Esme had talked about how much her daughter had once loved the sparkly ornaments. “Esme said she’d lost her daug
CHAPTER FORTY-NINE Exhaustion tugged at Korine as she let herself in her house. The emotional strain of the night had taken its toll. She flipped on lights as she entered, then undressed and showered, letting the hot water soothe her aches and pains and wash away the soot and stench of the fire. Slowly, images of Hatcher in the shower with her, running his hands over her, cradling her hips as she wrapped her legs around him and was impaled by him, replaced the gruesome memories. Only it stirred another kind of tension. She wanted Hatcher. Again. Tonight. The temptation to call him was so strong she could barely resist. But she had to. If she didn’t, she’d never be able to give him up. She scrubbed herself until the hot water turned cold. A quick towel dry, then she dragged on a tank top and pajama pants and padded to the kitchen for a glass of wine. She took the glass to her back deck, sank into the glider, and stared out into the dark woods. The storm clouds had lifted, and it was a b
STAY TUNED FOR THE NEXT KEEPERS NOVEL—COMING SOON
ABOUT THE AUTHOR Photo © 2008 Marie Williams USA Today bestselling author Rita Herron fell in love with books at the ripe old age of eight, when she read her first Trixie Belden mystery. Twenty years ago, she traded her job as a kindergarten teacher for one as a writer, and she now has more than ninety romance novels to her credit. She loves penning dark romantic suspense tales, especially those set in small southern towns. Her awards include a Career Achievement Award from RT Book Reviews for her work in Series Romantic Suspense, the National Readers’ Choice Award, and a RITA nomination. She has received rave reviews for the Slaughter Creek novels (Dying to Tell and Her Dying Breath) and her Graveyard Falls novels (All the Dead Girls, All the Pretty Faces, and All the Beautiful Brides). Rita is a native of Atlanta, Georgia, and a proud mother and grandmother.
ALSO BY RITA HERRON
Romantic Suspense
Graveyard Falls
All the Beautiful Brides
All the Pretty Faces
All the Dead Girls
Slaughter Creek Series
Dying to Tell
Her Dying Breath
Worth Dying For
Dying for Love
Contemporary Romance
Going to the Chapel
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, organizations, places, events, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.
Text copyright © 2018 by Rita Herron
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced, or stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without express written permission of the publisher.
Published by Montlake Romance, Seattle
www.apub.com
Amazon, the Amazon logo, and Montlake Romance are trademarks of Amazon.com, Inc., or its affiliates.
ISBN-13: 9781542049849
ISBN-10: 1542049849
Cover design by Damon Freeman
To Korine Keith Brooks for allowing me to use your beautiful name!
And to the Sensational Six who inspire me with their awesomeness: Elizabeth, Laura, Emily, Rachel, Kendall & Foote.
CONTENTS
PROLOGUE
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER TEN
CHAPTER ELEVEN
CHAPTER TWELVE
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
CHAPTER NINETEEN
CHAPTER TWENTY
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
CHAPTER THIRTY
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR
CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE
CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX
CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN
CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT
CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE
CHAPTER FORTY
CHAPTER FORTY-ONE
CHAPTER FORTY-TWO
CHAPTER FORTY-THREE
CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR
CHAPTER FORTY-FIVE
CHAPTER FORTY-SIX
CHAPTER FORTY-SEVEN
CHAPTER FORTY-EIGHT
CHAPTER FORTY-NINE
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
PROLOGUE
&n
bsp; Five-year-old Korine Davenport climbed into her father’s lap and wrapped her arms around his neck. He was big and sweet and wonderful.
“Tell me I’m pretty, Daddy.”
Her daddy lifted the lid of the music box he’d just given her, and a soft melody began to play. It was the same song from the movie they’d watched last night. The ballerina with the fluffy tutu danced and twirled on the pink satin as her father sang, “You’re so pretty, oh, so pretty, so pretty and witty and bright . . .”
Korine planted a big wet, juicy kiss on her daddy’s cheek. Then he helped her onto his feet, and they began to dance.
This was the best day ever! Tonight, Santa would come.
But she’d already gotten what she wanted—the music box and a new doll. The porcelain doll she’d seen in the store the other day that had red hair like hers and blue eyes that looked like the violets her mother grew in the garden. She was going to name her Ruby.
“Look at me and Daddy dancing, Ruby,” she said as they danced through the study. Stars twinkled and glittered through the window, bright against the night sky.
Her father scooped her up and swung her around. She giggled, and he rubbed his thumb down her cheek, then over the waist of her pink satin dress. “Merry Christmas, sweetheart. You know Daddy loves you, don’t you?”
