by Rita Herron
Considering her medical condition, he was surprised at how determined she sounded.
Of course, an hour from now, she might slip back into depression. That could be bad.
“Please,” Mrs. Davenport said. “I failed her and the other little girls. I want to make up for it now.”
Esme was watching him, her expression concerned.
“What about Kenny?” Hatcher asked. “Does he know what’s going on?”
“He was here earlier,” Esme said. “But after talking to Korine, he decided to return to rehab. He seemed committed to make the program work this time.”
Good for him.
This was the family situation Korine needed to take care of. She obviously didn’t want to talk about it with him.
He would help her anyway. Take the choice off her shoulders.
“All right, Mrs. Davenport. I’ll drive you to the station to make a statement.” Somehow he’d figure out a way to keep her from going to prison, too.
He’d do anything for Korine.
Korine hurriedly cleaned up the broken pieces of the dolls, mentally processing what had happened at her mother’s.
All these years she’d been angry with Kenny, yet he’d sacrificed so much to protect her. Although those dirty secrets had eaten away at him and nearly destroyed him.
No more. She would do whatever possible to help him.
Although she sensed that unburdening his soul had done more to aid his recovery than therapy could ever do. It had also brought her mother out of her catatonic depression.
She dumped the trash in the bin outside, startling when a noise echoed from the bushes. The limbs rustled.
Instincts on alert, she scanned the area by the house. Perhaps Kenny wanted to talk again before going back to the rehab center.
Her cell phone trilled from inside the house.
Thinking it might be about Bellamy or the women they’d arrested, she raced inside. Hatcher’s number.
She pressed connect. “Hatcher?”
“Korine, meet me at the police station.”
Fear caught in her throat. “What’s going on?”
“Just meet me there, and I’ll explain.”
The connection ended, and Korine hurried to change clothes. If Bellamy had awakened and identified his attacker, maybe Hatcher had made another arrest, and they could close this case.
Then she could ask for a new partner and forget that she’d fallen in love with Hatcher.
Hatcher had hoped Esme would accompany Korine’s mother in case she had an episode or became agitated, but Esme seemed withdrawn and declined.
He explained the situation to Detective Brockett while Mrs. Davenport sipped coffee and chatted with the female psychologist he’d requested the moment they’d arrived. Now that she’d confessed, she almost seemed relieved.
Under the psychologist’s advisement, Hatcher had obtained Kendall James as Mrs. Davenport’s counsel. If she could make the Keepers look sympathetic, she would do the same for Korine’s mother.
A mother protecting her child was a solid defense.
Heels clicked on the floor, and Korine rounded the corner.
She looked tired and worried, with no sign that she’d given another thought to their intimate night before. “What’s going on?”
He steeled himself against her reaction. “Your mother called me after you left.”
Her face paled. “What? Why call you?”
He shifted onto the balls of his feet. “She wanted to make a statement regarding your father’s death.”
Emotions clouded Korine’s eyes. “How dare you not call me. Is this your way of paying me back because you think I was spying on you for Bellows? Because it wasn’t like that. He was worried about you. And I didn’t tell him anything.”
Regret seized him. If he’d ever had a chance with Korine, he’d totally blown it. “I didn’t want to bring her in, but she insisted. Maybe she needs to do this.”
Korine’s venomous expression bore into him. “Where is she?”
He reached out to offer comfort, but she jerked away. “Where is she?”
“In a room with the psychologist and Kendall James.”
“Kendall James?”
He nodded. “Considering her medical history and the circumstances, the psychologist and I thought it best to handle this quietly. Ms. James jumped at the chance to represent her.”
“Nobody thought to include me?” Anger laced Korine’s voice.
“Your mother came to me,” Hatcher said softly. “She knew you were in a difficult position and wanted to spare you.” He reached for her again. “So do I.”
“You had no right.” She stormed through the door to the interview room where the psychologist and Kendall James were talking to her mother.
Frustrated, he grabbed a cup of coffee, then phoned the hospital to check on Bellamy. Still no change. A few minutes later, Korine emerged with her mother and the lawyer.
Korine avoided eye contact with him and ushered her mother out the door as if she was her guard dog.
It’s better this way, he reminded himself. Wyatt would be returning to duty soon, and they would partner up.
Korine would go her own way.
So why did the thought of that make him feel empty inside?
He gave her time to leave the precinct with her mother; then he walked outside and headed to his SUV.
But just as he reached his vehicle, a noise jarred him, and he glanced toward the alley.
A shadow passed, and he sensed someone behind him. Before he could turn to see who it was, something sharp—a needle—jabbed into his neck.
The world spun out of focus. Traffic sounds bleeped and blurred in the background. He clawed at his car door to remain upright.
But he lost the battle, his knees hit the concrete, and everything went black.
Korine was furious with Hatcher and with Esme.
She escorted her mother into the safety of her house. Esme was in the kitchen, sipping coffee, baking shortbread cookies.
She always baked when she was agitated. Shortbread cookies, chocolate chip, peanut butter—she claimed her daughter used to love them when she was a little girl.
She’d lost her as a teen, though, a death that had weighed on Esme and brought her into their lives. Esme had claimed she’d needed family.
God knows, when Korine’s mother had been diagnosed with severe depression, they’d needed her.
“You’re back sooner than I expected.” The teakettle whistled, and Esme made quick work of preparing a cup of tea and setting it in front of Korine’s mother.
“Why didn’t you call me?” Korine said, unable to hide her anger.
Esme fiddled with her apron, then took the cookies from the tray and placed them on a platter. “I did what your mother asked. She felt it was time everything came out in the open, and she loved you so much, she wanted to save you from the pain of doing it.” She looked up at Korine, the sadness back. “That’s what mothers do. They protect their babies, no matter what.”
Tears pricked Korine’s eyes. “I wish I’d known what really happened. All these years, I’ve been looking for answers.”
“You were too little to understand,” her mother said, her face a picture of normalcy. “It was better you were left in the dark.”
Maybe so. But poor Kenny . . . “Why now, Mother?” Korine asked. “Why tell all this now?”
“Kenny,” her mother said. “For so long I’d tried to forget that horrible night. I almost talked myself into believing it didn’t happen. Then I saw that news story about the vigilante killers. It made me remember . . . everything.” Her mother stirred sugar into her tea. “That nice lawyer lady said everything will be okay, though. She’s going to make a deal for me, and I can stay home.”
Korine admired her mother’s courage. “Yes, Mother, it’ll be okay. I’ll make sure it is.”
Korine had never thought she’d cross the line, but her mother had sacrificed so much for her, she’d do anything to prev
ent her from going to prison and to keep the story quiet.
She waited until her mother settled down with her tea and the sedative was taking effect before she left. Hopefully now her mother and Kenny could both come to terms with what happened and move on.
“Call me if you need anything,” she told Esme.
Esme assured her she would, and Korine left to drive home.
Her phone trilled just as she pulled in her drive. Tinsley Jensen.
Instant panic hit her, and she connected as she let herself inside her house. What if the Skull had returned for Tinsley?
She connected the call. “Agent Davenport.”
“Someone just posted that the Keepers aren’t finished.” Tinsley sounded breathless. “He or she also listed the name of the next targets.”
A tense second passed. “Give me their names and contact info, and I’ll arrange protection.”
“The next two names belong to you and Hatcher.”
A heartbeat passed. “Have you told Hatcher?” Korine asked.
“I called you first.”
“Thanks. I’ll get in touch with him.”
Korine’s other line was buzzing in with a call. “He’s calling now. Let me get it.” She quickly connected. “Hatcher—”
“He’s all tied up right now.” A woman’s bitter laugh sent panic through Korine.
Dear God. She had Hatcher.
“This is not the way to get justice,” Korine said.
“Someone has to do it.” This time the voice was shrill, altered electronically. “You call yourselves the law, but you make it worse by freeing hardened criminals and putting them on the streets again.”
“The release of those prisoners was not my decision,” Korine said through clenched teeth.
“Maybe not, but you’re just as bad. You arrest a group of women who’ve done nothing but help innocent women and children. That’s criminal in itself.”
“I know the system doesn’t always work, but it’s all we have.” Korine’s fingernails dug into the palms of her hands. “Tell me where you are, and we’ll talk it out. Just don’t hurt Agent McGee.”
“Shut up and listen. You and your mother covered up your filthy secrets for decades. Every day has been miserable for me. But you went on with your lives, pretending that everything was fine. You even kept those sickening dolls he gave you. And that damn jewelry box. I’ve had fucking nightmares of that song ever since he gave me the music box.”
Korine swallowed hard.
This unsub, this woman, had been one of her father’s victims. No wonder she hated Korine and her mother.
“You’re right,” Korine said. “Others were hurt because of our silence. But Hatcher had nothing to do with that, so killing him would be senseless.”
“Sometimes sacrifices have to be made for the greater good.”
The phone went silent.
Korine quickly called Cat for help. This woman was crazy.
She was going to kill Hatcher if Korine didn’t find him first.
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 used when she was little.
It was a long shot, but she had no other leads.
She looked up the address and silently cursed. That office had been torn down years ago.
She checked the clock. Was Hatcher still alive?
Panic knotted her insides. He had to be.
So where was he?
She rapped her fingers on her desk. This woman might have taken him to the place where her life had fallen apart. Maybe her childhood home . . .
If she only knew her name . . .
The files on her desk and photos on her wall mocked her. Maybe the answer was in there.
Her father had never faced charges, but what if one of his patients had reported him? It might be on file . . .
She grabbed the file on her father and skimmed through it, noting comments from neighbors about what a revered doctor he was.
But there was nothing about him molesting children.
She checked records for complaints about him and found a couple, but the information was sealed. Further digging revealed a lawyer’s name.
The lawyer who’d handled her father’s estate, the man who’d mentored her and helped her get the assignment in Savannah.
Korine punched the number and explained the situation.
“What’s going on?” Blaine Hamilton asked.
“My mother told me about my father.”
The man’s breath rasped out. “I don’t know what you think you know, but—”
“I know my father molested some of his patients. I don’t know how many, but he was going to molest me the night he died. He probably would have, except my mother stopped him by shooting him.”
Silence stretched between them for an awkward moment.
“You covered up for her, didn’t you?” Korine asked. “Is that why you stayed close to the family all these years, the reason you pulled your weight with the bureau to get me assigned back in Savannah?”
“There were extenuating circumstances,” the lawyer said. “Your mother was desperate to protect you and your brother, and she’s suffered for it. The guilt ate at me, too. You were so determined to find answers that I decided maybe it would be best if you did. Maybe then your mother could let go of the guilt. And Kenny . . .”
Kenny had suffered, too. “What about the other children he hurt? Didn’t they deserve justice?”
A deep sigh echoed back. “There were only three. Your father made a lot of money. The families needed it.”
“He paid them not to talk?” Korine said in disgust.
“Yes.”
Bile rose in Korine’s throat. “Do you know what happened to the little girls?”
“Two of them moved out of state. The third one—at first her mother refused the money. But later her daughter started having emotional problems. As a teenager, she was suicidal. Eventually the mother accepted financial help for her daughter’s medical bills.”
“Where are they now?”
“They moved back to Savannah. The mother took a job as a caregiver.”
Korine swayed as the pieces clicked together. “What was the mother’s name?”
“Esme. She was a very nice lady, but her husband had just passed, and she had a difficult time with her daughter. The daughter was never right after what happened.”
Esme had told her that she’d lost her daughter. Korine had interpreted that to mean the girl was dead. But Esme had never actually used those words. “Do you know where the daughter lives?”
“No,” Hamilton said. “Why are you asking about her?”
Korine’s mind raced with a possible scenario.
“Korine?”
“You’ve heard about the vigilante killings?”
“Of course,” Hamilton said. “It’s been all over the news.”
“I think this young woman may be the killer.” But sh
e needed more information before she confronted Esme. “I have to go.”
She hung up and scrambled to search the cold-case files she’d confiscated from the station. The files blurred as she combed through one after another. Finally at the bottom of a pile, she found notations where a family had made allegations against a prominent doctor.
A psychologist named Davenport.
Korine hurriedly skimmed the contents. It was a complaint filed by Esme and her daughter. The case had been closed when Esme suddenly dropped the allegations.
Korine dug for more information and discovered that her father had provided home visits to the little girl. Her name was Belinda Winters.
Esme used a different last name now.
Her address back then was in Brunswick.
She texted Cat to find out all she could on Belinda and Esme, specifically any properties they owned.
What if Esme was involved? Did she condone what her daughter was doing?
She had to find Hatcher, save him. But if Belinda and Esme blamed her family, Korine’s mother might be on the hit list.
Was that the reason Esme had come to work for her mother? So she could get revenge?
Fear flooded her. A text came through from Cat. An address for Belinda Winters.
She had to go.
She punched Wyatt’s number. “It’s Korine,” she blurted out. “I need your help.”
“What do you want me to do?”
She gave a quick rundown of what had happened. “I’m checking out an address where the unsub might be holding Hatcher. I need you to go to my mother’s. If Esme and her daughter have planned revenge against my mother, she might be in danger.”
“I’m on my way. If Esme knows anything, I’ll find out.”
“Thanks.” Korine ended the call, then checked her weapon, grabbed extra ammo, and headed outside to her car. Rain clouds threatened and the wind whistled through the live oaks as she pressed the gas and barreled onto the street.
Please let Hatcher still be alive.
Even if he didn’t want her, she couldn’t let him die.
Hatcher’s head throbbed, and his eyes felt blurry as he struggled to open them. His mouth was dry, like cotton. And the room swayed. He blinked to clear the dizziness.
Where in the hell was he? What happened?
