“Wakey, wakey.”
Harper scrunched her eyes tightly closed, fighting the nausea rising in the back of her throat. It tasted like she’d been sucking on dirty gym socks. She ran her tongue over her teeth, and bit back a groan when whatever she was lying on moved.
“Come on, Harper, time for you to join the party.”
She forced her eyes open because something about the voice sounded so familiar. When she managed to pry them open, she desperately wished she could close them again, blocking the sight that met her gaze. Because she was looking into a pair of eyes exactly like hers. They were set back in a familiar face eerily similar to her own, enough they could be twins. Except the woman seated on the edge of the bed wasn’t her twin. No, the doppelganger was someone so much worse.
Her mother.
The woman who’d made her life a living, breathing torment growing up. She was the reason Harper finally broke, mentally and physically, the reason she’d abandoned everything to run. Leaving Bigelow and the woman who’d given her birth in the rearview of the Greyhound bus.
“Mom?”
“Hello, sweetie. Miss me?”
“Hardly.” Struggling to sit, Harper swung her legs over the side of the bed, which was little more than a couple of mattresses lying on the bare floor, covered by a rough khaki green blanket. The scene brought memories rushing back, nightmare images making her want to vomit.
How did I end up here? I was talking to…
“Esme.”
“She’s around somewhere.”
“Why am I here?” Harper gestured around, her movements jerky. A surge of adrenaline raced through her. She recognized the place, the source of things she’d left behind. Looked like she hadn’t run fast or far enough to escape her past. “I remember talking to Esme, and then she shoved a hypodermic in my neck.”
“She simply followed instructions. You needed to come home, sweetie. Pay for your sins.”
Harper gaped at her mother, astonished at her accusation. What sins? Telling the truth and helping put her parents in prison, where they deserved to be? They were monsters, dealing with lies, betrayal, abuse, and depravity far beyond anything human beings should endure. The cops had protected her, showing her there were decent people determined to help. She’d helped them find evidence to put her parents away. It hadn’t been pleasant, and it had taken months to gather enough to arrest the people who might biologically be part of her, but they weren’t her parents and hadn’t been for a long time. She’d known that, even when she knew she had to escape. Get away from Bigelow and their stink of taint, their influence which remained even after they’d been arrested.
Her mother had always deceived herself with delusions of self-importance. Thinking she was above everyone, and everyone should obey her every dictate every command without question. Harper had done exactly that for her entire life. Until she couldn’t do it anymore.
“What do you want from me? I left. Why can’t you leave me alone?”
Harper stood, her legs wobbling like overcooked spaghetti, and she grabbed onto the wall by the head of the bed, fighting not to give in to the overwhelming urge to black out. Sweet oblivion, it would take her away from the woman who’d given her life and who now had her at her mercy. Unfortunately, she knew her mother didn’t believe in the word.
Looking at her mother, she realized time had been kind to her. Hardly fair after all the hardship she’d caused others. Kimberly Westbrook Jennings had been sixteen when she’d given birth to Harper. Barely a line marred her complexion, and for a moment it was like looking into a mirror. Other than the hair, they could be mistaken for sisters. Her mother’s hair was sleek and straight, with nary a strand out of place, a soft brown in color. Though when Harper had been younger, her mom had colored it—blonde. A horrible realization hit Harper.
“It was you! You’re the one who’s been impersonating me. The clothes, the wig. You were in Dallas, weren’t you? Did you—did you kill those men?”
Her mother never answered, though her eyes gave her away. Harper knew she’d discovered the truth. Cold-blooded and deceitful, her mother had struck down those men without remorse. Why? What had they done to deserve to die, murdered in their own homes?
“Good, you’re awake.” Esme strolled into the room, and Harper lunged for her, wanting to wrap her hands around her former friend’s neck and squeeze until her eyes popped.
“How could you, Esme? I thought we were friends. You’ve encouraged me, supported me. Why, Esme? Do you hate me?”
Kimberly wrapped an arm around Harper’s waist, pulling her away from Esme before she could wrap her hands around the other woman’s throat. “Esme’s got her own reasons for hating you, daughter. You really are clueless, aren’t you? Think back. Sixteen years ago. Of course, she looked different then. I’ll give you another clue. Think red hair, kind of a rusty color. Oops, did I give you too many clues?”
Harper jerked away from her mother, stomping across the room, wanting to put as much space between them as possible. While her mother dug through a bag she picked up off the floor, Harper watched Esme. How did she look different—her mother intimated she knew Esme. But that wasn’t possible, was it? Surely she’d remember somebody as striking and charismatic as her friend?
“Ah, here we go.” Her mother smirked before handing her a beat-up old Polaroid picture. Two young children sat on the steps in front of a dilapidated porch, licking popsicles. Though the color was faded, it was clear the two were related, obviously brother and sister. Maybe a year or two apart, they both had similar facial features and one other striking resemblance.
Red hair. Bright red, evident even on the old photograph. Shocked, she looked at Esme, who simply shrugged, tugging on a strand of dark hair, a look of pain crossing her face.
“I changed it. I can’t stand looking in the mirror and seeing my brother staring back. You remember Rusty? My brother.”
Of course she remembered Rusty now, though she hadn’t when she’d seen the photo previously. He’d hung out at their house, played with her. A sad little boy, he’d craved affection and attention. Harper had felt sorry for him—and his sister. She’d been shy, withdrawn, and scared of her own shadow. The little girl with the sad eyes, ragged clothes, had been Esme?
“I’m sorry. About Rusty. He didn’t deserve—”
“To be murdered? Tossed aside like he was worthless trash? You’re right, he didn’t. And you did nothing to stop those men. Those monsters your father gave him to for their stupid rituals and perversions.”
Harper reeled from Esme’s verbal assault. It hadn’t been her fault; she’d been a child herself. Hadn’t fully understood the monstrosities people were capable of and had been unable to save the innocent boy.
“You blame me? Have you forgotten who called the authorities? I turned in my own parents for what happened. Rusty was an innocent in everything, and I regret every single day I didn’t do something sooner. If I’d told somebody, maybe things could have been different.”
“You knew what those monsters planned, and you kept your mouth shut. They’d done it before. It wasn’t like Rusty was the first.”
“No, but I made sure he was the last. Esme, I did the best I could. Turned my life around. Left and started over. Looks like you did, too. How can you blame me?”
“Because without Rusty, I was nothing! I had nobody but my grandma, and she turned into a mean drunk after they found Rusty’s body. She’d been bad enough before, barely taking care of us when we got dumped on her when our folks died. Losing Rusty broke her. Do you know what it’s like to wonder if today’s the day somebody shows up at the house to take you? Because that happened. I was shoved into a foster home. Want me to tell you how many times I was raped by the dad at the first home? Nobody stopped him. His wife stood by, knowing if she said anything they’d take me away, and she wanted the money they got for taking care of me. Taking care, what a joke.”
Kimberly cut her off with a wave of her hand. “Esme, enough. We’ve got work to do, remember?”
Brian screeched to a halt in front of Dane’s house. The foreman’s house was a short distance from the Boudreau home, and Dane managed the day-to-day running of the ranch and shared the house with his wife, Destiny. Brian had called, spoken with Dane, who’d assured him he’d have the footage for the last couple of hours cued up and ready to go. As a bonus, Destiny was home, and offered to help in any way she could.
The front door opened before he’d even gotten out of the car, and Destiny stood silhouetted in the doorway. A cute brunette, she was one of the newest members of the Boudreau clan, having eloped to Vegas with Dane several months earlier. What started out as a business arrangement to save the Boudreau man’s life quickly morphed into a love match. Ms. Patti had been a little unhappy with the elopement, but she’d welcomed Destiny with open arms. So far, Ms. Patti hadn’t had the whole white wedding for any of her sons, though several had tied the knot. Hopefully, Rafe and Tessa’s wedding, which was days away, might help assuage her yearning to see her sons happily settled.
“Dane’s waiting in the office. He’s started watching the feed. We went back four hours, because that’s when Harper’s car started down the drive from the Big House, headed for the cabin. Have you heard from her yet?”
“Nothing. Cabin’s pretty much a total loss. Her car’s there, but Harper’s not. I need to find her. I’ve got a bad feeling if we don’t find her soon…” Brian broke off the thought, unwilling to consider the possibility.
Destiny ushered him through the living room to a large bedroom which had been converted to an office. Two large desks faced each other, with several computer monitors scrolling with information. Dane sat in front of a large color monitor, watching the security camera feed play. He looked up when Brian entered, but immediately focused back on the screen.
“I’ve gone through about an hour and a half so far. I’ve seen Harper’s car and Destiny’s when she got home. Douglas left right at the beginning of the feed, so about four hours ago. A couple of pickups have passed the front gate, headed toward Shiloh Springs, but nothing out of the ordinary.”
Brian whipped his phone from his pocket and keyed up the phone log. “I talked to Harper at 5:02 p.m. Anybody after that time is suspect because she was alone when she called me.”
Reaching for the mouse, Dean advanced the camera’s feed, stopping when he hit 5 p.m. Brian leaned over his shoulder, watching every movement, desperate to see something, anything to give him a clue where Harper might be, and if somebody had a hand in her disappearance.
“Wait! Stop there.” Destiny pointed at headlights approaching the turnoff toward the cabin. The car slowed when it made the left turn, showing a black car, slung low to the ground. Brian leaned closer, trying to get a better look. He wasn’t a car guy, didn’t know much about makes and models, which put him at a disadvantage.
“Nice car. Expensive.” Destiny tapped the screen. “See the headlights, they’re distinctive. They look like the new split headlamps on the high-end S-class BMW. New this year. Very pricy.”
“Woman, is there anything you don’t know?” Dane pressed a kiss against her wrist. “How hard will it be to track how many people have that particular model in say a two-hundred mile radius?”
“For anybody else, a couple of hours. For me? Pfft.”
Flinging herself onto her office chair, her fingers flew across the keyboard, entering data with a speed Brian envied. The best he could manage on his laptop was a little faster than hunt-and-peck typing, but it got the job done. Destiny made it look easy.
“I don’t recognize the car, but I don’t know most of Harper’s friends. Hopefully, it’s somebody she knows, and not—”
“Harper’s friends don’t know about the cabin. I only know because I followed her one day. She told me she hadn’t told anybody, so the list of people who knew she used it for a studio could probably be counted on one hand.”
Brian jerked around at the sound of a printer, watched a single sheet of paper slid onto the tray. Destiny smirked and handed him the page.
“Not a lot of those cars out there. More than I’d thought, but still a manageable list. Recognize any of the names?”
He scanned through a list of about twenty names, pausing about two-thirds of the way down. Oh, yeah, there was a name he recognized. Somebody Harper hadn’t told about her impromptu studio. At least he didn’t think so. Right now, anything was possible, and he couldn’t afford to overlook any clue, no matter how insignificant.
“Esme Dubois. She’s Harper’s mentor. Runs a gallery in Austin. She was with Esme in Flagstaff.” Dean spun his chair around, looking at Brian.
“Interesting. Honey, would it be difficult to check the airlines, see if Ms. Dubois took flights to Dallas, Oklahoma City, and…”
“Los Angeles and Seattle.” Brian supplied the additional cities, watching closely, marveling at as Destiny’s rapid-fire keyboard attack. She’d made the first search look easy.
“Sorry I can’t give you anything else from the security cameras. The cabin isn’t covered by the alarm system since nobody uses it often.”
“Well, well. I checked American and Southwestern, both flying out of Dallas-Fort Worth. Although she could have flow out of Houston. I’d need to check specific dates, but I do have Esme flying in LAX and Sea-Tac. Want me to narrow it down more, dude?”
“Not now, but I’ll definitely be hitting you up once I’ve got Harper safe and sound.” Brian studied Destiny’s set up, the state-of-the-art computer systems, desktop, laptop, and knew she wasn’t a simple run-of-the-mill hacker. Then he studied her face, saw the twinkle in her eyes when their gazes met.
“What?”
“How come you’re not working for the government? With your skills, you’d be snapped up by just about any division you wanted. Unless—”
“Don’t go there, bro. Destiny’s computer skills are strictly of the ‘don’t ask, don’t tell’ variety.” Dane grinned at his wife, and she raised her hand for his high five.
“Smart man. That’s why I love him.”
“One more favor? Can you check into Esme’s background? I know she’s important to Harper’s work, and she’s pushing Harper to have an exclusive show. But I don’t know anything more about the woman, other than she has a gallery in Austin.”
“Sure.” Destiny cracked her knuckles and cackled. “Come to Mama.” She typed a few words and stared at the screen. “Huh.”
Brian’s intuition was going off like a rocket, all the small details falling into place. “What’d you find?”
“It’s more what I didn’t find. Esme Dubois is a gallery owner. She has lived in Austin for,” she paused for a second, adding, “six years. Graduated from, nope, scratch that. She didn’t graduate. Dropped out in her junior year from Tech. But what I find interesting is until ten years ago, there’s no record of anybody in the Texas databanks for an Esme Dubois.”
“It’s not her real name.” Brian stated, knowing he was finally on the right track. The big question still unanswered is why target Harper to take the fall as a serial killer? There was no rhyme or reason for Harper to target the five men—except they were all from Louisiana.
“It all ties back to Louisiana. Harper’s from a small town called Bigelow in the northern part of the state. All five of the victims had connections to the state. Can’t be happenstance. I know Harper left her home when she was young, sixteen. Swore she’d never go back. She’s got a sealed juvenile record. Bad stuff, but not enough somebody would want to frame her.”
“Unless there’s a lot of stuff not in her juvenile record.” Destiny rested her chin on her hand, her elbow on the edge of the desk. “I have some shady stuff in my past,” she glanced at Dane, who simply shrugged. “Some of it is public record. Other stuff, things a few prosecutors might have been interested in that never saw the light of day. There are still good people in the world.”
“Harper always said she had some ugly stuff in her past. Things she refused to talk about. She probably believed I knew, since the FBI can usually dig deep enough to ferret out most people’s secrets. What if…” He trailed off, his mind racing over scenario after scenario. He didn’t even notice Destiny’s hand’s flying across the keyboard again.
Harper was smart, talented, and had a knack for reading people. It was amazing she had such a sunny disposition when she’d been through some pretty lousy stuff when she’d been barely older than he’d been when he came to live with the Boudreaus. The big question he couldn’t get past was Esme.
“You said Bigelow, Louisiana? About thirteen, fourteen years ago?” At Brian’s nod, Destiny tapped her screen. “Seems like good old Bigelow, Louisiana, was a hotbed of scandal fourteen years ago. A local family, the Jennings, were the leaders of a local church. Not the kind of church you’d think, mind you. This was more like a cult who perpetrated some seriously nasty stuff. Occult, voodoo, you name it, the Jennings had their corrupt fingers all over it.”
“What’s that got to do with Harper?”
“According to a newspaper article from fourteen years ago, the Jennings family were all arrested. Mr. and Mrs. Jennings, son Caleb, and daughter, Harper.”
Brian moved around behind Destiny, studying the monitor. She’d pulled up information about people who were apparently Harper’s parents. Her younger brother. The picture beneath the headline showed a middle-aged man with a slight paunch, but otherwise he stood tall and proud, a pretty woman who looking surprisingly like Harper and a skinny tow-headed child of about six or seven. But his eyes zeroed in on a young version of the woman he loved. The blonde hair was shorter, but the familiar curls reached the top of her shoulders. The colors she loved to play with in her hair were missing, but there was no denying it was his Harper.
“The parents were arrested. Child abuse and endangerment, embezzlement of church funds, and extortion are but a few of the charges brought against Mr. and Mrs. Jennings. Let me see if I can in find anything about convictions or plea deals.”
“What are you thinking, Brian? Because from the look on your face, you’ve got an idea of where Harper is, don’t you?”
“Whoa, looks like the Jennings got hit with second degree murder charges in addition to a laundry list of allegations. A kid named Russell Givens, a local boy, living with his grandmother—who happened to be a member of the Jennings family’s cult. Some people referred to it as a coven. Others stated Mama Jennings was a voodoo priestess who sacrificed local children to increase her family’s wealth and power. Man, this is some sick stuff. I mean, anybody who’d done even a fraction of what the paper’s alleging deserves to be tossed under the jail.”
Something about the mention of the body tugged at Brian’s memory. “Destiny, is there a picture of the Givens’ kid?”
She pointed to the screen. “Yep, right here.”
The photo showed a young boy dressed in a white shirt with a red tie undone around his neck. It reminded him of a school uniform, the kind they wore in private schools. With a couple of swipes across his phone, he turned it to show Destiny. “This the same kid?”
She looked between her computer monitor and Brian’s phone before nodding. “I’d say yes.”
“I agree. Same eyes, same hair. How’d you get it?” Dane gestured toward Brian’s phone.
“When Harper’s apartment was broken into, someone painted the word ‘murderer’ on the wall and stuck the picture on the back of one of her paintings. Harper said she didn’t recognize the kid, though.”
“Think she was lying?”
“I don’t know. But he’s a tie to her life in Bigelow, and one coincidence too many.”
Brian began pacing, though there wasn’t a lot of room. He was antsy, needing to put the pieces together so he could find Harper. They were close. He knew it.
“Guys, I might get into trouble for this, but I kind of hacked into the Bigelow County Sheriff’s office computer system and looked at the Jennings’ files. The Jennings kid became a ward of the state for a few months before he,” she drew in a deep breath, “before he killed himself.”
“That’s awful. Poor Harper.” Dane perched his hip on the corner of Destiny’s desk. “What else did you find? I know you, and you’ve got that smug look again.” Looking at Brian, he shrugged. “What can I say, she’s got a gift.”
“The Jennings claimed they could provide information about several local families, people who’d attended their church, in exchange for leniency. Claimed they had nothing to do with Russell Givens’ death or their son’s suicide but tossed several people under the bus to save their own hides. I gotta say, Bigelow is a regular hotbed of every deviant and disgusting thing you can think of. It’s like Sodom and Gomorrah in small town Louisiana.”
“What happened to Harper’s parents? Please tell me they’re in a federal prison someplace with super long sentences.” Dane stood and walked to stand behind his wife, resting his hands on her shoulders. “Sounds like nobody deserves it more than those two lowlifes.”
“He got seventy-five years. Mother Jennings got a lighter sentence, but still got fifteen years. And Harper’s the one who provided evidence to put them away. Said she did it to protect her little brother.”
“One last question and I’m out of here. If I’m right, I know where Harper is.” Brian drew in a deep breath, anticipating what Destiny’s response would be once he asked. “Is Harper’s mother still in prison?”
Destiny’s eyes widened when she figured out why Brian was asking. Smart girl. She looked at the screen once before meeting Brian’s gaze.
“No, she isn’t. She was released last year.”
The final piece of the puzzle locked into place, and Brian knew. Harper was in Bigelow. And her mother, the woman who’d given her life, who was supposed to love her, had framed her to take the fall as a serial killer.