CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX
Another night, and no answers about the murders. They were getting closer, though—Korine could feel it.
“I don’t know where Ellis got those details, but there may be a leak somewhere,” Hatcher said as he parked at a pub for dinner. “I have a good mind to throw her in jail and make her tell us.”
“She won’t talk,” Korine said as they went inside and claimed a booth. “She’s too determined to make her story.”
A waitress appeared, and they quickly ordered. Korine mentally reviewed the theory about the conspiracy as the waitress left to get their food and drinks. Hatcher excused himself to make a call, and she washed up in the ladies room. By the time they made it back to the table, the waitress had returned with their orders.
Hatcher dug into a burger while she forked up a bite of shrimp scampi.
“We have to consider the fact that we might be wrong about the conspiracy,” Korine said. “But I do believe we’re dealing with a vigilante killer.”
“Maybe Cat or Wyatt will find some discrepancies in the alibis or narrow down a suspect from the chat room or blog comments.”
Korine nodded, ate another bite, then started to take a sip of her wine when her phone buzzed. She checked the number.
The rehab center.
Dread tightened her neck muscles as she connected the call. “Ms. Davenport?”
“This is she.”
“It’s E. L. Foote from Serenity. I’m calling about your brother.”
She rubbed her temple. “What’s wrong?”
“I’m sorry, but Kenny somehow snuck out this afternoon. He became agitated during a group therapy session. One of our nurses escorted him to his room to rest. But he didn’t show up for dinner, so we searched the facility and his room and realized he was gone.”
Korine laid her fork down, her appetite vanishing. “What upset him?” Not that he needed anything specific.
“I’m sorry, but I can’t divulge the details of the session,” Foote said.
Korine bit her lower lip. But knowing what upset him might give her insight into the reason he was agitated enough to leave.
Then again, he was an addict. He couldn’t handle even the slightest bit of stress and self-medicated with alcohol or drugs when things got tough.
“Thanks for calling,” Korine said. “If you hear from him, or if he returns, please let me know.”
“We will. And Ms. Davenport, we want to help him. The counselor thought she was making progress. Let us know if you convince him to check himself back in.”
Korine thanked her, ended the call, then dialed her mother’s home number. Hatcher was watching her.
The worry in his eyes twisted her insides. She wasn’t accustomed to sharing her problems. She was the one who took care of people—her mother, her brother. Herself.
Esme finally answered on the third ring.
“The counselor from Serenity just phoned. Kenny got upset and left. Is he there?”
“I haven’t seen him.”
Korine’s pulse pounded. “How’s Mom?”
A slight hesitation. “She’s having a fair day. She spent some time sitting in the garden.”
A wave of nostalgia washed over Korine. Once upon a time, her mother had belonged to the garden club and had grown spectacular roses. Every year she’d thrown a cocktail party to show them off and invited half of Savannah.
After her father’s death, her mother let most of the roses go and then the garden.
Although the incident the last time she was at her mother’s nagged at her. Why had her mother suddenly been digging where Kenny had buried the doll?
She averted her gaze from Hatcher and wiped at a tear. “Apparently he became agitated during therapy, so I don’t know what kind of mood he’s in. If he shows up, call me.”
Esme assured her she would, and Korine pocketed her phone.
“Your brother checked himself out?” Hatcher asked as he finished his burger.
“Not exactly. He just left.”
Hatcher waved the waitress over for the check. “Do you have any idea where he’d go?”
“Maybe to a bar, some place to drink.”
“Where does he live?”
“In a loft near downtown.”
Korine offered Hatcher her credit card, but he waved it off. “He might pick up some booze and go home.”
Hatcher jangled his keys. “Then let’s go.”
Korine caught his arm, but heat speared her, and she wished she hadn’t. The day was wearing on her. Leaning on Hatcher was too tempting.
“Take me home, then I’ll go. You don’t need to get involved in my personal problems.”
Hatcher’s eyes darkened. “Stop pushing me away, Korine. If your brother is upset and inebriated, you shouldn’t face him alone.”
A tiny smile tugged at her mouth at his protective tone. “I am a federal agent,” she said. “I know how to defend myself.”
He made a sarcastic sound in his throat. “We’re supposed to back each other up.”
Without another word, he strode toward the door.
Emotions warred inside Korine. She didn’t want to face Kenny alone, but having Hatcher so close made her want more.
He was nothing like the other men she’d met. He was strong, brave, protective.
Handsome. Sexy.
He knew how to treat a woman. How to respect her.
How to love her and make her crazy in bed.
If they weren’t working together, she might consider sleeping with him again just to feel his hands on her body and his lips touching her intimately.
Hatcher had seen too many drunks get violent. He didn’t know Kenny Davenport, but a quick background check revealed that he’d been arrested twice in barroom brawls. Apparently he had a temper when he was intoxicated.
He was also angry that Korine had forced him into rehab.
He might turn that anger on her.
The thought of Korine’s brother hurting her made Hatcher’s stomach knot. Korine was a damn decent woman who took care of everyone but herself.
Someone needed to take care of her, whether she liked it or not.
She gave him the address for Kenny’s complex, a series of three brick warehouses that had been turned into lofts. Hatcher wove through Savannah, then veered into the parking area.
“What kind of vehicle does Kenny drive?” Hatcher asked.
“An old Range Rover, but I don’t see it here.” She unbuckled her seat belt and opened the car door. “I hope he isn’t drinking and driving.”
Storm clouds darkened as they climbed the steel staircase to Kenny’s second-floor loft. Korine pounded on the door. “Kenny, are you in there?”
She leaned her ear against the door and listened. “Kenny?”
Nothing.
She twisted the doorknob, then pushed at the door, but it was locked.
“He’s not here,” Hatcher said.
“Or if he is, he’s passed out or not answering.” Korine pulled a set of keys from her pocket, then inserted one and the door swung open.
“You have keys to your brother’s loft?” Hatcher asked, surprised.
“One time Kenny passed out in an alley. When I got him home, I made a copy of his key while he slept off his binge. I’ve called too many times, and when he doesn’t answer, I imagine him dead in the streets or in a dumpster somewhere.” She shrugged. “At least this way I can check.”
She stepped inside, and Hatcher followed her into the room, a large space with an open-concept living, dining, and kitchen area. The bedroom was designated by a platform and folding screen.
From the doorway, Hatcher could easily see the guy wasn’t home.
Korine mumbled something that he didn’t understand, and he followed her to the table. Dozens of photos of Korine and her parents were spread across the surface . . . except the photos had been mangled and destroyed.
“My God,” Korine said as she picked up a picture. Its edges had been jaggedly cut with scissors.
Hatcher didn’t know what to say. The pictures were disturbing.
Hatcher glanced at the floor on the other side of the table, and his blood ran cold.
A music box identical to the one Korine had sat on the floor beside a porcelain doll. A doll whose face had been smashed.
A doll with a knife protruding from its chest.
A knife dripping with blood.
A shiver slithered up Korine’s spine. What had happened here?
She’d known that Kenny resented her, but the violence displayed in the shredded pictures and in the doll’s destruction hinted at more than resentment.
That bloody knife . . . was it from one of their victims?
“I think you should issue an APB for Kenny,” Hatcher said. “He appears to be dangerous.”
“I can’t have him arrested for tearing up some pictures,” Korine said, knowing her mother would hate her if she discovered she’d sent Kenny to jail.
Hatcher gripped her arm and forced her to look at him. “Your brother’s out of control. He obviously has rage issues. Coupled with drinking or drugs, that rage could escalate.” He gently cupped her face in his hands. “I don’t want to see him take it out on you.”
And the doll was an indication that he would.
Korine didn’t like feeling vulnerable, especially in front of Hatcher. She was supposed to be his equal, not a flailing, needy female.
She stiffened and pulled away. “I can take care of myself and my family. If you want to process that knife, bag it.”
She headed toward the door. Hatcher caught up with her, his breathing puffing behind her. “Where are you going?”
“Home,” she said stiffly. “If Kenny wants to find me, he’ll go there. If not, at least I can study that chat room. Maybe we’ll get lucky and someone will post about Hortman.”
She clamped her mouth shut to stifle a sob as she glanced back at the doll. Kenny knew how much those gifts from her father meant to her.
She hadn’t realized how deep-seated his jealousy was.
The fresh air helped to jolt her out of the shock enveloping her as she and Hatcher stepped outside.
“We need to process that knife, Korine. You know that, don’t you?”
Tears clogged her throat, and she nodded. “I’ll wait. You get it.”
He murmured that he would, and she leaned against the railing and drew in a breath.
A minute later, he returned, and they hurried down the steps to his SUV.
She checked her phone for messages as Hatcher drove from the lofts toward her house, but there were no calls from Kenny or Esme.
Hatcher parked the SUV in front of her house. She thanked him for driving her home, then reached for the door handle.
He covered her hand with his. “I’m not leaving until we check out your house.”
He let the sentence trail off, but she understood the implication—he wanted to make sure Kenny wasn’t lurking around.
At one time, she wouldn’t have been afraid of her brother. But after seeing that knife in the doll . . . she didn’t know.
“I can handle myself,” she said and exited the vehicle.
He didn’t say a word, but he followed her up to the front door. She scanned the property, and he did the same, but nothing looked amiss.
Inside, though, the lamp in her bedroom was on.
“I turned off the light in my room when I left.” Instantly alert, they both drew their weapons as she fished her keys from her pocket and unlocked the door. The moment she did, she knew someone had been inside.
The entryway and den looked untouched, but a strange scent in the air made her pause. What was it—perfume? Bodywash? Aftershave? Or something else . . .
Straining to hear, she glanced at Hatcher. He raised his brows, and she gestured for him to check her office while she did her bedroom.
One step down the hall, and she glanced into her room. Anger welled inside her as she looked at her bed.
Dozens of broken pieces of doll heads were scattered over the surface.
Hatcher’s sharp intake of breath echoed behind her.
She blinked to stem the tears. Had her brother done this?