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 she 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?
One minute he was heading to his SUV, the next . . . everything went blank. No, not completely blank. A stab in his neck.
Someone had injected him with a drug of some kind.
Shit.
He jerked his hands and arms, but he was trapped. Tied to a goddamn chair.
He had to get free.
Forcing himself to think, he scouted out the room for an escape route. Except for a tiny sliver of light seeping through the boarded window, the room was pitch-black. The scent of rotting wood swirled around him. A mouse skittered somewhere in the distance. Wind whistled through the eaves, adding to the chill in the room.
Who the hell had gotten the best of him? He hadn’t seen it coming . . .
Had the unsub gone after Korine?
He banged his boots on the wood floor, rocking the chair back so hard he hoped it would splinter. Instead, it hit the wall and bounced back. “Why don’t you show your face?” he shouted into the darkness. “Tell me who you are and why you brought me here!”
Silence met his shout.
Dammit. Where was the unsub? And what did the unsub have planned for him?
Fury fueled his adrenaline, and he fumbled with the ropes. He had to get free so he could stop this maniac. He just prayed she hadn’t gotten to Korine.
She was all that mattered.
Korine pressed the phone to her ear as she careened up the drive toward the address where Esme and her daughter Belinda had lived.
How would her life have been different if her father had been exposed for the man he truly was years ago? Would Belinda have healed and grown into a happy secure woman, able to love and have a normal relationship?
The wind picked up, gusts blowing leaves and debris all over the place. The house was dilapidated, the windows broken out and replaced by boards, the grass dead, trees withered and tilting at odd angles, others blown down, cracked and rotten from recent storms.
The land looked ravaged, just as Esme’s daughter must have felt.
She sympathized with her.
Still, she couldn’t condone murder.
And she wouldn’t let Hatcher die.
She cut the lights and engine and coasted beneath an overhang of trees about a half mile from the house. Parking in the shadows, she slipped out, checking her weapon as she inched through the bushes toward the house.
A dog barked in the distance. Coyotes howled. A bleak eeriness hinted at the ghosts that wandered the marsh, lost between the tides and day and night.
She crept closer, her gaze scanning the woods. This place had been abandoned at least a decade ago.
But it must hold traumatic memories for Esme and her daughter.
She made it to the porch, but both front windows were boarded over so she crept to the side to find another way in. At least a way to see inside so she could scope out the situation.
Suddenly the brush rattled behind her, and she felt the sharp jab of a weapon in her back.
“Come on in, Korine. Your boyfriend is waiting.”
Korine hesitated, her mind spinning. She recognized that voice.
It was someone she’d known all along. Someone who’d helped on the case.
Someone who’d hidden among them to cover for herself and the Keepers.
Someone she’d thought was her friend.
She whirled around and raised an arm, ready to strike a blow, but the sight of the Glock in her face made her freeze.
If she died, who would save Hatcher?