My cell buzzed, and I glanced at the message before I rose and took the paper. “Thank you, Dr. Rivers. I have to go.”
He quickly blocked my path. “Is everything okay?”
I could see his fingers itching to snatch back the authorization he’d just given me. I might as well tell him. He would find out soon enough, anyway. “My father just died.”
“I’m sorry. What can I do to help?”
Waving the paper, I said, “Nothing. You’ve done your job. Now get out of my way.”
He grudgingly stepped aside. “I’m here if you need to talk.”
I didn’t bother answering. Talk had never solved anything. Rivers should know that. He’d wasted six months of my life talking. I kept my eyes straight forward as I left the building. My father’s passing wasn’t a shock. The stroke he’d suffered after finding me hanging from a tree in the apple orchard had drained the life out of him a little more each day. His death would be written up as natural causes by everyone but me. Somewhere, hopefully in hell, Christian Salyer had just carved another notch in his bedpost.
“For out of it was thou taken: for dust thou art, and unto dust shall thou return.”
The sermon ended. I stepped forward, took a handful of dirt, and sprinkled it over the coffin. Rivers was watching me. I hoped he had the decency to turn and walk away. His condolences weren’t needed. Nor would they be welcome. “Damn him,” I whispered as he walked toward me.
“I’m sorry for your loss, Dakota. If you need to talk, my door is always open.”
“Thanks for the offer, but in case you haven’t been informed, I no longer work for the police department.”
“That wasn’t my fault. They had another psychiatrist review my notes. She disagreed with my assessment that you were no longer a danger to yourself.”
“Don’t sweat it, Rivers. I’ve moved on. You should too.”
I turned away from him to watch my former partner, Max Winchester, wheel his way through the throng of nongrieving visitors. I’d gone to great lengths to keep my father’s funeral private, but word had leaked, and the vultures had come out. Not to pay their respects to a great man—they all wanted to get a close-up view of the woman who killed Christian Salyer. I’d spoiled that for them by wearing a veil.
Max grinned and nodded toward Father Thurston, who was also headed my way. If I had a friend in the screwed-up world, it would be Max. He’d taken a bullet in the spine trying to save me, but he’d never blamed me for it. He didn’t have to. I was an expert at blaming myself.
Out of respect for my father, I lifted the veil as the preacher approached. “Thank you, Father Thurston. It was a lovely service. Dad would have been pleased.”
“Your father was a good man.” His milky-grey eyes were filled with concern, but it wasn’t for me. “I hope you’ll continue his work with the church.”
In other words, he hoped I would continue to send the monthly donation my father had made. I wouldn’t have. Lucky for Father Thurston, my father had known that. He’d taken care of the donations in his will. I lowered the veil, afraid the contempt I felt would show on my face. “Of course.”
Max had finally maneuvered his way to my side. “You ready to blow this place, partner?”
Rivers was still watching from a distance, waiting for the epiphany that was never going to come. I was an enigma to him and the psychiatric world. Virtually insane when found, I’d climbed out of hell and made my way back. Very few, if any, had ever accomplished that before. There was a reason I’d come back, one I hadn’t shared with anyone, not even Max. He took my baby. I’m going to find her, no matter who I have to kill to do it.
I nodded at Max and glanced at the grave, which would be filled in shortly. Words still needed to be said—promises I’d made but been unable to keep. He’s still alive, Dad. I’ll find him, and I’ll find Emma. This time, I’ll make sure he’s dead.
2
Savannah, Georgia
“Do you want the pain to stop, Dakota?”
“Yes, please, Christian,” I whispered.
“Laugh for me. Don’t stop until I tell you to.”
Somewhere deep inside, I’d known Christian Salyer wasn’t dead, but I’d convinced myself in the first few months that the memories I had of the gunshot and his falling weren’t fabrications of my damaged mind, placed there to protect me from the truth. I wasn’t strong enough then, and the truth would have shattered the barriers I’d built and destroyed what little sanity I had left.
I stood on the edge of the creek bank, sweat beading on my forehead as I pushed down another memory from my time in captivity. The things Christian had made me laugh at were never funny.
Rope burns were easily visible on the bottom limb of the huge oak tree, and an ache started in my lower abdomen, running along the path of the scar. How long did she hang here before someone found her? Was she still alive, left to suffer not only the pain of dying alone but also the fear of not dying and what hell was coming next?
Angelina Clark’s death was my fault. Just like all the others. How many women have to die before I’m brave enough to open those doors and admit the truth?
A twig snapped behind me, and I whipped around, gun in hand. “Stop right there! Who are you?”
Amusement gleamed in the golden highlights of the man’s hazel eyes as he pulled his jacket aside to reveal a badge. “Detective Gabriel Browne.” He nodded at my gun. “Once a cop, always a cop. You’re pretty fast on the draw. Dakota Dale, I presume?”
“What makes you presume that, Detective Browne?” I holstered my gun.
Browne laughed, white teeth glistening in the early-morning light. “I had a visit from your partner. He said I could find you here.”
“Max has a tendency to be overprotective.” I turned away from Browne, watching the slow ripples of the creek flow by. Allowing Browne to sneak up on me was careless, a mistake I couldn’t afford to make again.
“Not a bad quality under the circumstances. This is private property, Miss Dale. Want to tell me what you’re doing out here?”
Reliving my own hell. “I wanted to see the murder site.” I turned to face him, studying him the same way he was studying me. I guessed he was in his late forties, early fifties, but unlike the older detectives I’d known, he didn’t have the paunch. Instead, muscles rippled beneath his jacket when he moved. The military cut I’d always found unattractive suited him. He doesn’t belong here. He belongs in a big city. So what’s he doing in Savannah, Georgia?
My gaze came back to the golden highlights of his eyes. “This isn’t the murder site. How long was she here?”
“As close as we can tell, three to four hours. Her sister woke up around two o’clock. When Angelina wasn’t home, she went looking for her.”
The small cove was a beautiful place, quiet and secluded, but it wasn’t the first place I would have looked for a missing sister and definitely not in the dark. “This is the first place she looked at two in the morning? Doesn’t that seem rather suspicious to you?”