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Leaning her head against a newel post, she closed her eyes. Sean had asked her to wait while he finished up, but she was desperate to get home. She’d been outside for too long, and her face and hands were numb from the cold. But the frigid air had done nothing to dispel the dread still hammering at her chest. She recognized it for what it was—a memory trying to force its way out.
A therapist had once told her that every subconscious contained a special place—a vault—where lost memories were stored. Usually, those memories stayed locked up tight, but every once in a while, a song, a face or a seemingly random event could crack open the safe and provide a tantalizing, sometimes terrifying glimpse into the past.
The room upstairs had done that for Sarah. But the tumblers hadn’t been turned by the puddles of blood on the floor or even the tattoos on the victim. The vault had been breached by the killer’s message. And by the sight of her own pale face staring back from the mirror.
The door opened and Sean stepped out on the porch.
He moved up beside her. “Are you okay? You had me worried when you ran out like that.”
“Yeah, I was kind of surprised by that, too,” Sarah said. “I thought I had a strong constitution. Never considered myself the squeamish type.”
“Sometimes it hits you all of a sudden. I’ve seen it happen to guys who’ve been on the force for years.” Sean hesitated. “But maybe in your case, there’s a little more going on than a weak stomach.”
“What do you mean?”
“You were thinking about Rachel, weren’t you? Damn it, I could kick myself for dragging you over here like this. I should have thought about how it would affect you.”
She shrugged. “Don’t worry about it. It’s not a big deal.”
“It’s a very big deal. I saw your face when you ran out. It was like you’d seen a ghost. Do you want to talk about it?”
“Here?” She glanced around. The professionals and onlookers alike were starting to disperse, but Sarah still had no intention of getting into something so private. “I’m sure you’ve got better things to do with your time.”
“I can spare a few minutes. Besides…” Sean sighed. “It’s the same old story. Nobody saw or heard anything. Not a lot more we can do tonight except file the report and wait for the autopsy. And it might help if you told me what happened upstairs.”
He put his hand on the railing next to hers. Not quite touching. Just close enough for her to know it was there.
“I don’t think so, Sean.”
“Why not? You always refused to talk about Rachel because you didn’t want to drag your past into our relationship. At least that’s what you said. What’s stopping you now?”
“Why do you even care?”
“Sarah.”
The mild rebuke sent a shiver up her spine. She could feel his eyes on her in the dark and she wanted to move away, but not nearly as much as she wanted to stay.
She looked out over the darkened street where moonlight softly illuminated frozen treetops. The flashing police lights reflected off tiny icicles, turning them into sapphires and rubies and in the distance, the palest of amber. The glistening neighborhood looked clean and beautiful and deceptively peaceful in the dark.
Sean shifted restlessly, impatient as always to cut to the heart of the problem. “After you and I got together, I read every newspaper account of the murder I could get my hands on. I even put in a few calls, tried to convince the local authorities to let me have a look at the police report. The one thing that seemed consistent in every account was the county sheriff’s conviction that it was a ritual murder. They found satanic symbols at the crime scene, just like upstairs. Is that what hit you so hard?”
Sarah pushed damp strands of hair from her face. “Just leave it alone, okay? I’ve told you a million times I don’t like dredging all that stuff up. It doesn’t do any good. I don’t remember anything about that night, and at this point, I doubt I ever will.”
“But you do remember. You’re just not letting those memories come out. That’s why you still have nightmares. It’s possible you know who the killer is. And you know he’s still out there.”
Sarah tried to muster an indignant response that would end this. “Oh, so you’re a shrink now?”
“It doesn’t take a shrink to figure this thing out. You were found near the crime scene covered in your sister’s blood. Whatever you saw that night traumatized you so badly you decided to forget what happened. But those memories are still buried in your subconscious. They come out when you dream. So you don’t sleep until your body shuts down from exhaustion because you’re desperate to keep them at bay for as long as you can.” Sean leaned down and said in her ear, “Why won’t you let them out, Sarah? Who are you trying to protect?”
Startled, she moved back, away from him, trying to put distance between herself and the past. But it was too late. She could feel herself slipping into that dark void of paranoia and guilt that had stalked her through most of her teenage years and followed her into adulthood. She found herself scouring the icy darkness, searching for the evil that she knew would sooner or later come back for her.
Sean touched her arm and she jumped.
“You remembered something earlier, didn’t you?”
Slowly she turned to face him. “Is that why you asked me to come here? Because you thought the crime scene would jog my memory?”
It seemed to Sarah that he couldn’t quite meet her gaze. “I called you because I want your help.”
She wasn’t convinced. There was something else at play here, something that Sean might not even be completely aware of himself. Somewhere along the way, he’d become obsessed with her sister’s murder. It was no longer about Sarah’s peace of mind. It wasn’t even about justice. Sean had convinced himself—knowingly or otherwise—that he was the one person who could catch Rachel’s killer.
“If you really want my help, why are you badgering me about something that happened fourteen years ago? Maybe you should try focusing on a crime you might actually be able to solve.”
He winced and she could tell he was on the verge of a retort, then he changed his mind and shrugged. “Okay. Maybe you’re right. Maybe this isn’t the right time to get into all that. But there’s something I need to know before I have Parks take you home.” His face looked both dark and pale in the light spilling out from the windows. “What did you mean earlier when you asked if we’d found any unusual prints around the house?”
Sarah glanced up at the sky. The swirling snowflakes reminded her of tiny, dancing angels. She put out a hand to catch one in her palm.
“What kind of prints were you talking about, Sarah?”
She remained silent as her fingers closed over a snowflake.
Six
Adamant, Arkansas
Christmas Eve
The temperature dropped after dark and it had started to mist. Ashe shivered in his lightweight jacket as he glanced yet again over his shoulder, making sure he couldn’t be spotted.
An unnecessary precaution, because the house was on a two-acre lot at the end of the street. Even if the closest neighbors should glance outside, they would see only a shadow beneath the DeLaunes’ living room window.
Nor was there any need to worry about passing cars. The streets were deserted. He couldn’t see anything but the kaleidoscopic blur of twinkling lights in the distance. On Christmas Eve, the good citizens of Adamant were home celebrating with their families.
But the night was like any other to him. He felt nothing more than a fleeting twinge of regret that no one knew or cared how he spent his Christmas Eve. He didn’t dwell on his loneliness, because being invisible had its compensation.
Shrugging off the disquiet, he turned back to the window. It was nearly midnight. Everyone except Sarah’s father had gone up to bed, and he sat dozing in an easy chair in front of the fireplace. Blissfully unaware.
Earlier, the family had gathered around the Christmas tree to exchange presents. The window was open a crack to allow the smoke from the old man’s pipe to escape, and Ashe had been able to hear their voices so clearly it was almost as if he were a part of the celebration. He’d followed the conversation with avid fascination, even though his eyes had been riveted on Sarah.
Dressed in jeans and a pale yellow sweater, her dark hair pulled back into a ponytail, she’d sat cross-legged on the floor, opening her gifts with a brooding scowl that had irritated her father. The contrast between her sister’s girly squeals as she tore into one package after another had finally become too much for him.
“I’ve had enough of this.” He got up and strode over to Sarah, grabbed her by the arm and yanked her to her feet. “If you want to sit there and sulk, you can damn well do it in your room. You’re not going to ruin the evening for the rest of us.”
Her mother nervously rose to her feet. “James—”
“Stay out of this, Anna. I should have taken care of this at dinner when she was being so rude and aggressive with her sister. She’s an ungrateful little brat, and I’m not going to sit here and tolerate this surly behavior any longer.”
Still clutching her arm, he marched Sarah out of the room and up the stairs. He was gone for a long time, and when he came back, he looked flushed and angry.
“Daddy, are you okay?” Rachel asked softly.
He smiled, his anger melting when he looked at her. “I’m fine, princess, don’t you worry. I’ve got something that’ll make us both feel better.” He plucked a tiny package from his jacket pocket and placed it on the table beside his chair. “Come have a look.”
“Another present?” She gave a little laugh as she tore away the ribbon and paper with frenzied excitement. From Ashe’s place at the window, he saw a flash of fire from the open box before Rachel threw her arms around the old man’s neck. “Daddy! Diamonds? Are they real?”
“Of course they are. Would I give my princess anything but the real thing?”
“But I thought…Mama said I should wait until next year and get them for graduation.”
“And I say you should have them now.”
“Thank you, Daddy. Thank you…thank you…thank you!” She planted a kiss on his cheek after each thank-you, then hugged him tightly. He clung to her for a moment before she got up and ran over to show her mother.
“Mama, look! Have you ever seen anything so beautiful? Isn’t Daddy just the sweetest thing?”
Her mother murmured something Ashe couldn’t hear, and then she watched her oldest daughter gather up all her presents and rush upstairs to try on her new earrings.
After she was gone, Anna walked over to the fireplace. “Why didn’t you tell me about the earrings?”
“Since when do I need your permission to get my own daughter a gift?”
“Sarah’s your daughter, too, James. Why didn’t you give her something special?”
“Because it would have been a waste. Nothing we do is ever good enough for that girl.”
“That’s not true. She’s just going through a difficult stage. I wish you’d try to be a little more understanding—”
“A stage?” He gave a bitter laugh. “Don’t kid yourself, Anna. She’s always been like this. That girl has always had problems. She’s a liar and a thief, and I should have done something about it a long time ago.”
Sarah’s mother sat down on the hearth and folded her hands in her lap. “You’ve always been so hard on her.”
“She’s out of control and you damn well know it. I’m sick to death of dealing with her problems. I hate to think what she’ll be like in a few more years. I see kids like her come through my courtroom all the time. Something needs to be done, and soon, or we may all live to regret it. I’m beginning to think Lydia Mason was right. St. Stephen’s is the best place for a girl like Sarah.”
“I hardly think Lydia Mason is an expert on what’s best for our daughter. I can’t believe you took her to see that woman behind my back.”
“She’s the only therapist in town.”
“You could have talked to the counselor at school or consulted with someone in El Dorado. Why did it have to be her?”
“What’s really got your goat here, Anna? The prospect of sending your daughter away to school, or what Lydia might tell that preacher husband of hers about you? I know how highly you value his opinion.”
“This has nothing to do with Tim. I’m not sending Sarah away. I don’t care what anyone says. She’s only thirteen years old!”
“Will you calm down? It’s not like we’re abandoning her. St. Stephen’s is only an hour’s drive from here. You can visit her whenever you want.”
“I’ll never agree to this. She needs me.”
“And what about your other daughter? What about her needs? I swear to God, the way that girl looks at Rachel sometimes makes my blood run cold.”
“She resents Rachel because of the way you treat her. She knows Rachel is your favorite. Everyone knows it. You don’t even try to hide it.”
“Rachel is a beautiful young woman with a brilliant future ahead of her. I’m proud of her. Why should I have to hide it?”
Sarah’s mother stared down at her hands. “If I’d known it was going to be this way—”
“What would you have done differently?” he goaded. “Go on, say it.”
“She’s just a child. What I did is not her fault.”
“Maybe not. But I can’t help how I feel.”
“Yes, you can. Why won’t you just admit it? This isn’t about Sarah. It’s about punishing me.”
Ashe’s blood pumped fiercely as he watched Sarah’s mother rise and rush from the room. His curiosity was at a fevered pitch. He thought he knew everything about Sarah, but here was a new morsel, a secret that would need to be uncovered then studied and savored.
He returned his attention to Sarah’s father and felt something dark gathering inside him. The old man had no idea what waited for him as he stared broodingly into the flames.
After a while, he nodded off, and Ashe thought how easy it would be to slide up the window, slip into the house and take a stick of firewood to the old man’s skull. Or a knife to the thick, beefy neck. He could almost feel the warm blood spew over his hands, and for a moment, the desire was almost too much to resist.
But vengeance was worth waiting for and the time had to be right.
After all, the worst punishment wasn’t death. It was losing the thing prized above all else.
Seven
By mid-morning on Tuesday, the temperature had climbed twenty degrees, and the trees around Esme Floyd’s house were dripping from the melting ice. The sun was finally out, but the wind still carried a sharp bite.
Shivering, Lukas Clay reached back inside the squad car to grab his heavy jacket. A cup of coffee would have hit the spot, but he wasn’t about to turn around and drive back downtown. The sooner he got this over with, the sooner he could head home and catch a nap.
His job as chief of police in a town of barely three thousand people was normally uneventful, but the past thirty-six hours had been intense. An ice storm in this part of the country was always serious business. Very few drivers or vehicles were equipped to handle the treacherous roadways, and overhead power lines were always susceptible to falling tree branches.
As soon as the bad weather set in, Lukas had mobilized a task force consisting of two full-time and four part-time officers to patrol the outlying areas to make sure no one, especially the elderly, got stranded in the freezing temperatures. He’d been out all night himself and had just been on his way home when Esme Floyd’s call came in. There’d been a disturbance at the DeLaune place the night before.
Lukas folded his sunglasses and slipped them in his pocket as he glanced around. Backed up to an old pear orchard, Esme’s cottage was raised off the ground on brick pillars and underpinned with weathered lattice-work. Eyes gleamed from the darkness beneath the house, and a second later, an orange tabby shot through the slats and leaped to the top of a woodpile, where a black-and-white tomcat lay sunning.
Smoke curled up from the brick chimney, and as Lukas tracked the wispy stream, he spotted a buzzard circling the woods behind the orchard.
Something dead back there.
He watched for a moment, his eyes watering in the wind. As the vulture floated serenely on the air currents, a shotgun blast startled a flock of blackbirds out of the treetops and halted Lukas in his tracks.
The echo of gunfire vibrated against his chest. His heart jumped once, twice, three times before settling back to its normal beat.
Jesus, get a grip. Just somebody out hunting rabbits.
He’d been stateside for, what? Nearly two years and still the sound of gunfire—or a revving car engine—could propel him straight back to the war.
An army psychiatrist had assured him that it wasn’t uncommon for the effects of PTSD to linger or even worsen over time, but Lukas had finally figured out for himself how he needed to deal with the aftermath. He’d have to find a way to compartmentalize his time in Iraq, the same way he had everything else in his life. It was just like cleaning house. A place for everything, and everything in its place.
