Some lies never stay buried...

Betsy Jakes was having nightmares, nightmares that could solve a decades-old mystery. And for someone in her small town, that meant she had to die.

When Sam Jakes returns home to help his brother solve their mother’s murder, two things shake him to the core. This crime is clearly the work of a serial killer who has struck twice before. And...Lainey Pickett is still in town. The woman he walked away from without an explanation years ago has just walked back into his life. She still holds a grudge—and his heart.

As Sam digs deeper into the murders and thirty-year-old secrets begin to emerge, he finds himself racing against time not only to catch a killer but to keep Lainey, the only woman he’ll ever love, from falling victim, too.

Praise for the novels of Sharon Sala

“Sala is a master at telling a story that is both romantic and suspenseful.... With this amazing story, Sala proves why she is one of the best writers in the genre.”

—RT Book Reviews on Wild Hearts

“Skillfully balancing suspense and romance, Sala gives readers a nonstop breath-holding adventure.”

—Publishers Weekly on Going Once

“Vivid, gripping...this thriller keeps the pages turning.”

—Library Journal on Torn Apart

“Sala’s characters are vivid and engaging.”

—Publishers Weekly on Cut Throat

“Sharon Sala is not only a top romance novelist, she is an inspiration for people everywhere who wish to live their dreams.”

—John St. Augustine, host, Power!Talk Radio WDBC-AM, Michigan

“Veteran romance writer Sala lives up to her reputation with this well-crafted thriller.”

—Publishers Weekly on Remember Me

“[A] well-written, fast-paced ride.”

—Publishers Weekly on Nine Lives

“Perfect entertainment for those looking for a suspense novel with emotional intensity.”

—Publishers Weekly on Out of the Dark

Dark Hearts

Sharon Sala

www.mirabooks.co.uk

It’s never too late to make amends for a mistake. You can’t change the outcome, but acknowledging what you’ve done is the first step in helping yourself to heal.

I am dedicating this book to people who have learned how to let go of what they did wrong. I’m sure the list is long, and since being first seems to intimidate a lot of people, I will volunteer to add my name first.

My name is Sharon.

I learned to let go.

Contents

Cover

Back Cover Text

Praise for the novels of Sharon Sala

Title Page

Dedication

One

Two

Three

Four

Five

Six

Seven

Eight

Nine

Ten

Eleven

Twelve

Thirteen

Fourteen

Fifteen

Sixteen

Seventeen

Eighteen

Nineteen

Twenty

Epilogue

Extract

Copyright

One

It was raining in Atlanta—what locals called a toad strangler—with water rushing through the streets and into gutters, taking dirt and garbage with it, flowing down into the sewers like shit being flushed down someone’s toilet.

Sam Jakes had an apartment in downtown Atlanta, in a building that catered to high-end renters with expensive tastes. He hadn’t chosen it because he loved the high life, but because the security factor was second to none. He also liked it for the anonymity it provided for the people who lived there. No names on the mailboxes, just apartment numbers, and no public listings anywhere on site. He’d made enemies running Ranger Investigations, uncovering other people’s secrets and lies. He didn’t want them following him home.

Sam hadn’t always been a loner. Growing up, he had been as normal and fun loving as any young boy could be. He hunted the mountain behind the family farm outside Mystic, West Virginia, and fished in the rivers. He loved football and pork chops with his mama’s cream gravy, and as he grew older he’d learned to love Lainey Pickett most of all. Then two planes flew into the World Trade Center and changed his life. Instead of beginning his freshman year of college, he’d enlisted in the army and gone to war.

After his second tour of duty he’d become a bomb tech, learning to defuse everything the enemy could construct, and then went back to war. Nine months later he came home in pieces, burned over half his body and with PTSD so bad that he didn’t turn on the ringer for his cell phone for three months. When he could move without screaming, he changed the ringtone to the opening notes of “Amazing Grace,” and when the hospital finally released him, he moved into an apartment without telling anyone where he was. He didn’t want his family camped out on his doorstep, bemoaning his condition or treating him like an invalid.

It took close to a year for the burns to completely heal and for him to get mobile enough to go through rehab. It took even more time for him to accept himself. His family came to see him once he let them know where he was, but he wouldn’t go home. In his mind, Sam Jakes from Mystic, West Virginia, was dead and buried in the sands of Afghanistan, which meant Lainey Pickett was no longer a part of his life. He quit Lainey without giving her a chance to quit him first.

Ten years and three psychiatrists later, he and PTSD had an unsettled truce, and the burn scars on his body looked like melted plastic. Except for the occasional visits his family made to Atlanta to see him, he communicated with them by phone. He lived for work and very little play, and on this particular day, he was trying to catch up on rest after a six-day stakeout.

Although it had been raining with soggy persistency for more than six hours, Sam was sound asleep inside apartment 4B, stark naked and belly down on the king-size bed with his cell phone in one hand and a handgun in the other.

In his dream, he was making love to Lainey. His fingers were tangled into the mane of red hair fanned out around her face, and he was hard as a rock and so deep inside her he couldn’t think. He could hear her short, breathless gasps as he pushed deeper into her, pounding harder until she suddenly arched up beneath him and wrapped her legs around his waist. He felt the climax roll through her and was about to come with her when he began hearing his brother cry out, calling his name. He turned to look for Lainey and she was gone. Then the tone of Trey’s voice changed to one of terror.

Help me, Sam, help me!

I’m here, Trey, I’m here! Where are you? What’s wrong?

Then Sam began hearing music. Someone was playing “Amazing Grace.”

And then he heard his brother scream.

Sam woke abruptly, bathed in sweat and shaking. It took him a few moments to realize he’d been dreaming and his phone was ringing.

He glanced at the time as he rolled over onto his back and answered the phone without checking to see who was calling.

“This is Jakes.”

“Sam, it’s me.”

Sam frowned. Trey had been in his dreams and now he was on the phone? Sam didn’t like coincidences. And because his voice was still husky from sleep, the anxiety in his gut made him sound angry.

“What the hell’s wrong?” he said.

Trey started to cry, and Sam sat up with a jerk and swung his legs over the side of the bed.

“Talk to me, brother.”

“Mom’s dead, and Trina is hurt bad.”

Sam grunted. It felt as if someone had just walked up behind him and coldcocked him with a baseball bat. His ears were ringing, and he couldn’t breathe. An ugly little voice in his subconscious was whispering, Dead. Dead. Everyone’s dead.

He thought leaving the land of blood and sand would get him away from so many people dying, but death had come into his family. How could that be? The room began to spin as Sam lowered his head to keep from losing it.

“Sam? Sam! Did you hear me?”

Sam wasn’t sure he could speak, and when he finally did, his voice cracked with the shock of an overwhelming grief.

“Yes. You said Mom was dead. She can’t be dead.”

Trey was struggling with his own emotions, but hearing the heartbreak in his big brother’s voice hurt on a whole other level. “She is, buddy, she is.”

“Oh, my God.” Sam was starting to shake. He had to focus. “Was it a wreck?”

Trey knew this was going to send his brother over the edge, but it had to be said.

“No, Sam, she was murdered. We believe she was killed for something that happened when she was a teenager. Come home. I need you. I’ll explain it all after you get here.”

Sam’s voice went from shock to rage.

“Teenager? Are you kidding me!”

“No. We’re almost certain it has to do with the night she graduated high school, but beyond that it’s just supposition.”

“How can you be sure?” Sam asked.

“Do you remember the story of Mom being in that bad wreck the night she graduated?” Trey asked.

Sam frowned. “Slightly. Why?”

“There were four people in that wreck, and three of them lived. In the past two months, two of the survivors have been murdered, and the killer tried to make both deaths look like accidents. Until today, Mom was the only one still living.”

Sam’s hands were shaking. “Why—”

“We don’t know, and now that Mom became the third victim, they’re taking me off the case even though one of the murders happened in my jurisdiction. That’s why I need you,” Trey said.

“I’m on my way,” Sam said, and hung up the phone, but he was pissed.

Three victims? Why hadn’t he known this was happening? Why hadn’t they called him?

He grabbed a suitcase from the back of his walk-in closet and threw it on the bed as reality reared its ugly head. Why would they call him? By his own actions he’d shown them he wanted no part of Mystic. It made him sick to think of Trey knowing Mom was in danger and not knowing how to protect her. Even worse, he couldn’t imagine how frightened his mom must have been as her classmates were being killed.

Then he remembered a couple of recent phone calls from her that he hadn’t returned. What if that would have made a difference in her living or dying? He wasn’t sure how to live with that question.

Suddenly his belly rolled and he headed for the bathroom. He got as far as the sink before the feeling of nausea passed. He splashed some water on his face and then leaned forward, staring at his image in the only mirror in the house. He would never hear his mother’s voice again, and that was on him.

He grabbed a towel to dry his face, then went to the bedroom to get dressed. He was sick at heart and feeling so guilty he could hardly focus as he began to pack.

The last thing he packed was an overcoat. At this time of year, there was no way to predict what the weather would be like in the mountains. He grabbed the suitcase, and then stopped to get his brown leather jacket out of the hall closet, settled a Stetson the color of dark chocolate firmly on his head and headed for the door. His handgun and ammunition were in the outer pocket of his suitcase, and his cell phone and charger were in his jacket pocket.

He got on the elevator with a heavy heart and rode it down to the lobby. He made one last stop at the front desk to inform the security guard he would be gone for an indeterminate time, and headed for the covered parking garage.

It was still raining, suitable weather for someone trying to hide tears, as he dumped his things inside his SUV and slid behind the wheel. His belly growled, a reminder that he hadn’t eaten in almost twenty-four hours. His head hurt, another reminder that he hadn’t had coffee. But it would take more than coffee and food to ease the pain in his heart.

He drove from the parking garage and out into the downpour with his wipers on high. Alone in the car, with nothing but memories for company, he quit fighting against the tears and let them fall.

He had so many memories of his mom that he hadn’t thought of in years: her teaching him how to fillet a fish because his dad was never home long enough to do it; crying with him when he didn’t make the baseball team the year he turned ten; teaching him how to waltz so he could ask Lainey to the prom; the cookies fresh from the oven that were always on the kitchen table when he and his siblings came home from school. He remembered the winter it was so cold that all their water pipes froze and waking up to see his mom sitting in front of the kitchen sink with a hair dryer on high, trying to thaw the pipes and cursing a blue streak with no apologies. She’d been their rock. What in holy hell had she witnessed in her youth that got her killed? And why now?

He glanced up in the rearview mirror and caught a quick glimpse of the shock in his eyes.

“I swear to God, Mom, I will find out who did this to you and Trina, or die trying,” he said, and headed north out of Atlanta. It had been a long time coming, but Sam Jakes was going home.

* * *

The killer was drinking from a cold can of Pepsi as he gassed up his car at a quick stop. Someone drove by and honked. He grinned and waved, then set the pop can on top of the car as the pump kicked off. He hung up the hose, grabbed the Pepsi and then slid in behind the wheel. Just as he was about to drive away he began hearing the scream of an ambulance siren, so he stayed put until it passed. When he saw Trey Jakes in the cop car behind it and realized the direction from which it had come, he frowned. Why the ambulance and all the rush? Wouldn’t they take the bodies straight to the morgue if—

His heart skipped a beat. Unless there was someone to save?

A man came out of the store on the run.

“Hey, what’s going on?” the killer asked.

The man pointed at the ambulance. “That killer struck again. Shot Betsy Jakes and her daughter. They said one of them is still alive. I gotta get home. My wife went to school with them. Ain’t no telling where that bastard will strike next.”

There was a knot in the killer’s belly as he watched the man driving away. All he could think was What the fuck? They had to be dead.

He started the car, debating with himself as to whether he should cut and run now, or wait and see how this all played out. He decided on the latter and headed home.

* * *

Trey Jakes came to a sliding stop a few feet away from the ER, then got out on the run as the EMTs were unloading his sister.

“Is she still alive?” he yelled.

“Yes, Chief, we still have a pulse.”

Trey led the way inside, bypassing onlookers and patients, heading straight for the trauma team awaiting their arrival. The moment his sister’s body was wheeled into an empty bay, they exploded into organized chaos.

Her clothes were cut off as they began to assess her condition. People were talking loudly, the doctor was issuing orders and a lab tech was getting blood to cross-match while another wheeled in a portable X-ray machine. Someone was putting an oxygen mask over Trina’s face, and somebody else was hooking her up to a heart monitor. And then the doctor turned to look for Trey and spoke.

“Gunshot wound, in and out. No bullet.”

Trey heard but didn’t react. He was past the initial shock. Relief that he was no longer responsible for keeping her alive swept over him, and numbness followed. When his fiancée, Dallas, came running into the ER in tears, he opened his arms and held her without taking his eyes off the team fighting to keep Trina alive. The moment they hooked her up to the heart monitor he heard three beeps, and then she flatlined.

The sound was horrifying, and Trey’s first instinct was to run to her, but Dallas held him back. He could only watch in growing horror as someone scrambled for a defibrillator.

When the doctor slapped the paddles onto her bare chest and yelled, “Clear!” Trey jumped at the same time Trina’s body bucked from the shock.

Trey saw nothing but a continuing flatline as the doctor reset the defibrillator. “Clear!” he yelled again.

The slap of paddles against her flesh was lost in the chaos, but Trina’s body bucked again as the electrical shock went through her.

Trey was praying to God in silence, begging for mercy, when he heard a beep. Everyone watched as her heartbeat began to register on the monitor, and when it picked up a rhythm, the doctor’s voice echoed Trey’s relief.

“We’ve got her!” the doctor said. “Somebody grab the IV. There’s no time to stabilize her here. We’re heading straight to the OR.”

They wheeled her out of the bay and began pushing the gurney up the hall. Trey went with it, running at her side. He grabbed her hand, desperate to give her one last message.

“Trina, it’s me, baby! It’s Trey. I love you. I need you to fight to stay with me! Can you hear me? Fight to stay with me!”

“Sorry, Chief, but this is as far as you can go,” the doctor said, as a pair of double doors swung open.

Trey stopped. His heart was pounding as the doors swung shut behind them, and the quiet that swept through him at that moment made him weak. Whatever happened now was out of his control.

He wondered how long it would take Sam to get to Mystic, then let it go. It wouldn’t matter when he arrived. Their mom was gone, and Trina would either live through the surgery or she wouldn’t. He took a slow, shaky breath and walked back to Dallas. Life as they’d known it was over. Whatever happened in the next few hours would be written on a whole new page.

* * *

Lee Daniels was happy for the first time in days. The fight he’d had with Trina was his fault; thinking she’d been cheating on him had been a knee-jerk reaction to his mother’s behavior when he was a child. Being able to see her and apologize at Paul Jackson’s funeral had made a bad week better. Everyone was keyed up over a second murder in their small town, and now, knowing it was connected to Dick Phillips’ murder as well, had left everyone uneasy. It was hard to believe, but it appeared there was a serial killer in Mystic targeting a trio of old friends.

He was coming out of the supermarket carrying a bag of groceries in one hand and his car keys in the other when he heard an ambulance siren. Out of habit he paused to say a brief prayer.

“God bless whoever is in need,” he mumbled, and then dumped his groceries into the front seat of his car and headed back to his apartment.

He had been home about a half hour and had just put up the last of the groceries when his cell phone rang. He glanced at the caller ID and frowned. The Jakes family hadn’t been all that happy with him lately, and he hoped Trey wasn’t about to read him the riot act.

“Hey, Trey, what’s up?”

Trey didn’t mince words.

“Mom’s dead. She was murdered on the way home from Paul Jackson’s memorial service. The killer thought he took Trina out, too, but she was still breathing when I found her. They just took her into surgery. I thought you should know.”

Lee grabbed on to the kitchen counter to keep from going to his knees.

“Oh, my God. Oh, my God. I’m so sorry about Betsy. Did they take Trina here to Webster Memorial?”

“Yes. I’m in the waiting room outside the OR.”

“I’m on my way,” Lee said, then grabbed his wallet and his car keys, and left on the run.

All the way to the hospital he kept remembering those last moments with Trina and the sadness in her voice. She couldn’t die. She was the best thing that had ever happened to him.

* * *

Trey hung up the phone and looked at Dallas, but they didn’t talk. There was nothing for her to say. His mother’s body was on the way to the morgue. There would be an autopsy, and since the murder had taken place in Webster County, the county sheriff, Dewey Osmond, had taken charge of the crime scene, just as he had when her classmate Dick Phillips’ body was discovered.

Dallas couldn’t quit shaking. This was a nightmare—a horrible, hideous nightmare. Both of their parents dead—murdered—for something that had happened when they were kids. When she reached for Trey, he grabbed her hand. She saw the shock in his eyes, and when she saw the tears, she cried with him.

* * *

The news of Betsy Jakes’ murder swept through Mystic like wildfire. There were plenty who’d been at the memorial service who hadn’t taken Trey Jakes’ comments all that seriously until now. He’d asked the members of that ill-fated graduating class to think back. He’d said there were some in Mystic who knew things. He’d asked them for their help. He’d mentioned a ten-thousand-dollar reward. Now every classmate left in Mystic, as well as everyone who’d been in high school then, was thinking back to the night of graduation, going through everything they could remember and every bit of gossip they’d heard.

* * *

Lainey Pickett lived almost ten miles outside Mystic, and after being dumped by Sam Jakes years earlier, she had purposefully shut that place and the people out of her life. She did her business and shopped in a neighboring town and coped with life the best that she could. She hadn’t been at the memorial service because she knew nothing about any of the murders, which meant she didn’t know anything about the announcement Trey Jakes made there, either. She made it a habit not to think about the Jakes men in any manner whatsoever.

She’d spent four of the past ten years getting a PhD in history, and for most of the past six years she’d been teaching online classes for the University of West Virginia. Her life wasn’t perfect, but she had taken it for granted until last Christmas, when she’d found the lump in her breast.

A double mastectomy and a round of chemo treatments later, she was now minus boobs but cancer-free and getting ready to begin breast reconstruction. Her once-thick red hair was growing back, and she was alive, and for that she was grateful.

She had just finished her last class of the day and was getting ready to answer some student email when her cell phone began to vibrate. She had forgotten to turn the ringer back on, and when it began to rattle across the counter, she grabbed it before it fell off.

“Hello?”

“Lainey, this is Dallas Phillips.”

Lainey froze. She and Dallas had once been close friends because they were dating the Jakes brothers, but that had all gone by the wayside with her dreams. The urge to hang up was strong, but curiosity won out.

“Well, it’s been a while,” Lainey said.

Dallas heard the chill in Lainey’s voice but didn’t take it personally. She knew Sam had left her high and dry, which was why she was calling.

“I know, and the reason I’m calling isn’t pretty, but I wanted you to know. From one woman to another, you need to be forewarned that Sam is coming home.”

Pain shot through Lainey so fast she could barely focus.

“Well, hell must have finally frozen over,” she snapped.

Dallas winced. Lainey was still angry, and she couldn’t really blame her. Sam had abandoned all of them.

“No, it’s worse. Betsy and Trina were shot on their way home from Paul Jackson’s memorial service. Betsy is dead, and Trina’s condition is critical.”

Lainey gasped. “Dear Lord! What happened? Why?”

Dallas frowned. “Surely you know about the recent murders of my father and Paul Jackson?”

Lainey was shocked. “No! I had no idea, and I’m so sorry. I rarely go to Mystic. I do most of my business in Summerton. What happened?”

“My dad was the first. The killer tried to make it look like a suicide, but they figured out pretty quickly it was a homicide. Then Mack Jackson’s dad, Paul, was killed. Same thing. The killer tried to make it look like an accident, but it was determined to be a homicide.”

Lainey couldn’t believe what she was hearing.

“I am so sorry. I didn’t know. I just didn’t know, but...why Betsy?”

Dallas quickly explained about the connection to the night of their graduation.

“Now all of them are dead,” she added. “Trey has been working day and night trying to run down leads, but to no avail, and now this. That’s why Sam is coming home. No one’s seen him in ages. I don’t know what to expect, but I thought it was only fair that you should know.”

Lainey’s voice was shaking. “I am so sorry for...for all of you. And, Dallas, thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” Dallas said, then hesitated. “Uh...when I asked Trey if I should call you, he said yes. He’s sorry about how Sam treated you...how he treated all his friends and family. The war did something to him. He’s not the same Sam anymore.”

Lainey’s eyes welled, but the tone of her voice was angry.

“Yes, life does that. None of us are the same as we once were. Thank you for calling.”

She hung up the phone and burst into tears.

Two

Sam drove I-75 northbound for almost two hours without remembering a single mile of the trip. It wasn’t until his gas gauge began to signal a need to refuel that he finally had to stop. His head was throbbing and his belly was growling as he went inside the station. He knew he should eat but wasn’t sure if anything would stay down.

The woman behind the register was reading something on her cell phone and didn’t bother to look up as he walked in.

“How’s it goin’?” she mumbled.

Since he guessed that was her standard greeting, he didn’t bother answering.

One quick scan of the fried food inside the deli case was all it took to send him on the hunt for something with a longer shelf life, which turned into sweets. He chose a box of doughnuts and a honey bun, and then got a large coffee to go before going to the register to pay.

“Will that be all?” the clerk asked, still focused on her phone.

Sam reached across the register and laid his hand over the phone.

“Ring me up, please,” he said softly.

There was a frown on her face as she looked up. The look in his eyes startled her, and she quickly totaled his purchases.

He paid her with cash, waited for his change and then walked out, drinking the coffee as he went. It was too strong and bitter as hell, but it served the purpose, and slowly his belly began to settle.

He put the food in the SUV and began to refuel. As he did, he glanced at his watch. Almost 5:00 p.m. Even though it would be dark soon he was driving straight through. On a good day, the trip was at least an eight-hour drive, but driving in the mountains in the dark was going to slow him down. Still, it didn’t matter. No matter where he was, he wouldn’t be sleeping.

Once the gas tank was full, he got back inside and called Trey to check in.

His brother answered on the second ring. “Hey, Sam, where are you?”

“About two hours closer to you than I was when I started. Is there any word on Trina?”

“No. She’s been in surgery a little over an hour and a half. I’ll call when I know something, I promise.”

“Would you do me a favor?” Sam asked.

“Sure,” Trey said. “What do you need?”

“Get me a room at Grant’s Motel.”

“It burned down six years ago,” Trey said.

“Well, hell. Is there another one?”

“Yes, but you could stay at the farm.”

Sam’s voice had a don’t-argue tone.

“No, I can’t stay at the farm. I wouldn’t go home when Mom was still alive, and I’m not going back there now. I’ll take the motel, please.”

Trey took the cue not to argue.

“I’ll give them a call. It’s at the north end of Main.”

“Thanks. I’ll drop off my stuff as soon as I get in, and then see you at the hospital.”

“Okay,” Trey said, and then added, “Hey, brother.”

“Yeah?”

“It will be good to see you again.”

Sam sighed. He felt like crying.

“It will be good to see you, too,” he said.

He disconnected, opened the box of doughnuts and then started the car. He took a bite out of the first doughnut as he was driving away. It was the first of three he would eat before he ran out of coffee to wash them down.

* * *

Rita Porter was pouring herself a drink when her husband, Will, came in the back door. Startled by his sudden appearance, she jumped as if she’d been shot and dropped the glass into the sink. Booze and glass went everywhere.

“Now look what you made me do!” she screeched, and then staggered toward the utility room.

Will wanted to strangle her. He had a very short time in which to declare himself a candidate for the state superintendent’s job, and everything in his life was going to hell in a handbasket. He wished Rita to hell, too, and headed for his office, picking up the mail from the front hall table on the way and leaving her to clean up the mess.

But Rita wasn’t finished with him. She came back, and then followed him all the way through the house carrying the broom and dustpan.

“I guess you heard about the Jakeses,” she said.

Will turned around, still holding the stack of mail in one hand and a paperweight from his desk in the other.

“Everybody in town is talking about it, so yes, I heard.”

Rita kept staring without saying a word.

“What?” Will snapped.

She shrugged. “I was just wondering. You graduated with all three murder victims.”

His frown deepened. “Yes, and your point is...?”

“I don’t know. Just wondered if you knew anything about what’s happening.”

A wave of rage shot through him so fast he threw the paperweight straight at her, missing her head by inches.

She shrieked.

“You nearly hit me! What are you trying to do? Kill me? That’s it, isn’t it? You wish I was dead.”

Will glared, so angry he was shaking.

“What I wish is that you weren’t a fucking drunk. That’s what I wish. Now go clean up that broken glass and whiskey before you pass out. I don’t want to have to clean up another one of the messes you make on your drunken binges.”

She screamed, then threw the broom and dustpan at him, and ran to their bedroom, stumbling and bawling all the way.

“Damn it all to hell,” Will said, and then sighed.

He took off his suit coat, rolled up his sleeves and took the broom and dustpan with him as he headed for the kitchen.

“Damn bitch. I wish she was dead, all right. I just don’t want to be the one accused of doing it.”

* * *

Greg Standish entered the bank through the back entrance and slipped into his office unnoticed. He wasn’t in the mood to talk to anyone right now. In fact, he was thinking of all the ways he could fake his death and disappear. His life and his dreams were pretty much over, and if that wasn’t enough, between his wife, Gloria, and his daughter, Carly, he was bordering on bankrupt. Once the directors got wind of his situation he would be out of a job, and then that would be that.

He saw a cop car go flying past and frowned. So the last survivor from that wreck was gone. He heard Trey found his mom. And Trina. He couldn’t believe she was still alive after being shot at point-blank range. His eyes narrowed. He’d never given much thought to dying, and now he was wondering if it hurt.

* * *

T. J. Silver was in the game room playing “Call of Duty” on his Xbox when his dad walked in.

“Hi, Dad,” he muttered, without taking his eyes from the screen.

Marcus stood in the doorway, staring at his son and wondering exactly where he’d gone wrong. T.J. was handsome and intelligent, a college graduate, and had yet to turn a finger at anything resembling work. Marcus had been born into money, but he’d always worked. He’d always wanted his dad to be proud of him. T.J., on the other hand, didn’t seem bothered to be living an idle life of wealth.

When Marcus didn’t answer him, T.J. realized his dad was pissed about something, and immediately stopped the game and stood up. “I guess you heard about Betsy Jakes,” he said.

Marcus’s eyes narrowed. “Yes, I heard. I also heard her daughter got shot, too. She’s not dead, though.”

T.J. shrugged. “They say she’s not going to make it, though. Injuries were too serious.”

Marcus pointed at the Xbox. “Have you done anything today that could remotely qualify as work?”

T.J.’s eyes widened. This wasn’t like his dad. Something had him all hot and bothered.

“Yes, I have, actually. I was in the office here all morning, working on details for your announcement party for the senate seat. Then I went to the Jackson memorial—as did you, because I saw you there, but you didn’t bother to acknowledge me. So what’s your problem, Dad?”

“My problem is that at your age, you should have more to do than play video games. In my day, my father expected me to toe the line.”

T.J.’s eyes narrowed as he responded in a tone that was just shy of disrespectful.

“Well, in my day, my father encouraged...no, expected me to make a splash all over my college campus, and after I graduated be sure I was mentioned regularly in the society pages by showing up at all kinds of local benefits and things. I thought he was grooming me for something special, like maybe following in his footsteps once he got into politics. That’s what I thought my father expected.”

Marcus grunted as if he’d just been punched in the gut. Twice he started to respond and then couldn’t, because he’d realized T.J. was right. He’d never looked at his behavior in that vein before, but everything T.J. had said was the truth. His son was the product of his own raising, and he had no one to blame but himself. He shook his head and walked away.

T.J. was still a little pissed as he watched his father leave. The old man was obviously amped up about another classmate being murdered. Shit happened.

He checked the time. Cook was probably finishing up dinner, and he wanted to shower and change before he sat down to eat. As he headed upstairs to his room, he was debating with himself about what he wanted to wear. He decided on something sporty but comfortable. It didn’t pay to be lax about one’s appearance—ever. A person never knew when it would matter to make a good impression.

* * *

Sunset was only minutes away as Lainey walked back from the pasture with the feed bucket, leaving Dandy out in the pasture eating. There were no other animals on the property now except her horse. He was a big gray grullo with a feisty attitude, and there was a time in her life when that had fit who she was, but no more. Her body was still weak from the cancer treatments, and she had gotten so thin that her endurance was nil. But she was cancer-free, and every day she woke up was a good day and a chance to get stronger.

When she was almost back at the barn, Dandy nickered.

She turned to look, but he already had his head back down in the feeder. She smiled.

“Good night to you, too, big guy!” she yelled.

Dandy looked up, nickered again and then resumed his meal.

Now that her last chore for the day was over, Lainey was left with nothing to deter her thoughts from going back to Sam.

There was a time when he’d been the reason she drew breath. Then life had interrupted their love affair and she’d had to figure out how to live without him. She’d thought she was doing okay until the phone call from Dallas, and now all she could think about was seeing Sam again, if for no other reason than to tell him to go to hell.

She latched the door to the granary and started toward the house. The sun was gone now. She was going up the back steps when she heard a long, high-pitched scream that made her shudder. After one quick glance back, she leaped up the steps and hurried into the house. There was a panther somewhere on the mountain, and she hoped he stayed there. Dandy was too old to fight off a big cat like that now.

After locking up the house, she washed up and began making herself some supper, trying not to think about Sam coming home with a broken heart. She did not want to feel sorry for him. She needed to stay mad and hurt and everything in between. She had to, or she would likely get her heart broken all over again.

* * *

Sunset had come and gone. Once Sam reached Knoxville, Tennessee, he took 81 North. The dark pavement in front of his headlights all looked the same, even though he’d already left one state and driven into another.

Two hours had passed since he’d last talked to Trey. He kept thinking Trina should be out of surgery by now, but he’d heard nothing, and Trey had promised to call.

Traffic was heavy. At least a dozen eighteen-wheelers had passed him during those hours, along with the constant barrage of other traffic. Now, though, traffic was beginning to slow down, and he couldn’t figure out why until he topped a hill and saw a cadre of flashing lights on the highway below. He tapped the brakes to accommodate the slower pace, and as he did, caught a flash of headlights coming over the hill behind him at a breakneck pace.

He tightened his grip on the steering wheel as the lights popped up in his mirror. There was no way that driver would be able to brake in time to keep from hitting him. He was bracing himself for impact when, at the last moment, the car swerved and went airborne into the center median.

Sam glanced over his shoulder as it went flying past him in the dark. It was rolling in midair when it hit and continued to roll after impact, the headlights bouncing up and down in the darkness. When the car finally stopped, it was upside down.

Sam slammed on the brakes and pulled off onto the shoulder. He left the lights on in his SUV as he grabbed his flashlight and jumped out. Other witnesses to the wreck were also stopping and running toward it.

He darted into the grassy median. The car had rolled a good fifty yards away. The beam of his flashlight was not meant to illuminate this much, and he could barely see where he was going, plus he was beginning to smell gas. It must be spilling out.

A man ran up behind him as they neared the wreck.

“I just called 911,” the stranger said. “I saw the whole thing. He was flying when he came over that hill.”

Sam stopped at the wreck and got down on his knees before flashing the light throughout the interior. Not only was it empty, but the windshield was gone.

Sam stood abruptly. “It’s empty. The driver was thrown out. Spread out and start looking.”

By now a half-dozen others had joined them, and most of them had flashlights, too. They quickly spaced themselves out and began backtracking in a wide perimeter away from the wreck.

As they were searching, Sam began to hear more sirens and turned to look. One of the patrol cars was coming back up with his lights flashing.

Sam kept moving slowly, sweeping the grassy median with his flashlight as he walked. The first thing he found was a duffel bag, and then a few yards farther he found a red-and-black tennis shoe. The duffel bag was from a college in Tennessee, and the shoe was a popular one with the younger crowd. His heart sank.

“Over here!” someone yelled.

He turned and ran.

The driver was lying facedown on the missing windshield, and when Sam saw him, for a split second the night and the people around him disappeared and he thought he was hearing the whup whup whup from the rotors of a chopper and watching blood running out of his buddy’s head and seeping into the sand at his feet. The heat of the desert wind was in his face as the flashing lights from the highway patrol car momentarily blinded him. It was the lights that yanked him out of the flashback.

“He’s dead!” the man yelled, waving at the patrolman who was coming their way.

As Sam dropped down on one knee to check the body for a pulse, the man said again, “He’s dead. I done checked.”

Sam was numb. The driver was in his early twenties, and the man was right. He was dead.

A crowd was gathering around the body, and they were all talking at once, wanting to tell their version of what they’d seen to the highway patrolman.

Sam glanced down at the boy one last time, and then turned around and walked back to his SUV. He tossed the flashlight onto the seat beside him, grabbed a canister of hand wipes and began pulling out the sheets to clean his hands, and then he kept pulling them out and wiping and pulling them out and wiping until he realized he was crying. He took a slow, shaky breath as he threw the canister on the floor, then wadded up the hand wipes and put them in a trash bag.

“Jesus wept,” he said softly, and then closed his eyes, but the sight was still burned into his brain, and the moment he spoke the words, he remembered a scene from his childhood and the scolding his mother had given him for what he’d said.

Do not use the Lord’s name in vain, Samuel Wade.

I didn’t curse, Mama. That’s a Bible verse. Daddy said it’s the shortest verse in the Bible.

Well, your daddy is right, but so am I. Don’t say that again unless you’re on your knees saying prayers.

Yes, ma’am. I’m sorry, Mama.

Sam rubbed his eyes with the heels of his hands. He wasn’t on his knees, but he needed to be.

“I’m sorry, Mama,” he said softly. “Sorry for everything.”

He could almost feel her hand on the back of his neck.

It’s okay, Sammy. When you know better, you do better.

He put the car in gear and slowly pulled back onto the interstate. For some strange reason, home seemed even farther away.

* * *

Trey and Lee were alone in the waiting room. Dallas had gone home because the livestock needed tending. He’d put out a couple of round bales of hay for their cattle early this morning, so they wouldn’t have to be tended to for a couple of days, but Dallas’s hens had to be fed and watered, and the eggs had to be gathered, no matter what else was wrong with their world.

They were still in the waiting room when Trey’s phone rang. He saw it was Dallas and answered quickly.

“Hey, honey. Everything all right?” he asked.

“Yes. I’m getting ready to drive back into town. Is Trina still in surgery?”

“Yes, but don’t drive back. I was watching the weather earlier, and there’s a heavy thunderstorm predicted for this area. I don’t want you out on the roads in that.”

“But, Trey, I don’t want you there by yourself.”

“I’m not alone. Lee’s here. I’ll let you know the minute she’s out of surgery. Just stay home. At least I’ll know one of you is safe.”

Dallas heard the weariness in his voice and knew if she pushed the issue and went to the hospital anyway, it would be at his expense, so she finally agreed.

“I’ll stay home. Just know how much I love you,” she said.

“I love you, too,” Trey said. “I’ll talk to you later.”

He disconnected and then settled back in his chair. Lee was dozing sitting up. They didn’t have anything much to say to each other and even less to the people who stared at them as they passed the waiting room.

Five hours after Trina went into surgery, the surgeon came into the waiting room looking for her family.

Trey stood abruptly, while Lee eased up from the sofa where he’d been sitting. They were both afraid to hear the verdict.

“Are you here for Trina Jakes?” the doctor asked.

“Yes,” they said in unison.

“I’m Dr. Lowell. I operated on her. She came through the surgery and is in ICU.”

Lee dropped back onto the sofa and started to cry. Just the news that she was still alive was what he’d been praying for.

Trey wanted details and got them as the doctor continued.

“Her condition is critical. The bullet missed her heart by centimeters, shattered a couple of ribs and punctured a lung. It took a while to remove all the bone fragments. I pulled a couple out of one kidney and one from her liver. The bullet also nicked part of her spine on exit, but the spinal cord is intact. She lost a lot of blood, and for the time being I’ve put her into a drug-induced coma.”

“Dear Lord,” Trey muttered, and then the cop part of him kicked in. “Did she regain consciousness at any time before she was moved to ICU?”

“No, and as serious as her injuries were, that was to be expected.”

“When can I see her?” Lee asked.

“Check the visiting times in ICU, and discourage anyone but immediate family,” Dr. Lowell said.

Trey had his own comment to make.

“Just so you know, I need a no-visitor hold put on her chart, and there will be a guard stationed outside her room. She’s the only living witness to the latest of three murders, and the killer isn’t going to want her to wake up.”

Dr. Lowell grimaced. “Yes, so I was told. I’ll make sure that’s taken care of.”

“On behalf of our family, we thank you,” Trey said.

Lee pulled himself together to add his thanks. “Yes, Dr. Lowell. Thank you for saving her.”

Lowell nodded. “It wasn’t all me. I had a good team with me in the OR. I’ll be checking on her on a regular basis, so I’m sure we’ll speak again,” he said, and left the waiting room.

Now that Trey knew what he had to work with, he moved into action.

“I need to make some calls and get a guard rotation set up here.”

“I’m going to find ICU,” Lee said. “I’ll text you the visiting times.”

Trey nodded. “I’m not leaving the area. I just need a little privacy to make those calls.”

Lee went one way and Trey the other as they left the waiting room. Trey sent a text to Dallas on the way down in the elevator, then waited to call Sam until he was in a more private place. He was on his way out to his cruiser when he realized the predicted rain was imminent.

Thunder rolled as he made a run for the car, followed by a shaft of lightning that momentarily lit up the sky a few miles away.

He unlocked the car and slid into the seat. The silence was brief. There was traffic on the police radio, but from what he could hear, Dwight Thomas, their night dispatcher, had everything in hand.

He thought about Sam, and then shifted focus to the need for security on Trina. He didn’t have enough officers in Mystic to keep someone on guard day and night. He was trying to remember the security service Mack Jackson had used a few months ago for his fiancée, Lissa, when she was being stalked by the janitor where she worked, and looked to see if he still had Mack’s number in his contacts. He did, so he hit the call button, and then wiped a shaky hand across his face as he listened to Mack’s phone ring.

Three

Trey’s heart was so heavy he could hardly breathe, and yet he had to stay focused. When Mack picked up on the third ring, Trey braced himself to say what had to be said.

“Hello.”

Trey cleared his throat. “Mack, this is Trey. I know it’s late. I hope I didn’t call at a bad time.”

“No, not at all,” Mack said.

“I was wondering if you could give me a contact number for the security guard you used for Lissa.”

“Sure, his name is Cain Embry. I don’t have it on me, but I’ll find it and text it to you in a few minutes, okay?”

“Yes, I would appreciate it.”

“Is something going on? Something related to the murders?” Mack asked.

“Yes,” Trey said, and then his voice broke. He had to clear his throat again and start over to get it all said. “Yes, something happened. Mom is dead, and Trina just came out of surgery. We still don’t know if she’ll make it or not. They were shot on their way home from the memorial service.”

Trey heard a gasp and then a groan, followed by a couple of anxious whispers, and guessed Mack was telling Lissa.

“Dear Lord! I don’t know what to say except that I’m sorry. I’m so sorry,” Mack said.

Trey stared out across the parking lot.

“Yeah, me, too,” he said. “I keep thinking about that little speech I made at the church, wondering if I pushed the killer into it.”

The shock of what Mack was feeling echoed in his voice.

“Hell no, you didn’t push the bastard into anything. For one thing, he already killed twice before. Without a clue as to why this was happening, you’ve been helpless to stop anything. I’m finally coming to accept that they were all doomed from the start. Did Trina say anything? Do you have a lead?”

“No, she was unconscious when I found her. That’s why I need the guards. If she pulls through, she might be able to finger the killer. I can only imagine how freaked out he must be, knowing she’s still breathing.”

“Is there anything I can do? Do you need help—”

“You’re helping by getting me the number. I’ll be watching for the text. I’ve got to call Sam. He’s on his way home. He doesn’t know Trina made it through surgery yet.”

“Believe me, Trey, I know everything you’re going through right now. Just know Lissa and I will keep you in our prayers.”

“I know you do, and thanks,” Trey said and disconnected. While he was waiting for Mack’s text, he called Dallas to let her know Trina had made it through surgery, then made the same call to Sam.

* * *

Sam’s eyes were burning, and his shoulders ached. He’d been driving in rain for over an hour, which was making it twice as difficult to see the highway. When his cell phone finally rang he almost jumped out of his skin. Then he saw it was from Trey and put it on speaker so he could keep both hands on the wheel.

“Please give me some good news.”

“Trina made it through the surgery. She’s in ICU. I’ll give you details when you get here. Right now I’m waiting on a phone number so I can get twenty-four-hour security on her.”

“Thank the Lord,” Sam muttered. “I can help with security when I get there,” he added.

“I know, but I’m selfish enough to want you with me. I have a couple of ideas as to where to take the investigation but I’m waiting on you to get here to implement them. Where are you?” Trey asked.

Sam sighed.

“Somewhere in Tennessee. I’m north of Knoxville, and that’s all I know for sure. It’s raining pretty hard right now. Difficult to see road signs.”

Trey frowned. “Be careful. Stop and sleep over somewhere if you need to.”

“Yeah, I watched one young man die tonight. I don’t want to be next.”

“What? Are you okay?” Trey asked.

“Yes. It was a wreck. I saw it, but I wasn’t in it.”

“I’m sorry, Sam.”

“Yeah, so am I, for a whole lot of reasons. I’ll see you sometime tomorrow. That’s all I know for sure. Keep me posted on any change in her condition.”

“I will. Be safe. Oh...hey, I just got a text. It’ll be the info I’ve been waiting on. I’ll talk to you later,” Trey said and hung up.

Sam heard the click in his ear and disconnected, too, thinking to himself how his little brother had grown up while he wasn’t looking.

He drove for a few moments more, peering past the frantic swiping of the windshield wipers while the relief of knowing his sister was still alive sank in.

“Thank You, God. Now please help me get home.”

* * *

The killer couldn’t rest. He needed to know if Trina Jakes was still breathing, but he didn’t want anyone else to know he was calling. He got out of bed, moving quietly through the house to his study as he called the hospital, then leaned forward, resting his elbows on the desk, as the phone began to ring.

“Webster Memorial Hospital.”

“I’m calling to check on Trina Jakes’ condition.”

There was a pause, and then the operator said, “She’s in ICU. I’ll ring the nurses’ desk.”

“Thank you,” he said, and waited.

“ICU.”

“Hello. I’m checking on the condition of Trina Jakes and the visiting times.”

“She’s in critical condition and can’t have visitors.”

“But we go to church with her and we wanted to—”

“No visitors. I’m sorry.”

He disconnected with a measure of relief. For now she wasn’t talking, but, damn it, she was still alive. He’d come so close to a perfect sweep, and now this. His first thought was to pack and run, and then it hit him.

“What the hell’s wrong with me?” he muttered. “Even if she never wakes up, even if she dies, they’ll still be looking for a killer, and I’ll be the one who left town right after the shootings.”

Right now he had to deal with more immediate issues, so he began to run through scenarios as to how to rectify this mess. He needed to make sure she never woke up, but how to get to her? He would bet his life there were guards on her around the clock. Trey Jakes wasn’t a fool. His sister was his star witness—if she lived.

But even if he couldn’t get to Trina’s room, he could still get to the hospital. It could catch fire. It could blow up. There were all kinds of things that could happen in such a volatile environment. The fact that many more lives would be lost was of no consequence. They would be nothing but collateral damage.

* * *

It was beginning to rain as Trey left the parking lot and headed back into the hospital. Lee’s text stated ICU visiting hours were from 10:00 a.m. to noon, from 2:00 p.m. to 4:00, and from 6:00 p.m. to 8:00. Tough. Even though it was midnight, he wanted to see his sister’s face.

He took the elevator up to the third floor and was on his way to the ICU waiting room when Lee stepped out into the hall.

“I was just coming to look for you,” Lee said.

“Why? Did something happen? Is she worse?”

“No, but we aren’t going to get to see her until tomorrow.”

“No, we’re going to see her now, even if I have to throw my weight around to do it,” Trey said.

Lee shoved a shaky hand through his hair. There was something he needed to say to Trey before this day got any older.

“Wait a second, okay? Before we go in, I need to apologize to you.”

Trey frowned. “Why?”

“For being such an ass...for hurting Trina like I did. It all had to do with shit from my childhood, but that’s no excuse, because I’m no longer a child. I apologized to her at the memorial service. We were going to meet tomorrow and talk.” Lee’s voice was starting to shake. “When I think of how close she came to not having a tomorrow, it makes me sick. I love her, Trey. So much. I’m with her for the long haul and, if she’ll have me, for the rest of our lives.”

Trey had new respect for Lee. Those words couldn’t have been easy to get said.

“I appreciate your honesty, man. Now let’s go see our girl. She might not know we’re there, but I need to know she’s still breathing.”

Lee managed a brief smile and walked with Trey to ICU. It was two minutes after midnight when they entered. Lights were on, and nurses were moving in and out of the patients’ rooms. Trey paused at the front desk.

“Which room is Trina Jakes in?” he asked.

Clarice Powell, the RN on duty, was about to send the man packing when she looked up.

“Oh, hello, Chief. You know this is past visiting hours.”

“Yes, ma’am, I do.”

She was sympathetic to all his family had been through, and wasn’t about to push the issue.

“Your sister is in 12B.”

“Thank you, Clarice, and to give you a heads-up, she’s going to have to have guards around the clock and a no-visitors sign on her door. No one except for immediate family. I’ll give you a list of names.”

“Dr. Lowell told us. We’ll take care of her, and we’re very sorry for your loss. Your mother was a good friend to everyone who knew her,” she said.

“Thank you, Clarice. Oh...just so you know, this is Lee Daniels. He’s Trina’s significant other, so he’ll be in and out as much as the rest of us, okay?”

Clarice eyed Lee closely. “I know you from somewhere.”

“I work for Peterson Heat and Air.”

“Right! You worked on my central air last May.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Lee said. “You said 12B?”

“That way,” she said, as she pointed to her left.

They started down the aisle, trying not to stare at the patients inside the glass-walled cubicles. The beeping of so many heart monitors accompanied them down the hall. Between the steady stream of nurses moving in and out of rooms and the occasional groan or cry for help from someone sick or dying, it was a depressing place to be.

The last time Trey had been in a place with this many seriously ill patients was the VA hospital right after they’d flown Sam stateside. He wondered about the PTSD that had haunted Sam for so long and if this place would trigger a flashback. He’d witnessed a couple of them during the first year Sam was home, and they’d given him pause. They’d also helped him understand why Sam had chosen to stay away. At that time in his life, he could easily have hurt someone he loved.

But while Trey was lost in thought, Lee was looking for the woman he loved.

“There!” Lee said, and lengthened his stride as he darted into the next bay.

Then he stopped just inside the doorway, too stunned to go farther, as Trey hurried past him. Trina was as pale as the sheet on which she was lying, and hooked up to a half-dozen machines. He didn’t know which ones were keeping her alive and which ones were monitoring her vital signs. The room looked like a lab scene from a bad movie. He couldn’t think. He forgot to breathe.

Trey, on the other hand, had seen her covered in blood and been sure she was dead. The fact that he could hear her heartbeat made all of this reassuring.

The nurse who had just finished checking Trina’s vitals and was adjusting the drip on the IV heard footsteps behind her. She turned and quickly recognized Trey.

“Hello, Chief. Really sorry about your mother.”

“Hi, Annie. We’re all sorry about Mom. Our gift is that Trina is still alive. How’s she doing?” he asked.

“Holding her own,” she said.

Lee took a breath and moved closer. Those were the words he needed to hear.

“Annie, this is Lee Daniels. Lee, Annie Dixon. Annie and I grew up together.”

“Nice to meet you, ma’am,” Lee said.

“Not ma’am, just Annie,” the nurse said. “I’m going to get her another blanket. I’ll be right back.”

Trey moved to one side of the bed while Lee went to the other. Trey reached toward Trina and rubbed the back of his finger against her cheek.

“Hey, Trina. It’s me, Trey. Just want you to know that you’re safe. You’re in ICU. Sam is on his way home. We love you. Just rest and get well.”

Lee was struggling for words and fighting back tears as he slid his hand beneath hers so that he could hold it.

“Hi, baby. It’s Lee. I just want you to know I love you. Like Trey said, just sleep and heal.”

The stillness of her body was frightening. Even though they both knew she was in a drug-induced coma, she looked as close to dead as a person could and still be breathing.

Trey and Lee kept talking to her, but when Annie Dixon came back with the blanket, she ran them out.

“Sorry, guys. Visiting time is over.”

“Bye for now, sis. I’ll be back,” Trey said as he patted Trina’s shoulder, and then walked away.

Lee leaned over the bed rail and kissed her forehead.

“Love you, baby,” he said softly, and then caught up with Trey, who was writing down the names of the people who were allowed to visit for Clarice.

“Under no circumstance is anyone else to see her. Not even a preacher, okay?”

The nurse’s eyes widened. “Surely you don’t suspect—”

“Right now I suspect everyone,” Trey muttered and pushed the doors wide as he exited.

Lee caught them and slipped out before they shut. “There’s no one on guard yet,” he said.

Trey stopped short, his shoulders slumping. He should have noticed that, but he was so tired and so stressed he was losing focus. “You’re right.”

“I can do it,” Lee said.

“A security team is on the way. They’ll be here within a couple of hours.”

“Then, let me do it until they show. Please, Trey. I need to do this for her.”

Trey went back into ICU with Lee beside him.

“Clarice, I have a security team on the way, but until they get here, I’m assigning Lee Daniels to the job. He’ll sit in a chair just outside her room without bothering her or any of your medical staff in any way. His job will be to follow anyone who goes into her room and observe everything they do until they leave, understand?”

“Yes. Come with me, Mr. Daniels.”

Lee glanced back at Trey. “Thank you,” he said and hurried to catch up.

Trey left ICU again, but in a different state than when he’d entered. His horror at what had happened was slowly being replaced with rage. Three people had been killed on his watch. Now Trina was in as much danger as the others had been. Even as he was thinking about the guards who would be with her, he realized there was a weak link in his plan to keep her safe. If the killer worked in the hospital, he had just unwittingly dumped her back in the bastard’s lap.

The first thing he had to do was get the names of everyone who’d graduated with his mother, and then find out where they were and what they did for a living so he could eliminate them as suspects. And he knew exactly where to start.

It was raining like hell when he walked out of the hospital, and even though he ran to the cruiser, he was soaked by the time he got in.

He glanced at the time.

Almost twenty minutes after twelve. It was tomorrow. Sam would be here soon, and knowing Sam, the shit was likely to hit the fan.

* * *

Lainey couldn’t sleep, but it had nothing to do with the storm, even though wind was blowing rain against the windows. Intermittent lightning and thunder rattled the panes. Although it was after midnight she was pacing the floor from room to room, unable to settle down. All the lights were on, and so was the television, because she wanted the noise.

The fact that Sam Jakes was coming back to Mystic had thrown her life out of rhythm. It had taken her years to get over him and get on with her life. At least she’d thought she was over him until Dallas’s phone call. All she’d done since the call was relive the past. Earlier she had tried to convince herself that hating him would keep her safe. He’d already broken her heart. But hate was an emotion that didn’t go with Sam Jakes.

When he’d first flown back to the States, she had understood the level of pain he was in and why he was unable to take phone calls. But she hadn’t understood why he refused to see her. Still, she coped with disappointment by sending notes and cards via his family, even though he never sent a single message back.

She’d waited and waited and tried not to feel excluded from the healing journey he was on, until, finally, she broke. He obviously didn’t want to see her, and she wanted to know why, so she left Mystic in secret and drove all the way to the VA hospital without telling anyone she was going.

It was five days before Christmas, and the day was bitter cold. She had wrapped her mother’s blue wool scarf around her to block the air from blowing down the neck of her coat and tied a matching blue ribbon into her hair. Her hands were shaking as she entered the hospital, and her voice broke when she asked for the number of his room.

It wasn’t until she was approaching his door that it dawned on her she might run into some of his family. Nervous all over again, she hesitated for a few moments outside the door, listening until she was certain he was alone, and then carefully slipped into his room, only to find him sleeping.

She didn’t know what she’d expected, but it wasn’t what she saw. In that moment she began to understand why he had shut her out. She saw the man lying in that bed and was unable to find any part of the Sam Jakes she knew beneath the bandages. When he began to stir, she’d bolted in a panic and left without anyone knowing she was there.

After she got home she kept telling herself that when he got better she would go again, but she didn’t, and then one day she called Betsy for an update and found out that he’d been out of the hospital almost a month and no one knew where he was.

That was when she realized she’d been abandoned. He hadn’t given her a chance to prove she could love him no matter how he looked. He’d just made the decision for her. It had taken her years to get over the heartbreak and to realize she hadn’t fought for herself when he was rejecting her. Now when she thought of Sam it was with disappointment in the man she’d thought she knew. Her dilemma now was how to feel about seeing him again.

* * *

Trey Jakes’ first job this morning had taken him straight back to Mystic High. He hadn’t been inside the school since the day he graduated, and he was mildly surprised by the updates, even if it did still smell like school.

He headed straight for the superintendent’s office and took off his hat as he approached the secretary.

“Ma’am, I need to speak to Mr. Porter, please.”

The secretary was startled by the appearance of the police chief and wondered if one of their students had done something wrong. “Just a moment,” she said.

Trey waited as she went to let her boss know he was there. Then the outer door to Will Porter’s office opened, and he was standing in the doorway.

“Chief Jakes, come in,” Will said, and stepped aside as Trey walked in. “Have a seat.”

Will was suddenly anxious. He’d finally made a decision to run for state superintendent and had been in the act of filling out the paperwork when Trey Jakes arrived. Now he was wondering why a cop was sitting in his office.

“Now, what can I do for you?” he asked.

“Do you have back copies of the high school yearbooks? Particularly the 1980 yearbook?” Trey asked.

Will’s eyes widened.

“I don’t think the school does, but I have one at home,” Will said. “I would be glad to loan it to you.”

“That would be much appreciated,” Trey said. “Can I stop by the house and pick it up?”

Will frowned. Even though it was early in the day, God only knew what shape his wife would be in.

“My wife isn’t home right now, so why don’t I run by the house and pick it up? I’ll drop it off at the precinct for you, okay?”

Trey nodded. “Thank you, Mr. Porter. I’ll make sure to return it as soon as we’ve gotten the information we need.”

“This has to do with the murders, doesn’t it?” Will asked.

“Yes, sir, it does,” Trey said.

“Do you think someone from my class is doing this?”

Trey shrugged. “I think it has to do with the school. Whether it has to do with your class or not is another subject.”

“I don’t know what I think, except that what’s happened is a tragedy,” Will said.

“That it is,” Trey said. “So I won’t keep you any longer. Thank you for your help,” he added as he stood. “Don’t get up, I’ll let myself out.”

As soon as Trey was gone, Will grabbed his keys and left his office, only pausing for a moment to tell his secretary where he was going, and then hurried home.

* * *

It was nearly 11:00 a.m. when Sam Jakes came around the curve in the road and saw the Mystic city-limits sign. He’d done this so many times in his dreams that there was a part of him that thought he was still dreaming, that he wasn’t actually there.

Then he passed a man walking down the side of the road with a stringer of fish over his shoulder and not only identified the kind of fish the man had caught but also recognized the face. It was one of the Pryor brothers who lived up on the mountain. This had never been part of the dream. This had to be real.

He drove into town with a knot in his belly, and the farther he went, the bigger it grew. He slowed down as he passed the police precinct but didn’t stop and kept driving north until he saw the motel.

He was stiff from the drive and stood for a few moments after he got out, stretching his legs and letting the muscles relax. After he entered he paused at the counter, thinking the woman looked familiar, and then realized this was going to be a continuing thing. Just because he’d left Mystic didn’t mean everyone else had, too.

“Welcome to Mystic,” she said, and then gasped.

“Sam Jakes! Oh, my word! It’s been ages.” Then her expression fell. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”

“Thank you,” Sam said. “I think Trey reserved a room for me.” He slid a credit card across the counter.

“Yes, he did, but he didn’t say it was for you. You don’t remember me, do you? I’m Delia Summers. Your mother was one of my best friends.”

Sam eyed her closer, seeing the woman she’d been beneath the extra weight and white hair.

“Yes, now I do. It’s good to see you again,” he said.

She scanned the credit card, gave it back and then handed him the room key.

“Room 130. It’s around back, which will give you a little more privacy.”

He was surprised by her thoughtfulness.

“I appreciate it, Mrs. Summers.”

“Delia! Please! And give Trey my best. We all have Trina in our prayers.”

He left the office and drove around back and easily found the door to his room. He swiped the key card and was pleasantly surprised by the quality of the furnishings as he went in. It had a tan carpet, brown-and-gold bedding and tan-and-gold curtains.

He left his suitcase on the bed and sent Trey a text that he was in town. Now that he was there, he felt the need to hurry and get to Trina. He washed up in haste, and when he saw Trey hadn’t returned the text, he began to worry. Being chief of police in your own hometown had to have its own set of challenges.

By the time he got to the hospital he had a knot in his stomach. Hospitals made him antsy anyway, and having his sister in critical condition made it worse. Last night’s rain had left puddles in the parking lot, and from the look of the sky it appeared more rain was imminent.

He was walking toward the hospital when his phone signaled a text. It was Trey.

I’m just leaving the high school. I’ll be there soon. Lee will fill you in. He’s Trina’s boyfriend.

Sam frowned as he reached the entrance. Damn it to hell but he hated hospitals. He took a deep breath, walked inside like he owned the place and headed for the information desk.

A uniformed volunteer smiled at him as he approached.

“Ma’am, how do I get to ICU?” he asked.

She pointed down the hall. “Take the elevator up to the third floor, take a right and go all the way to the end of the hall.”

“Thank you,” Sam said, and headed down the hall. Three women were already waiting at the elevator when he walked up. They turned out of curiosity. While he didn’t recognize any of them, they obviously knew who he was.

The elevator opened, and he followed them on, pressed the button for the third floor and then moved all the way to the back of the car.

A thin brunette was the first to speak. She was clutching her purse against her chest like a shield as she turned around.

“You have my sympathies,” she said.

An older woman nodded. “And mine,” she added, while eyeing him from head to toe.

The third woman was a buxom blonde whose gaze was more intent and less into consolation. “Long time, no see, Sam,” she said.

“I’m sorry, you ladies have me at a disadvantage,” he said.

“We’re Harpers,” the blonde one said. “Wilma is our mother, Wilda here is my younger sister and I’m Wynona.”

He had a vague memory of skinny kids running wild along the creek.

“You lived across the creek from my parents’ farm,” Sam said.

Wilma nodded. “We still do. We’re so sorry to hear about your mama. This whole killing business has been horrible. Just horrible. I haven’t had one good night’s sleep since they found Dick Phillips hanging in his barn.”

Sam flinched. Obviously one of the details Trey had yet to fill him in on.

The elevator stopped on two and the women got off.

“It was good to see you again,” Wynona said, and then winked.

Sam’s phone rang just as the door closed between them. He noticed it was from the office and let it go. He’d already told his secretary to cancel his appointments until further notice. Whatever was happening, it could wait.

He got off the elevator on the third floor and headed down the hall just like the lady had said, following the signs to ICU.

The nurse on duty at the desk looked up.

“What room is Trina Jakes in?” he asked.

“What’s your name, please?” she asked.

He frowned. “I’m her brother Sam.”

“Could I see some identification, please?” she asked.

His frown deepened as he handed his license to her.

She checked it against a list, then handed it back with an apology.

“I’m sorry, but we’re under orders from the chief of police to limit her visitors to immediate family only, and I’m new to Mystic and don’t know anyone.”

Good call, little brother. “It’s okay. I appreciate your diligence.”

“She’s down that way in 12B. There’ll be a guard at her door who will probably ID you, as well.”

Sam heard her, but he had begun to hear what was going on in here, as well, and when the skin tightened on the back of his neck, reminding him of all the time he’d spent in ICU, he knew it was going to be a hard visit to make.

He lengthened his stride and saw a man standing guard by a door. Room 12B.

“Sam Jakes. I’m here to see my sister,” he said and flipped open his wallet, letting the guard see his private investigator license as well as his ID.

The guard looked closely at both before he gave the okay for Sam to go in.

“Good to meet you, Mr. Jakes. I’m Mike Cantrell with Embry Security. Visiting will end at noon and resume again at 2:00 p.m.”

“Thanks,” Sam said and entered the room.

As he did, the young, dark-haired man sitting beside her bed suddenly stood.

“I’m guessing you’re Lee,” Sam said.

The man nodded.

“I’m Sam Jakes. Nice to meet you.”

“It’s nice to meet you, too, sir,” Lee said. “I’m going to step outside and give you some time with Trina. She’s in a drug-induced coma, so don’t worry about her not responding to anything you say. The doctor said she’s holding her own. That’s the update.”

He eyed Sam curiously as he left the room, and Sam could only imagine what he was thinking—probably something along the lines of Where the hell did he come from?

Four

Sam’s hand was shaking as he reached for Trina’s arm. This was a slap-in-the-face wake-up call to point out what he’d been missing. She’d grown up and nearly died before he could get his ass home, and right now he couldn’t remember even one good reason why it had taken him so long.

“Hey, little sister. It’s me. Sam. I don’t know who did this to you yet, but I promise we’ll find him. Just get well and know we love you very much.”

During the time he’d been in the hospital he’d gotten good at deciphering the readings on the various pieces of medical equipment, and from what he could see Trina appeared to be stable, so she was doing her part. But being back in this hospital made him remember all the times his mother had come to see him. All the nights she’d stayed at his side, the tears she’d shed listening to him scream as the doctors began to debride his burns. His family had been there for him. All this time he’d thought he was protecting them by isolating himself, when it appeared he’d hurt them much more with his absence. He swallowed past the knot in his throat, determined not to cry, and was so lost in thought that he didn’t hear the footsteps behind him. Then he felt the pat on his back, and his vision blurred.

He turned, saw the weariness and the grief in his brother’s eyes, and in that moment their mother’s death was finally real. “I am so sorry,” he said.

“So am I, Sam,” Trey said, and hugged him, taking comfort from the strength in his brother’s grip.

“You have hell on your hands, don’t you?” Sam said.

“Yes, and I don’t know why,” Trey said. “It’s noon, which means they’re going to run us out of here for a couple of hours. I need to swing by the precinct to pick up Dallas, and then we can go to lunch and catch up.”

Sam looked back at Trina, and then leaned down and kissed her cheek. “Be strong, little sister.”

“We’ll be back,” Trey added.

They walked out together with a nod to the guard, and left the hospital.

* * *

Dallas was on the computer in Trey’s office when he and Sam walked in.

“Hey,” Trey said.

She looked up, then smiled when she realized Sam had arrived.

“Sam. I am so glad you’re here,” she said, and got up to give him a hug. “It’s been a long time. You look good,” she added.

“Not as good as you,” Sam said, and hugged her back. “I understand congratulations are in order.”

She turned the engagement ring on her finger.

“Thanks.” Then her eyes welled. “Betsy was so happy Trey and I were together again. She kept talking about weddings and grandchildren and—”

Sam shoved his hands into his pockets. “I’m glad someone made her happy, because it damn sure wasn’t me,” he said.

Trey frowned. “Don’t do that, Sam. She wasn’t unhappy with you. There’s a difference. She accepted your reasoning as sound, figured you knew yourself better than anyone else, and none of us ever heard a complaint about it from her.”

It didn’t change the fact that Sam felt as if he’d let her down, but it was good to know his mother had understood his fears.

Dallas shoved the hair back from her face as she sat back down. “I’ve begun working on the list you gave me,” she said to Trey.

Trey showed Sam the 1980 yearbook from Mystic High School.

“I borrowed this from Will Porter. He was in the class of 1980, too. We’re going through the list of graduates, trying to find out where they all are, so we can start eliminating them as possible suspects.”

Sam sat down on the other side of the desk as Trey started pacing. He’d done that ever since he was a kid. When he was thinking something out, he paced.

“My first question is, why do you think the killer’s someone from their graduating class?” Sam asked.

“Something we found after Paul Jackson was murdered. When we went through his lockbox in the bank, he left a letter and a bloody tassel in an envelope for his son. The tassel came from a 1980 graduate, but it didn’t belong to any of the four who were involved in the wreck.”

“Okay, so if no one else is murdered, then we can assume that it does have something to do with that wreck they were in, right?” Sam said. “Otherwise, if more people are targeted, that would remove the wreck aspect.”

Trey nodded. “Yes. We believe Trina was shot only because she would have been a witness the killer couldn’t afford. Mom thought the murders had to do with something they saw the night they graduated. Once she mentioned dreaming about seeing a body. I asked her if she thought she’d been a witness or an accessory to a killing.”

Sam flinched.

“You actually asked Mom if she’d killed someone?”

Trey’s chin jutted defensively.

“More or less. Yes, she was my mother, but I’m also the chief of police, and I was trying to solve Paul Jackson’s murder. She told me she dreamed the four of them saw a body. She thought they were on their way to report it when they wrecked. She gave me a journal she’d been keeping of the dreams. A couple of times she wrote something about the four of them seeing someone die, and then being chased.”

“My God,” Sam said. “All those years, and that was locked inside her memory.”

“Apparently,” Trey said, and then glanced at Dallas. “How’s it going?”

“Slow. About half the class moved away.”

“I want to know where all of them live now,” Trey said.

“What about the ones who live here?” Sam asked.

“What about them?” Trey asked.

“You should confront them when they’re together. I’ve found that once you get a bunch of people together, if they have something to hide, one of them will say something that opens a floodgate.”

Trey glanced up at the clock. “The paper goes to press at three,” he said. “I just might have time to get a request in for tomorrow’s issue.”

“Tell me what you want said. I’ll take it over there myself,” Sam offered.

“Wait,” Dallas said. “Let me pull up a blank screen and I’ll type it for you.”

“Tell me when you’re ready,” Trey said.

She nodded. “Ready.”

“Chief Trey Jakes requests the presence of every graduate of the class of 1980 still living in the area at City Hall day after tomorrow at noon. They will be interrogated regarding the night of their high school graduation. Anyone who doesn’t appear will be brought into the precinct for questioning at a later date. As a reminder to all, there is a ten-thousand-dollar reward for information leading to the arrest and conviction of the person responsible for the murders of Dick Phillips, Paul Jackson and Betsy Jakes.”

Dallas’s fingers were flying over the keyboard as she typed. Then she finished and read it back to him. When he okayed it, she printed it out and handed it to Sam.

“The paper is still in the same place,” she said.

“I saw it,” Sam said, and settled the Stetson a little more firmly on his head as he left the room.

His stride was long, his steps sure as he left the precinct and headed down the street. He could have driven the three blocks, but it felt good to be walking somewhere.

Trey had filled him in on the details of all the murders, even the condition of his mother’s body when he’d found her. He was still reeling from the knowledge and imagining his brother’s horror.

He paused at a stop sign before he crossed a street, and saw the look of recognition on a driver’s face before he honked and waved.

Sam nodded and kept on walking.

A few minutes later he entered the newspaper office and recognized the man behind the desk.

“Afternoon, Mr. Sherman. I have a notice that Chief Jakes needs you to run in tomorrow’s paper.”

Glen Sherman frowned. “We’re about ready to put the paper to bed.”

“It’s important,” Sam said. “It concerns the murders.”

Sherman’s expression shifted. “Let me see it.”

Sam handed it over and watched the changing expressions on the editor’s face.

“Tell him I’ll run it on the front page. My headline didn’t amount to shit anyway.”

“Thank you,” Sam said.

“You’re Sam Jakes, aren’t you?” Sherman asked.

Sam nodded.

“I’m real sorry about Betsy. She was a friend. I heard your sister came out of surgery okay. How’s she doing?”

“So far, so good,” Sam said. “I’ll pass the message on to my brother, and thank you for the placement. Maybe it will rattle a few memories.”

Sherman grimaced. “Most likely skeletons,” he said. “They’re always around if people care to look, and ten thousand dollars makes for a lot of incentive.”

Sam was still thinking about that comment as he walked back to the precinct. Rattling skeletons. Maybe he could rattle some nerves tomorrow while they were at it.

* * *

That evening Sam was in the lobby of Cutter’s Steakhouse waiting on Trey and Dallas to come in from the farm.

Nearly everyone who entered did a double take, recognizing him as the hometown boy who had gone away to war and never come home.

Many of them spoke. A few of them just stared and passed him by. He felt their judgment and knew it was fair. He should have come when Betsy was still alive, not waited until it was time to bury her. There was nothing he could do to change what was, except to help his brother find who killed her.

He’d just received a text from Dallas telling him they were on the way when a family walked in. The man nodded cordially but without recognition before looking at him again.

“Sam Jakes?”

Sam stood and shook the banker’s hand. “Evening, Mr. Standish.”

“It’s been a long time. Our condolences on the loss of your mother. It’s a tragedy. A true tragedy,” Standish said.

“Yes, sir.”

“And how is your sister?” Mrs. Standish asked.

Sam remembered the wife’s face but not her name, and assumed the young girl with them was their daughter. “She’s holding her own.”

“That’s wonderful news. I’ll make it a point to visit her soon.”

“Thank you for the thought, but Trey has her under guard, with a no-visitation order. I’m sure you understand.”

Gloria sputtered a bit, as if shocked that she’d been refused in any way.

“Of course we do,” Standish said. “Her survival has put the killer on notice.”

Carly Standish had been politely quiet while the adults spoke, but she hadn’t missed a thing about Sam Jakes’ appearance. She thought he was good-looking for an older guy, except for the scars she could see on the back of his neck.

Sam caught her staring, which made her flush.

“I think our table is ready,” Standish said. “Ladies...”

They had no sooner walked away than the door opened again, and Marcus and T. J. Silver walked in.

Marcus Silver was about to walk past Sam when T.J. saw him and stopped.

“Sam Jakes, right?”

Sam nodded.

“Dad. It’s Trey’s older brother.”

Marcus’s eyes widened. “I’m sorry, I didn’t recognize you.”

“No problem,” Sam said. “It’s been a while since I’ve been home.”

T.J. frowned. “I’m so sorry about what happened to your mother and sister.”

“Thank you,” Sam said.

“Yes, our sympathies are with all the family,” Marcus added.

The door opened again, and this time it was finally Trey and Dallas who arrived.

“Sorry we’re late,” Trey said, and nodded toward the Silvers. “Marcus, T.J., it appears we all had the same idea tonight.”

“Yes, it does. Enjoy your meal,” Marcus said, and then headed for the hostess desk with his son.

“Everything okay?” Sam asked.

Trey shook his head. “The digital version of the newspaper is already up, and I’ve been getting phone calls like crazy. Everyone in town wants to come to the meeting day after tomorrow,” Trey said.

“What did you tell them?” Sam asked.

“I told them unless they had specific knowledge and information to share, it was only for the members of that class.”

“Good call,” Sam said.

“Let’s go eat, guys,” Dallas said. “Tomorrow is going to be crazy, but tonight we can just be family.”

There was a knot in Sam’s throat as they were being seated. Dallas’s innocent remark about just being family had gone straight to his heart. All these years while he was living on the edge of life, they had been completely immersed in it—joys, heartaches, rejections, accomplishments. Now, thinking about what he’d lost, Lainey Pickett was at the top of the list.

As they ordered their food, talking about what they had yet to face and what they hoped to uncover during the meeting, Sam was wondering what would happen if he tried to fit back in—if he should even try to fit back in—wondering if they would resent him after the way he’d kept them all at arm’s length.

* * *

Lainey was in bed with her laptop and a beer.

After her conversation with Dallas, her curiosity had been piqued. She was reading through back issues of the Mystic newspaper in an effort to catch up on what had been happening.

She had a whole new level of empathy for Dallas after learning how her father had died, and what she’d been through afterward that had nothing to do with the murder. Attacked by a feral dog, running for her life from criminals in hiding on her property and all the while determined to prove her father had not committed suicide. When Lainey got to the discovery of Paul Jackson’s body, she was struck by the cold-blooded way the murder had been committed. The killer would have had to stand and watch Paul being crushed to make sure he was dead.

The bottle of beer was empty by the time she got to the story about Betsy and Trina being ambushed, and for her, it struck closest to home. She’d imagined being part of their family most of her life, picturing Betsy as her mother-in-law and Trina as the sister she’d never had. When she began reading about the shooting and discovered that Trey was the one who’d found them, she burst into tears.

She started out crying for the Jakeses and ended up crying for herself from the shock and grief of being abandoned by the man she loved, to the ensuing years of loneliness and the day she was diagnosed, all the way through to the last day of chemo. She cried until her eyes were swollen and her head was throbbing before she staggered into the bathroom to get something for the pain.

After that she wandered through the house, straightening a picture hanging on the wall, fluffing pillows on the living room sofa, gathering up a glass and bowl she’d left on a side table, loading the dishwasher and then making sure everything was locked up for the night.

Finally the lights were out in the front of the house, except for the night-light in the hall. She wandered back into her bedroom and got back in bed, then picked up the laptop. She started to click out of the paper’s site, then decided to see if there were any new articles relating to the crimes.

The headline for the digital issue of tomorrow’s paper caught her eye.

GRADUATES OF CLASS OF 1980

The subhead was a shock.

MANDATORY MEETING AT CITY HALL

The hair stood up on the back of her neck as she read the notice posted by Chief Jakes, and then a more inclusive story the editor had added to it. As difficult as it was to grasp, the police were convinced that the three murders were tied to the night the victims all graduated high school, which was why all of the classmates had been summoned.

Lainey’s heart skipped a beat. Her mother, Billie, had been a member of that class, but her mother was dead. Would she have known anything? Had she heard any gossip that would shed light on this mystery? And then she remembered her mother’s diaries. She’d been obsessive about writing in them on a regular basis when she was younger. Lainey remembered reading from them all the time when she was growing up and then talking to her mother about her life. Oh, how they had laughed. For Lainey, it had the feel of being a child with her mother instead of just reading about her at that age. But now that she’d remembered them, and now that she understood the seriousness of the meeting, she couldn’t let go of the idea that there might be something in them that would help.

She set the laptop aside again and moved back through the house, turning on lights until she got to the hallway between the utility room and the kitchen, heading for the stairs leading to the attic. They were the old-fashioned kind that pulled down from the ceiling. She grasped the short dangling rope above her head and gave it a yank, then walked backward as the stairs unfolded at her feet. The light switch in the hall turned on the floodlight in the attic above.

She hadn’t been up here in over a year, and as she reached the top she could easily see the thin layer of dust covering the floor and most of the boxes. She knew where the diaries were because she’d packed them away herself after her mother’s death. In fact, she’d packed them away in chronological order, so she knew exactly where she would find the one she wanted.

The boxes stacked against the north wall were all labeled Diaries, so she began to look for the one from the year 1980. As soon as she found the right box, she scooted it across the floor to the stairs, then backed down one step at a time, balancing the box in front of her as she went.

It was now after midnight, but she knew she would never be able to sleep until she was satisfied there was nothing in those diaries that would matter, so she wiped the dust from the box, removed the lid and dug through until she found the volume that began with Billie’s senior year, as well as the ensuing two diaries that had everything else through the night of graduation.

This time, when she went back to her bedroom, she had the diaries in one hand and a cold bottle of Pepsi in the other.

She crawled back into bed, took a drink of the pop, opened the first diary and began to read.

* * *

It was the wind blowing a branch against the side of the house that woke Lainey the next morning. She rolled over onto her back, wondering why she was sleeping at the foot of the bed, and then saw the diaries and remembered. She glanced at the time and sat up with a groan.

She headed for the bathroom to shower, and was so anxious about the day ahead and getting all her lesson plans done that for once she paid no attention to her too-thin body or the scars on her chest where her breasts used to be. And when she got out of the shower to dry her hair, it was so short that it didn’t take long. Other than the fact that she was beginning to panic about seeing Sam again, the day passed without consequence.

She went to bed and set the alarm, then dreamed all night that she was trying to find Sam. In the dream, everywhere she looked he was already gone. She woke up frustrated and anxious, then headed to the bathroom to get ready for the meeting.

She could already tell the day was going to be cold, because the house was chilly. When she went back to her room to get dressed she turned up the thermostat in the hall. Her clothes didn’t fit well anymore, but she managed to cope. She put on a pair of blue jeans and a thick sweater. Her jeans were held up by a belt, and the cable-knit weave of the loose sweater helped hide her flat chest.

It was 11:00 a.m. by the time she headed out the door. It would take about fifteen to twenty minutes to get to Mystic unless traffic delayed her. The meeting began at noon. If she didn’t get a chance to catch Trey before he went into City Hall, she would have to wait until it was over. Either way, she would feel better knowing she’d done her part.

* * *

The day was cold, the wind sharp enough to bring tears, as people began filing into Mystic City Hall. They walked with their heads down, their shoulders hunched against the weather, but it made them appear as if they all had something to hide.

Trey was already inside. He had his officer Earl Redd guarding the entrance to the meeting, with orders to keep out the curiosity seekers.

Sam and Trey had made a plan, and Sam was in his car, parked at the back of the courthouse until closer to the time for the meeting to start.

Lainey had the diaries in her hand as she ran up the front steps and inside, then quickly explained her reason for being there to Officer Redd, who let her into the courtroom. She slipped into the room and took a seat in the back just as Trey walked up to the front to begin the meeting. He had an updated list from Dallas regarding the people who still lived in the area, and would know if anyone was missing.

As Trey turned to face the group, he glanced out the windows and saw Sam on the sidewalk. His entrance should rattle the group. It was time to get started.

“Thank you for coming. Beginning with you on the end, tell me your name at the time of graduation, so I can check you off the list.”

He pointed straight at Marcus Silver, and Marcus promptly replied. Then Gregory Standish, then Will Porter, and on through the crowd until he noticed Lainey Pickett in the back of the room and frowned.

“Lainey?”

“I’m here on behalf of my mother, Billie Conway. She kept diaries. I brought the ones pertaining to her senior year.”

Trey’s heart skipped. Something must be in them or she wouldn’t have come. Before he could say anything else, the doors at the back of the room opened, and everyone turned to look as Sam Jakes came in and strode straight down the aisle toward Trey, glaring at everyone he saw.

Lainey could tell from his expression that he didn’t see her, but she saw him, the wide set of his shoulders beneath his coat, the dark brown Stetson on his head, and struggled with the urge to run. Then he reached the front and turned to face the crowd, and she lifted her chin and stared back, waiting for him to see her.

Sam looked out across the room, meeting gaze after gaze, waiting until each person looked away before moving on to the next. Then he saw the woman at the back of the room. Stunned by her presence, he was the first to turn his gaze elsewhere.

Then Trey began to speak, saving him.

“All of you know my brother, Sam. He owns Ranger Investigations in Atlanta, and he’s come home to help me find a killer, which is also why you’re here. You’re going to help us find him, too.”

“What makes you think it’s a man?” Will Porter asked.

“Because Dick Phillips was over six feet tall and weighed two hundred and five pounds, and there are precious few women anywhere in the world who could lift that much dead weight and hang it from the rafters of a barn.”

Will flushed. “Yes, of course. I didn’t think,” he mumbled.

“Well, I have thought,” Trey said. “I’ve done nothing but think ever since this nightmare began, and this is what I know. Something happened the night of your high school graduation. I believe Connie and Betsy and their boyfriends Dick and Paul witnessed a crime, and we think it had to do with at least one of your classmates, because police found a bloody tassel in Paul Jackson’s pocket the night of the wreck, and it didn’t belong to him or anyone else in the car. Theirs were all accounted for. My mother dreamed about seeing a dead body, but she never saw a face. I believe they wrecked because they were trying to get back to Mystic to tell what they saw. I know they were going too fast when the car left the road, and the logical explanation for driving so recklessly was because they were being chased.”

“Or the fact that they were drunk,” someone muttered.

“Oh, yes, we know that, but that doesn’t explain the bloody tassel. It’s being tested for DNA, by the way.”

People were beginning to shift nervously in their seats, which was exactly what Sam had been waiting for.

“One of you knows something, and your silence has aided a killer in getting away with murder...three times for sure, and maybe a fourth back then. Is that how you want to be remembered? Talk to me, damn it!”

Lainey stood up, holding the diaries against her chest.

“My mother is gone, but her words are not. She kept diaries. I have them, starting from when she was nine all the way through her first year of college.”

Sam saw her lips moving, but he couldn’t focus on what she was saying for looking at the desolation in her eyes.

“Is there anything in there that you think would help us?” Trey asked.

“A couple of things, I think. I’ll leave them with you, of course, as long as I can have them back at some point. The first thing that caught my attention was her writing about gossip flying through the school about cheating on tests. I teach history at the University of West Virginia, so I’m aware that’s an ongoing issue, but according to my mother’s entries, it pertained to the senior class specifically.”

Sam shifted focus. “Was it true? Was someone cheating?”

The room was silent.

“She mentioned names,” Lainey said, and just like that the room erupted.

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