Alex stared at him a moment, then blurted out, “Someone was shooting at us. You got hit by a bullet. Are you even going to mention that?”

Holt frowned. “I wasn’t planning on it. At least not until I have an idea on the matter.”

Alex shook her head. “Well, at least let me dress that wound while you try to formulate a good idea about someone trying to kill us. And make sure you change the dressing twice a day. The last thing you want is an infection.”

“Good advice,” he said and stepped closer to her, knowing what he was about to do was a really bad idea, but unable to come up with one good reason not to.

He pulled her close to him in one sudden motion that made her gasp. Before he could change his mind, he lowered his lips to hers.

Immediately she pushed back and stared at him, her eyes wide. “I think I’ll wait in the truck.”

“It’s not safe out there,” he said.

“It’s safer than being in here.”

About the Author

JANA DELEON grew up among the bayous and small towns of southwest Louisiana. She’s never actually found a dead body or seen a ghost, but she’s still hoping. Jana started writing in 2001 and focuses on murderous plots set deep in the Louisiana bayous. By day, she writes very boring technical manuals for a software company in Dallas. Visit Jana at her website, www.janadeleon.com.

The Reckoning

Jana DeLeon

www.millsandboon.co.uk

MILLS & BOON

Before you start reading, why not sign up?

Thank you for downloading this Mills & Boon book. If you want to hear about exclusive discounts, special offers and competitions, sign up to our email newsletter today!

SIGN ME UP!

Or simply visit

signup.millsandboon.co.uk

Mills & Boon emails are completely free to receive and you can unsubscribe at any time via the link in any email we send you.

To my friend Leslie Langtry.

Together, we will remain sane with our focus on that private island, cabana boys and the invention of calorie-free beer.

Prologue

New Orleans Press, October 31, 1976

Three children are missing in Mystere Parish from the tiny bayou town of Vodoun. All three attended first grade at Vodoun Elementary and had been playing in the backyard of one girl’s home before the mother realized they were gone. A search party of the neighboring swamp has yielded only a hair ribbon and a torn piece from one girl’s dress.

According to the sheriff’s department, the investigation is ongoing, and they are looking into several possibilities. Locals have formed their own search parties to continue sweeping the swamp, and some of them have a different take. Some believe that a voodoo priestess who lives on an island in the swamp kidnapped the girls for sacrifice. The island, which is surrounded by thousands of toy dolls in various states of decay, is the sort of things nightmares are made of.

The sheriff’s department states that deputies have searched the island and are satisfied that the girls were never there, but this is hardly the first unusual story to emerge from the swamps of Mystere Parish. If anyone has information as to the whereabouts of the missing girls, please contact the Sheriff’s department in Vodoun, Louisiana.—Staff Reporter

Chapter One

Psychiatrist Alexandria Bastin clutched the cell phone at her cousin’s words. “Repeat that.” She couldn’t possibly have heard her correctly.

“The witch took her! She took my baby!” Sarah’s wailing pierced Alex’s ear, even through the phone.

“Calm down, Sarah,” Alex said and waved off a nurse who had paused during her rotation to see if Alex needed help. “Take a deep breath and tell me everything.” She hurried down the hall and into her office to escape the normal noises of the busy hospital. “How long has Erika been missing?”

“Since this afternoon. She went down the street to play with her friend.” The hysterical tone in Sarah’s voice continued to rise with each sentence. “She was supposed to be home at three, but she never came. I waited and waited and she never came.”

“What did the friend’s mother say?”

“That Erika left in time to get home. She’s gone, Alex, and no one will believe me. My baby! What happened to my baby?” Sarah began sobbing. “I called and called but you never answered.”

Alex grabbed her purse from her desk drawer and locked her office. “I’m on my way. Sarah, can you hear me?”

The sound of frantic sobbing was all Alex heard as she rushed into the elevator. As soon as the elevator door closed, the call dropped. Alex looked at her display and cursed when she saw the list of missed calls from her cousin. She’d been tied up all afternoon giving a videotaped statement for a commitment hearing and had turned off her phone, but now she wished she hadn’t.

Mentally, she willed the elevator to move faster and as soon as the door opened to the parking garage, she ran to her car, pressing in Sarah’s number as she ran. The busy signal had her cursing again.

She jumped into her car and tore out of the parking lot toward the highway. Even with a fast car and a lead foot, it would take her at least an hour to get to Sarah’s house. She pressed redial, and the busy signal sounded once again. Glancing in her rearview mirror, she merged onto the highway and immediately moved to the fast lane.

Out of options, she dialed 9-1-1.

“This is Dr. Alexandria Bastin. I’m a resident psychiatrist at Memorial Hospital in New Orleans. I have reason to believe that a patient is suffering from a serious mental episode and I cannot get her to answer the phone. I’m on my way, but I need someone to check on Sarah Rhonaldo at 152 Cypress Lane in Vodoun.”

She pressed her foot down harder on the accelerator and prayed that Sarah hadn’t done something foolish. Her cousin had separated from Erika’s father three months before, and it hadn’t been pleasant—especially not for Sarah’s husband, her best friend, or the bed she’d caught them having sex in, as it had met a tragic end, hatchet style.

Alex had managed, with the help of a great attorney, to get the charges reduced to destruction of private property, but Sarah’s Paul Bunyan routine hadn’t scored her any points with the local sheriff. Given that their families had been warring since the dawn of time, the bed-hatchet escapade cemented Sheriff Conroy’s belief that Sarah was worthless trash.

She could only hope Sarah hadn’t done anything to jeopardize her health … or her parole. Alex didn’t even want to think about what might have happened to Erika until she got face-to-face with Sarah and heard the entire story.

ATRUCK DISPLAYING THE sheriff’s logo on the side was in front of Sarah’s house when Alex pulled up just before seven p.m. This can’t be good. She pulled in behind the truck and parked. She’d been hoping for an ambulance, but there was no sign of a paramedic anywhere. Which meant whatever had happened to Sarah, her health was fine, but given that the sheriff was still there, her freedom might be in question.

She grabbed her purse and hurried into the house without bothering to knock. “Sarah,” she called, scanning the rooms as she rushed down the hall.

“Back here,” Sarah answered, her voice weak.

Alex ran the rest of the way down the hall and into the kitchen and ran straight into the last person in the world she expected or wanted to see.

His shoulders were wider, his upper body harder and leaner than she’d ever seen him. And she’d seen every inch. “Holt,” she said, trying to keep her voice steady. “I didn’t know you were back.”

Ten years ago, he’d run away to war—the one place he could be certain his past couldn’t follow him.

His hands were still on her shoulders, and he stood so close she could feel the heat coming off his body. The smell of his aftershave tickled her nose, and instantly she remembered the last time his hands had been on her body. The last time she’d been completely absorbed with Holt—mind, body and soul.

“Been back for a month now,” he said, and looked down at her with those sexy green eyes that had been the cause of many a weak moment on her part.

But no more.

She stepped back so that he was forced to drop his hands, and that was when she noticed the badge on his belt. “You’re working for your uncle?”

“I’m just filling in until I figure out what I want to do next and until his broken leg heals.”

“Is Sarah okay?”

Holt moved to the side and motioned her into the breakfast nook where Sarah sat, staring out the back window. “You tell me.”

Alex walked over to the table and slid onto the chair next to Sarah. Her cousin took one look at her, flung her arms around her neck and began sobbing. “They don’t believe me. My baby’s gone and they don’t believe me.” The volume of her voice increased with every word until she was shouting.

Alex untangled Sarah’s arms from her neck and studied her cousin. Her skin was pale, but normal, given the situation. Her eyes were red from crying, but Alex didn’t see any disconnect from reality in them.

“Who doesn’t believe you?”

Sarah pointed to Holt. “The sheriff’s department. They think I’m crazy.”

A flash of anger washed over Alex like a tidal wave and she turned to face Holt. “A six-year-old is missing from her own neighborhood in broad daylight. Exactly what does it take for the sheriff’s department to become concerned?”

“My uncle said—”

“Your uncle wouldn’t have a nice thing to say about Sarah even if it meant avoiding eternal damnation.” Alex turned her attention back to Sarah. “I need you to take a deep breath and tell me what happened.”

Sarah nodded and took a deep breath, blowing it slowly out. “Right after lunch, Erika went to her friend’s house up the street to play. I stood outside and watched her until she went inside their house. She was supposed to be home by three.”

“But she didn’t come home?”

“No. At three-fifteen, I called her friend’s mother to remind Erika to leave, but the mother said Erika had left at five ‘til, just like she was supposed to.”

“Did the friend’s mother watch her walk home?”

“No. Erika walked with her friend all the way to the house and then her friend crossed the street to go to her music lesson.”

“Did her friend see Erika go in the house?”

Sarah shook her head. “She said when she was closing the door, she saw Erika checking the mail. But when I came outside to look for her, the mail was lying in the street.” Sarah began to cry again. “They think Bobby took her. He’s a lying, worthless, cheating waste-of-a-husband, but he’s a good father. Bobby would never take Erika away from me.”

Alex blew out a breath, trying to make sense of everything Sarah had said. Her cousin’s story didn’t fill in all the gaps and she had a feeling those gaps were important. Unfortunately, the one person who could give her the answers she needed was the last person she wanted to talk to.

She opened her purse and took out a prescription for antianxiety medication that she’d filled for Sarah the day before. Ever since Sarah’s split from Bobby, she’d had trouble sleeping and concentrating. The meds took the edge off and allowed her to act normal even though she didn’t feel normal. “I want you to take this,” she said, and placed a pill in Sarah’s hand. “I need to know everything you can think of. In order to be helpful, you need to be refreshed and calm. While the medicine is doing its job, I want you to take a hot shower.”

Sarah opened her mouth to protest, but Alex held up a hand to stop her. “I’m saying this as your doctor. No arguments.”

Sarah looked at Alex, her expression wavering between wanting to comply and wanting to argue, then she glanced over at Holt and sighed. “Fine.”

Alex rose from the table and pushed a glass of water closer to Sarah. Sarah placed the pill in her mouth and took a big drink, her hand shaking a bit as she lowered the glass back to the table. Her cousin rose from the table and hugged Alex.

“I feel better already because you’re here,” Sarah said. “You’re the smartest person I know. You’ll find Erika.” Sarah broke off the hug and trudged down the hall toward her bedroom.

Alex stared after her, trying to keep her own heart from breaking over the situation. She and Sarah had been born only a month apart and were more like sisters than cousins. She and Erika were the only family Alex had left since her own parents had died in a car wreck twelve years before. The day Erika was born, Alex had been almost as proud as Sarah, and to think of that little girl, taken from her home, was beyond upsetting. But one of them had to remain calm and collected, and that role almost always fell to Alex.

She looked over at Holt, who was leaning against the kitchen counter. “I need you to tell me exactly what is going on. No speculation or your uncle’s gossip. Cold, hard facts are all I’m interested in.”

Holt smiled. “Cold was never in your vocabulary when I knew you. Hard … well, that’s a whole other story.”

Alex felt a flush rise up her neck. “And one that will not be remembered or relived now or at any other time. A little girl is missing. Her mother is frantic. Surely, you can tell me something.”

Holt’s expression changed from teasing to serious.

“Sarah called the sheriff’s office this afternoon in a panic. I came out here to see what was up, then followed up on the leads. What she told you is correct. I talked to the friend’s mother and she verified the story. I checked with the other neighbors, but no one saw Erika.”

“Then why haven’t you formed a search party? Do I have to remind you that not a hundred yards from the backyard of this house is the swamp?”

“It rained the past couple of days. I walked a two-mile stretch of the tree line and never saw a single footprint. So unless Erika walked beyond that before entering the swamp, that’s not where she is.”

Alex nodded, not wanting to admit that so far, everything Holt said made sense. “And this theory about Bobby taking Erika?”

“Pretty much everyone knows about the split between Bobby and Sarah and what caused it, so the sheriff thought I better check with Bobby before sending out an alert and panicking the town.” He looked down the hallway for a second then back at Alex. “Is she all right … mentally, I mean?”

“She was angry over Bobby’s cheating, and rightly so, and she’s clearly upset now and perhaps in a bit of shock. But given the circumstances, I don’t see anything wrong with her reactions.”

“So she’s sane?”

Alex bristled. “I can’t discuss a client’s medical condition with you. I’ve already said more than I should have.”

“So even if there was something wrong, you wouldn’t tell me?”

“Couldn’t tell you. There’s a big difference. But as nothing is wrong, aside from the obvious, this is a pointless discussion. What happened when you talked to Bobby?”

“Nothing. His fourplex unit was stripped clean and so were his bank accounts.”

Alex stared, completely taken aback with what Holt had said. “His employer?”

“He gave notice two weeks ago and had already worked his last day. Said he’d gotten a better job in New Orleans.”

“And that … that woman?”

Holt grimaced. “Oh, she had plenty to say about Bobby, especially as the affair ended her marriage, too. Apparently, middle-aged, unemployed, uneducated women who sleep with their best friend’s husbands aren’t exactly desired by employers or anyone else.”

“My heart bleeds for her. So did she know where Bobby moved?”

“Yeah, see, that’s where it gets interesting. She says he was going back home to Brazil.”

Alex froze. “Permanently?”

Holt shrugged. “The New Orleans police haven’t turned up a new residence or employer so far.”

“You think he stole his child and fled to Brazil? Erika didn’t even have a passport.”

“Yes, she did. He filed for one a couple months ago.”

Alex took a couple of seconds to digest that. “Did Sarah know?”

“Yeah. She said he was planning to take Erika to visit his family in Brazil during summer vacation.”

“Sarah knows how to contact his relatives. What do they say?”

“Naturally, they all claim ignorance on the subject.”

Alex’s mind swam with all the implications of Holt’s theory, but no matter how much sense it made on the surface, it didn’t add up for Alex, either. “You’ve checked the airports.”

“Of course, and if we’d found anything, this would already be over.”

“So that means he didn’t take her out of the country.”

“No. It just means he didn’t fly. Given that he took all his belongings, it’s more logical that he’s driving.”

“So you’re going to do nothing?”

“I’ve notified Louisiana and Texas law enforcement that Erika was missing and sent them photos of her and Bobby and all the information on Bobby’s car. I contacted several news agencies here and in Texas, and they’ve agreed to show a picture and ask viewers to call a hotline if they’ve seen either of them.” Holt sighed. “What else would you like me to do?”

“Nothing,” Alex said. “You’re right. There’s nothing left to do but wait and pray.”

Holt nodded. “Then I’ll get going and let you take care of Sarah. If you need anything, call dispatch, and they’ll get in touch with me.”

Alex followed him down the hall to the front door. He stepped outside, then turned back to face her. “I’m really sorry about all of this,” he said. “I know my uncle and Sarah have their issues, but I promise you my uncle’s beliefs do not interfere with my investigation. I’m doing everything I can to find Erika.”

Alex nodded and he turned and walked to his truck. She watched as he drove down the block in the vanishing sunlight. She didn’t doubt Holt was doing everything he could. He wasn’t the kind of man who took failure lightly—she knew that better than anyone. But Holt didn’t know what she did—that Sarah was telling the truth.

There was no way Bobby would have taken Erika away from Sarah. She was as certain of that as she was of anything. And since it was unlikely Erika had gotten lost in the swamp, Alex knew something very bad had happened to the child.

It was up to her to find out what.

Chapter Two

Holt Chamberlain pulled away from Sarah’s house, a million thoughts running through his head. All but one had to do with Alexandria Bastin. He’d known Alex was on her way to Vodoun when he went to Sarah’s house, and he thought he’d mentally prepared himself for seeing her again. Now that he had, he realized how egotistical he’d been to think he was prepared.

Like holding up a trash can lid to stave off a tidal wave.

Ten years hadn’t taken a single thing away from her. Her face was more mature than the college girl he’d left behind, but still as beautiful as he remembered. Her thick blond hair, a gift from her German mother, had been pulled up on top of her head, but he had no doubt that when released, it would fall in thick waves down her shoulders. And even in her official hospital business suit, he could see her body wasn’t missing a trick. She was walking sexy and still as sharp as they came.

He’d been prepared for his body to react, for his heart to tug a bit when he laid eyes on his first love. But what he’d experienced was a total annihilation of senses. There was no preparation for that, short of death.

All that running and he’d landed back in Vodoun right smack in the middle of the same turmoil he’d been in when he’d made the decision to leave. Time and distance hadn’t changed anything except allowing him to temporarily forget.

And all of that took a backseat to the one thing that had nothing to do with his past with Alex—Sarah’s missing daughter. He couldn’t argue with the logic. Everything he’d found backed up his uncle’s idea that Bobby had kidnapped his daughter and fled to Brazil, but something didn’t feel right to Holt.

Things in Mystere Parish never did.

Something about the stretch of dense swamp that comprised most of the parish was unlike anywhere he’d ever been before, and he’d seen plenty of conflicted places during his military service. Not that Mystere was conflicted. In fact, it appeared to be comprised of small, peaceful towns filled with down-to-earth, law-abiding people. But under that surface of pleasant normalcy, Mystere hid secrets. Some of those secrets eventually rose to the surface.

It was the ones that hadn’t yet that concerned Holt.

Hoping his uncle was right for a change, Holt decided to take another look at Bobby and directed his truck toward the fourplex where Bobby had lived. Bobby taking Erica was the simple answer—the good answer. Holt didn’t want to think about the options until he’d eliminated the most obvious and the safest for the child.

The deputy had taken statements from the people occupying the two front units this afternoon, but the woman who lived directly across from Bobby in the other rear unit hadn’t been home. Maybe she was available now and could fill in some of the gaps.

He was about to pull up in back of the fourplex when his cell phone rang. He checked the display and frowned. His uncle.

Holt’s grandfather had married Lorraine after the death of his first wife, Holt’s paternal grandmother. After several miscarriages, Jasper Conroy had been a surprise baby for Lorraine. He was only two years older than Holt, but he wore the “Uncle” title as proudly as he did his sheriff’s badge. The man’s body might be restricted to bed rest, but it hadn’t stopped his mouth from traveling far and often.

“Uncle Conroy, what can I do for you?”

“Why aren’t you back at the sheriff’s office?”

“I’ve been looking into the Rhonaldo case.”

“There is no Rhonaldo case. Bobby Rhonaldo took that kid from that screaming shrew of a wife and skipped the country. Since we don’t have the time, the manpower or the jurisdiction to chase him to South America, I expect you to be back in the office in ten minutes.”

“To do what, exactly?”

“Whatever I say you need to do. Don’t get belligerent with me, boy. I’m still in charge.”

Holt struggled to control his tongue. His mother had asked this favor of him so that Jasper could continue to draw his salary and not worry about someone poaching his job. Holt figured it was a heck of a lot of aggravation to take for a favor, but he supposed it was a nice thing to do.

Thanks to the business acumen of his late and mostly absentee father, Holt had enough money to last a lifetime, so working for free didn’t bother him at all. But a little consideration wouldn’t be out of line, since Jasper was the only one benefiting from Holt’s time.

“I figured I needed to be thorough on this one, given your history with Sarah,” Holt said. “I wouldn’t want anyone to find a gap in my investigation and use that against you in the next election. If this ends badly, the last thing you need is people saying that if you’d done your job, you could have prevented the death of a six-year-old girl.”

There was dead silence for several seconds and Holt knew his uncle recognized the legitimacy of his words and at the same time was mentally cursing nine ways to Sunday that he had to spend even a moment of time on Sarah Rhonaldo. His mother’s complete and utter disdain for Sarah went far deeper than a long-standing family feud, but Holt had never been able to determine the real cause of the animosity. It was the best-kept secret in Vodoun.

For that matter, it was probably the only secret in Vodoun.

“Fine, then,” Jasper said finally. “Get it over with as fast as possible and put everything you find in the file.”

“And if I find anything that indicates something could have happened to Erika besides Bobby taking her?”

“That’s not going to happen.”

The sound of Jasper slamming the phone down echoed in his ear as he parked. The blinds were open on the unit across from Bobby’s and he could see someone moving around inside. He climbed out of the truck and made his way up the sidewalk, pleased that the neighbor was home and he could finalize this angle of questioning.

The woman who opened the door was young, probably midtwenties, wearing workout clothes and didn’t look overly happy that he’d interrupted her routine. He flashed his badge, and her demeanor immediately shifted as she waved him inside.

“Has something happened to my family?” the woman asked, clearly nervous. “Just tell me and get it over with.”

Holt realized his faux pas and moved to correct it. “I’m sorry to frighten you, Miss, but I’m here to ask you some questions about your neighbor, Bobby Rhonaldo.”

Her shoulders relaxed and she blew out a breath. “Thank God. My parents insisted on retiring in an RV and gallivanting across the country. I remain in a constant state of worry.”

“Understandable.”

She pulled a bottle of water out of the refrigerator and offered it to him. He shook his head so she twisted the top off the bottle and slid onto a stool at the kitchen counter. “You said you’re here about Bobby?”

“Yes. Did you know him?”

“Not well. I’m a nurse at the clinic and I usually work the night shift, so I’m not awake during normal hours. I introduced myself when he moved in, and I’ve said hello a couple of times when I was coming home from shift and he was leaving for work. That’s about it.”

Holt nodded. “Were you at home when he moved?”

She frowned. “Yeah. That was weird. My shift started at midnight and when I walked out, two guys were loading Bobby’s bed and clothes in a moving truck. I asked about Bobby, but they said he was busy and they’d been paid to move his stuff. They had a key, so I went on to work.”

“You said it was weird, though. Why?”

She flipped the cap over between her fingers for a couple of seconds, then blew out a breath. “This is going to sound stupid, but something didn’t feel right. I mean, they had a key, and I guess if midnight is when you have time to do something, then that’s when you do it. But they … unnerved me, I guess is the best way to put it.

“Look,” she continued, “I’m no wilting daisy. I’ve been living on my own since I was seventeen. Worked my way through college as a nurse’s assistant on the nightshift at a hospital in New Orleans. I’ve seen plenty that would scare the life out of normal people, so for something to bother me is weird.”

“Would you recognize them if you saw them again?”

“I think so.”

“Thanks,” Holt said and handed the woman a card. “If you think of anything else or happen to see the men anywhere, call dispatch and tell them to get in touch with me immediately.”

The woman placed the card on the counter and walked him to the door. “Hey,” she said, as he was about to walk away. “One of the guys had a tattoo on the back of his right hand.”

He stiffened. “Could you tell what it was?”

“It was kinda dark on the sidewalk, but it looked like an eye.”

Holt nodded and walked to his truck, hoping his concern at the woman’s description hadn’t shown on his face. He didn’t think the woman was in any danger and didn’t want her to worry. But Holt had seen that tattoo before.

On the man who’d murdered his father.

Chapter Three

Alex poured herself a cup of coffee and carried it and decaffeinated tea for Sarah over to the breakfast nook table. The drugs had kicked in, so Sarah appeared less hysterical and more focused than she had been earlier, which was a relief to Alex. She needed Sarah’s mind sharp if they were going to find Erika, especially as the police were tapped out on avenues of investigation.

“How are you feeling?” Alex asked, studying her cousin’s face. Some of the color had returned, eliminating the ghostlike look she’d worn earlier. The skin around her eyes was puffy and red from crying, but that was hardly unexpected.

“I’m as good as I’m getting for now.”

“Do you want anything to eat?”

“No. My stomach couldn’t handle it.”

“Okay, but don’t go too long without having something … even dry toast.”

Sarah looked up and gave her a small smile. “Yes, mom.”

Alex slid into the chair across from Sarah and pulled a small pad of paper out of her purse to take notes, then changed her mind and reached for her recorder. “Do you mind if I tape this? I want to make sure I get everything.”

“That’s fine,” Sarah said and looked at her, a guilty expression on her face. “I’m sorry for not telling you Holt was back in town.”

“I was bound to hear about it sooner or later,” Alex said, trying to sound as casual as possible.

“I guess. I’d hoped that he’d figure out what he was doing next and be gone before you crossed paths.”

“Well, it’s happened and no one shouted or cried. It’s been ten years, and we’ve both moved on with our lives, but I appreciate your concern.”

“We’re cousins. Looking out for each other is what we do, right?”

Alex reached across the small table and squeezed Sarah’s hand. “Absolutely. Have you told your mother?”

“No. She’s not … good. Not since Dad died.”

“I’ll call the nurse’s aide tomorrow and talk to her about your mom’s care. Let’s keep this between us for now.” Sarah’s mother had been in a nursing home for several years battling lung cancer, but ever since the death of her husband she’d seemed to give up entirely.

“Are you ready to talk?”

Sarah nodded and Alex slipped a blank tape into the recorder and turned it on. “Start with what you told me earlier, so I can get it on tape, okay?”

Her cousin recounted the details she’d provided earlier with Alex interrupting to clarify names and times. When she was done, Alex said, “When you called me, you said the witch took Erika. What did you mean?”

Sarah stared blankly over Alex’s shoulder and out the window. “You know what I meant.”

Alex felt a trickle of fear run up her spine. “That stuff about the witch was all a story. You know … something parents made up to keep us kids from playing in the swamp.”

“Was it, really?” Sarah locked her gaze on Alex. “Do you know that for certain? You saw the same thing on that island as I did. Are you going to deny that?”

A chill passed over Alex and she crossed her arms and leaned on the table. “I’m not denying what we saw, nor that it scared the life out of me. But the police never found any proof that the woman who lived there took those kids.”

“The witch that lived there,” Sarah corrected. “The police didn’t want to believe.”

“Believe what?” Alex blew out a breath. “That a witch on an island in a swamp kidnapped children and used them as sacrifices in a voodoo ritual? Of course, they didn’t want to believe something like that, but it wouldn’t stop them from investigating. There was never any evidence that those kids had been on the island.”

“The evidence was burned in the ceremony. You know something about the old ways, Alex, even if your current life has you locked into science. You know the swamps of Mystere Parish are full of people who practice black arts and have for hundreds of years.”

Alex threw up her hands. “Even if it were all true, what makes you think Erika is on the island?”

“Because.” Sarah rose from the table and walked into the kitchen. She climbed onto a step stool to open a cabinet above the refrigerator and pulled out something in a brown paper bag. “I found this in her room, hidden under her bed.”

She opened the bag and pulled out a doll with blond hair and blue eyes and placed it on the table. The blood rushed to Alex’s head and she gripped the edge of the table to steady herself as a wave of dizziness washed over her.

It couldn’t be. Not after all this time.

“Where did she get this?” she asked, struggling to maintain a calm tone.

“Not in any store, that’s for sure. I looked it up online. That doll hasn’t been manufactured in over thirty years.”

“Did you ask her?”

“Of course I asked. After I had a heart attack and then managed to regain control. She said she found it in the backyard at the edge of the swamp, but she was lying.”

Alex stared. “How do you know?”

Sarah shrugged. “She’s my kid. I know when she’s lying. I pushed the issue, but she stuck to her story.”

“Have you told her about … I mean warned her in a way she could understand?”

“I told her an old, evil woman lived in the swamp and that it wasn’t safe for little girls to go into the swamp without an adult. She’s always stayed away before. I checked all her shoes and her rubber boots, but there was no sign she’d been in the swamp or tried to wash away the evidence.”

Alex’s mind raced, trying to absorb everything Sarah said … trying to make sense of all of it. “When did you find the doll?”

“Three days ago.” Sarah slumped back into her chair. “And then there was the crow.”

“What crow?”

“It was on the clothesline outside Erika’s bedroom window every morning for the last week when I went in to wake her. I closed the blinds and went outside to shoo it away, but every morning, it was right back in place.”

Sarah shivered. “Last night, I heard a noise out back. I looked out the kitchen window and could make out the outline of the crow just sitting there. Like it was watching her, even though the blinds were closed.” She looked straight at Alex. “You know it’s an omen.”

“No.” Alex shook her head. “I don’t know any such thing.”

“What about those birds that fell from the sky last week? It was all over the news. Hundreds of them, Alex, lying everywhere in Mystere Parish.”

“There are theories—”

Sarah waved a hand, cutting her off. “I know all about the theories, and I know what Sam LeBlanc down at Animal Control told me—that the vet couldn’t find anything wrong with any of the birds he autopsied. They’re lying so they don’t cause a panic.”

“They just haven’t figured out the reason, yet,” Alex said, forbidding her mind to wander into Sarah’s realm of thinking.

“We have to go out there,” Sarah whispered.

“No!”

“Why not?” Sarah challenged. “If there’s really no danger, as you suggest, then what’s the harm?”

“Because the swamp contains all sorts of dangers that aren’t mystical. You know that as well as anyone. Don’t play stupid now. I won’t listen to it.”

“So you think an alligator or two should keep me from looking for my baby?”

Alex took one look at the determined look on Sarah’s face and knew she’d never win this argument. “You can’t just go tromping around the swamp without a plan. Neither one of us owns a boat, and we haven’t fired a weapon since we were kids. We’re not equipped for this.”

“So we rent a boat, and I know plenty of people who’d loan us rifles. It’s not like you forget how to use one altogether, you know.”

“No. We went to that island twenty years ago. I don’t even know if we could find it, and even if we did, we could be arrested for being there.” A thought flashed through her mind and as hard as she tried to shut it down, it was the only thing that made sense.

“What?” Sarah asked. “You have that look like you thought of something. I’m desperate. I’ll do anything to get my baby back.”

Alex nodded, her mind made up. “We don’t have the authority or the equipment to get to the island, but I know someone who does.”

“Holt?” Sarah shook her head. “His uncle will never let him do that … not for me.”

Alex clicked off the recorder and stuffed it in her purse along with her notebook. “So I’ll ask him to do it for me.”

Sarah bit her lower lip, but a tiny bit of hope flickered in her eyes. “What if he says no?”

“He won’t say no.” Alex rose from the table and bent over to kiss Sarah’s cheek. “He owes me.”

HOLT WAS JUST CLOSING UP his office at the sheriff’s department when Alex strode in the front door. He took one look at the determined look on her face and knew he was in for it. He’d seen that look many times before, and it always ended with Alex getting her way or getting angry. Given the situation between Sarah and his uncle, he didn’t see how this was going to end well for him at all.

“I need to speak to you,” she said, her voice clipped and professional. She glanced over at the dispatcher, then back at him. “Alone.”

He opened the office door and waved her inside. “Did you learn anything more from Sarah?”

“Yes, but you’re not going to like it.” She recounted Sarah’s story about the doll and the crow.

Holt leaned back in his chair, trying to ignore the overwhelming feeling that he was on shaky ground. Sarah’s fears were outrageous, but what didn’t compute was why Alex had brought them to him.

“You can’t possibly think that a six-year-old managed to find that island, steal a doll and get back home without her mother noticing she was missing.”

“No, but I also don’t think she ordered a thirty-year-old doll off eBay and paid for it with animal crackers, either. What if someone left the doll for her to find? What if someone gave it to her? All I know is what Sarah told me. Everything started happening after Erika brought the doll into the house.”

“You know I don’t believe in that stuff,” he said finally, but even then, that niggle of doubt had already started in the back of his mind. “Maybe when we were kids it seemed plausible, but I thought we’d grown up.”

“We have, and normally, I would try to diminish or redirect someone’s thoughts away from this line of thinking, but Sarah’s child is missing. No amount of logic or scientific explanation or even calling her childish is going to talk her out of this. Either you lock Sarah up to keep her out of the swamp, or someone is going to have to check that island for Erika.”

“Someone?” He stared at her for a moment, then shook his head. “Oh, no. I’m not going out there.”

“You scared?”

Holt bristled and sat upright in the chair. “Hardly. But that island is private property and I have no grounds for a warrant and even less for trespassing.”

“It’s not trespassing if you go to ask questions, is it? You don’t even know if the woman is still there. She wasn’t young when we were kids. Maybe she’s dead. Maybe the island is empty. Regardless, you have every right to walk up there and ask anyone you find if they’ve seen a missing little girl.”

Holt searched his mind for an argument, but he couldn’t latch onto one. Not a legal one, anyway.

“Of course,” Alex continued, “if you’re concerned that your uncle won’t approve, I could always hire a guide and go myself. I’m sure I can find someone at the docks who’s willing to take me out there.”

“No! You’re not traipsing around that swamp with some underemployed fisherman looking to make a quick buck.”

Alex leaned forward in her chair. “You lost the right to have any input in my life a long time ago. Either you do this with me, or I do it with someone else. Rest assured, I’m going into that swamp to look for Erika, if for no other reason than to put Sarah’s mind at ease.”

Holt held in a string of cuss words that would only hack Alex off and wouldn’t make him feel any better about the situation, anyway. He knew he was fighting a losing battle.

Something had happened to Alex and Sarah many years ago in that swamp—something they refused to tell Holt about, but something that scared them so badly it had changed them permanently. If Sarah thought there was any risk of Erika encountering the same thing they had—whatever that was—he knew nothing short of death or arrest would keep her out of the swamp.

“Fine,” he said, “but I’m not going into that swamp at night and neither are you. That’s not up for discussion, regardless of what rights I lost.”

She rose from her chair. “I have no problem with waiting until daylight.”

“Six, then. At the dock.”

“I’ll bring coffee.” She gave him a single nod and walked out of the sheriff’s office.

I’ll bring the questions. If ever Holt was going to get an answer to what had happened in that swamp years ago, it would be now, when it might affect his ability to find Erika. And you could bet he was going to ask.

Through the plate-glass window, Holt watched Alex drive away and for the second time that day felt as if he’d been hit by a truck. Managing an entire day alone with Alex, without wanting her, was going to be impossible. He’d known that as soon as he’d seen her walk into Sarah’s house. And he had no idea what excuse he was going to give his uncle for requisitioning the sheriff department’s airboat and cruising around the swamp all day.

But he was going to have to think of something.

He didn’t think for one minute that a witch on an island in the swamp had taken Erika, but he didn’t quite believe Bobby had, either. That left him in a quandary, and Holt didn’t like unanswered questions. This situation was full of them.

Reaching into the desk drawer, he pulled out his uncle’s whiskey bottle and poured himself a shot. He wasn’t about to admit to Alex that Sarah’s story had unnerved him just a bit. He’d have liked to blame his upbringing—a superstitious, overprotective mother and an absentee father—but it was more than that. During his time overseas with the military, he’d been special ops, and he’d spent some time in places the military wasn’t technically supposed to be.

He’d seen a lot of things he couldn’t explain. So many that he stopped dismissing ideas just because they didn’t compute in a traditional way, the way he had when he’d been a boy in Vodoun. Maybe Erika had found the doll somewhere she wasn’t supposed to be and that was why she lied, but it was far more likely that a stranger had given Erika the doll. Sarah, being a good parent, would have cautioned Erika not to talk to strangers, much less take something from them, which was why the girl would have lied.

None of that explained who had given a thirty-year-old doll to a little girl, where Erika or Bobby were, the mysterious staring crow or the birds falling from the sky. Except coincidence.

And Holt hated coincidence even more than he did unanswered questions.

Chapter Four

Alex pulled up to the dock at five minutes till six, already nervous about the day before it even started. The local weatherman had reported a disturbance in the Gulf of Mexico that was due to hit Vodoun that evening. The sky was already gray and overcast and made everything seem even grimmer.

Holt stood on the dock talking to one of the local fishermen, and Alex couldn’t help but notice how good he looked in ragged jeans, a black T-shirt and steel-toe boots. Time certainly hadn’t erased his sex appeal, and that frightened her.

But not as much as their destination.

Twenty years ago, Alex had promised herself she’d never set foot in the swamp again, and all these years she’d kept that promise. Erika and Sarah were the only reason she was going there now.

Let’s get this over with.

She climbed out of the car and reached back inside for the two coffees in the center console. The fisherman was still talking to Holt, who gave her a nod as she approached. When the fisherman saw her, he wrapped up his conversation and headed to his boat.

“I hope that’s strong and black,” Holt said.

Alex handed him one of the cups. “Is there another kind?”

“Not in my book.” Holt took a sip of the coffee. “You ready?”

She sat her coffee down on the pier. “Yeah. Let me grab my things.”

She hurried to her car and pulled her backpack from the passenger’s seat. Slinging it over her shoulder, she headed back to the dock.

Holt looked down the bayou, then back at her feet. “This is going to be rough. I’m glad you wore good boots.”

“Just because I live in the city doesn’t mean I’ve forgotten what the bayou’s like,” Alex said.

She placed her backpack on the pier and removed a nine-millimeter from the side pocket. She checked the clip for the third time that morning, then slipped the gun back into the pocket, zipping it tight.

“I don’t remember nines when we were kids,” Holt commented. “Or is that something you picked up in the big city?”

“Actually, it belongs to Ms. Maude. I paid her a visit last night after I got Sarah to sleep.”

“Ms. Maude? The crazy old cat lady on Miller Lane?”

“No. Ms. Maude, who likes cats, whose father was a Precision Military Weapons Specialist and who happens to have a target gallery in her barn.”

“That explains a lot,” Holt said, “especially about her single status.”

“So what you’re saying is that Ms. Maude might have married if all the men in Vodoun weren’t a bunch of wimps?”

“I think it’s safer if I don’t say anything else at all.” He took another drink of his coffee and glanced down at her mug, which was still sitting on the dock.

She placed her backpack in the boat and scooped up her coffee. “Don’t even think about it,” she said. “I’d kill people for less.”

Holt sighed and untied the airboat from the dock. “I don’t know how far I’ll make it on one cup of coffee.”

Alex stepped into the airboat. “There might be a full thermos in my backpack, but you’re going to have to earn it.”

Holt pushed the boat from the dock and jumped in with a grin. “Well, why didn’t you say so?” He leaned over, preparing to kiss her.

Alex put one hand on his chest to stop him. “Not like that.”

“That used to be the way I earned things.”

“The price has increased. Inflation, you know?”

He raised one eyebrow. “I guess that’s what happens when things age.”

Before Alex could retort, he started the engine and climbed into the driver’s seat. Alex turned around and looked over the bow of the boat as Holt took off from the dock. She waved at a couple of fishermen as they made their way up the channel from the dock. At the end of the channel, where the fisherman turned left to the open waters of the lake, Holt turned right into the narrow bayous and inlets that led deeper into the swamp.

Holt slowed as they progressed through the tiny channels, the edges of the airboat sometimes scraping the bank on both sides. It was denser than Alex remembered. Moss clung to almost every branch of the cypress trees that created a canopy over the bayou. The deeper into the swamp they went, the more dim the light became until it seemed almost as if twilight had come, even though it wasn’t yet seven a.m.

The darkness seemed to set upon her like a wet blanket, weighing her down and making breathing more difficult. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath, blowing it slowly out. She’d known that coming here again would affect her, but she’d underestimated by how much. She’d spent a lot of years in New Orleans concentrating on her education and then her practice. And even more years trying to put the swamps of Mystere Parish out of her mind. Apparently, it had been wasted time. It seemed that for every hundred yards they moved deeper into the swamp, she could feel her heartbeat kick up just a bit.

Alex glanced back at Holt and the grim look on his face didn’t help calm her at all. For more reasons than one, he probably regretted agreeing to do this. If he hadn’t known how absolutely bull-headed Sarah could be, Alex knew, he wouldn’t have agreed at all. But checking it out himself was preferable to forming a search party to look for Sarah, who would walk on hot coals to save her daughter.

Holt cut off the engine and Alex looked back at him. “Is something wrong?”

He pulled a cane pole from the bottom of the boat and began to push the boat down the channel. “We’re almost there. I didn’t figure I should announce our approach with a turbine, even though the sound has probably carried for miles.”

Alex nodded as the smell of mud and rotting foliage hit her. The blanket of decaying water lilies was the only indication of the water beneath, and the brush from the bank met the water’s edge, giving the appearance of a solid surface of brown and yellow. The sunlight was almost gone completely, leaving them to push farther into the darkness.

As they rounded a corner, Holt pointed to a dilapidated pier, almost hidden behind cattails and marsh grass. Alex gripped her seat with both hands trying to slow her racing heart.

The dolls.

She thought she’d prepared herself for coming to the island again, but she couldn’t have been more wrong. The dolls had always littered the island, attached to every tree branch and post—some of them just resting on the ground. Some said the witch woman placed the dolls there to attract the children she sacrificed. Some said the dolls had been blessed and placed there by the villagers, hoping to imprison the witch in the swamp forever.

Alex didn’t know the truth and doubted anyone else did, either. What she did know is that the dolls scared the hell out of her. Sitting, dangling … in various states of rot and decay. Torn dresses and pants. Some missing parts. But all of them with one thing in common—the eyes were intact.

Hundreds of pairs of eyes, watching them as they drew closer to the bank.

Blue eyes, green eyes, brown eyes. Each one following their every movement.

Alex drew in a ragged breath and slowly blew it out. She had to focus. Finding Erika was her only priority. All her fears and thoughts of the past could wait until she was locked safely inside her townhome back in New Orleans.

Without a doll in sight.

Holt guided the boat to the side of the pier until it made contact with the bank. At one time, there had been a path from this pier to the old woman’s cabin, but Alex could barely make out a trail now. Clearly, no one passed this way often.

“Are you ready?” Holt asked when the boat rested against the bank.

Alex nodded, unable to trust her voice at the moment. She rose from her seat, lifting her backpack as she went. She walked to the front of the boat, ready to step onto the bank, then stopped cold.

On the lowest branch of a cypress tree directly in front of her sat a blond doll in a blue dress, just like the doll Sarah had found in Erika’s room. Just like the doll she’d never wanted to see again. But unlike the doll Erika had, this doll was old and weathered, the blue dress hanging in tatters on the pale body. The blond hair matted and twisted around the doll’s body.

And this doll’s eyes were closed.

Alex felt her pulse racing in her temples. She took another deep breath and before she could change her mind, stepped onto the bank. The instant her foot made contact with the ground, the doll’s eyes flew open.

“Oh!” Alex choked back a cry and stepped back, bumping into Holt who had moved to the front of the boat, just behind her.

Holt caught her by the shoulders, steadying her before she lost her balance in the rocking boat. The doll stared at her, its bright blue eyes seeming to look straight through her and into her soul.

“What’s wrong?” Holt asked, his voice low.

“The doll. It opened its eyes when I stepped on the bank.”

She looked back at him, certain of the incredulous look she’d find on his face, but instead, he stared intently at the doll.

“It was probably just vibration from your step. When I docked the boat the eyes loosened a bit, and your footstep was the final shake it took for them to open.”

His words made complete sense, but Alex got the impression that even Holt wasn’t quite buying his explanation. He just didn’t have a better one.

“Let’s get this over with,” Alex said and stepped onto the bank, deliberately looking past the doll. But as she walked past the cypress tree, she could feel its eyes upon her.

Holt stepped out of the boat, pausing only long enough to pull his pistol from the waistband of his jeans, then stepped in front of her. “Stay close. If you see or hear anything odd, grab the back of my shirt but don’t talk. Okay?”

Alex nodded and fell in step behind him as he pushed deeper into the dense undergrowth. The light diminished gradually until it had all but vanished and a thin mist rose from the mossy ground. Despite the cool fall temperature, a sheen of sweat formed quickly on her brow, and she brushed it away with the back of her hand. The humidity was high today because of the approaching storm. Damp leaves from the dense foliage brushed against her bare arms, making her flinch. She pushed spiderwebs out of her way as they passed, but could still feel the remnants tickling her bare skin.

The air seemed thicker, the swamp completely devoid of the noises one would expect to hear. The sound of hers and Holt’s footsteps crunching dead marsh grass echoed in the still air. Alex peered around Holt’s shoulder, trying to make out a path or structure, but all she saw was more swamp.

All of a sudden, Holt stopped short and she bumped into his back. “What’s wrong?” she whispered.

He reached up and moved a sheet of moss from his field of vision and scanned the swamp from left to right. Finally, he shook his head. “I thought I saw something move, but I might have been mistaken.”

“There should be something moving out here, right? I mean, should it be this still?”

Holt’s grim expression let her know that he’d also noticed the quiet and didn’t like it any more than she did. “Maybe it’s because of the storm moving in.”

“I thought it wasn’t going to start until this evening.”

“Maybe it’s moving faster than the weathermen reported. The marsh creatures know better than humans what’s going on with the weather. Likely, it’s coming in sooner than they think, which means we need to find the woman and get out of here before the bottom drops out.”

Alex nodded, the thought of being stranded on Doll Island in a raging thunderstorm sending her heart fluttering all over again. “Do you have any idea which way to go?”

“It looks like the brush clears a little about twenty yards just south of us. We’ll go that way then reassess. I have to tell you, if we don’t find a path soon that looks like someone’s used it in the last century, I’m not going to venture much farther in this swamp. It would be foolish.”

“But Erika—”

“I’m sure Sarah doesn’t want or expect you to put yourself in danger, not even for her daughter. We don’t do Sarah or Erika any good dead, and there’s far more dangerous things in this swamp than a bunch of creepy dolls and an old woman.”

“Fine,” Alex said, knowing he was right but hating it at the same time. Granted, odds were against their finding any sign of Erika on the island for so many reasons, but if they returned so quickly with nothing, Sarah would be upset.

Holt pushed the brush to the side and headed south. Alex followed him about twenty yards when he stopped again and pointed to a barely discernable trail that ran back in the direction of the dock and, opposite of that, deeper into the swamp.

“It’s not well traveled,” Holt said.

“Given the growth rate of swamp foliage, how long do you think it’s been since someone used it?”

“I don’t know. A month, maybe two.”

“But there could also be another trail that is being used on a regular basis.”

“Could be. Or it could be that this trail was made by thrill seekers and the old woman is long dead. But we’re not going to figure that out standing here.” He pointed down the trail that led deep into the swamp. “I think you should take out your gun. Just to be safe.”

Alex swallowed and pulled the pistol from the pocket of her backpack. Holt gave her a single nod and strode forward into the darkness.

The sounds of their progress through the swamp seemed to echo in a vacuum of silence. Alex pushed a branch out of her way and collected a spider on the back of her hand for the effort. She shook her hand to fling the spider back out into the swamp, then rubbed her hand on her jeans, certain she could still feel the creature crawling on her hand.

Holt constantly scanned the swamp as they walked, up and down and in every direction. Threats this deep in the bayou were numerous and could come from the ground or from above and all of them deadly. It felt as if they’d been working for hours, but Alex knew it had been only minutes since they’d left the boat.

She knew coming here had been a long shot—a nonshot, really—but she found her spirits waning the deeper they pushed into the swamp. Even if Erika had been here, how could they possibly find a clue in all this?

Just as she was about to call the whole thing off, Holt stopped and turned to her, one finger over his lips. She froze and looked in the direction he pointed to the left of the trail. Just past a thick grouping of cypress trees, she could barely make out the outline of a roof.

Alex nodded, understanding that Holt wanted to make their approach as quiet as possible. He exited the path, cutting straight through the swamp toward the cabin. Slowly and stealthily, they crept closer and closer until they reached the tree line that marked the tiny clearing that the cabin rested in.

Holt lifted his pistol and pointed to hers. Alex removed the safety and clutched the gun with both hands. If she had to shoot, she wanted to make sure it was a steady shot. Holt slipped from behind the wall of cypress trees and hurried over to the wall of the cabin. He pressed his body against the wall, listening for any noise inside, then motioned for her to join him.

Alex edged around the tree and slipped across the open stretch of swamp to join Holt. As soon as she slipped behind him, Holt began moving slowly down the side of the cabin. Fortunately, the cabin contained no windows on this side, so there was no risk of being seen by anyone inside. Unfortunately, Alex was painfully aware of the risk of being heard with every step she made on the dry marsh grass.

When they reached the edge of the cabin, Holt peered around, then slipped around the corner. Alex followed just in time to see him peeking into the front door that already stood wide open. He motioned to her to follow before he stepped inside.

The cabin was one tiny room, no bigger than a basic second bedroom in a house. A cot stood in one corner and a wood-burning stove in the other. A table, made of the bound branches of cypress trees, stood in the center of the room. Shelves covered every square inch of wall space, filled with candles and glass jars. God only knew what was inside of them. On the table sat several ceremonial masks made of leather. Alex had seen replicas in the tourist stores in downtown New Orleans, but she had a feeling these were the real thing.

Alex sucked in a breath and she scanned the room, trying to take it all in. The cabin was dirty, with a layer of dust covering every surface, but clearly someone was still staying here or had stayed here fairly recently. If it had been abandoned, it hadn’t been long enough for the place to get completely run-down.

Alex took a step over to the stove and lifted the lid off a cast-iron pot. She blanched at the putrid smell and quickly replaced the lid.

“Spoiled?” Holt asked.

“I don’t think so. I think that abomination was intentional. What in the world goes on here? Look at the candles, the jars of … something. That witch theory is looking a lot more believable.”

“It’s disconcerting,” Holt agreed, “but you know the old ways, even if we don’t come from families that practiced them. If the woman has been out here all her life, likely she’s deeply set in the old voodoo traditions. That doesn’t make her a witch.”

Alex crossed her arms across her chest as a chill washed over her. “Something’s not right here. More than it just being creepy.”

“Well, there doesn’t appear to be anything to see, so we may as well leave the creepy and whatever else behind.”

Holt took a step toward the open doorway but before he could exit the cabin, a jar from a shelf above the door fell off its perch, exploding on the wooden floor at his feet.

Alex’s hand involuntarily flew up and covered her mouth, stifling a cry. Holt’s eyes widened as he looked up at the shelf and back down at the floor.

“It must have been near the edge.”

Alex scanned the shelves. “None of the other jars are near the edge, we didn’t bump anything and there’s no wind.”

“So what are you saying—that it flew off the shelf by itself?”

“Or maybe something made it. I think we should get out of here, before something more dangerous than a glass jar takes flight.”

Holt stared down at the shattered glass, frowning, then he bent over and picked something pink out of the remains of the jar. He held it up to inspect and Alex saw his jaw clench.

“What is it?” Alex asked, already afraid of the answer.

“It’s a barrette. Just like the one Erika was wearing when she disappeared.”

Alex sucked in a breath. “You’re sure?”

Holt nodded and pulled a matching barrette out of his jean’s pocket. “It was a set of six matching barrettes. Sarah gave me one … just in case.”

Alex took the two barrettes from his hand. “Just in case,” she repeated as she stared at the two strips of pink. Holt was right. They were identical.

“What was it doing in that jar?” The pitch of her voice shot up a notch as all sorts of horrible images raced through her mind.

“I don’t know,” Holt said, his expression grim. “But we’re going to find out.”

Holt stepped out of the cabin and inspected the ground surrounding the front door. “I can barely make out a set of prints that leads away from the door toward the swamp in that direction.” He pointed in the opposite direction of the dock.

The open patch surrounding the cabin suddenly grew darker and they looked up at the sky, beginning to swirl with dark clouds.

“The storm’s moving in early,” Alex said. “Not good.”

“No. This is the last place I want to be trapped in a storm.”

“But we’re not going to leave, are we?”

Holt stared at the sky, frowning. “We can try to follow the footsteps, but when it starts raining, we have to leave and in a hurry. Any footprints that are visible will be lost in the downpour, anyway.”

Alex looked at the swamp, now almost completely dark from the fading sunlight. “Then we’ll hurry.”

Конец ознакомительного фрагмента.

Текст предоставлен ООО «ЛитРес».

Прочитайте эту книгу целиком, купив полную легальную версию на ЛитРес.

Безопасно оплатить книгу можно банковской картой Visa, MasterCard, Maestro, со счета мобильного телефона, с платежного терминала, в салоне МТС или Связной, через PayPal, WebMoney, Яндекс.Деньги, QIWI Кошелек, бонусными картами или другим удобным Вам способом.