Page 24 of Long Road Home

“Nice try, Marion.”

Maizie said, “Just watch your surroundings. We don’t want today to be the day the Walker gets the jump on you.”

Kenna patted the spot where her gun was holstered and moved to the next area she thought might be a trap. She got too close, though. Her shoe caught something, and the ground started to slip away. She scrambled and lurched backward, landing with her behind on the solid winter ground.

Maizie gasped. “Did you fall?”

“I’m fine.” Kenna rolled to the edge and peered over. “Dead animals.” She winced, her heart thumping in her chest. “She wanted to throw off the K-9.”

“We already knew she was despicable. But killing animals is…”

“Sometimes I forget the depravity people can come up with—and some even take pleasure in.” Kenna shook her head, even though no one could see her. “I spend time with good people, and I forget.”

“Better than swimming in it twenty-four seven,” Maizie said. “I don’t mean me,” she quickly corrected. “I mean you working cases. Living in the middle of the depravity because it’s all you see. Taking a break from it is good for you.”

Kenna had been encouraged to see the lighter side. Now she knew the Light, and had it in her, she understood fully what that meant. Not just finding joy in a sunrise, or a baby giggling—or bringing a child home to their parents. But thegoodness of God that had brought her through more than she could even comprehend. A God who had allowed her to survive when it should have been impossible.

Thank You.“I’m not sure I like that it seems to be that much darker now, compared to the light. It wouldn’t have been so shocking before.”

Maizie said nothing.

“It’s how life goes. Things change. You change—hopefully for the better. You adapt. You grow.” Kenna dug in the evidence bag and pulled out some markers. She found a notepad and sketched the area, marking the traps. Date. Time. Weather. Everything she’d been trained to do when working a scene.

She made a list of marker numbers and noted where each one was placed.

No way was she about to take photos with her own phone and risk them taking it from her, legally in a way she wouldn’t be able to argue with. Thankfully, there was a camera in the bag.

Kenna walked the whole area. She found two more traps on the periphery before she turned to the clearing. Behind the oak, where Marion had told them to dig was where the largest trap had been.

Had their killer really dug those herself? The sheriff’s department would have to figure out if she’d paid for it to be done. That would be another piece of evidence against her. They might even be able to add conspiracy charges.

Kenna turned, surveying the grass. “I know why she picked this spot.” She glanced at the trees, then the sky. “No shade. The sun soaks the ground all afternoon.”

“I thought it was freezing?”

“It is, but this spot on the mountainside acts like a suntrap. Thirty-five degrees feels warm, and the groundprobably rarely has snow on it. She isn’t just confined to burying them in the warmer months.”

“Good for her,” Maizie said, sounding fully like a teenager.

Kenna chuckled. “She’s smarter than I gave her credit for her. The plan was far more elaborate.”

She wasn’t sure what she’d thought about why Marion took the girls. Seemed it had been for a housekeeper job, with a note of her pretending as though she were a mother to a terrified child. Then when that child reached her first milestone of womanhood, she disposed of them and found a new victim.

Kenna found the first spot and knelt.

“How do you know they’re buried there?” Maizie asked.

Kenna dug out a small shovel, taking a second to check the area around her and make sure she really wasn’t going to be surprised by an assailant. No one was watching her.

But that didn’t mean the Walker, or whoever he had taking pictures of her, wasn’t around.

“There’s a depression,” Kenna replied. “A difference in the ground because of what is under there. She didn’t bury them too deep, so the earth settles around the body and the grass doesn’t grow back quite the same.”

Kenna dug as she talked, going over some things she’d learned at Quantico. Other things she’d picked up from her father.

These days she didn’t know where she got most of what she knew. She simply absorbed things over the years. She still read law enforcement journals, and white papers. Jax sent her stuff, and they discussed it.

She unearthed an area about three feet wide, two feet out from where she knelt. When she had dug down about a foot and a half with the trowel she had to stop and take a picture—which meant several. She included the evidence marker number in the image, logged it on her paper. Then she cut the fabric back to reveal a small skull and bowed her head. She gave this stolen life a moment of silence and then dug far enough she could see around the neck.

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