Page 61 of Widow Lake

Suddenly she thought she heard a shout. Janie’s voice.

“Bev! Help!”

Panic shot through her and she raced down the steps. But just as she reached the landing, someone jumped from the shadows and grabbed her. She tried to scream but she felt a sharp jab to her neck, then the world blurred. Seconds later, she fell into nothing.

SEVENTY-ONE

BLACK SNAKE COVE

Ellie’s lungs strained for air as she stared at the small graves scattered among the rough terrain. She counted at least half a dozen, maybe eight. While they waited on the ERT, medical examiner and recovery team, she captured pictures of the small mounds and surrounding area. Derrick and Cord broadened the search to look for other graves.

The scene reminded her of another case where they’d located the bones of several children, a gut-wrenching, horrifying crime that that occurred over a twenty-year period.

Paisley had been missing for ten.

You don’t know it’s her, she told herself.

Ten minutes later, Laney had arrived, along with a recovery team to excavate the remains. Derrick returned, his jaw clenched as his gaze fell on the graves. He was probably thinking about his own little sister’s death, one that still haunted him with guilt because he was supposed to be watching her the day she disappeared.

She wanted to reach out and hug him, to console him. But he blamed her father for negligence in that investigation and that hung between them.

Laney halted, her breathing uneven as Ellie pointed out the number of graves.

The ME approached the first one, then stooped and carefully raked away dirt with her gloved fingers. Ellie’s pulse throbbed. This was going to take some time.

An ERT team arrived, a different crew than last. They’d all been working overtime and had to take a break at some point. They fanned out to document the findings as the remains of each grave were revealed.

Derrick stepped away for a second, then stood ramrod-straight as he looked up at the stars glittering above the cove. Night sounds echoed around them, vultures soaring in the sky as if waiting to dive down and feast.

SEVENTY-TWO

SOMEWHERE ON THE AT

Ten years faded in a flash, memories bombarding Odessa as she slipped down the steps to the room where she’d watched the initiations.

The cameras still hung on the wall, and a camera stood on a tripod in the center of the room, once used to film the depraved acts. The walls were soundproofed to camouflage the sound of the victims’ screams.

Ropes, chains and harnesses attached to the ceilings occupied another section. A drab tiny room to the right had been used to isolate the target for hours or days at a time to incite fear.

She wondered how many times the brothers had met here during the last decade. How many victims they’d taken.

The police had now found Amy Dean. How many were there that they knew nothing about?

Suddenly the sound of a scream jarred her eyes open. At first, she thought it was just her memory coming alive. Then another shrill cry pierced the air.

“Please let us go!” a woman’s voice begged.

“Don’t hurt us,” a second voice pleaded. “We’ll do whatever you want.”

“I have kids. They need me,” came the first voice again, this time weak and shaky.

A gruff, menacing laugh echoed through the chamber. She peeked through the glass and saw both women on the floor on their hands and knees.

Odessa ducked low in the shadows as a man in all black shoved each of them forward. Then he used the rope attached to the ceiling to tie their arms above their heads.

“Please, stop,” one of the women pleaded.

“Why are you doing this?” the other cried.

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