Cord let himself inside his cabin, the scent of dirt and blood clinging to his skin just as the images of the dead women lingered in his mind and their screams had reverberated through the pines and hemlocks.
The evil voices from his past had spoken to him all day and night. Evil voices that ordered him to do things he knew were not right. Evil things he’d been taught to do as a child.
He’d lied to Ellie again. There hadn’t been a call for a hiker in trouble.
But the sight of the woman’s shocked eyes and painted lips had forced him to leave before Ellie saw who he really was.
She would figure it out one day. She was smart.
But he wasn’t ready to share that side of himself with her yet.
Ripping off his gloves and bloody clothes, he threw them in the wash, added detergent and turned it on. For a second, he stood and watched the machine fill with water, the soapy bubbles building as the crimson stain bled from his clothes, turning the water bright red.
Another woman would die tomorrow. Somewhere on the trail. The place he now called home.
With blood and dirt still stained on his body, Cord stepped into the shower and ran the water as hot as he could. The sharp bite of heat blasted him, stinging the scratches on his hands and arms, and he scrubbed his skin until it was raw. Blood and grime swirled around the tile floor, disappearing down the drain, but he couldn’t erase the memory of what he’d done from his brain.
Or maybe it was the pull of evil inside him that kept it running through his mind.
Fifty-Four
Crooked Creek
Night brought the cloying darkness that cloaked the mountains and felt suffocating to Ellie as she pulled into her drive. On the way home, she’d heard Angelica Gomez’s latest report from the sheriff.
For a moment the world spun, threatening to paralyze her. Déjà vu struck her and sent her spiraling back to the Ghost case.
Closing her eyes, she forced deep breaths in to stem the panic, just as Kennedy Sledge had suggested the first time they’d met. She wanted to teach Ellie the power of mind over body, and that she could fight her own weaknesses if she focused.
Her nails dug into her palms as she practiced counting with each breath, then exhaling slowly, giving her brain time to adapt. But as her breathing steadied, the images of the dead women slipped through the calm. The gaudy makeup, the daffodil petals, and the thorny bramble formed a gruesome picture in her mind that she couldn’t erase.
Shondra was out there somewhere with the killer. Would she live through the night? Or was she already dead? Ellie’s head swirled with it all.
Rain drizzled down steadily, the gray clouds robbing the sky of moonlight. A frown pulled at her mouth as she cut the engine and realized her porch light was off. So was the light inside her kitchen. Not wanting to come home to a dark house, she always left the outside light on and one burning in her kitchen.
The hairs on the back of her neck prickled as she scanned her property for signs someone had been there. There were no vehicles or tire marks in sight.
Pulling her gun at the ready, she tugged her jacket on, then slowly maneuvered down the path to her porch. The steps were slick with rain, and she paused to listen at the top for sounds someone was inside.
Fear pounded at her as she touched the doorknob, and her hand came away sticky. Jerking her fingers back, she pulled her flashlight and shined it on the door. The coppery scent of blood inundated her as she saw what was there.
Dear God. Someone had written the words “It’s Your Fault” in blood on her door.
For a second, she was too stunned to do anything but stare. Her own voice of guilt whispered through her mind followed by the sound of the protestors in town and the hate mail she’d received.
Fury that this bastard was toying with her triggered her into detective mode.
She wiped her hand on her pants, then yanked on latex gloves. Careful not to touch the blood, she jiggled the doorknob, and the door swung open. Dammit. Her alarm was off.
A slight musky odor wafted through the house, an earthy scent of wood, sweat and oil. And she was sure she could also detect the faint odor of the ointment her mother had