have much time. We’re working the case, but I wanted to check on Mom.”
“Her vitals aren’t good, honey. They’re doing all kinds of tests. She might need open heart surgery.”
That was a scary thought. “When will you know?”
“Hopefully in the next few hours. I’ll call when I hear.” He hesitated. “And thanks for calling. I’ll tell your mother. It might cheer her up.”
Ellie hung up, her heart in her throat. Damn her parents for lying to her. Damn Paulson for setting fire to their house.
Damn Bryce for not allowing her to speak to Cord. He’d worked with the ranger on rescue missions and had to know in his gut that Cord wouldn’t kill anyone, much less commit multiple murders––or hurt her.
Something was going on here, something that wasn’t right. It was almost like the killer was lobbing grenades at her with clues pointing to different suspects. Was that part of his game?
They parked at Cord’s cabin and got out. Ellie shivered as she hurried up to the front porch.
As usual, darkness bathed Cord’s rustic log cabin, which was nestled between the oaks and pines as if it had been carved from the forest.
“I got the warrants,” Derrick said as he removed a lock-picking tool and jimmied the front door open.
Ellie scanned the front porch, then the surrounding area. The grass had been mown recently, bushes trimmed, and firewood that Cord cut himself for his stove was stacked by the house.
Derrick pushed the door open, and she flipped on the light in the entry. The sense that she was violating Cord overcame her, reminding her she’d felt the same way when she’d combed her parents’ home––now up in smoke––for evidence of Hiram.
That search hadn’t ended well. She hoped today yielded better results.
They both pulled on gloves, and stepped into the house. The minimalistic décor screamed that Cord was a loner. There were no personal photographs of family, friends or trips.
Derrick gestured to a book on plant and flower symbolism, then he flipped it open and found a page about daffodils.
His gaze met hers. “Right in line with the MO.”
“Okay, we know his background,” Ellie conceded, unable to keep the anger from her voice. “That doesn’t mean he killed those women or took Shondra. The AT has been his home––of course he’s bound to be interested in this kind of stuff.”
“Heath did some digging. He can’t find anything on McClain after he left juvie. There are years missing in his life, Ellie. Years before he met your father and started working for FEMA.” He paused. “Has he ever talked to you about that time?”
Ellie’s heart gave a pang, but she shook her head. He’d never talked about Finton either.
With a grunt, Derrick headed back to the bedroom. Ellie had been inside there once, right before she left for the police academy. The only night they’d spent together.
She tapped into her memory bank for any red flags, any warning signs. Cord had been gruff and adamant about leaving the lights off.
But that didn’t make him a killer.
While Derrick searched the bedroom, Ellie checked the kitchen. A few groceries, beer cans and whiskey, steaks. Nothing odd. Rooting through the drawers, she spotted a small wooden box in one of them. She opened it and found a key, and instinctively knew what room it opened. She strode across to the door she’d never seen open and turned the key in the lock. The door opened creakily, and she was pitched into darkness. For a moment, the world spun, like she was trapped in the coffin all over again.
Gripping the door frame to steady herself, she inhaled deep breaths to calm the suffocating sensation. Seconds passed. The blood roared in her ears. Fingers of fear crawled along her spine.
“Ellie?”
Derrick’s brusque voice cut through the fog and she swallowed hard, biting back her terror.
“What’s in there?”
“I don’t know,” she said. Suddenly she wasn’t sure she wanted to know.
Running his hand along the wall, Derrick flipped on a light. Ellie blinked as the warm light filled the room. One wall held an assortment of knives—jackknives, hunting knives, a Buck 110 folding knife with a wood grain handle and brass bolsters, and an assortment of carving knives, tools and pocketknives. She knew that Cord usually carried the Buck 110 on his hikes.
Derrick gestured toward the collection. “Laney said the lacerations on the victims probably came from a hunting knife.”
Inhaling, Ellie continued studying the room, desperately searching for some clue to help Cord prove his innocence.
One corner held wood shavings,