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CHAPTER ONE

Macy Freedman squinted at the morning sun, the lighting now perfect for photographing the Blue Mountain fall scenery.

If she crossed the steel barrier blocking off the mountain trail, who would it hurt? She’d score some amazing, colorful images even if the mission killed her.

The cobalt sky provided a perfect backdrop for the explosion of red, gold, and orange leaves the wind-whipped tree limbs painted in the canopy overhead.

Her Canon in position, Macy stopped to breathe. A gust of wind blew in pine scent, only to snatch it away and replace it with a mixture of earth and dead leaves. If she could take pictures of Pennsylvania’s beauty and sell the prints online, she could provide a better life for herself and her baby girl, Bella. Macy needed to find a way to make it on her own. She certainly couldn’t rely on any human being—or even God—to help. He’d certainly let her down in the past.

She clicked to shoot.

Undulating air currents lifted the needled branches of evergreens as a longing for her husband, Chad, overwhelmed her. They had planned on having a large family. Her throat constricted. So many broken dreams. As a police officer, they knew Chad’s job was dangerous. But when he’d died from a gunshot wound on a call to stop a robbery the world as she knew it ended.

Two years had passed and the pain in her heart had not lessened.

Her best friend was gone, and there was no way to bring him back.

She took a deep breath and focused on the scene in front of her. An outcropping of boulders offered the best view for her to take a panoramic image, and she scrambled up the closest rock, careful not to step on the ground where snakes might be sunning.

Click, turn, click.

A rustling in the leaves to her left broke her concentration. Turning slightly, Macy spotted a deadly copperhead viper moving toward her. She shifted the backpack on her shoulder. Had she brought her antivenom kit? Prepared for anything, she and Chad had packed for the small possibility of coming face-to-face with a timber rattlesnake or copperhead when they’d hiked the Appalachian trails before.

Heart racing, Macy stood still as the snake crossed her path a mere six inches from her steel-tipped hiking boot. As if sensing her presence, it veered away from her and slid down the front of the boulder to her left.

Climbing down the boulder away from the area the snake had traveled into, she clambered down in the opposite direction, hoping to steer clear of any nest of baby vipers tucked away between the rocks below.

Her camera tight in one hand, she leaned against the closest maple tree, waiting for her breathing to steady, and glanced at the groundcover where the copperhead had disappeared minutes before. A few more photographs and she’d head for an easier trail.

Macy scanned the surrounding area. Wait a minute. That mound—deeper in the woods. Something didn’t feel right. A pit formed in her stomach.

In slow motion, her feet inched closer, as if her heart knew something and her mind didn’t want to catch up.

Wind-scattered needles formed a mini tornado, surrounding her. Macy bent over, squinting at a blanket of foliage on the ground.

Time slowed to a snaillike pace as she focused on the spot. As the breeze blew the debris away, a small hand with one finger pointing at her seemed to rise out of the compost.

Dreading the truth, somehow, Macy knew. Her skin prickled as decaying flora crunched underfoot.

“Please, please, please,” she whimpered. “Please, Lord, not a child. Lord, not a baby.”

She leaned in and wiped the rest of the trees’ fallen offerings from the body. A perfect little girl about ten years old, dressed in a brown coat. Her auburn hair was draped over her shoulders, and with her eyes closed, the child’s sweet face looked peaceful.

Macy reached out to touch the small, delicate hand. Ice cold. She jerked back. The girl’s stiff, gray finger curved toward the sky.

Macy shook her head. No. This is not possible.

She forced herself to take deep breaths. She wiped her mouth with her free hand, crouched down, and, poised on her toes, prepared again to run.

Glistening light caught her eye. A pair of sunglasses reflecting the sun’s rays lay next to the body.

Bile rose in her throat. Pinpricks of colorful, dancing lights pixelated into another parking lot, another time. Then everything else around her blurred except for the vivid, horrifying image of the bright blue eyes belonging to a madman from her past.

Pressure built in her chest, making it even harder to take a full breath. She scrutinized the wooded area near the body. Why did she ignore the Do Not Enter sign at the start of this blocked-off trail? Apparently, she wasn’t the only one who’d ignored it. Blood whooshed in her ears.

A murderer had been here.

She focused on the brown and green ferns—veiling fingers, not much larger than Bella’s hand. What if someone had snatched her daughter, and she had been found on this isolated trail?

Macy spun on her heel, snatching her cell phone from her pocket. It shook in her hands as she stabbed in the numbers. She wiped perspiration from her upper lip with a trembling hand. Her phone slipped from her fingers.

She picked it up, dusted it off, and tried again.

Stop trembling. Stop . . . numbers dancing.

“9-1-1. What’s your emergency?”

“I found a dead body . . .”

“Where are you?”

Macy stopped. “I’m on a footpath.” She squeezed her eyes against the desire to vomit. “Near the Blue Mountain ski slopes.” Where did she park? “Right off Blue Mountain Drive.”

“Ma’am, can you clarify your location? That’s a large area.”

Her mind froze. “I don’t know. I need to get out of here.”

A road in the distance caught her gaze. Adrenalin shot through her veins, and she took off running, dashing away from the murder scene. She jogged down the path, her sturdy hiking boots beating to the pace of her thumping heart.

Sweat poured down her face. Macy imagined a killer behind every tree she passed. Waiting. Lurking.

Her chest tightened, shortening her breaths. As she gasped for air, she prayed for the child’s parents. What kind of torture was it to know your child was missing?

Macy stopped at the street. She leaned over, panting. She was grateful the path ran perpendicular to the road.

She swiveled her head back to peer into the woods. A line of oak trees, now sentinels, covered the gruesome sight. No sign of another hiker. She paused, listening for sounds of someone pursuing her.

A gust of wind blew her brown scarf over her face. One small chipmunk scurried by, startling her.

She cast another glance over her shoulder. The route behind her appeared empty. Fall leaves were now a dark outline against the changing sky.

“Hello?” Macy held the phone closer to her face. “Are you still there?”

“Yes. Where are you now?”

“Right off of Blue Mountain Drive, standing at the curve and across from the entrance to the ski slopes.”

“Yes, ma’am. Help will be there soon. Let me know when they arrive.”

Macy tried to gather her thoughts, to still the panic that threatened to overwhelm. She’d left early to get some morning shots of the sun rising. Bella had been sleeping when she’d slipped out of bed. Her close friend, Laine Grey, had promised to babysit while Macy took a break. Laine was as close to her as a sister and she accepted every opportunity to watch Bella when Macy asked.

A car in the parking lot had commanded her attention when she’d arrived. The sleek black machine stood out in its newness, a Porsche Cayenne with the word “XACTLY” on the vanity plate. She remembered thinking Chad would have loved to drive a car like that.

Did the killer bring his young victim in it?

“Ma’am?”

The operator’s voice was faint.

Macy wiped her jaw with the back of her hand and put the phone back to her ear. “Sorry. What did you say? Can’t think straight.”

“Have the police arrived?”

Sweet relief swept over her as she spotted the flashing lights on an approaching vehicle.

“Over here!” She waved to catch their attention. “Yes . . . they have.” She pressed END CALL and shoved the phone back into her jacket pocket.

A linebacker-sized man pulled himself from the cruiser and strode toward her. He made a brief sweep of the area with his eyes, then his piercing gaze met hers, and he nodded. “I’m Deputy Sheriff Mulrooney. Got a call from the station about a dead body.”

Her gut clenched. “Macy Freedman. Do I have to go back there?”

“Sorry, ma’am.” The officer regarded the wooded area behind them. “You need to show me where it is.” Words clipped. Empty.

So . . . she had no other choice. Macy turned around and led the way back to the marked dirt road. She cringed when they neared the no-trespassing sign.

“Ma’am, did you go into an area that’s under construction?”

Shoulders up around her ears, she endured his scathing look.

Could this day get any worse?

“I’m . . . a photographer. The best shots are usually off the beaten path.”

He clicked his tongue and stomped ahead of her around the gate.

Macy quickstepped to keep up with him. As they approached the crime scene, her heart threatened to break out of her chest.

His grim face told her the child’s death was real. “Ma’am, I think it would be best if you waited by my cruiser.”

She needed no more encouragement than that.

Macy took a few steps back, then took off running toward the parking lot.

“Wait for me there, miss. I have some questions for you,” his voice rumbled behind her.

###

“You idiot,” Mulrooney hissed.

Ryan Sinclair glared at the sheriff. “Shut up.” He’d broken a sweat hiking up the trail in his best suit and wasn’t in the mood for the man’s prattle. The cleaner vetted to remove the child’s body had called him, unable to bury her. And he was in no mood to deal with the cop’s whining.

The officer bared his teeth. “I know you had something to do with this girl’s death.”

“Really?” Sinclair rolled up his sleeve from the wrist. He folded the material over precisely, using one-inch measurements. The “cleaners” had messed up. They had one job to do, and he paid them well. Why must he always do the dirty work?

Muttering curses, he stood over the taped area. This one should’ve been buried before anyone had found her. Her coat had worked well to blend with the dirt around it. She looked as though she slept. The waning rays of autumn sun shed minimum light on her waxy-looking skin, and the wind played with the tendrils of hair around her innocent face.

What a waste. It had been a mistake taking this one. Her unexpected death almost upset his business plans for the area. Too young, she’d been the twelve-year-old daughter of a rich broker in Seattle, eager to “make it big” in the modeling agencies. Baillie Baldwin and others like her? They grew up too fast.

How could they know she had a medical condition?

“What makes you think I won’t arrest you?”

Ryan powered up the camera that the copper-haired woman had dropped, then brushed dirt and leaves off the casing. He turned it in his hands to scroll through monotonous pictures of leaves and sky. He’d recognized Macy Rimes. The last fifteen years had been good to her. What was she doing taking pictures in Montrose, Pennsylvania, of all places? Wouldn’t it be fun to see her again after all these years?

“You’re messing with a crime scene, Sinclair.”

“Von Pelt.”

The big man quivered. “What?”

“The name’s Edgar Von Pelt now.” Brown contacts along with a shorter haircut had helped him build a new identity in a potentially lucrative town for his booming business. It couldn’t be more perfect that he’d have the sheriff in his back pocket.

“She found the kid!” Mulrooney’s face resembled a red balloon that expanded with each choking breath. The deputy sheriff had better calm down. All Ryan needed was for the big guy to have a heart attack.

“Look.” Ryan ran his gloved index finger over the dust that covered his leather oxford shoe. He’d paid a fortune for the pair. “You can arrest me now, Tom.” He eyed the big man with a smirk. “But I don’t think you want to do that.”

“You’re sick.”

“You’ve got nothing.” Ryan took a deep breath to clear his mind. He’d come to finish the job. Someone had to. “We’re in this too deep.”

Grimacing, he searched the crime scene for his sunglasses. He’d planned to grab the camera after Macy had dropped it and hide it while the forensics team and coroner cleaned up the mess. No time to check the ground thoroughly, though. Now that he had the camera, he couldn’t let it go. He’d have a peek into her life—he was curious to see what Macy Rimes was up to these days. It would be the perfect way to get back into her life.

“Be a pal and help me out, Mulrooney?” Ryan grinned as the sheriff glared. “Tsk, tsk.” He held the camera out. “Come on, buddy. You know friends lend a helping hand.”

“You will never be my friend.” His face ashen, the cop’s fists were curled into tight balls. “What do you want now?”

“Make those sunglasses disappear.”

“I don’t aid murderers, Von Pelt.”

Edgar pointed to the empty ground where the little girl had been. “I didn’t do that, Mulrooney.”

The sheriff’s shoulders fell in defeat. He rubbed his scraggy face. “You may as well have.” He sighed. “If I get rid of those glasses, I could lose my job.”

“If you play your cards right, I can help you get that promotion.”

“I don’t want your kind of aid, Von Pelt.” Mulrooneyground his teeth.

“It’s a good thing I took care of the camera already, isn’t it?” If Macy took pictures of his car or the crime scene it wouldn’t be good for his plans.

Breathing heavily, the deputy sheriff stuck his finger in Edgar’s face. “This is my jurisdiction. That camera is a piece of evidence in a murder case.”

“That’s no way to talk to your protector.” The words rolled off Edgar’s tongue as he smirked. “You need to show me some respect.”

Had to give it to him, though. The cop was a beast when he stood to his full height. He had to have thirty pounds on Edgar.

“No one tells me how to run my office. Understand?”

“Sure, no problem.” Edgar held his hands up in surrender. “I’ll tell you what. I’ll scratch your back, and you scratch mine. All right?”

Voices traveled up from the bottom of the path, signaling an end to their conversation.

The cop’s face remained an iron mask while Edgar waited for his agreement. At least the color of Mulrooney’s face had faded to the color of a rare steak. And Ryan wouldn’t be dealing with another dead body.

“I promise you, this won’t happen again.”

Mulrooney snorted.

Edgar unbuttoned his collar. He needed this man. He practiced deep cleansing breaths. And waited.

“Looks like I have no other choice, Von Pelt.”

“You’ve got that right, big guy.”

“This woman can’t find out we’re connected. Do you understand me?”

“What can she do?” Edgar had recognized her from their time together at Christian camp. Macy Rimes. He’d enjoyed watching her when she discovered the body. Now, all grown up with edges and angles, she wasn’t the curvaceous adolescent he remembered. She must be a runner.

“Get lost, Sinclair.” The cop turned his back to him. “Don’t let me see your face around here anymore.”

“I think you’ll be seeing a lot more of me, Tom.” Playing with Macy’s head would be invigorating. He was a few years older than her and she’d been such a fun little diversion during those boring days as a camp counselor.

Mulrooney’s bark brought him back to the present. “Get that camera back to me. And stay out of my way.”

“Sure thing.” He held back a snort. Yeah, right. Brilliant. He imagined the woman finding his little surprise for her as she downloaded her email. Pictures could prove very useful in his plans for her.

Just like the one he had of Mulrooney with one of his girls.