While Nate continued to question the agent, Lara moved through the house. Before paramedics and the backup Nate had called arrived, she intended to have a look around. She’d seen the bathroom last time. She went into the home office first. One by one she explored the drawers of the desk. Found nothing but case files related to his PI and security work. She flipped through any note pads she found, scanned anything scribbled there.

  She heard Nate explaining the situation to the paramedics who arrived. She probably didn’t have much time left. More agents and a forensics team would probably show up and she would be ushered out of the house.

  A chirping sound made her pause. She tuned out all else and listened intently for the sound. Another chirp or tweet-like sound. She left the office and moved to the room that was obviously Wynwood’s bedroom. She turned on the light. Had he left his cell phone? The bed was a tangle of linens. The closet door stood ajar. The single dresser was cluttered with clothes. The odor of cheap aftershave lingered in the stuffy air.

  More chirping drew her attention to the curtain rod that ran the length of the window on the far side of the room. The flutter of wings caught her attention. A bird settled atop the curtain rod.

  Not a cell phone.

  Gray…white, a sweep of black. The coloring was the same as the statue…the one her father had supposedly gotten for her mother.

  Shrike. The “butcher” bird.

  Her pulse ramped into high speed.

  Another flutter, this time from the closet, had her jumping back. A second bird flew around the room, landed on the dresser. She thought of the way the birds killed and ate their prey. She shuddered.

  Steadying herself, Lara slowly eased toward the closet. Using her foot, she pushed the door open wider.

  No more flapping of wings.

  She slipped closer into the small space. A couple of shirts hung on the single wood rod. When her gaze swept across the floor of the closet, she drew up short.

  More clothes lay on the floor, but she didn’t miss the gap that suggested there was a seam in the floor.

  She leaned down to have a look. Scooted a pair of jeans aside with the toe of her sneaker. The seam was fairly long and intersected with another. There had to be a hole in the floor. She scooted another article of clothing aside. Not a hole. A door. A trap door like the one in her treehouse, only larger. Much larger. And partially open.

  “Nate!” She shouted his name, her voice cold and shrill. Behind her the birds reacted to the sound, wings flapping.

  She crouched down and pulled the trap door fully open. Then she leaned far enough forward to peer into the hole. A ladder led downward into utter darkness.

  A flashlight. She needed a flashlight.

  She reached into her back pocket for her cell phone. After turning on the flashlight app, she directed the beam into the hole. A few rungs down a switch was visible. A light switch, she guessed.

  She considered calling for Nate again, but there were more voices coming from his direction. Backup had apparently arrived, and he was bringing them up to speed. Probably hadn’t even heard her call out to him. They would take control of the scene and she would lose this opportunity.

  She couldn’t allow that to happen.

  Ignoring the warning that sounded in her brain, she climbed into the dark hole and started moving downward. She flipped the switch and the space beneath her filled with bright light. She turned off the app on her phone and tucked it back into her pocket.

  As soon as her head was below the level of the floor, her nose wrinkled at the metallic odor filling the air.

  A furious flapping rushed past her head almost causing her to fall off the ladder. Where were the blasted birds coming from? Was there a way into the yard from down here? A window?

  Her feet settled onto the concrete floor and she swiveled around to survey what was clearly a basement.

  Her gaze landed on the man hanging from a large pipe or pole.

  Wynwood.

  Lara froze.

  He was naked. His arms were secured above his head which sagged to one side. His torso had been hacked opened, revealing the organs that had once kept him alive. Below his waist, more body parts were mutilated.

  She stared at the trails left in his flesh by a knife…the Butcher.

  The Butcher had been here.

  Obviously, Wynwood—the man who had stalked and terrified her mother—wasn’t the Butcher.

  Her heart stumbled, propelling her forward. A steel table sat in the middle of the room. Bloody knives of all sizes were spread over the top. Blood had pooled on the floor around Wynwood’s bare feet.

  On the far side of the room was a rudimentary jail cell. Frantic chirping drew her gaze to her far right. A dozen or more bird cages hung at different levels from the ceiling. All had been opened. Birds remained in some. Other cages were empty.

  She turned around in a slow circle, attempting to take in what was clearly some sort of torture room. A door on the wall behind the ladder stood open. Lara walked to the door and felt for another light switch. The light blared to life revealing a smaller room. Photos of victims lined the walls. The pounding in her chest accelerated. All victims were secured to the same pole where Wynwood now hung. Details of lives taken were listed beneath the photos.

  “Oh my God.” The words whispered past her lips on the air that flew from her lungs.

  Whatever Wynwood was, this was the Butcher’s lair. This was where he’d kept his victims to do his work before leaving them at the chosen dumpsite.

  The only thing he hadn’t done to Wynwood was chop him into his usual six pieces. Maybe that part had been for ease of transporting out of here. Since Wynwood was still here, that part of the process hadn’t been necessary.

  She braced a hand against the nearest wall to steady herself.

  “Lara!” Nate’s muffled shout echoed in the room above.

  “Down here,” she called back, her voice strained, stiff.

  Tearing her attention from the dozens of photos, she drifted back into the larger space and waited while Nate climbed down the ladder.

  “We put out an APB on Wynwood and his car.”

  “Whoever took his car,” she said, “it wasn’t Wynwood. He’s dead.”

  Nate’s attention swung from her to the other end of the room.

  “The Butcher was here.” Her words were scarcely a whisper. She swallowed, grappled to gather her composure.

  Nate took a long look around the room.

  “This is where he tortured and murdered his victims. There are photos in the other room.” She tried not to breathe too deeply. “Maybe Wynwood was a helper of some sort,” she offered. “The person who did his bidding and took care of things.” Nausea roiled through her. She needed to get out of here…except she couldn’t stop looking.

  “Maybe,” Nate agreed.

  “The other room is back there.” She took a necessary breath, struggled to tamp down the need to vomit. “There’re all sorts of details about the victims including photos.”

  While Nate went to check it out, she stayed put. She’d seen enough. Generally, she would have had her phone out snapping pics to use on her blog. This was an incredible find…a startling headline every journalist in the country would give most anything to scoop.

  She had no desire to capture this scene to share with her followers.

  This was…too close. She and her mother were somehow involved in this. Her stomach pitched again.

  “We should go. Turn this over to the agents upstairs.”

  She nodded. He was right. She didn’t want to be here a minute longer.

  For years murder and murderers had been the focus of her life. But now she didn’t want to see this depraved map of violence. Didn’t want to breathe this blood-soaked air.

  Because if Wynwood or Medford wasn’t the Butcher, that left an option that was genetically connected to her.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Miller’s Bend Road

  He’d had to park well away from the driveway to her home. There was someone watching at the turn into her drive and at her house. Devin had mentioned this in his many ramblings about Lara. One agent was staying with her, so wherever she was he would be as well. The only issue at this moment was the one watching her home.

  He couldn’t be sure how much time he had. He’d seen Lara and the agent leaving and he’d waited. He potentially had half an hour, maybe a little more. He had disabled the agent left behind to watch her house, but he would rouse soon and call for help.

  Moving quickly, he had made his way through the woods and to the front of the house. When the agent roused, he would run to the house and check the back door which was the most obvious entry point. His finding it locked would prove unexpected and buy time.

  He would need that extra time for his escape.

  For a bit he stood on the front porch and studied the space. The swing. He resisted the urge to sit for a while. A quilt had been abandoned on the swing. It was cold today. He could imagine Lara sitting on the swing with the quilt wrapped around her as she stared out over the water of the lake.

  A welcome sign hung on the wall next to the front door. He wondered if he’d be able to get inside. He wanted to. He had wanted to see her again for a very long time.

  The door was locked as he had anticipated it would be.

  Using his elbow, he broke the glass, then reached inside to unlock the latch. The heavy coat he had borrowed protected his arm.

  The door opened. No alarm sounded.

  He was surprised she didn’t have a security system. Devin had mentioned this as well. Maybe she just hadn’t gotten around to having one installed. Or maybe it simply wasn’t activated.

  She should have one and should always activate it. She would be safer that way.

  She’d had one at her apartment in New York.

  For all the good it had done her, he considered.

  In truth, when a person was motivated enough nothing could stop him.

  He wandered around the living space. It was a fairly large room that encompassed the living room and the kitchen and dining space. It looked homey, cozy. On the mantel above the fireplace were photos. Two were of her mother. One was of the two of them together.

  His heart beat faster. Lara was very beautiful. Both were. A lump swelled so large in his throat he could hardly breathe.

  He moved on to the hall that led to the bedrooms, there were two, and the bathroom. Touching her things, even something as innocuous as her hairbrush gave him great pleasure. More framed photos sat on her dresser. Lara and her mother, these photos more recent. Her mother looked well, happy. It was a shame she’d died so unexpectedly.

  He lingered among Lara’s most private possessions longer than he should have.

  The next space was a large window-filled room that served as Lara’s office.

  He studied the framed awards on the wall. For a bit he read over the notes she had made on the desk blotter. Then he turned away and walked back to the living area. On the table next to the sofa he noted a red book lying there. He picked it up, opened it.

  Something is wrong. I am certain of it. I watch my sweet girl sleep and I know in my heart that whatever happened to my husband was not what I have been led to believe. This Devin Wynwood is lying.

  Fury roared inside him. His fingers traced the words.

  The urge to tear something apart exploded in his veins.

  Then he heard a sound…a car engine.

  He peeked out the window.

  It was her.

  Lara was back.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Lara needed a shower. She wanted to wash the scent of that basement from her skin. To allow the steam to cleanse it from her lungs.

  Nate stopped to update the agent serving as the surveillance detail outside her house. She hadn’t been able to wait for him. She had to get inside. If she didn’t strip off these clothes and get in the shower she was going to vomit for sure.

  She unlocked the back door and went inside. For a moment, she stood still, inhaling the scent of home and expelling the horror of all that she had seen and smelled from her mind.

  How could they have been so close to the Butcher and allowed him to get away?

  He was gone. Vanished.

  She tossed her bag on the sofa. Sure enough the journal lay on the side table right where she’d left it. She picked it up and turned to go to her room, but something shiny on the floor caught her eye.

  Sunlight reflected from several sparkly things on the floor. Water? She moved closer, crouched down. Picked up one. No. Not water.

  Glass.

  Her gaze slid up slowly to settle on the front door. A pane in the window of the door had been shattered.

  Someone had been in the house.

  Dropping the fragment of glass, she pushed to her feet. Holding her breath, she turned around.

  No one was there.

  She listened.

  No sound.

  Thank God.

  If she could just reach the back door, she could get to Nate and the other agent and warn them someone had been inside…might still be hidden there.

  “You got your red hair and blue eyes from me.”

  Lara froze.

  “But you’re pretty like your momma.”

  Slowly, she turned around. The need to breathe pulsed inside her but she could not force the air into her lungs.

  The man looked so frail. His skin was so very pale. Gray had overtaken his once red hair. It hung past his shoulders and was tethered in a ponytail. The clothes he wore, a pair of jeans and a khaki shirt, hung on his thin body. Even beneath the thick coat, his once broad shoulders were now stooped.

  The idea that this man could not possibly be the Butcher raced through her brain.

  She blinked, warned herself that looks were often deceiving.

  She prayed Nate would come inside any second. If she could keep the man distracted until then…

  Lara somehow found her voice. “You left us. Allowed us to believe a lie.”

  Me, she amended silently. He had allowed her to live a lie. Her mother had never believed the story she’d been given. But fear had prevented her from sharing her feelings with Lara until it was too late.

  His head moved slowly side to side. “It wasn’t my choice. He did this.”

  A blast of fury chased away the fear cloaking Lara. “By he, I assume you mean Devin Wynwood. Your friend? Exactly how did he manage all this?” The suggestion was preposterous.

  “You have no idea what he’s capable of.”

  “Was,” she pointed out. “I assume you killed him.” Exactly like the Butcher, she didn’t say.

  “Yes.” He stared at the floor for a moment. “For a very long time, I lost hope. I was defeated. Didn’t care if I lived or died. But then he began talking about you.” He blinked, settled his gaze on hers. “I knew I had to do something, or he would hurt you.” His shoulders lifted and then fell. “He was infatuated with you for a long while, but I knew it wouldn’t last. It never did. When it was over, he would hurt you the way he did all the others. It was a miracle he didn’t kill your mother. I suppose he worried that he would lose me entirely, if he did.”

  Lara watched in horror—the kind of horror that wouldn’t allow her to look away—as he drew in a ragged breath. “But lately,” he went on, “I think he realized that nothing lasts forever. He was finally ready to let me go. I would die and he would leave behind all the evidence of what he had done. He’d ensured all of it would point to me.”

  “Why?” she heard herself say. “Why did he prevent you from coming home? Why didn’t you find a way to escape?” Emotion burned her eyes. She struggled to hold back the tears. She would not cry for him. He was not her father any more than he had been a proper husband to her mother. He was just a man…quite possibly a very bad man who was lying to her right now.

  “In the beginning, I tried. So many times. He watched me too closely. Eventually, I gave up. Wished for death.”

  Another surge of anger roared through her. “Why would he do that?”

  “He wanted me for himself. He couldn’t bear the idea of me being with anyone else.”

  This was insane. “You’re saying he was in love with you and kept you all these years? More than thirty years?” Unbelievable.

  He nodded. “He warned me so many times what he would do to your mother…to you if I ever tried to leave.”

  “Why was your DNA at two of the Butcher’s murder scenes? Did you help him lure his victims?”

  “No. He did that to cover for himself. I was his escape plan. Until this morning, I haven’t seen the light of day since he put me in that basement more than thirty years ago.”

  Lara wanted to tell him that she didn’t believe him. He didn’t appear to be armed. But she couldn’t be certain. If she pushed him too far…

  Where was Nate?

  Reaching for calm, she asked, “You’re confirming that Devin Wynwood was the Butcher?”

  He nodded, his eyes closing in what appeared to be anguish. “There were times when I begged him to just kill me, but he refused.”

  “How did you escape?”

  “After your mother died, he kept watching you. His obsession grew more intense. I worried that this time he wouldn’t shift his attention as he had before. I started preparing myself for an escape. It was difficult to conceal what I was doing from him, but I managed.”

  “So you succeeded in this amazing escape and you killed him. Why use the Butcher’s method? I have to say, from what I saw, you didn’t miss a beat. How do you explain your ability to copy his work so perfectly?”

  “He made me watch. All this time, all those victims.”

  She managed to breathe. She had no idea what to believe, but she instinctively understood that she needed to keep him talking. “You never helped him?”

  “He’s the only person I’ve ever murdered.”

  “What about the woman who was in your casket?”

  “He killed her. Her name was Annette Benson. I saw him. I was going to tell our unit commander, but he stopped me. That was when I first became his prisoner.”