This couldn’t be right. It was all way too farfetched. The sheer logistics required to fake his death and get a body sent home from overseas. Then to manage travel back to the United States. It was too much to absorb.

  The door behind her suddenly opened.

  Nate’s weapon was already leveled on the man across the room. “Put your hands up and everything will be fine.”

  Without hesitation the man’s hands went up.

  It wasn’t until Nate was securing his hands behind his back that Lara saw the blood. It had seeped through his shirt on his right side. The coat had kept it covered.

  “He needs a doctor,” Lara said, not certain why she cared and yet she somehow did.

  “Backup and an ambulance are headed this way,” Nate said. “The agent on surveillance detail has a head injury but he seems to be okay.”

  God, she hadn’t even thought of the agent who had been watching her cottage. All she could think about was the disheveled man still staring at her.

  Maybe because she needed more…she needed the whole story and only he could give it.

  Vanderbilt Hospital, Nashville, 9:00 p.m.

  Lara kept her eyes closed, her head against the wall behind the waiting room chair. When they first arrived at the hospital, she and Nate had been sequestered in a private waiting area. Word about the Butcher’s house had already leaked to the press and when reports of a survivor followed, the reporters had descended upon the hospital.

  The injury wasn’t such a bad one. Patrick Franklin had been patched up and put in a room under guard. He was suffering from dehydration and possibly other physical and mental issues not yet identified. More tests were needed to assess his overall condition. Despite the unknowns, the doctor had allowed Franklin to be interviewed by the FBI. This was primarily because he had insisted he wanted to do whatever he could to help.

  Lara’s emotions were all over the place. This was the man she had believed to be a hero her entire life. He’d died fighting for his country. But that wasn’t true. He was….something else. Something she couldn’t identify as of yet. Monster? Hero? She closed her eyes and shook her head. Would she ever really know?

  The door of the private waiting room opened and Nate joined Lara.

  “Anything new?” she asked, sitting up and stretching her back. She’d lost count of the number of cups of coffee she’d consumed. Too many. She stood, needed to move around to get the blood flowing again.

  “Franklin says the woman buried in his stead wasn’t Wynwood’s first victim. Apparently, he bragged about a couple of kids from his childhood as well as his father.”

  Lara rubbed at her eyes. “Do the agents questioning Franklin believe him?”

  “No reason not to so far. Of course, there are a lot of hoops to come. Some of what he’s said can potentially be verified. He even agreed to a polygraph. But there’s a lot more that can’t be confirmed.”

  Lara wanted to feel some sort of relief. But it was all too easy. Maybe she’d been dissecting murderers for far too long.

  Nate pulled his cell phone from his pocket and checked the screen. “It’s Prater. He’s with the forensic team at the Wynwood house.”

  Lara hugged her arms around herself as images from that basement filtered through her mind. She thought of how she and Nate had sat in the man’s living room and questioned him while Patrick Franklin—her father—was imprisoned in the basement. She shook with the horrific images that went with the thoughts.

  Nate thanked Prater and ended the call. “This just gets stranger and stranger.”

  Lara braced herself.

  “There is significant evidence suggesting someone was held in that cell for quite a long time.”

  “Which suggests Franklin could be telling the truth.”

  “Yes.”

  Lara still couldn’t bring herself to feel relieved. Too many other feelings tore at her.

  “But the newest depravity is that they found human remains in a box hidden under the bed in Wynwood’s bedroom.”

  “Any clues as to who the victim was?” Nate was right. This did get stranger and stranger.

  “He’s actually quite well preserved, I’m told. It’s Jeffrey Medford.”

  For a moment, Lara couldn’t speak. Part of her felt relieved to have that mystery solved and to know that Medford would never bother her again. But another side of her felt sick at the idea that she could be the reason Medford was dead.

  She nodded. “We can safely conclude the Butcher made Medford disappear?”

  “It appears so. Prater says it looks like a bullet to the back of the head. Then someone, presumably Wynwood, prepared the body the way a taxidermist would that of an animal.”

  The thought made her want to gag. “Maybe Wynwood is the one who taught taxidermy to Medford. Makes sense if Medford was his younger brother.” Her legs suddenly weak, Lara sat down in the nearest chair. It was a flat-out miracle she had survived Medford.

  “Probably,” Nate agreed as he settled into the chair next to her.

  Lara frowned. “But why kill him in the first place? Was he mad because Medford dared to abduct me? Does the fact that he preserved and kept the body imply regret?” She couldn’t imagine how long it would take to properly analyze these monsters.

  “We may never know those answers,” Nate confessed, his voice weary.

  They were both exhausted.

  As if he’d had the same thought, he suggested, “We should go. Get some rest. We can come back tomorrow. Prater will notify us if there are any changes.”

  “Sounds good.” Except there was something she needed to ask Franklin before she left for the night. Franklin. She couldn’t bring herself to really consider him her father. “Do you think I could see him before I go?”

  “I can’t see why not.” Nate pushed to his feet and offered his hand. “Come on. We’ll find out.”

  “Nate.” She hesitated, holding onto his hand.

  He turned back to her, searched her eyes.

  “When this is over and done, I don’t want our relationship to go back to the way it was.”

  He reached up, touched her cheek with the tips of his fingers. “Me either. I’d like to spend more time with you.”

  She smiled. “I was thinking a lot more time.”

  A grin widened across his mouth. “I believe that can be arranged.”

  Lara hugged him, held him tight against her. “I can’t wait,” she whispered.

  He drew back, looked deep into her eyes. “Let’s get this done so we can get out of here.”

  They made their way to the room where Franklin was under guard. Nate spoke to the agent in charge of his security and he agreed to allow Lara in the room for a few minutes.

  “I can go in with you,” Nate offered, “if you’d prefer.”

  “Thank you, but I need to do this alone.” She hoped if the two of them were alone, he would talk more openly.

  Nate gave her an understanding nod.

  Lara pushed the door inward and stepped into the room. She closed it behind her. The room was silent and dimly lit. The television was tuned to a local news channel, but the volume was muted.

  The man—Patrick Franklin—lay still as stone, his eyes closed. An IV line led from the bag on the pole to his right arm. A pair of handcuffs secured his left to the bed rail. He was a flight risk and there were far too many unknowns at this time to presume he was innocent by any definition of the word.

  And he had killed Wynwood in a most heinous manner that went well beyond self-defense.

  That was the biggest reason she just couldn’t let this go without talking to him again. Now. Not tomorrow. She needed to know. Giving him more time to tighten his story would be a mistake. As soon as Nate told her about Medford, she was certain she had to do this.

  It was the only way to know for sure. Even then she might never know.

  Who was this man? Did he feel anything for her? Had he really loved her mother?

  She moved closer to the bed and his eyes opened as if he’d sensed her presence.

  A smile tipped his dry lips. “I figured you’d have gone home by now.”

  She faked a smile. “I wanted to see you again first.” She left the statement hanging, hoping he would believe she cared.

  “I’m not sure how helpful I can be. The pain meds are kicking in.”

  “Good. I’m sure you need them.” She moved closer to his bedside. “I was just thinking about Wynwood.” She was, actually. About the way he’d looked butchered and hanging on that pipe like a side of beef.

  He exhaled a big breath. “I wish I could have done something all those years ago to avoid him. Then he would never have come into our lives. He stole everything from me. My wife, my child…my life.”

  She waited for some inkling of sympathy to well inside her, but it never came. Maybe it just couldn’t find its way through all the more cautious emotions.

  “You said he made you watch all those times when he butchered his victims.”

  He closed his eyes. Nodded.

  “I was thinking about Jeffrey Medford. He and Wynwood were brothers. Did you know that?” He must have. He’d been with Wynwood for more than three decades. He had to have heard and seen everything about the man. Had he listened to the conversations between Wynwood and her mother when she visited him? A shudder quaked through her at the thought.

  His eyes opened. He blinked as if needing to hold back tears. “I’m so sorry that happened to you. I’m sorry about all of it.”

  He didn’t answer her question. A new wariness slipped in. What did he have to hide? Dear God, the possibilities were endless.

  She hummed a note of confusion. “I’m surprised Wynwood killed his own brother.” She shook her head. “Did he make you watch that too? Preserving his body and packing him away in a box. I can only imagine how awful that was. Why did he kill him? Was it because of me? Or because he wanted to show you how sorry he was about what his brother had done?”

  There was a flicker of something like anger or impatience, but he quickly schooled the reaction. “I think he and his brother had some kind of competition going on. I wasn’t privy to much about their relationship. Devin was very private when it came to his family. He was far more interested in mine.” His words were slower now. A bit thicker. The pain medication was definitely kicking in.

  “Still seems strange that Medford was my stalker and he was also the brother of the man who kept you imprisoned.”

  “It really doesn’t matter now,” he said quietly. “They both got what they deserved. I’m only sorry it took so long.”

  Took so long? She considered his words for a moment. “The part that really bugs me though, is how perfectly you recreated the Butcher’s work. Amazing detail. I think Wynwood would have been jealous.”

  “Always,” he murmured. “He was jealous of Mary. Of you. Of everything in my life. It wasn’t until that sniffling brother of his tried to hurt you that I realized just how jealous.”

  Tension slid through her and she gave a vague nod. “You were so much more handsome than him. He must have been wildly jealous. Not surprising really, given his infatuation with you.”

  “He always wanted what was mine.”

  His statement was louder this time.

  She was getting him there. “He probably never had an original idea of his own. But then, I can’t imagine how he was able to lure in and kill all those people without being caught. Maybe he was more of a genius than you knew.”

  “I think his brother helped him,” he said, his agitation settling as if he’d figured out what she was up to. “He was much younger. He probably got jealous of his brother too and killed him.”

  “Jeffrey could have stalked the victims the way he did me,” she said, pretending to agree.

  “I’m certain that’s exactly what he did.” His gaze lingered on her then. “Seeing you means so much to me.”

  She forced a smile. “I’m grateful to finally know the truth. Mother would be glad.”

  “You’ve always been so beautiful.” He smiled. “I hated so much that I could never be the father you deserved. I would have ensured you always had everything you needed, including new saddle shoes.”

  He blinked, looked momentarily startled. Then closed his eyes.

  But it was too late. She’d heard him loud and clear. She’d lost one of her shoes that day she wandered into the woods. Even though her mother had loved the shoes, she was so glad to have Lara back that she hadn’t even complained.

  He—this man—had been watching her that day. It was the only explanation.

  “You were there,” she said. “In the woods that day.” The image of a man in the distance. A flash of red hair zoomed into her mind. He had been there. She’d run when she’d seen him. How had she not remembered that until just this moment?

  His lids fluttered open. “You’re tired. Overwhelmed. It’s all jumbling together in your mind. You should go home and rest.”

  She shook her head. “No. I’m right. You were there. You were never his hostage. If that were true,” she opted to poke his ego again, “it would mean Wynwood was a genius. A mastermind. Too smart for even the FBI profilers to figure out.”

  “He was a fool,” he said sharply. “Hardly capable of following orders without being told over and over.”

  “But he had you,” Lara said. She had him now. “You were the smart one. The true mastermind.”

  His gaze narrowed. “I don’t know what you mean. Now you’re trying to confuse me.”

  “Of course, you know what I mean. You are the Butcher. You’re the one who killed all those people. Wynwood was nothing more than your minion. Your errand boy. Until you killed his little brother for daring to come after me. What did he do then, Daddy? Is that when he made you his prisoner?”

  The timeframe fit perfectly. Only two people had died since Medford abducted her. The Butcher’s final two victims. On both occasions this man’s DNA had been left at the scene. The whole picture filled her head, the details spilling in one after the other. Daddy Dearest had killed Medford for daring to touch his daughter. Wynwood had gone crazy and found a way to have his revenge.

  “You’re delusional.” Franklin closed his eyes again, ignoring her.

  She laughed. “If only. No, I’m not confused at all. You committed the one sin your longtime confidant and, if my suspicions are correct, assistant couldn’t forgive. You killed his little brother. Then he locked you in that cage and took over your work, being sure to leave evidence that would ID you. Even that wasn’t enough to satisfy his need for vengeance. He decided to lure me in and really get even. Then he would disappear and leave you to face the consequences of all the lives you’ve taken.”

  “I’m tired of talking. You should leave now.”

  Then she knew the real reason Franklin had bothered to sneak into her house. “You came to the cottage for the journal, didn’t you? He had told you about it, and you needed to be sure exactly what was in it. You read it and saw that you were in the clear. With Wynwood dead you could put all the blame on him and become the innocent victim. You could reclaim your other life.”

  He said nothing.

  “Fair warning,” she said, “I won’t stop until I prove my theory. This is what I do. And I’m very, very good at it.”

  Lara gave him her back and headed for the door.

  “It was never about him or me,” he said, drawing her to a halt.

  She faced him once more.

  “It was about us,” he explained. “We had rules. He didn’t touch the ones I cared about, and I didn’t touch his. But then that stupid brother of his had to go and hurt you.”

  “And that changed everything.” Medford’s actions had ignited a battle.

  “Yes. Then it was every man for himself. He almost won. He’d had me locked away for two years. The fool. He couldn’t bear to kill me, he whined, so he decided to torture me with you. But, as you said, I was always the more intelligent one.”

  She didn’t want to hear anymore. Didn’t want to look at him or even breathe the same air.

  She turned and moved toward the door once more.

  “I’m still your father,” he called after her.

  She didn’t look back. “You’ve never been my father.”

  Lara walked out. She was done with the past. She smiled at the man waiting for her in the corridor. She was only looking forward now.

  FamilySecrets.Life

  Once the hole is dug,

  there is no going back.

  The emptiness must be filled with

  new truths, new goals. New life.

  No looking back.

  FamilySecrets.Life

  Sneak Peek

  Blood Strangers © 2020 by Vicki Hinze

  They say blood is thicker than water.

  I guess it is, until it isn’t.

  There are occasions when

  at the first sign of trouble,

  Family will throw you under the bus . . .

  and then run over you.

  Water then is thicker than the bloody

  roadkill remnants left of you.

  FamilySecrets.Life

  PROLOGUE

  New Orleans, LA

  Monday, November 23, 10:30 a.m.

  A gruff old man in an expensive suit walked right up to Gabby Blake on the crowded sidewalk. “Helena?” He looked confused, swiped at his gray temple with a blue-veined hand. “No. No, you can’t be Helena.”

  Gabby nearly dropped the grocery sack in her arms. Her heart raced, her body trembled, and her throat went thick. “You knew Helena?”

  He squinted and studied her face. “You look just like my sister’s husband, Rogan. Just like him, God rest his soul.”

  The doors opened on a black SUV parked curbside and two rough-looking men spilled out. They rushed up to the old stranger and grabbed him by the arms. “It’s time to go,” one of them said in a hushed, urgent tone. “Right now.”