Yes, sirs sang out.

  “Go,” Brooks ordered. “I don’t want to see your faces again until you have something concrete for me. This investigation is dragging on way too long. Find some damned answers.”

  The two walked out without another glance at Kerri.

  After the door closed, Brooks settled his attention on her once more. “Detective, as of this moment, you are on paid leave.”

  “What?” Kerri surged to her feet. “But, sir, I—”

  “No buts, Devlin. This is all too close for you.”

  She shook her head. Before she could argue, he said, “You think I don’t know something happened last year?”

  Shock kept her quiet.

  “Oh yeah, Detective, I’m aware. I know you far too well not to have seen it. That case changed you, and it’s because of whatever part you and Falco left out of your final reports. I may never know what that part was, but I will not watch history repeat itself. Now go home and take care of your daughter.”

  Kerri wanted to argue. She wanted to show how offended she was that he would even suggest such a thing. But she couldn’t.

  Because he was right.

  She had crossed a line during that investigation.

  The memory would haunt her for the rest of her life.

  29

  9:05 a.m.

  Sadie’s Loft

  Sixth Avenue, Twenty-Seventh Street

  Birmingham

  Sadie sat cross-legged on the floor, leaning against the door to her loft.

  She’d slept here last night. On the floor. Her body pressed into the wood like a wedge to make sure no one got inside.

  Hours and hours she had studied all those damned pieces of paper—fragments of her past she had posted on her wall. Trying to remember more. To somehow shift those pieces together in a way that made sense.

  Hadn’t happened. Eventually she’d collapsed into a nightmare-filled sleep—without the aid of alcohol. The two beers she’d had at Devlin’s didn’t really count. This crash had been caused by utter exhaustion.

  What she needed now was caffeine, preferably an IV infusion, but since that wasn’t possible, she’d have to make do with the brewed stuff. As soon as she could convince herself to get up and walk across the room.

  She stared longingly at the coffeepot on the counter about twenty feet away.

  In a little bit.

  She’d dreamed about Eddie.

  Sadie closed her eyes. He’d kissed her stomach and smiled up at her. Te quiero. He had loved her. Air shuddered into her lungs on a harsh inhale. She’d felt something for him. Naming the feeling love wouldn’t be precise. But she had felt something for him. Something she’d never felt for anyone else.

  She coughed, wished for a cigarette.

  Blocking the concept of deeper emotions, she reminded herself that she’d played the part. She’d pretended to adore the family, even the old man. No one had suspected her of being anyone other than the food truck girl who’d stolen Eddie’s heart.

  Even Isabella had grown attached to her. The feel of her small hand in Sadie’s filtered through her brain. Her laughter and the way she had twirled around the room like a ballerina. She had giggled and begged Sadie to join her. Sadie had danced around the child, clapped and smiled. She could see herself smiling, but it didn’t feel like her . . . it felt like someone else. Someone from another life.

  Those months had been another life . . . a lie.

  Screams of agony. Pain like she’d never endured before roared through her body. She’d felt the baby moving . . . and then it was dead.

  Cries . . . a baby’s cries echoed inside her.

  Sadie flinched. Only her imagination. The baby had died. She’d seen the tiny body. Felt the cold flesh . . . the little chest that failed to rise and fall.

  Maybe it was for the best. She was too broken to take care of a child. Hell, she couldn’t even take care of herself. And if the baby had lived, it probably would have ended up growing up in the cartel.

  Her dead baby was buried on the compound somewhere. She would never know where. Maybe next to Eddie.

  He was dead too. Though, like the rest of her memories, the parts about him during that time were fragmented and unclear.

  Over the months and years there had been speculation that he was still there, in hiding at the compound.

  Anything was possible, but deep in her gut she was certain he was dead. She should know. She was the one who had killed him.

  At least he’d sure as hell looked dead.

  Sadie squeezed her eyes shut and blocked the scattered voices and images from those missing months. No one could help piece the puzzle together. She was like Humpty Dumpty. All the king’s horses and all the king’s men couldn’t put her together again.

  Asher had tried.

  Asher.

  He was the first person she had allowed so close since her infamous disappearing act. He’d made promises about finding the truth and stopping Carlos Osorio where it counted—through his backers. One night after they’d had sex he’d laughed and promised to bring her the old bastard’s head.

  She’d tried to pretend he might even be able to do it. To win.

  But she had known he wouldn’t.

  She’d warned him that it was too dangerous. Then he would insist she had survived; why couldn’t he?

  Maybe because deep inside she was made out of the same shit as the Osorios. Maybe that was why she’d fit in so well and ultimately survived.

  Asher had been too good.

  It didn’t actually matter who’d pulled the trigger that had put the bullet in his head; Sadie knew who had ordered his execution.

  Carlos Osorio.

  She might not be able to get to him, but there could be another way.

  Was it possible this girl, this Alice Cortez, was Isabella? She had many of her facial features and her coloring. Sadie thought of the photos Devlin had shown her. It had taken every ounce of willpower she possessed to maintain her composure after seeing those pics. She’d had to get out of there before she went over the edge.

  But she couldn’t be sure. Her mind played tricks on her far too often for her to be sure of anything from that part of her past.

  What Sadie needed was to see this girl up close. To hear her speak . . . to see her move.

  Then she would know for sure.

  30

  Noon

  Cortez Residence

  Eleventh Avenue South

  From the passenger-side window of Jen’s car, Kerri stared at the Cortez home. She shouldn’t do this. It was bad enough to take the risk herself, but to ask someone else . . .

  But she was desperate.

  “I know that look,” Jen announced. She twisted in the seat to look directly at Kerri.

  Kerri blinked. This was wrong. Just wrong. “Jen, I shouldn’t have come to you with this. I’m sorry.”

  Jen reached across the console and took Kerri’s hand in hers. “Your daughter calls me Aunt Jen.” Her lips trembled. “The same way Amelia did.” A lone tear escaped and rolled down her cheek. “You and Diana—you’re all family to me. I would do anything to help you.”

  Kerri rode out the hurt that hurtled through her, took a breath. “This is wrong. What I’m asking you to do. To impersonate a state official. If I could do it myself, I would. But these people know who I am, so I can’t. And if I weren’t scared to death for Tori, I would never ask you anyway.”

  Jen squared her shoulders and lifted her chin defiantly. “I want to do it, Kerri. Had I known what to do to help, I would have done it without you asking. Please, let me help.” She shook her head. “Not for you or for me, but for Tori. I can’t lose anyone else I love.”

  Kerri nodded. “Okay.” She took a deep breath. “We’ve done the sound check. You have everything you need.” Now or never. “Let’s do it.”

  Jen smiled. “On it, sister.”

  Jen climbed out of her car, crossed the street, and stepped up to the sidewalk leading to the Cortez home. She looked sharp even in such a modest skirt and jacket. When she had called Jen, Kerri had suggested she wear a reserved, professional suit and keep the makeup light. To bring a notepad or portfolio and be ready to behave like a social worker.

  Jen had nailed it.

  Kerri smiled. She and Diana had always called Jen their other sister. She was a dear friend who would do anything for the people she loved.

  Kerri desperately needed this to work. To know what was going on with Alice Cortez and her family.

  “Here we go,” Jen whispered, the breathy sound soft in Kerri’s earpiece.

  She heard the faint chime of the doorbell after Jen pushed the button. Three, four, five seconds elapsed before the door opened. From the car, it looked as if only a crack appeared.

  “Mrs. Cortez?” Jen asked.

  “Yes.”

  “My name is Wanda James. I’m from the Child Services Division, and I just need to ask you a few questions. May I come in?”

  “You have . . . ID?”

  The lady’s accent was thick. José Cortez was the one who had done most of the talking the first time Kerri dropped her daughter off to spend time with Alice. He’d spoken perfect English with only the slightest Mexican accent.

  Kerri held her breath as Jen flashed the fake credentials. It wasn’t that Kerri had a stash of fake credentials, but she had a couple. Falco had taught her that sometimes it was necessary to skirt the perimeter between right and wrong to get where you needed to go. There had never been a more necessary time than now.

  The door opened wider, and Jen was in.

  Kerri wasn’t sure whether to be relieved or further on edge.

  “What a lovely cross,” Jen said as she moved into the house. “You have a lot of beautiful crosses. How nice.”

  In the background the lady thanked her. Her voice was small. She was nervous.

  “Now. As I said, my name is Wanda, and I have a few questions for you. May I call you Cora?”

  “Yes, of . . . of course.”

  “How is Alice doing? I know this whole thing at the school has been just awful for all of you. The school counselors are working hard to help all the children, especially those closest to what happened.”

  Kerri was impressed. Jen should be an actress. So far she hadn’t missed a single point Kerri had laid out.

  “She isn’t sleeping.” The other woman hesitated. “I wake up and she is walking the floor. Talking to herself. It’s so sad.”

  “Oh my,” Jen said, “have you spoken to her counselor about this?”

  Pause.

  “Why haven’t you?” Jen asked.

  Kerri presumed the woman, Cora Cortez, had shaken her head in a no.

  “My husband doesn’t want to get involved. We keep to ourselves. It’s easier that way.”

  Interesting.

  “Your husband works with Iris Cosmetics?”

  Another long pause.

  “I’m not sure. He does not discuss his work with me. I wouldn’t know.”

  “Alice’s father was his brother?” Jen asked without hesitation.

  “No. He is—was a friend. Longtime friend. They grew up together like brothers.”

  The abrupt silence told Kerri the woman realized she’d said too much.

  “That’s good,” Jen said. “Friends are so important. It’s good when we’re there to help one another.”

  The woman made a soft sound of agreement. “Adopted,” she added quickly. “He was José’s adopted brother.”

  “Oh,” Jen said, “I see.”

  Good comeback, Mrs. Cortez, Kerri granted.

  “No other problems with Alice?” Jen asked.

  Pause.

  “Great.”

  Another unspoken answer apparently.

  “How long have you lived in this country, Cora?”

  Kerri held her breath.

  “I . . . don’t understand the question. Why do you ask?”

  “When did you move from Mexico?” Jen rephrased. “Never mind. It’s not really important. I was just curious. You have an excellent command of the language. And your home is so cozy. It looks as if you’ve been here ages.”

  “Thank you. Last year. August.”

  Kerri’s heart started to beat faster.

  “To take care of Alice,” Jen suggested.

  “Yes.”

  Another of those pauses elapsed.

  “I . . . I lived here before,” Cortez blurted. “I went to university here. I’m a nurse. I don’t work any longer . . . because of Alice.”

  Another last-second save. The woman had her part nailed. Except Kerri wasn’t buying it.

  “You and your husband have sacrificed a great deal for Alice. That’s very kind of you.”

  Good job, Jen!

  “Well, all right then. I think I have everything I require except for having a look at Alice’s room. I’m sure it’s fine, but I have to follow the rules.”

  The silence was longer this time.

  “I’ll only take a moment, I promise,” Jen reassured her.

  The swoosh of fabric told Kerri someone had moved.

  “This way,” Cortez offered.

  Kerri surveyed the block in both directions. Just a few minutes longer. If her heart beat any faster, it was going to jump out of her chest.

  Footsteps echoed in Kerri’s ear. The squeak of hinges warned when a door opened.

  “Alice loves crosses, too, doesn’t she?” Jen said, sounding bright and maybe a little too cheery.

  “Yes, very much.”

  “What are the masks?”

  Ice formed in Kerri’s gut.

  “Just . . . you know . . . decoration. She loves playing dress-up.”

  “Are these Alice’s drawings?”

  “She has big imagination also.”

  “She does,” Jen agreed. “Well, I’ll just take a couple of photos with my cell phone, and I’ll be on my way.”

  “Sure . . . sure.”

  Kerri didn’t breathe again until Jen was at the door, thanking the lady for her cooperation. She had started toward her car when an approaching vehicle snagged Kerri’s attention.

  Instinctively Kerri eased down in the passenger seat.

  When the vehicle stopped on the Cortez side of the street, Kerri’s heart surged into her throat.

  Sykes and Peterson.

  Assholes. Her lips flattened into a thin line as she watched, scarcely able to see over the upholstered part of the door where it met the glass of the window. Maybe she had gone too far in coming here like this, but by God they had pushed her to this point.

  Jen flashed the two men one of her trademark sexy grins as their paths crossed on the sidewalk of the Cortez home. Peterson, of course, looked back at her ass as they walked on. Perv.

  The detectives stopped at the Cortez front door and rang the bell. Kerri eased lower in the seat as Jen climbed behind the wheel.

  “Friends of yours?” Jen asked without looking down as she fastened her seat belt.

  “Get us out of here,” Kerri urged.

  Jen started the engine, checked both ways, and then eased away from the curb. When she’d reached the intersection at the other end of the block, Kerri sat up.

  “Those were the detectives assigned to the investigation.”

  “In that case,” Jen suggested as she handed Kerri her cell, “we were cutting it close.”

  “Too damned close for comfort.” She took the phone and opened the photo app.

  “There’s some weird shit in that house, Kerri. I’m here to tell you. There are crosses everywhere; nothing against crosses or religion, but this is way over the top. I’m surprised your detective friends haven’t mentioned it.”

  “The masks,” Kerri muttered. This was what Tori had been talking about.

  “You talk about creepy.” Jen snorted. “If that little girl isn’t a future serial killer, then I’m Mother Teresa. And we both know that ain’t so.”

  Kerri had a very bad feeling Jen was right about the girl.

  31

  1:00 p.m.

  Swanner Residence

  Twenty-Third Avenue South

  Birmingham

  The phone rang, and Tori wondered if it was her mom checking up on her again.

  Her aunt Diana answered the extension in the kitchen. Judging by the way she laughed, it was probably Aunt Jen. Jen had a way about her that could make even the saddest person laugh.

  Except her. Tori doubted anything would ever make her laugh again.

  She pushed up from the sofa, left her lunch on the coffee table. She couldn’t eat. Had zero interest in watching any more television. She’d spent the morning helping Aunt Diana at the dance studio. The class had been the three- and four-year-olds. The thought almost made her smile. The little kids were so sweet. She hoped they didn’t grow up to be mean teenagers like so many other kids.

  Like Alice. And poor Brendal.

  Tori wished Alice had never come to Brighton. She’d ruined all their lives. Brendal was dead. Even though she wasn’t very nice, she didn’t deserve to die.

  Trudging up the stairs, Tori decided she might as well play a game in the boys’ room. Anything to get her mind off life.

  Before reaching the boys’ room, she paused at the door to Amelia’s room. She swallowed the emotion that instantly swelled into her throat. She missed Amelia so much. Her fingers lit on the doorknob before her mind made the decision. She opened the door and walked inside. Diana came in here every morning. She’d told Tori how she would sit down on Amelia’s bed and talk to her. It made her feel closer to her daughter.

  Tears burned Tori’s eyes as she stepped into the room. It was exactly the way it had been when Amelia died. All the dance posters and fun throw pillows. Her cousin had a flair about her. Her closet was full of trendy clothes. Amelia had been the kind of person who could take thrift store finds and turn them into the hottest fashion.

  Tori dropped onto her bed and stared at the framed photo of Amelia and her brothers on the bedside table. “I miss you.”

  If Amelia were here, she would tell Tori to suck it up and stop feeling sorry for herself. Amelia had been strong and brave. Far stronger and braver than Tori.