Her mind drifted back to that night . . . the night when the girl—wearing that bizarre mask like the one in the photos Devlin had shown her—had led Sadie to the shack at the far back corner of the compound. It had been dark. Or maybe Sadie had been dreaming. She couldn’t tell anymore. The sound of laughter and music had still wafted from the main house. Inside people had been dancing and drinking, and probably a few had been hidden in quiet corners doing other stuff.

  Isabella’s little girl voice had been saying that she was taking Sadie to her secret place to meet her secret friend. She’d twirled around in the night, whispering things Sadie couldn’t quite make out.

  That was right, she realized. It was definitely Isabella who’d led her down those stairs and then through the darkness.

  Sadie had been so drunk that night. Like so many nights since her return. Her mind had refused to stop revisiting those dark places she couldn’t quite remember. Some errant brain cell kept stirring the pieces of her fragmented memories in an attempt to put them together like a puzzle that had scattered over the floor.

  Only she couldn’t find all the pieces. They wouldn’t all come together.

  She was like the nursery rhyme, she thought again. Old Humpty Dumpty in too many pieces to manage.

  Oh, but that had abruptly changed. Whether it was seeing all those photos or the girl herself, something was happening in Sadie’s brain, and she couldn’t shut it off.

  She’d followed the girl in the mask that night nearly five years ago. To the shack where the little old woman lived. The one who served as the compound’s healer. She was a tiny, bent woman, not much bigger than a child herself. Her gray hair was long and worn in a braid. Her clothes old and clearly homemade.

  Sadie’s breath caught at the new rush of sensations, not exactly memories. Images, voices, a knowing.

  “Toma,” the old woman said, ushering a cup toward Sadie.

  “Drink it,” the girl in the mask said.

  The child was blurry, but Sadie had understood that it was the alcohol level in her blood, not the child, really.

  She wanted to ask what was in the cup, but she couldn’t. Her tongue wouldn’t work. Instead, she accepted the cup and drank the contents.

  The world spun, and then the blackness took her. Two words followed her into the darkness. Be gone.

  Sadie jerked upright in her seat.

  She blinked. Shook herself. She was in the car. The ugly yellow one. Parked outside the Cortez home.

  She blew out a breath. Water. She needed water.

  What time was it?

  She checked her cell. Almost midnight. She’d dozed off and slept for more than an hour.

  “Damn.” She tossed her cell back onto the passenger seat.

  She licked her lips as she stared into the darkness around the house. All the windows were dark now.

  In the corner of her eye she spotted movement. A wisp of white fluttered around the back corner on this end of the house. Sadie sat up straighter. Peered harder through the darkness.

  “What the hell?” she murmured.

  She waited and watched. Then she saw it again. Something small but ghostly white in the distance of the backyard.

  Opening the car door, she eased out, then pressed it shut. Keeping her head low, she moved around the rear of the car and across the street.

  She disappeared into the tree line between the two houses. Soundlessly she crept along the property line until she was in the backyard of the Cortez home.

  Holding as still as stone, Sadie waited and watched.

  Maybe a minute later the ghostly apparition swept from around the opposite corner of the house and twirled around the backyard. The dress or covering was dark, maybe black like the night. The slip of white was the mask.

  A mask exactly like the one the little girl had worn that night all those years ago in Mexico at a cartel compound.

  Maybe she was dreaming. Or hallucinating. She’d done it before.

  Sadie squeezed her eyes shut and held them closed to the count of five. She told herself she was dreaming.

  But when she opened her eyes, the white mask was still dancing around the yard. Its two dark holes where eyes would be seemingly empty. Two garish horns curled up, one on each side.

  Sadie dared to take a step forward, toward the dancing apparition.

  Something hard collided with the back of her head.

  Pain shattered in her skull.

  Her face was suddenly in the cool grass.

  “You shouldn’t have come.”

  Not the child’s voice.

  36

  Session Five

  Three Years Ago

  The digital recording drones with silence for a good thirty seconds.

  “Are we finished with this session before we start?” Holden asks.

  “What do you want me to say?”

  “It would be helpful if you said you were prepared to begin.”

  “Get it over with,” Sadie grumbles.

  The doctor releases a heavy sigh before beginning the steps that would relax Sadie and allow her to go back to the time when she was a prisoner of the Osorio cartel.

  “It’s late October, more than a year since you first arrived at the compound. More than eight months since anyone on your team has heard from you.”

  “I clutched at my belly.”

  Sadie’s voice is low and small.

  “Why did you clutch at your belly?” Holden asks.

  “The baby was gone. He was born already. But he was dead.”

  “The child was stillborn?”

  “Yes. That’s what they told me. And I saw him . . . touched him. He was dead.”

  “Where are you, Sadie?”

  “I don’t know. There were no windows. I had no grasp of time. Night or day. The passing of seasons. The temperature was always the same. The lights were always on.”

  “Were you alone?”

  “Yes.”

  “Were your medical needs attended to?”

  “I’m not sure. I believe so.”

  “And you’re certain you were alone.”

  “At first, but then he came into the room.”

  “He?”

  There is a delay in her answer.

  “Eddie.”

  “I thought he was dead.”

  “He would be in a few more minutes.”

  “You intended to kill him?”

  “Yes. I hid an ink pen in my waistband.”

  “Tell me what happened.”

  “I waited until he was close enough. He hugged me. No matter that I was a traitor; he still felt something for me. I took advantage of the moment and jammed the pen into his jugular. The blood spewed and flowed like a river. I remember his eyes and the way he looked at me as he died in my arms.”

  “Were you taken away when his body was found?”

  “No . . . wait.” A long pause. “That’s wrong.”

  “What do you mean wrong?” Holden prods.

  “Eddie was dead before . . . a long time before. I killed him when they first discovered who I really was. The old man wanted me dead. Eddie pleaded with his father to keep me alive until the child was born.”

  “Are you saying you didn’t kill him?”

  Silence.

  “No,” she says. “I did. Except it was when he came into the room to tell me my life would be spared long enough for the child to be born.”

  “But you said the child was stillborn.”

  “I don’t remember telling you about the baby.”

  “You did, Sadie. Just a moment ago. You told me the baby was dead.”

  “I don’t remember telling you, but it’s true. He died.” Her voice is high now, strained. “I remember the voices.”

  “Whose voices?”

  She doesn’t answer for several seconds.

  “Someone I trusted. His. And . . . and hers.”

  “Whose voices?” Holden repeats.

  “I don’t want to talk anymore.”

  37

  11:55 p.m.

  Finley Boulevard

  Birmingham

  Mason had listened to Sadie’s regression therapy sessions at least a dozen times. The past few days he’d put himself through the torture once more. His daughter had come so very close to learning his secret during the therapy. The final session was the reason he had halted the appointments and taken possession of the recordings. Holden hadn’t argued. After all, Mason had paid him a great deal of money. Initially, Mason had intended to destroy the recordings, but he could not bring himself to do it. Each time he listened, he was reminded of how very much Sadie had paid for his mistakes.

  He would see that she never paid for anything he did ever again.

  This would end now.

  Before leaving home a half hour ago he had carefully packed the recordings of the sessions in the box with the rest of the things he wanted Sadie to have when the time was right. Much would be explained when she had an opportunity to go through the items he had saved. Her name and phone number were on the box to ensure it was passed on to her in the event he was unable to tell her about it.

  It was time to finalize one last step.

  He watched as the rented luxury sedan pulled into the parking lot of the abandoned warehouse on Finley Boulevard. Mason emerged from his Lexus and strode toward the dark sedan without hesitation. The engine continued running, the parking lights on. As he approached the front passenger-side door, the auto lock disengaged. He opened the door and settled into the leather seat. The dim interior lighting closed in around him and the man he’d asked to meet him. Mason placed his hands loosely in his lap.

  “I was surprised you called,” Leland Walsh announced. “I thought our business was finished after our last meeting.”

  “I thought so, too, until I spoke with her.” Mason knew her better than she knew herself. When she did not refute his allegation, he had known he was right. She would never have permitted Mason the leeway to move on a conclusion that was unfounded. She was far too exacting for such an allowance.

  Walsh had the audacity to laugh. “Really, Agent Cross. I can hardly see the problem. She has every reason to feel exactly as I do, wouldn’t you say?” He turned to face Mason. “An eye for an eye, after all. Except we aren’t talking about eyes, are we?”

  Mason gave a nod, primarily at having his conclusion confirmed straight from the horse’s mouth. “No, we are not.” As he spoke, he slid a hand beneath his jacket and wrapped his fingers around the butt of his weapon. “You made a mistake, Walsh.”

  “She made no move to stop me,” he tossed back. “We both know who’s in charge here.”

  “Always recognize your limitations.” Mason withdrew his weapon, pressed the silenced barrel to the man’s forehead. The dim interior lighting cast an eerie glow on his suddenly pale face. Fear bloomed in his eyes. “Never cross a man who is more merciless than you.”

  He fired the weapon, relaxed at the sharp ping that sent the bullet through the other man’s skull. Then he got out of the car.

  Now to end this.

  38

  Today

  Saturday, April 17

  7:20 a.m.

  Birmingham

  I don’t want to die.

  Turning fourteen hadn’t made her as brave as she’d thought. She had to run . . . she should never have taken that call. She should have stayed home and not sneaked out of the house.

  She needed a way to contact her mom and . . .

  The car door opened.

  It was too late.

  Alice slid into the back seat of the car. She glanced at Tori.

  Tori tried to act normal as the driver pulled away from the curb in front of Alice’s house. Stay calm. She didn’t want Alice to see how terrified she was. She had to play along at least for a while longer. The only thing she could think to do was pray. Didn’t matter whether God had ever answered her prayers before or if she didn’t really know how. Praying was her one option at the moment.

  It wasn’t like she could call for help. After picking up Tori a block away from her house, Alice had thrown Tori’s cell phone out the window. She should have started screaming then. She should have shouted for the driver to stop. At first, she’d been too shocked at what Alice had done to react. Then she’d realized she couldn’t do either of those things . . . not if Sarah needed her.

  Alice had explained that Sarah had slipped out of the hospital and run away because her parents wanted to send her to a psychiatric hospital. Alice had insisted Sarah intended to try suicide again, but she’d persuaded her to wait until they could talk face-to-face.

  Tori couldn’t ignore the possibility that Alice was telling the truth this time.

  A glance at the black bag on the floorboard reminded Tori of another reason she had to try to be calm for a while longer. That big knife was right there in that bag. She’d sneaked a look inside while Alice had gone into her house for something she’d forgotten. If Tori dared to scream or to tell the driver . . . Alice would probably kill her before he could even stop the car—if he even stopped. The driver may have been hired by her family. Maybe he was a killer too. Either way, that knife was intended for hurting someone. Tori was not going to let Alice get away with hurting anyone else.

  “Our destination has changed,” Alice said to the driver. “Birmingport Road. I’ll tell you where to turn.”

  “What the hell is out there?” the driver demanded, speaking for the first time since Tori got into the car. “I’ll have to call in the change. Your card—”

  “Keep the charge on the card.” Alice dug into the pocket of her jeans and pulled out a wad of cash, large bills, twenties and fifties. “You think this might take care of the extra trouble?”

  The driver shot another glare at Alice in the rearview mirror. “I have to call it in.”

  Alice laughed. “There’s five hundred dollars here. Maybe you can make an exception this time.”

  He shifted his attention to the street and kept driving. His silence confirmed his agreement. Tori’s heart sank.

  Alice rolled her eyes before leaning down, picking up the bag, and tucking the money inside.

  Tori’s heart thumped harder and harder as a new wave of fear crashed against her. Why hadn’t she gotten out back there while Alice was in her house? She could have run. Even if the driver had chased her. She should have tried. What was wrong with her? She had allowed Alice to convince her Sarah needed them. After all the lies she had told, how could Tori believe her this time?

  Now she was probably going to die. For all she knew Sarah was already dead.

  No. No one else was going to die.

  Anger shot through Tori. “Where is Sarah?” The thin, not-so-steady voice was hers. The words had burst out of her. Tori blinked, stared at Alice. “When you called, you told me she’d run away from the hospital and was in trouble. We’re supposed to be going to help her. Where is she?”

  Alice exhaled a dramatic sigh as if she had no patience for Tori’s questions. “I told her to wait at the warehouse. It was the only place I could think for her to hide. Her parents would never look there.”

  “At the port?” Tori demanded, her bravado rallying. “How did she get there? She couldn’t have walked that far.” Hitchhiking would be too dangerous. Sarah would never do that.

  Alice nodded to the driver. “How do you think she got there? She called an Uber. Don’t be stupid, Tori. She’s our friend. We’re going to help her. That’s what friends do.”

  Tori held back the other words she wanted to shout. How could she not have realized the guy behind the wheel was just an Uber driver? She really could have run, and he probably wouldn’t have cared. She was an idiot. She had to think. Alice could be lying. Why would Sarah run away and ask Alice for help? Why hadn’t she called Tori? They had known each other the longest—way longer. Why hadn’t the police had a guard on her hospital room? Sarah had confessed to pushing Brendal. Wouldn’t the police be watching her or something? Tori squeezed her eyes shut. The whole thing—the whole story was some kind of crazy lie that Alice had probably convinced Sarah to believe. No way had Sarah pushed anyone.

  Tori understood now what kind of liar Alice was. But she couldn’t risk letting Sarah down if she needed her. Ignoring Alice’s call hadn’t been an option any more than not seeing this through was.

  But she should have told her mom instead of leaving a note and sneaking out. If this was another lie . . .

  “I don’t believe you.”

  Tori froze. She’d said the words. Out loud. To Alice.

  Alice held the bag closer to her chest; one hand slid inside. “Just shut up, Tori.”

  Tori dared to meet her gaze. Alice’s eyes were wild and fierce. She was not kidding.

  “We’re doing this together,” Alice said calmly. “Just like we planned.” She even smiled.

  Probably for the driver’s sake, since he watched in the rearview mirror.

  And they hadn’t planned anything. Alice had told Tori what they had to do, and Tori had done it.

  Tori said another hasty prayer. Since he apparently didn’t work for her family, she hoped the driver wasn’t one of those people who didn’t like getting involved.

  Help me, please.

  Tori stared at that rearview mirror and silently repeated the words over and over. Maybe her eyes would somehow telegraph her plea to the man.

  39

  7:30 a.m.

  Devlin Residence

  Twenty-First Avenue South

  Birmingham

  Kerri cradled her coffee mug in both hands. She and Tori had talked and cried until late in the night. They’d eaten pizza and popcorn and ice cream. It hadn’t been until after midnight that Kerri had left Tori asleep in her bed and made her way to her own.

  She’d slept like the dead. Kerri hadn’t opened her eyes until seven this morning. She never slept past five. Never. Tori was generally up by six, seven at the latest. Kerri glanced toward the living room. Still no sign of the popcorn queen. Her daughter had won the popcorn-eating contest. Kerri made a face. Personally, she might never eat popcorn again.

  Kerri finished off her coffee and set her mug aside. The urge to call Sykes writhed inside her. He was supposed to call her if there was any word on the missing Walker Academy student, Violet Redmond. He had promised to look more closely at the situation.