Heading over, Ellie snagged the opposite end of the sheet and helped Renee even it out so she could hang it on the line. “What happened?”
Renee’s gaze met hers. “The women’s faces were scarred. A couple had plastic surgery to repair the damage. They sued Courtney, but she paid them off and made them sign NDAs saying they’d keep quiet.” Renee released a sigh. “But Courtney just kept on making the product without changing anything.”
“If you two didn’t talk, how do you know about this?” Ellie asked.
Renee lifted her hand to her cheek. “Because I was one of them.”
Seventeen
The Men’s Den, Bluff County
The darkness called him again. He’d fought it for years, but those little girls’ graves had stirred up all the pain and anguish he’d suffered. Suffering he’d hidden for so long that he’d become adept at wearing a disguise.
Even the ones closest to him had no idea the evil thoughts that consumed him.
“Tuesday’s child is full of grace,” he silently chanted as he swirled the amber whiskey in his glass. Country music boomed through the speakers of the titty bar that was situated off the highway drawing locals and truckers. Women twirled and gyrated, showing off oil-slick bodies that tempted the audience to reach for their wallets and throw cash on the wooden floor of the stage or stuff it in their G-strings. The dim lights meant to enhance the atmosphere and provide cover for the patrons who wanted to remain anonymous made him relax, even as stage lights painted the dancers’ bodies in a rainbow of colors.
The one he’d come to see finally took center stage. Her lithe form was silhouetted by the haze of light, the sheer beauty of her striking him as she glided like a cat from the shadows.
He sat up straighter. He was not here for pleasure, but to watch for the perfect moment to strike.
But hell, who said a man couldn’t enjoy his work?
Adorned in a skimpy black negligee with red sparkly heels and silver glitter shimmering off her inch-long eyelashes, her gaze spanned the room. It was as if she was a bloodthirsty vampire sniffing out the tastiest piece of meat in the house.
The music piped up, and she spun around, dropped to the floor and crawled across the stage, her head lifted, tongue flitting in and out like a serpent’s. When she reached the edge of the stage, she stood, twisted around, then dropped her head forward. Her long dark hair grazed the floor as she shook her ass in his face.
Shouts and jeers erupted from the men in the room, and an old fat guy at the table in the corner rubbed his cock.
The woman was definitely comfortable with her body.
Anticipation heated his blood, but not for sex. To have her chained, at his command.
Would she fight or succumb?
Checking his watch, he tossed back his drink, then waved his hand to order another. She had another number after the next performer. But when she finished the show, she would be his.
Eighteen
Decatur, Georgia
Special Agent Derrick Fox slid onto the barstool at Manuel’s Tavern, palmed a handful of nuts from the bowl on the bar, tossed a few in his mouth, then waved at his partner as he loped in. Special Agent Bennett Sanders joined him, ordering a scotch. It was a little early for Derrick to drink, so he asked for a club soda with a twist of lime.
A news report flashed on the TV screen hanging over the bar, and he went still as Detective Ellie Reeves appeared. Angelica Gomez, the same reporter who’d covered the serial case involving his sister Kim and was covering the court case against Ellie’s father, thrust her mic at Ellie.
He braced himself for a story about the dismissal of the charges against Randall Reeves, or one focusing on the victims’ families, who’d screamed incompetence at law enforcement in the Ghost case. Not that he could blame them.
His own family had suffered at their hands for years. His sister was Hiram’s first victim twenty-five years ago, prompting his father to kill himself out of guilt because he’d been the primary suspect at the time.
“Isn’t that the detective you worked with?” Bennett asked.
“Yes.” Derrick grimaced. He hadn’t spoken to her since he’d left Crooked Creek.
He’d suspected Reeves had covered for Hiram and he’d torn her family apart in the investigation. Still, he’d do it again if he had to. He’d gotten justice for Kim and nearly a dozen other little girls.
He and Bennett both quieted as Ellie responded to the reporter.
“Well, that was brief,” Bennett muttered, as Ellie pushed the mic away.
The ice in his glass clinked as Derrick swirled it around. His curiosity was definitely piqued. The investigation had obviously just begun, but Ellie already looked worn down.
“Why don’t you call the detective and ask for the details?” Bennett asked.
Derrick shook his head, tension forming a knot in his belly at the thought of talking to Ellie again. Too much had happened between them when he was in Crooked Creek. They had nothing to talk about now.
He was a by-the-book agent, and her parents had crossed the line.
Then again, he’d crossed it himself by sleeping with her. It wouldn’t happen again.
Nineteen
Crooked Creek
Stopping for a late lunch at the Corner Café on the way back to Crooked Creek, Ellie’s phone buzzed as she climbed from her Jeep.
It was Kennedy Sledge. She let it go to voicemail, then listened to the message before she entered the café.
“Ellie, this is Kennedy Sledge. I thought you were taking some time off work, but I saw your interview this morning. If you want to talk about what happened, please feel free to call me anytime day or night.”
Putting her phone away, Ellie briefly considered a chat, but had no time now. Whispers and stares met her as she entered the café, Meddlin’ Maude and her brood growing hushed as Ellie seated herself at the counter. The nosy busybodies had nothing better to do, she guessed.
“I can’t believe she’s still working for the police department after what her daddy did,” Maude groused.
“How can we trust her?” one of Maude’s hens murmured.
“You saw her on the news. She wouldn’t tell anyone what’s going on,” Fanny Mae, one half of the Stichin’ Sisters who owned the quilt shop in town, muttered. “For all we know, all our daughters and granddaughters are in danger now.”
Ellie curled her fingers into fists. She wanted to tell the gossipmongers to back off, but losing her temper would only feed the rumor mill. Someone had already gotten hold of the fact that she’d seen a child therapist and it had snowballed. It was a game of Chinese whispers, the story growing more dramatic each time it was shared. The latest was that Ellie had had a nervous breakdown and was going to be institutionalized. That was another reason she’d kept her sessions with Kennedy Sledge to herself.
“What’ll you have, hon?” Lola, the owner asked with a sympathetic smile.
“A chicken salad sandwich to go.” There was no way would she eat in here with those ladies. It was a wonder she didn’t totally combust as their fiery stares pierced her back.