Prologue

      The doll was getting to him. Even though Travis McSwain wasn’t a man easily spooked. She was so lifelike that anyone glancing through the shop window might mistake her for a pretty, little, blond-haired girl.

      But up close, the eyes gave her away. They looked like pieces of turquoise. Travis had never seen real eyes that color.

      He didn’t like staring at her for too long because his mind kept playing tricks on him. Earlier, when he’d packed her up to bring her into the city, he could have sworn those glass eyes followed his every move. They gave him the chills so bad he’d had half a mind to chuck her in the swamp. But he needed the money and so here he was.

      The shopkeeper glanced up from her inspection. “She’s stunning. Absolutely breathtaking. If you’ll just give me a few more minutes we can discuss your payment terms.”

      “Take your time,” Travis muttered, but he wished to hell the woman would hurry up. The sooner he got rid of the doll the sooner he’d breathe a lot easier.

      Something about that porcelain face creeped him out. It was almost as if Travis had seen her before, in a dream maybe, but he didn’t know how that could be possible. She was one of a kind.

      He’d gone up to the old Sweete place looking for work, and when he spotted the doll through the front window, he’d decided to snatch her, because that’s what he did. He took things that didn’t belong to him. It was some kind of sickness, he reckoned.

      Before his Pentecostal mother went off the deep end, she used to weep and pray for his immortal soul, but his daddy had favored another approach. Whenever Travis got caught using the five-finger discount, the old man would take a belt to his hide, work him over good until his back and butt cheeks resembled raw steak.

      But after the first time Travis got sent off to juvenile detention in St. James Parish, Cletus McSwain’s attitude had changed. He’d pretty much washed his hands of his son. “One of these days you’ll pinch from the wrong person, boy, and end up with a bullet right between the eyeballs. And when that happens, I’ll be damned if I shed a tear over your sorry ass.”

      Well, that was fair. Because Travis sure as hell hadn’t done much crying when the pious old bastard got swept off a shrimp boat and drowned in the Gulf. And now here Travis stood, right