Return To Falcon Ridge. Rita Herron
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all down.
Their terrified screams and cries of horror haunted her at night. The innocent babies stolen from their families, crying for their mothers long into the twilight. The girls’ hollow, empty eyes filled with anguish as their own young were viciously stripped away, their bodies left with gaping holes where life had once grown, replaced with a pain so deep that it clawed at their insides, all the way to the cores of their very being.
All because of her husband.
No, it had been her fault.
She gasped for air, the acrid burn of her stomach rising to her throat. In her mind, the image of his charred body taunted her. God help her. She should have tried to help him.
But she hadn’t. He had deserved to die, just as she did.
Her chest felt heavy. Her limbs weighted. Her head was spinning. Tiny dots of lights twirled, then faded.
Hattie Mae went limp, too close to death to struggle any longer, ready to welcome the peace if any existed.
Please, God, forgive me. I will find a way to expose the sinful secrets of Wildcat Manor, she silently vowed. And to atone for my sins, if you let me.
A black cauldron of despair swallowed her. She had no power in death. Her soul was lost completely.
Unless she found a way to return from the grave to haunt him.
Two weeks later
ELSIE TIMMONS STARED at the letter from Hattie Mae Hodges in shock. She hadn’t heard from the woman in ten years, had not spoken to her or heard Howard Hodges’s name during that time, either. But their faces and the ghosts of Wildcat Manor had followed her everywhere she’d been.
And she’d lived all over the South since. Running from town to town. From name to name. Hiding out. Trying to find her way. Trying to escape the darkness and evil that tainted her own soul.
She blinked back tears of pain and fear as memories washed over her in a blinding rush. She had to compartmentalize them as she’d always done. It was the only way she’d survived.
Then she began to read.
Dear Elsie,
I hope this letter finds you well. Unfortunately, if you’ve received it, it means that I’m no longer alive. I carry my sins with me, my dear, but I want you to know how much I regret letting you girls down. I know I offered you hope yet stood idly by and allowed you to be robbed of that and so much more.
God may never forgive me, Elsie, but that’s my cross to bear. I don’t deserve your forgiveness, but I heard that you were a social worker now. You will do the good I should have done. For that reason, I am leaving Wildcat Manor to you in hopes that you’ll turn it into the kind of place it should have been.
May God be with you, child, and protect you always.
Hattie Mae Hodges
Elsie’s hand trembled at the mere thought of returning to Wildcat Manor. Vivid images of Howard Hodges’s body erupting into flames cut into her thoughts, the nightmares that destroyed her sleep shifting in front of her eyes. Outside, the wind howled through the mountains, the brisk temperature swirling through the thin rattling window panes, the ominous clouds threatening a snowstorm or at the least, heavy rains.
Her hand fell to her stomach as other memories flooded her. The shrill screams of the girls. The scent of chemicals and dust and…bodily fluids. The beady eyes of their tormentor flickering in the darkness as he approached in the heat of the night. The hollow feeling that consumed her afterward, the devastating pain of knowing that she had lost everything.
That she was not worthy of love.
No, she could not return to Wildcat Manor. Not now. Not ever.
Not even to try and make things right.
DEKE HAD SPENT TWO WEEKS tracking down Elsie Timmons. First to a hovel in Nashville. Then to Alabama. Then to Georgia. And now back to Tennessee to a small town set so deep into the mountains that a person might get lost forever.
But he and his brothers had expert resources. Their private investigative business had been housed in Arizona for the past few years, but with Rex’s return to Falcon Ridge, they had established a second office at Falcon Ridge.
Elsie was on the run. Never stayed in one place for very long. Which meant she was either scared or hiding something.
Determined to find the answers, he parked in front of Bodine’s B & B, then made his way up the sloped, graveled drive. A view of the mountains offered a peaceful retreat for guests, the valleys and gorges behind almost as magnificent as the ones in Colorado. A handmade wreath adorned the front door, composed of dried flowers and ribbons, and a three-foot-tall metal sculpture of a covered wagon graced the porch, flanked by two rocking chairs and an empty whiskey barrel.
Maybe the case would be a piece of cake. He’d introduce himself, inform Elsie that her mother had sent him looking for her and she’d jump at the chance to go home. The hair on the back of his neck bristled, though, mocking his theory.
The cold winter wind beat at his leather bomber jacket as he turned the doorknob, the scent of pine and cinnamon apples enveloping him as he strode toward the desk.
“Deke Falcon, Miss Bodine.” He tipped his head in greeting. “I’m here to see Elsie Timmons.”
The owner peered at him over wire-rimmed glasses. “Don’t have anyone by that name.”
Damn. What name had she used here? “Can you try Elsie Thyme?” She’d used that one in school. “I’m a friend of her mother’s,” he said, when she continued to scrutinize him. “She sent me for Elsie.”
“Oh, dear, Elsie didn’t mention her folks.”
He nodded, not surprised, then noted her name tag said Beverly, so decided to sway her with a lie. “Beverly, Elsie’s mother’s not well right now. I…thought she should know.”
“Oh, of course. I hope it’s nothing too serious.”
Just heartsick from missing her child. “She should recover, but she’s asking for her. You understand.”
Beverly clucked her tongue in compassion, then visibly relaxed. “I sure do, honey. Elsie’s in room five, upstairs.”
Deke nodded, then climbed the steps, and knocked. Finally a woman opened the door.
For a moment, the breath was trapped in his lungs as he stared at her. While Elsie had been cute as a child, with eyes so big they had dominated her face, now she was a stunning woman. Her long dark hair lay in curls around a heart-shaped face, falling down her back, the natural highlights complemented by her gold sweater and her flowing skirt. Her skin glowed as if it had been kissed by the sun, and her lips were a natural rosy color that drew his eyes to her mouth. Such a sensuous mouth. Her lips would be soft. Supple. Tender.
She tensed as if he had offended her with his look, her long dark lashes fluttering. “Excuse me, who are you?”
He cleared his throat. Fear darkened the brown depths of her huge eyes, but shades of gold and oranges like the burnished copper of the sunset after a hot day mingled with the brown.
“I’m Deke Falcon, a private investigator,” he said in a gruff voice. “You’re Elsie Timmons, right?”
Her eyes widened even farther. “I’m sorry, you have the wrong room. My name is Elsie Thyme.”
He stared at her dead-on, willing her to confess the lie. Instead, she shoved the door closed in his face. He stood for several seconds, then knocked again, but she refused to answer. Damn it, he shouldn’t have told her he was a P.I.
Frustrated but unwilling to give up, he descended the stairs, grateful Beverly Bodine wasn’t at the desk, then decided to wait outside. A short time later, he was slumped low in the seat of his Range Rover as she rushed outside with a suitcase in her hand.
She