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He nodded. “I did, but as you know, it might be another day or two before they get here. Right now, we have nearly every deputy in the department, as well as borrowed personnel from Moore and Franklin counties—not to mention community volunteers—all working to find our latest victim.” He shrugged. “We’re doing all we can, but the victim’s mother asked me to see if you would get involved.”

Her recognition as a crime analyst—one who often consulted with local law enforcement—had heightened her profile around town. Not that her assistance had offset the other less-than-flattering stories about the notorious Boyett sisters. Some folks would never change their minds about the past. Didn’t matter really. When those same folks called on Vera for help, she simply reminded herself that even the most devoutchurchgoers would call on the devil himself if necessary when tragedy struck.

“Who’s the victim?”

“Nolan Baker.”

Her eyebrows rose in surprise. Baker was the local reporter who’d harassed her younger sister Luna to no end during the investigation into the cave remains. Vera knew him, all right. Knew his parents, too—in particular, his mother.

“His mother asked for me?” Considering that Elizabeth Baker—Bogus before she married—had made Vera’s life miserable back in high school, she couldn’t help feeling surprised.

“She did,” Bent confirmed. “She’s really worried, as you can imagine.”

Vera did another of those slow nods. “Anything different this time?”

If the perp followed his usual MO, Nolan was in no serious danger. But that could change in a heartbeat.

“Apparently, the perp or someone who knows the perp set up a meet this time. Claimed to have information for Nolan. There was a friend with Nolan—Joel Keeton. He was left unconscious at the scene. He has a concussion, but he’s fine otherwise. Unfortunately, it was dark, so he didn’t see anything.”

The information gave Vera pause. If the perp had changed his MO, there was a distinct possibility that he was escalating. Never a good thing.

“Take me to the scene. Then we’ll talk to the friend.”

If this Time Thief had decided to change his game, Nolan Baker might be in far more trouble than anyone realized.

3

Old Lincoln County HospitalMaple Street, Fayetteville, 7:00 a.m.

The last time Vera had stood in this hospital, her mother was in the emergency room being officially pronounced dead.

The image of her father standing quietly next to the gurney that had been used to wheel his wife into a room, with poor Eve—Vera’s younger sister—flung across their mother’s cold, dead body was one Vera would never be able to exile from her brain. She had hovered at the foot of the gurney in a sort of shock that wouldn’t allow the tears to flow until later, when she was alone in her room.

Grief was that way. It either poured from one at the moment of trauma or buried itself for a later eruption.

That day had been the worst of her and Eve’s lives.

“The room where Joel Keeton was found is on the third floor,” Bent said, drawing her attention back to the present.

They’d entered the building through the old emergency room entrance. The same way she and her family had come in all those years ago.

“Lead the way.” Vera gestured for the sheriff to precede her.

He gave her one of those nods—every woman knew the sort. The kind only a man like Gray Benton could pull off. The vague gesture hadmany meanings.Yes. Okay. Whatever.The impact was in the execution. And no one ever questioned it.

Vera narrowed her focus to the reason she was here. A young man—arrogant though he might be—had gotten himself into what would likely prove to be deep shit. But like most reporters, Nolan Baker wanted the story and was willing to do most anything to get it. She wondered if he felt that way now ... assuming he was still alive. Then again, there was no reason to believe he wasn’t, based on the perp’s MO so far.

Broken glass and other debris littered the floor of the long corridor they entered next. The seemingly endless walls had once been white. Now they were mostly gray, speckled and streaked with something darker from the mildew and mold. Amid the collage of gray hues were a few not readily identifiable stains. On the way here Bent had explained that the chief of police had someone checking on the place each night to ensure there were no vagrants hanging out. Still, without a guard 24–7, it was difficult to keep out those who had mischief in mind. The curious could be a problem as well. Not to mention the desperate, who just needed shelter. Particularly in weather like this.

For the life of her, Vera would never understand why cities didn’t make repairs to old buildings like this and house those with no place to stay, especially during cold weather. Realistically she understood the financial and legal ramifications might very well be overwhelming. But there was just something intrinsically wrong with the idea of people sleeping on the streets when buildings like this one stood empty.

In the end, she supposed it all boiled down to whether or not the city owned the property. In this case they did not. Long ago life had changed from the simple terms of right and wrong to the far more complicated concepts of why and whose opinion reigned.

“You’re probably aware of the stories about the little girl who haunts the place,” Bent said as they entered the stairwell and began the climb upward.

“Eve has mentioned the stories over the years.” She recalled her sister saying there had been television-docuseries-type shows about the old hospital. Vera had never watched any of them. Maybe she would when she got home. The perp had chosen this place for a reason. Learning as much as possible about it could prove useful.

Another flight of steps disappeared behind them with nothing more than the sound of Bent’s cowboy boots, as well as her own nondescript ones. Bent wasn’t a big talker. He spoke when he had something to say. Small talk wasn’t a part of his top-cop toolbox. Never had been a part of who he was. As much time as they had spent together during their brief love affair twenty-odd years ago, very little talking had taken place.