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The ground rippled with bursts of roots from the massive trees. Shadows draped over the hulk of mausoleums and oversized gravestones. Obelisks sat atilt like splayed arthritic fingers.

Reese’s earlier unease clenched into a fist.

No-good dirty horse thief is all he was. Lynchin’ was too good for him.

Nice lil’ sidepiece ’til she done and ruined it, spoutin’ off the way she did. Shut her mouth for her, once and for all.

Her step quickened, and she searched for distraction from the confessions seeping from the graves like a noxious, odorless gas. “How long did you live with your grandmother?”

“My mom was an addict. The state took me away when I was six.” His shoulders bounced, but his tone was more subdued. “She tried a few times to get clean, but…”

His voice trailed off, and Reese felt a stab of remorse for summoning his personal ghost. God knew she lived with more of them than she’d like. “My parents died. I lived with my aunt at fifteen.”

“No siblings?”

“I…” Just the thought of Ben was enough to bring the old clutch of fear to her chest.

She shrugged it off, annoyed. She hadn’t seen or communicated with him since he’d gone to live at a mental health facility when she was seven.

Her brother had been seven years older. Some kids feared the boogeyman.

Reese had been terrified of Ben. He’d been behind every childhood injury she’d had.

He’d delivered the push when she stood at the top of the stairs.

His were the boots on her fingers when she’d tried climbing into the treehouse in the backyard.

He’d wielded the stick in the spoke of her bicycle tires, which had catapulted her over the handlebars.

His hands had been the ones holding her head underwater in her bath, long enough to have black dots dancing behind her eyelids and an excruciating roar in her ears.

“He’s in a residential psychiatric facility. ”

She could feel Autry’s avid interest at her response. “But you went to live with your relative. Julia Backworth? That aunt?”

It was both surprising and irritating that he seemed to know so much about her. Reese wondered if he’d researched her or if the office grapevine had supplied him with that tidbit. Journalists were a nosy bunch, even regarding their colleagues.

Her lack of response didn’t bother him. “I landed with my strict English instructor grammy, and you with a nationally renowned photojournalist. Guess both had a hand in our eventual careers.”

I stabbed him thirty-three times, once for every time he forced himself on me. If that means I go to hell, well, he put me there already.

Reese hastened her steps, focusing on Autry’s running litany as they approached the rear of the cemetery. A crack of thunder sounded overhead and she jumped.

Time was a man took care of his own family any way he saw fit. Sheriff had no right coming on my property sayin’ otherwise.

“We’re about to get rained on. Take the grass.

The trail will turn into a muddy mess.” She followed him over the heaving ground and beelined for the fence that was, as Autry had noted, bent and rusted.

They clambered over it, landing on the other side.

Reese lost her footing when she slipped on the slick grass and slammed onto the ground, the breath whooshing out of her.

She was still gasping for air when Autry grabbed one of her arms to pull her to her feet.

“C’mon, we’re almost there.” They ran to the back porch of the rental, her eyes traveling to the neighboring structure.

It squatted ugly and low, its once-white concrete block exterior now stained and emblazoned with graffiti.

No light emanated from the windows. Thorne had driven away early this morning and there’d been no sign of him or the rusted white Econoline since.

“Let’s split up,” Reese suggested. “Go around Thorne’s place.

See if he’s home.” They separated and flanked the house.

It was still, keeping its secrets close.

When they met in the side yard next to their rental, Reese ran to the porch, glad for its shelter against the pelting rain.

Shoving her long, damp hair away from her face, she dug in her purse for the key and pushed the door wide so they could both crowd inside.

Toeing off her shoes, Reese flicked on a light and set her dripping purse on the marred dining room table.

“We’ll take turns showering. I’m first,” she said without a hint of apology.

The man beside her was just as wet but still managed to look like a GQ model.

She figured that granted her some rights.

“Go ahead. I’ll keep watch.”

Swiftly, Reese showered, letting the hot water beat down on her until she was warmed through.

She wished it could wash away the voices that had followed her home, but she knew that was impossible.

Guilt didn’t stay buried. Evil lingered, underpinned by sin or shame, she wasn’t sure which.

It sought out those who could understand, and that unwelcome intuition had been the curse of her life.

Because she couldn’t change what was innate in her, she’d learned to use it.

Reese changed and returned, shooing her colleague to the bathroom while she took up watch at the kitchen window. Running a comb through her tangled hair, she noted no change in the inky darkness outside. Nothing would alter until Thorne returned.

If he returned.