Page 20 of The Hanging Dolls (Zoe Storm #1)

NINETEEN

Zoe didn’t like unknowns. But her whole life was cluttered with questions.

The wipers made a squeaking sound against the windshield.

Fat drops of water fell on the car like bullets.

There was no lightning or thunder; just a downpour in this pitch-black darkness that was making her skin crawl.

It reminded her of those stormy nights she spent in tents, sleeping next to that man when she was undercover.

How she would stay up all night because she was so afraid he would wake up and touch her.

How remote she felt from her regular life.

He was of a medium build and no muscles.

She was stronger and trained. But at nights he felt large, his presence looming.

It was when he talked that she realized how dangerous he was, how he weaved magic with his words, and how often she had found herself on a slippery slope.

So she would just stare at the sky outside and wait for the black to turn golden.

“Still not used to the wilderness, huh?” Scott said from the passenger seat.

She knew he was making small talk to distract himself. “I was undercover, part of this man’s… cult for almost two years,” she recalled, her voice barely a whisper. “He was a sick man who had a fetish for impregnating women, and then have them and the kids basically work like slaves for his empire.”

Scott’s eyebrows dipped. “Did he…?”

“No, not with me. He tried at the beginning but I drugged his nighttime tea.”

“What happened to him? Is he in jail?” he asked, hopeful.

She shuddered. “He’s dead.”

“ Dead ?”

The car went over a pothole, spraying arcs of water on either side.

“He allegedly committed suicide.”

“Allegedly?”

“It’s a long story.” She had her suspicions. She knew the man; she had breathed the same air as him for too long to know he loved himself too much to off himself like that. But she also knew that some people get what they deserve.

“When I was a patrol officer years ago, we got a call for a domestic disturbance,” Scott confessed in a shaky tone.

“But I… was with a woman at the time.” His cheeks flushed pink.

“So I didn’t respond immediately, thinking it was probably just a couple fighting.

By the time I got there, he had beaten her up so bad that she went into a coma. ”

Zoe flinched, her grip on the wheel tightening. “Oh my God. Did she recover?”

“She did. But if I hadn’t messed up, it wouldn’t have happened.”

“Why did you tell me that?”

“It’s when I started drinking.” He squirmed, clenching his fists in his lap.

They didn’t talk after that.

The rain continued to hammer down as Zoe and Scott pulled up outside the Bennett home.

The house was a modest, single-story building nestled in a quiet neighborhood, but the flashing lights of patrol cars had transformed it into a dreadful scene.

The front door was open, and from the driveway, Zoe spotted one of the patrol officers, standing guard, his face pale with fear.

Zoe and Scott didn’t waste any time, quickly making their way to the side of the house, careful to avoid the main entrance where officers were gathered. The rain had turned the ground into a muddy mess. Zoe’s hoodie was already soaked through, but she barely noticed.

“We’re not going inside,” Scott said, his voice firm as he glanced at Tara’s bedroom window. It was open just a crack, the curtains inside fluttering with the gusts of wind. “We don’t want to risk contaminating the scene before CSU gets here.”

Zoe nodded, already scanning the area around the window. “Agreed. But let’s see what we can find out here. I’m assuming he didn’t just take Tara and walk out the front door. Is there a back entrance? A backyard?”

“Yeah, but that door was locked from the inside. Her father said that the window to her bedroom wasn’t closed all the way.”

They moved cautiously around the side of the house, the ground squelching under their boots.

Zoe’s flashlight cut through the darkness, illuminating the small yard just beneath Tara’s window.

Despite the rain, she could make out several neatly arranged garden beds, filled with various plants and flowers.

The sight struck her, even in the chaos—someone had clearly put a lot of effort into this garden.

Scott noticed it too. “Tara’s dad must be into gardening,” he muttered, his own flashlight sweeping over the plants.

She stood up, her gaze shifting back to the window. “Whoever took Tara must have opened the window from the outside. I’m surprised it wasn’t locked.”

Scott nodded, moving closer to inspect the window frame. “Looks like they didn’t break it. Might’ve used something to jimmy it open.” He glanced down at the muddy ground beneath the window. “But with this rain, anything they might have left behind is probably long gone by now.”

Zoe’s flashlight swept over the ground, even though she doubted they would find anything. But then she spotted it—a faint shoe print, partially filled with water, just beneath the window. “Wait, hold on,” she said, her heart racing.

Scott moved quickly to her side. “A shoe print,” he said, crouching for a closer look. “It’s faint, but it’s something.”

Zoe snapped a picture with her phone, the flash illuminating the print for a brief second.

“We need to preserve this, even if it’s just a long shot,” she said, pulling a plastic bag from her pocket.

She carefully covered the shoe print with the bag, weighing the edges down with some nearby stones.

“Maybe CSU can find something in the morning. Particulate evidence, something.”

Scott nodded, standing back up and scanning the area again. “They were here. But where the hell did they go?”

Zoe’s mind worked, connecting the dots. “They knew what they were doing. They waited for the storm, knew it would cover their tracks. They were in and out in a flash.”

Scott’s jaw tightened, frustration evident on his face. “Damn it. This rain might have washed away most of what we could use.”

“Maybe,” Zoe said, standing up and looking back at the house. “But we’ve got this print, and the garden. Something feels off about all this. We’ll get CSU out here first thing. Tomorrow morning canvass the neighborhood. Maybe someone saw something. A car, hopefully.”

They turned back toward the front of the house, the rain still pouring down as they walked.

Zoe glanced back once more at the dark, open window, her thoughts churning.

Whoever had taken Tara was calculating, careful.

But they had left something behind, and she was determined to figure out what it was.

The door creaked as Travis Hunter slipped inside his home, the faint light of dawn just beginning to creep through the curtains. His bones ached from the long night, and his head throbbed from the hours spent dealing with Mayor Hicks’ rants and the mounting pressure of the investigation.

That’s why he was happy where he was. He could never imagine running for mayor even though it had been suggested to him at one point. The day people’s lives became pawns in personal ambitions was the day he would fail utterly and completely as a person.

He peeled off his wet coat and hung it by the door, his mind still racing with the latest events. The house was quiet, almost too quiet, as he made his way upstairs, dragging his feet.

When he got to his bedroom, Travis began to unbutton his shirt, each movement slow and deliberate, as if the fabric was made of lead.

He could barely keep his eyes open and couldn’t wait to go to sleep.

Maybe this entire ordeal had just been a nightmare.

He was pulling on a T-shirt when he heard it—the faint sound of the front door opening and closing, followed by soft, hurried footsteps.

He froze, his hand gripping the fabric of his shirt.

Instinct took over, and he moved silently to the door, opening it just a crack.

From the shadows of the hallway, he watched as Ryan slipped inside the house, drenched from head to toe.

He was wearing a black hoodie, the hood pulled low over his face, but Travis could still see the fear in his face.

Ryan’s eyes darted nervously, his body rigid.

Fear crept up Travis’ spine too. The uneasiness that had been gnawing at him for weeks had resurrected in full force. This wasn’t the first time Ryan had come home late with that same haunted look in his eyes.

His training whispered to him that this wasn’t a boy who had never got over his mother’s death; this was a boy who was hiding something. But what the hell was he up to?

His chest tightened, and he rubbed it absently, trying to ease the discomfort.

He knew where it stemmed from. It was something he had buried deep down inside himself a long time ago that was now trying to get out.

Travis pushed the door closed, his hands trembling as he tried to steady himself.

“Get a grip, Hunter,” he muttered under his breath.

He needed to sleep, needed to clear his mind before he could think straight again.

But as he lay in bed, the silence of the house pressed in around him. He couldn’t shake the image of Ryan’s pale face, the fear in his eyes. He closed his eyes, hoping for sleep to take him. But when sleep didn’t come and he opened them again, there was a girl standing at the foot of his bed.

She was young, no more than ten or eleven, her skin pale and waxy, her dark hair hanging limp and wet over her shoulders.

Her eyes were hollow and jaundiced, staring directly at him with a look that sent icy tendrils of fear curling through his veins.

She didn’t move, didn’t speak—just stood there, silently watching him.

A cold fist wrapped around Travis’ heart.

His body paralyzed with a terror he hadn’t felt in years.

He squeezed his eyes shut. This wasn’t real.

It couldn’t be real. But when he opened them again, the girl was still there, closer now, her face inches from his, her cold breath ghosting over his skin.

Panic surged through him. He jerked away, turning over in bed—and there, lying beside him, was another young girl.

This one was even younger, her blond hair tangled and matted, her eyes wide with an unsettling mix of innocence and despair.

She was curled up next to him, as if she’d been lying there all night, her small hand resting on his chest.

“No,” Travis whispered, his voice trembling as he pushed himself to the edge of the bed. “No, this isn’t happening.”

His mother had seen things, too. Visions that haunted her, drove her to the brink of madness. Was this it? Was he losing his mind, just like she did? Was this madness plaguing Ryan too?