Page 6 of The Hanging Dolls (Zoe Storm #1)

FIVE

“We are back and I’m joined by Regina Warner, a former schoolteacher and businesswoman, now running for mayor of Harborwood.

” The journalist with dirty blonde hair and a squeaky, high-pitched voice beamed at Regina.

“Ms. Warner, you have no experience in politics or being in public office, so what makes you a better candidate than Mayor Hicks?”

Regina snapped back her shoulders, her lips spreading in that easy, confident smile that she had spent weeks mastering in front of the mirror every morning.

“Sometimes you need someone on the outside to stick their neck in and get the job done. I think Mayor Hicks has been too cushy in his job and far too removed from the daily lives of voters.” Her fierce gaze never wavered as she looked directly into the camera.

“But I am one of them. I know what it is like to be a hardworking citizen in this town. I understand the frustrations and anxieties of the people who live here because these are my frustrations and anxieties too.”

Behind the journalist stood a short man in a sharp suit, with a chalky, pale complexion and slick, black hair. He gave Regina a thumbs-up. There were too many cameras around her to gloat at her delivery—slick and effective.

“Is the disappearance of Lily Baker a cause of distress for you?”

Regina looked down briefly before spotting a missing person poster—under the stack of papers on the table.

Her lungs deflated, expelling all the air from them.

The corners of her lips quivered and turned downward.

Lily Baker—a little girl with a mischievous grin, unaware of what this world could do to her.

Below her photo were the haunting words: Have you seen me?

“Y-yes… Lily.” Regina’s voice softened around the edges. “It infuriates me. The fact that this has happened is unacceptable. If our kids aren’t safe in this town, then we are doomed.”

The journalist nodded solemnly and then turned to the camera. “We’ll be back after a short break.” As soon as the cameraman confirmed that they weren’t rolling, she sat back and sighed dramatically. “Someone get me water! I’m parched!”

Regina turned around with a sharp jerk of her head and pulled him aside. Her house was full of people, from the local news crew with all their sprawling equipment to her small team of makeup artists and interns. She pinched the side of her waist, flustered.

“That was epic!” The man gripped her shoulders, his energy almost infectious. “You’re doing great.”

She clenched her teeth. “Connor, what was that?”

“What do you mean?” He dropped his arms.

“You said all the questions were planted. Did you know she was going to ask about Lily Baker?” Regina said, glaring at him.

His eyes twitched and he lowered his voice. “I did but?—”

“ What ?” Her voice piqued and Connor took her by the elbow and guided her toward the kitchen away from prying eyes and ears.

“Like I mentioned before, you’re not polling well with a certain demographic. Hicks is attacking you for failing to represent family values because you’re single and childless?—”

Regina rolled her eyes and blew a frustrated grunt. It wasn’t the first time this was held against her. Like she was somehow incapable of empathy and basic decency without a husband and a child. “This is the twenty-first century?—”

“I know.” He raised his hands in surrender. “But get real, Regina. You need those conservative votes, too.”

She wavered. “You could have given me a heads-up.”

“I needed a genuine reaction. And you gave one. You looked positively disturbed. That will resonate with the voters.”

“Weren’t you disturbed exploiting that for votes?”

Connor shoved his hands in his pockets, a mask of indifference on his young face. “Anything to get you elected. That’s my priority. That and not wasting my time on children I don’t know.”

Connor brushed past her to discuss more questions with the journalist, who had been eyeing him with interest. Regina blinked at his harsh words ringing in her head.

She didn’t realize that the piece of paper with the missing girl information was crumpled in her fist. She smoothened it out, the sight of Lily like a slap across her face.

On. Off. On. Off. On. Off.

Zoe flicked the lamp on her bedside table.

The motel room smelled funny. Not quite like something had died there, but she was convinced someone had left food behind which was rotting.

She was planning on switching rooms first thing in the morning.

Tonight, somehow, she was going to survive and hope that no bed bugs surprised her.

Aiden was staying somewhere in this motel too.

She wondered how his room was. It probably smelled better or he had brought scented candles with him.

She remembered how polished his office always was—gleaming surfaces devoid of water rings or even a fleck of dust, curtains with perfectly spaced pleats, and pens in holders arranged in ROYGBIV order.

Zoe chuckled at the time she had made the grave mistake of not using a coaster and how his eyes had popped out in horror as he scribbled furiously in his notepad.

She got out of bed and pulled open the curtains to view the night sky shrouded in thick, rolling clouds that blotted out the moon and stars.

Wind raced through the trees in the distance, whipping branches and sending leaves spiraling in the air.

Thunder rumbled ominously in the distance, growing louder with each passing moment, as if the sky itself was growling.

Lightning cracked, illuminating the landscape in brief, blinding flashes, casting jagged shadows across the ground.

And then the rain began to fall, first as a light drizzle, then intensifying into a torrential downpour, each drop striking the ground like a drumbeat.

Zoe tied her frizzy hair in a tight bun and put on her black hoodie. She’d received a message from a colleague at the FBI, sharing the location she needed. Her tepid gaze hardened and she stepped out into the rainy night.

She jogged to her destination, having memorized the layout of the town.

A chill tightened her skin. Drops of water hung off her eyelashes, making her vision blurry, but she plowed on.

By the time she rounded into the street lined with single-story homes, her heart was thumping and her legs were seizing up.

She remembered the address. It was the little house at the end of the street.

And there was the truck she had seen earlier in the day at the diner.

Her pace slowed as she made her way to the house. It was past midnight so all the lights were out, and the sheets of rain obscured her vision even further.

She reached the modest house and gave it the once-over. The tattooed man from the diner was probably asleep. She could key his car but that would wake up the neighbors. A quick scan revealed no cameras at the door. She took the simplest approach.

She rang the bell. Twice.

Then she stood around the corner, her back pressed to the side of the house.

After a minute, the front door opened with a creak.

She slowly peered around the corner, careful not to be seen.

It was the man, in his pajamas. He glanced around, squinting in the rain.

He mumbled something under his breath, spun on his heel and stomped back inside.

When the door slammed shut, she crept around to the front of the house and rang the bell again.

This time he swung open the door with a growl. Zoe slithered further around the corner of the house, her jacket sweeping the wet plywood. His boots squelched in the pools of water as he walked down the steps of the porch, his eyes scouring the area.

But the storm had knocked out most of the lights on the streets. Shadows slanted and rippled on the street, occasionally fractured by lightning.

He might not be able to see clearly, but Zoe could see everything.

But darkness was a friend. At least when she was like this.

It was at night when she came alive, when some parts of her that were otherwise dormant suddenly reared their heads.

She slipped easily into the folds of the velvety night, not in the least bit afraid of the monsters that lurked in the shadows.

She lurked in the shadows. She was that danger people feared.

And in the dead of night when the rest of the world slept, Zoe shed the sugary, sweet layers that most people knew.

She became that angry girl whose mother was murdered, and she had to clean up the evidence because of a promise she’d made.

She imagined unleashing all her pent-up rage on this man—the man who was hurting the waitress from the diner.

How satisfying it would be to feel his bones break under her pounding fists; how gratifying it would be to see his blood on her skin.

He would absorb the blows; his body would convulse.

And he would know—deep down, he would know that he deserved this, to feel pain like he made the waitress feel pain.

Because justice mattered to Zoe. And justice wasn’t always served.

The sound of the rain amplified as she slowly let the rest of the world back in. Her senses began to wake up and the red hot rage reduced to a simmer.

The man went back inside the house, cursing. Zoe contemplated ringing the bell again but stopped herself. She was new to this town; she couldn’t afford to get into trouble.

With whitened knuckles and quivering fingers, she shot a text message.

Z: How soon can you put me on the books?

The reply was instantaneous.

Unknown: Are you sure?

She knew that if she slipped once, she wasn’t going to be able to stop.

Z: Yes.