Page 9 of The Hanging Dolls (Zoe Storm #1)

EIGHT

Zoe’s heart was in her mouth. The only light came from the screen of her phone, its soft glow illuminating the brown carpet of soft earth under her boots.

She hated the woods—always had. Ever since she was a kid, there was something about so much green that unnerved her.

And then there was the constant fear of someone jumping out of those tangled branches.

It was some karmic debt she must have owed that made her go deep undercover for two years, living as part of a cult in such a place. Now the woods reminded her of him —the sick man who often got high and chased her in the woods.

“Your heart is racing, Zoe,” Aiden said. He was right next to her. For a second she had forgotten he was there. But that’s how he always was—a quiet but formidable presence.

“How would you know that?”

“Your breaths are deliberate and your face is turning red,” he said dryly.

She ignored him and focused on her surroundings.

The woods were draped in a shroud of dark gray, shadows deepening under the towering evergreens that loomed overhead.

The trees were massive, their rough bark and thick trunks barely visible in the low light, blending into the inky darkness.

A faint, almost ghostly green hue lingered at the edges of Zoe’s vision, from the moss and ferns that carpeted the forest floor.

The path beneath her feet was uneven, a mix of damp earth, twisted roots, and scattered pine needles that muffled her footsteps.

She inhaled the cool air with the scent of wet leaves, earth, and the distant tang of the ocean, a comforting reminder that the coast was nearby.

Her breaths were deliberate—she knew exactly what she was going to find.

The question was how bad it was going to be, so she wanted to prepare herself.

The closer they got to the green dot on her phone, the raspier her breaths became.

Every now and then, she’d hear the rustle of leaves or the snap of a twig.

“Zoe,” Aiden said, lightly touching her arm, making her stop in her tracks. “We have to get along if we are to work together.” His face was earnest and chiseled. The first time she met him, he had reminded her of Clark Kent. “And I can tell you’re nervous.”

Every time she blinked she saw Lily’s face on that missing child poster. It still didn’t feel real.

“We would get along if you’d stop shrinking me all the time. Just be normal.”

A frown appeared between his thick eyebrows. “Do I do that?”

“Yes. It’s annoying.”

Then a scene came into view. A crowd of people stood huddled around a space.

The woods were too thick for any car to get through.

By Zoe’s count there were around six people—three patrol officers, one ranger, and two in casual clothes.

She recognized the back of Scott’s head at the front.

As she got closer, the crowd parted and the sight before her shattered all her thoughts.

A towering Douglas fir, with an ancient, gnarled trunk.

The rough bark was a mottled gray-brown, covered in patches of soft, velvety moss that clung to its surface.

Lower branches, thick with needles, hung heavy, dripping with moisture from the recent rain.

The base of the tree was surrounded by a tangle of roots that twisted and turned, and propped against it was Lily.

She was wearing a red dress, with a strawberry hair clip in her hair.

Her body rested against the trunk, motionless, eyes closed and hands on her lap.

It looked like she was peacefully sleeping against the tree.

But there was a faint smell—something rotten under the overwhelming smell of pine and damp earth.

From the branches hung three ropes. The empty nooses swayed slightly in the breeze. Pinned to the left noose was a small, faded photograph, its edges curled and damp.

A photograph of Lily.

“What the hell is this?” Zoe strode up to Scott, who looked like he was about to explode.

“A ranger made the call. He was out here monitoring the wildlife when he stumbled across this.” He gestured to a man sitting on a big rock, who was being offered a bottle of water. “He sounded messed up when he called.”

“Where is the CSU?”

“Travis is escorting them. They should be here any minute now,” he said, without tearing his wide, fierce eyes from the scene.

Her eyes darted to Aiden. His statuesque figure was stiff and rigid, but his face gave nothing away. It never did.

“What do you think?” she asked him, pulling him aside.

Aiden blew out a breath. “I need a moment…”

“No obvious signs of assault from what I could see,” Zoe recounted, unable to look at Lily again. Too soon. The scene was scraping against her eyeballs. “The rope. Why is there a rope there? Why are there three of them?”

He blinked hard. “He didn’t hang her from one of them, but he could have. The deliberate placement of empty nooses indicates two things—an organized offender and someone who intends to strike again.”

“Are you sure?”

“One-time offenders don’t stage a crime scene, Storm.”

Her stomach tightened. She went to Scott, who was heaving. “Shit.” Zoe patted his back. “You okay?”

“Yeah. Have you seen anything like this before?”

The lump in her throat hardened. It was right behind her.

A dead little girl. Travis arrived, leading a small team dressed in white coveralls.

He introduced Zoe to a wiry man with thick glasses—the coroner.

The coroner’s face tightened at the sight of Lily, but he quickly pressed on.

Travis hung back, his hands buried deep in his pockets, his body subtly angled away, as if trying to distance himself from the scene unfolding before him.

His eyes, however, remained fixed on the spot where Lily lay.

The air was thick with mist and gloom, swirling together as the CSU team moved in slow, deliberate motions, setting up lights in the dark soil.

Aiden’s warning was screaming at her. This was not going to be a one-time offender.

But maybe he was wrong. The thought subsided as quickly as it had surfaced.

She knew he wasn’t often wrong; this wasn’t the first case they’d worked on together.

He had earned his doctoral degree in criminal psychology from UPenn.

And he had written several seminal books on the mind of a killer.

Zoe covered her shoes with plastic bags and put on some gloves. She plucked Lily’s picture from the noose, wanting to take a look before it went into the evidence bag.

What did this rope and noose mean? Why didn’t the killer just hang the body? Questions clamored in the back of her skull. And why were there three nooses?

When she turned the picture over, her lungs collapsed. Aiden was right. There was a note scribbled on the back.

I’m sorry. I’ve already plucked a flower, please stop me from climbing a hill and stealing a star.