Shaye sat back in her chair and blew out a breath. Sissy had provided the answer to so many questions, but one still remained—had Jonathon’s childhood made him a monster or was he a born sociopath? Had he simply managed to fool Emma until he couldn’t control it any longer? Or had he left Hamet and all his evil thoughts behind when he’d joined the military only for Ron Duhon to recognize him for what he really was and bring the monster back?

“I don’t suppose you know where they lived?” Shaye asked. Someone in Hamet might have known Helen. Might have known more about the boys’ childhood.

Sissy’s eyes widened. “You ain’t thinking of going into that swamp. No, ma’am. I can’t let you do that. It’s the house that bred evil out there. Ain’t nothing good can come from disturbing things that’s best left at rest.”

“If I don’t get answers for my client, she can’t ever be at rest.” Shaye leaned forward and looked Sissy directly in the eyes. “My client killed Jonathon. She thought she married one man and he turned out to be someone else. If I can tell her exactly who that someone else was and why, she’ll know the truth about the man she married. The man who managed to convince an intelligent woman with a nursing degree that he was normal and sane, until he wasn’t.”

Sissy’s expression instantly shifted from frightened to sympathetic. “Oh, that poor girl. I know she did right in killing him, but that’s because I know the truth about Jonathon. Your client don’t have that to fall back on.”

Sissy stared at her for several seconds, clearly conflicted. Finally, she spoke. “I went to the house once a long time ago with some church ladies. We thought we’d bring Ms. Bourg some food and some clothes for the boys. She ran us off with a shotgun before we could even get out of the car. But I think I remember where it was. Maybe not exactly, but I can get you close.”

Sissy reached over and put her hand on Shaye’s arm. “And I’ll pray. You’re gonna need it.”

Chapter Twenty-Five

Emma splashed cold water on her face, then patted it dry with a paper towel. Giving her statement had been harder than she’d thought it would be. The numb feeling that had settled over her that morning had disappeared and with each sentence, it was as if she were living the horror all over again.

It’s over. You can leave now.

She headed out of the restroom and to reception. That’s what she had to keep reminding herself. Her luggage from the hotel was waiting for her at the reception desk and the SUV had a full tank of gas. There was nothing else to stop her from leaving. Hell, maybe she’d get to California, get on an airplane, and leave the country.

Without a passport.

Shit. She stopped in her tracks. She’d been so focused on leaving that she hadn’t even considered the things she had to have in order to establish herself in another state. She had license and credit cards on her, but her passport and Social Security card were tucked away in her jewelry box in her bedroom. Along with her mother’s wedding rings.

She hurried to reception. “I’m Emma Frederick. Is Jackson Lamotte available?”

“No ma’am. He left a couple minutes ago. Can I help you with something?”

“Are the police still at Mrs. Pearson’s house? I need to get some things from my house across the street, and I’d feel better if they were there.”

“Let me check.” He made a quick phone call. “Two units are still on-site processing the crime scene. Best guess, they should be there another thirty minutes or so.”

Emma bit her lower lip. She could always leave her house key at the police station and have Shaye go there later to collect her stuff. But she hated to ask the woman for another favor, and there was always the risk that someone would break in. She could get another passport or Social Security card, but her mother’s wedding rings were priceless.

Damn it. Why hadn’t she thought of them before now? If her mind wasn’t crap, she would have gotten all this stuff the day she was at the house with Shaye.

The police are right across the street. It’s broad daylight. You can call Shaye on your way and tell her what you’re doing.

“Thanks.” She grabbed her overnight bag and headed for her car before she changed her mind.

###

The motel manager flipped through the ring of keys, clearly agitated. “I don’t know why you cops can’t find something better to do than hassle honest businessmen.”

Jackson glanced around the fleabag motel and smirked. “I’d be willing to bet that the only honest thing that’s happened here in the last twenty-four hours was the two of us showing up.”

The manager shot him a dirty look. “I should make you get a warrant.”

“Go ahead,” Reynolds said, “but when we get that warrant, we’ll be sending a forensic team to inspect every square inch of this place. That includes your business records.”

The manager stomped up the stairs and walked to a room at the far end of the building. “The guy paid in advance for three days. Said he was leaving town after that.” The manager banged on the door. “It’s the motel manager. I need you to open up.”

They waited, but no sound came from the unit.

“Is there a back window or door?” Reynolds asked.

“No.” The manager pointed at the door and window on the front of the unit. “You’re looking at the only two ways in and out.”

“Open it,” Reynolds said, and pulled out his pistol, nodding to Jackson to do the same.

The manager opened the door and practically ran backward. Reynolds shoved the door open with his shoulder and moved inside, ready to fire, Jackson right behind him.

The smell hit them immediately, and they both flung their arms up over their nose and mouth. Reynolds headed for the bathroom and took a look inside.

“That’s our guy,” Reynolds said. He reached for his phone as he made tracks for the door.

Jackson pressed his arms tighter over his nose and mouth and stepped inside the tiny bathroom. He had to be sure, and one glance was all he needed. The body in the bathtub was definitely Ron Duhon. Jackson had never met the man before, but was certain he’d looked better. His body was slumped in the tub sideways, his legs hanging over the side. The band around his biceps and needle sticking out of his arm told Jackson almost everything he needed to know.

Still holding his breath, he grabbed a washcloth from the sink and stepped up to the bathtub. Leaning over, he grasped the man’s hand with the washcloth and moved the wrist and fingers. They flexed, which meant rigor had already come and gone.

“What the hell are you doing?” Reynolds’s voice boomed behind him.

Jackson dropped the washcloth and hurried out of the motel. When he reached the balcony, he expelled the breath he’d been holding and sucked in a huge gulp of hot air. “We were wrong,” he gasped.

“Wrong? Are you crazy? That’s Ron Duhon. I’d bet my badge on it.”

Jackson nodded. “It’s Ron Duhon, but he’s been dead at least twenty-four hours.”

“So?”

“That means he couldn’t have killed that paramedic last night at the hospital. He’s not Emma Frederick’s stalker.”

“Fuck,” Reynolds said.

###

Emma broke several speeding laws on the way to her house, but she didn’t even care. As soon as she had taken care of this one last errand, she planned on breaking even more. In fact, she wasn’t even going to consider doing the speed limit until she’d crossed the Louisiana state line into Texas. Then maybe she’d think about slowing down. Maybe.

She pulled up in front of Patty’s house and hurried to the front door. Patty had still been talking to the police when Emma left earlier to give her statement. She had no idea if the Realtor had been transferred to the hospital or was back home, but she’d already decided to drop the key through her mail slot. That way, if Patty was resting, Emma wouldn’t be the cause of her having to get up and answer the door. With Patty’s condition, her breathing was a big concern, and the stress of the situation would probably have caused her muscles to knot.