She fought to leave her past behind her, but for Charlotte, there is no escape.

New Orleans Homicide Detective, Charlotte Pierce, was on the hunt for a sadistic serial killer who was known for slicing his prey, when she nearly became his ninth victim.

In an effort to leave her past behind her, she walked away from her profession to start a new life, until a copycat killer hit too close to home.

Now Charlotte must work with the department to find the killer and put this nightmare to rest once and for all, but that means facing her demons, and reliving the trauma she’s tried so hard to forget.

When people close to her start dying, she knows she’s going to be next. Charlotte refuses to be another victim. She won’t let it happen.

Never again.

Chapter 1

I felt the cold slice of a knife as it slid down my left cheek, yet I refused to cry out. I wasn’t going to allow that sick bastard the pleasure of seeing a hint of emotion pass across my face. Chained to a dank basement wall—the only light shone from a small bulb dangling from the middle of the ceiling—I could almost make out the evil glint in his eyes as he took pleasure in torturing me.

“My dearest Charlotte, your detective colleagues will never find you here. You’re all alone.” My captor’s beady brown eyes roamed over my body, and then he ripped my blouse open, exposing my flesh.

I remained silent, determined not to give in to his taunts. Little did he know, I’d called for backup before I entered the premises. Francis Medley—wanted serial killer—and I just happened to be first on the scene once we learned of his location. It was by chance that I was off duty and had heard it called over the radio. My thoughts had raced immediately, thinking this would be it—we were finally taking the sadistic monster down for good. In my haste, and error in judgment, I went it alone without waiting for my partner.

Francis had left a calling card on all eight female victims: a diamond-shaped strip of flesh, expertly cut from their abdomen—death by asphyxiation—but not without torture. Their bodies were left with multiple lacerations—some with their tongues removed—but always, the same calling card. He’d escaped us for nine months, but we’d finally gotten a break on his latest victim, Tracy Harlan. He had been sloppy and left a small trace of DNA.

At twenty-seven, I’d been working for the New Orleans Homicide Unit for only a year, finally working my way up and earning my detective badge. It was something I had always wanted to do since witnessing my parents’ brutal murder at the age of seven. I was bounced around from foster home to foster home, until at the age of ten, a wonderful family, Dan and Leanne Pierce, had adopted me. From then on, they made sure I had the best of everything, making up for the childhood that had been stolen from me.

Francis [AS1] had taken me down with a blow to the head, removing my service weapon, just after I’d deemed the front room secure. He had been hiding in a makeshift secret passageway that I hadn’t noticed—rookie mistake. Now, I was hanging by chains, experiencing a taste of what his earlier victims had before he’d murdered them.

My heart beat frantically in my chest. To say I was scared to death would have been an understatement. When I’d been investigating the murders, I’d always tried to put myself in the victims’ shoes in order to get into the mind of the serial killer—feel what he was feeling: the motive, the connection. Now, I was experiencing it firsthand.

The blade slid down my stomach, making a deep cut, and I couldn’t help but wince. “Scream, little bird. No one can hear you.” His eyes lit up with something that looked like desire, and it sickened me to the core.

This bastard needed to die a long and painful death. Screw the justice system. If I were to break free, I was going to kill him myself, so he could never hurt another living soul. I’d ask for forgiveness later. And where the hell was my backup?

Francis grabbed my hair, yanking my head back so I would look at him. My blue eyes were cold as ice. He held the steel blade close to my cheek. Just as he was about to slice the corner of my mouth, I spat in his face.

Slamming my head against the concrete wall, he released his grip from my coal-black hair. “You’ll pay dearly for that, bitch.”

I glared back defiantly, still not saying a word. Let him come near me again. I had a will of steel—one he could not break.

Rushing toward me with his blade raised high, Francis was clearly aiming to bring it down on my head, but I jerked away just in time, then brought up my knee, crushing his balls. Take that, fucker.

He fell to the concrete floor, and I heard the clang of the knife. Panicking, I searched for it in the dimly lit basement, but the only thing I could see was a toolbelt with metal flaying instruments, lying across a long wooden table situated in the middle of the room. I gulped down my fear and said a quick prayer that maybe, just maybe, he wouldn’t get up. How had I not noticed that godforsaken torture table before?

 Francis was moaning when he lifted himself from the floor. “Want to play it rough, do you? Let’s play a game.” He limped over to the torture table from hell, and I felt my heart nearly gallop out of my chest. If my backup didn’t arrive soon, I would surely be his next victim. How damn long did it take? It was midnight for God’s sake!

I watched as he stroked his knives one-by-one, like they were some kind of precious toys, and felt the urge to vomit. Hot tears were threatening to spill, but I held them back. There was no way in hell I was going to allow that piece of shit to see me cry.

With a sneer, Francis turned around holding a serrated blade in his right hand. “This will work perfectly.” He strode toward me in what seemed like slow motion. My mouth became dry, knowing what was to come. I wasn’t sure if I could maintain my silence any longer once that knife carved into my skin.

I yanked and pulled on my chains, but I was secured tightly to the wall with very little slack. The only part of my body that I could move freely was my torso and legs. If I was going to die, I was going down with one hell of fight. I bucked wildly the closer he came, and the only sound I could hear was the clanging of the chains that held me, and his maniacal laughter.

“Come any closer, and I promise you, I will kill you,” I growled, lunging forward, my tone deep and deadly.

“Music to my ears.” He continued to advance slowly as if stalking his prey. “Keep singing, little bird.”

I shut my mouth, knowing he was getting his rocks off. I decided to wait until he was close enough to make my next move.

Without warning, I felt searing pain in my right leg—the son of a bitch had thrown the knife and hit his target. I held back my cry, throwing my head against the wall. Sweat was dripping down my face. I knew I was losing a lot of blood; my vision became blurred, and dizziness washed over me. Then I felt a whoosh as the knife was ripped from my body, and I sank to the floor with only chains holding me upright.

Another strike, this time in my left arm. Darkness ebbed my vision, and the last thing I saw was the face of evil, masked behind beady brown eyes and long, greasy brown hair, then nothingness.

Six Weeks Earlier

“Hey, Mamma.” I kissed her on the cheek, taking a seat at the oak wood kitchen table situated in front of a bay window overlooking the spacious backyard.

Today was Sunday, and we were supposed to be having our regularly scheduled breakfast, but Mom seemed off, and there was no food on the table. Her blue eyes were red rimmed, and her normally perfectly coifed blonde hair was somewhat disheveled.

Tears slid down her face, streaking what looked like last night’s makeup. “Charlotte, I have something I want to speak with you about.” She took a deep breath and sighed. “You know the young girl your team found the other night, Ginger Walters?”

I nodded but didn’t interrupt. I wondered where my dad was. Mom was a wreck. She was always so calm and collected; I’d never seen her in such a state.

“Before your father and I adopted you, we used to babysit Ginger. I’ve known her since she was born.” Mom swiped an errant tear from her face, then looked down at her hands. “I’d lost touch with her and her mother over the years, but when I saw the news reports, I knew it was Ginger right away. Her face hasn’t changed.” She reached over and clasped my hand. “I’m scared for you, honey. This killer is murdering innocent young women your age.”

“Mamma, I’m sorry about Ginger. I know you’re worried”—I squeezed her hand tight—“but we have the best detectives in New Orleans on the case. We’re getting close. I can feel it.”

Mom stood from her seat to pour us each a cup of coffee. She handed me a cup and then sat back down with a worried expression. “Your father isn’t taking any chances. He’s looking into an alarm system as we speak. I really think it’s best if you stay with us for a while—”

“Mom,” I cut her off. “I’m twenty-seven years old, and I’m working this case. I’ve done nothing but eat, sleep, and breathe it. I’m not sure why you’re so worried; you know I can protect myself.”

“I know.” She looked past me and glanced out of the window into the backyard. “Do you remember much about your life before you came to us?”

I swallowed hard. Yes, I did, but I didn’t like to discuss it. “Yeah, a little.” I took a sip of my coffee as horrific memories of my birthparents’ murder flashed before my eyes. Faint sounds of gunshots rang in my ears, and I closed my eyes to wash away the ghosts of my past.

“You were so young and had seen so much for a child your age. I made a promise to myself then that I would always protect you and keep you from harm’s way.” She turned to look at me with a small smile. “I’m proud of the woman you’ve become, Charlotte, although I worry for you each and every day. The life of a homicide detective… You have no idea what that feels like.”

“Mom,” I attempted to interrupt her.

She held up her hand. “No, let me finish.”

“Okay.”

“It’s a mother’s instinct to protect her child. That never goes away; it doesn’t matter if you’re ten or fifty. I never wanted this kind of life for you, but after what you lived through, I always knew this would be your path.

“Then to learn about Ginger’s death. She lived in this neighborhood, did you know that?” She wiped the tears from her face, but they continued to fall.

“Yes, Mamma.” I wasn’t sure where she was going with this, but I knew I had to let her finish. She was distraught.

“She could have been you, Charlotte. That’s all I can think about. She could have been you.” Mom lost what was left of her composure and broke down into heaving sobs.

I couldn’t take anymore and stood to hug her. She was breaking my heart. Something was telling me there was more to the story, but I didn’t have the heart to ask. She would tell me when she was ready.

“I’m okay, Mamma. I’m right here, and I’m not going anywhere. Look at me.” I tilted her tear-streaked face, so we were eye level. “I’m trained for homicide. I promise you, we will do everything we can to find this sick piece of crap.”

“That’s what I’m afraid of, Char. I don’t want you doing this anymore. Your father and I are so worried, we can’t even sleep,” she said through a sob. “We thought maybe it was a coincidence, but now, we’re not so sure.”

My hackles rose. “What are you talking about? What coincidence?”

Mom straightened in her chair and stared at me pointedly. “I didn’t want to say anything, but after Ginger, it’s all just too much. We’ve been receiving threatening phone calls by unknown numbers, and just two days ago, the neighbor’s cat was left on our back porch with its throat slit.” Her hands began to tremble slightly.

My eyes bulged, and my heart nearly stopped. “What? Why haven’t you called the police? Why didn’t you tell me? Mom, this is serious shit!” I couldn’t believe she would keep this to herself. What the hell kind of sicko does something like that? Kills a cat? The fu—

“Charlotte, must you use that kind of language? For heaven’s sake.” She eyed me with the “Mom look.” “We just thought it was a bunch of kids fooling around. We talked with a few of our neighbors, and they’d been getting the same harassing phone calls. We didn’t think it was a big deal. But then the cat and Ginger…” She trailed off, shaking her head.

“This isn’t something you just overlook, Mom. It could be serious. I’m going to have someone take a look at your call records. Did you happen to write down the time of these phone calls, or remember what was said?”

“It’s been happening over the past several weeks. I can’t be sure, but the calls always came in around eight p.m., and always from an unknown number. The caller’s voice was tampered with or something.” She waved her hand around her head in dismissal. “It sounded automated. He would say things like, ‘watch your back old lady,’ or ask obscene questions. I just hung up on him. He was vile.”

“Did Dad ever answer the phone?” I was livid. I would find out who was threatening my parents. I also wondered if this had anything to do with Ginger as Mom suspected. It wasn’t very likely, but something to look into, at least the threatening phone calls.

“No, you know how he is. He never answers the phone.” She rolled her eyes. “Would you like some more coffee?”

Good grief. We were talking about harassing phone calls and a dead cat on her doorstep, and she was asking about coffee. I now understood why she was so worried about me, but why wasn’t she more worried about herself? None of this made any sense.

“Sure. Thanks, Mamma.”

She set a fresh cup of black coffee in front of me, and I took a sip. “How much longer until Dad gets home?”

“Who knows with him? He’ll probably stake out every security system in Jefferson Parish.” She smiled knowingly. “Sorry about breakfast. I’ve just been a mess, and I needed to talk to you about all of this. I feel better now that you know. Promise me you’ll be careful, Charlotte.”

“I will, Mamma. But you need to be careful, too. I’m gonna see if we can find a link in those phone calls. Not sure about the cat, but I’d venture to guess it might be the same person or persons. If it’s a bunch of kids, they’re probably serial killers in the making.” I visibly shuddered at the thought.

“All right, Char. Thank you. I love you, honey.” She leaned over and kissed my cheek. “Just be careful. Let me know if there’s anything I can do to help.”

“Will do, Mamma. I need to run. Tell Dad I love him, and I’ll see him later.” I stood from the table and put my coffee mug in the sink.

She walked me to the door and hugged me goodbye. I waved one last time from my black unmarked police cruiser, and then took the drive toward the station.