Beloved: Inheriting Evil, #2

By Paris Hansen

Every great love affair starts with once upon a time. Only some end in murder. 

 

With The Mommy Murderer case finally closed, there's nothing keeping Sloane Matthews from heading back to the solitude of her quiet island home in Washington. Nothing but the lure of catching another killer.

 

Someone's preying on the women of San Francisco, and she's determined to figure out who.  

 

While Sloane helps her best friend hunt for a killer, another one is hunting her. When she reaches out to Special Agent James Cade for help, he agrees. Not because he believes there's a killer on the loose, but because helping her is the best way to keep her safe without telling her she's in danger. Someone's still out there trying to draw her out into the open, leaving bodies in their wake. Cade has a feeling Sloane's worst nightmare is about to come true, and there's nothing he can do to prepare her for it. 

 

There's a storm on the horizon, and nobody's safe from its wrath. 

 

Can Sloane figure out who's grabbing women off the street before another innocent life is lost? Can Cade keep Sloane safe, even from herself? Or will everything blow up in his face when she finally discovers what he's been keeping from her?

 

• Language: English
• Publisher: Paris Hansen
• Release date: Jun 17, 2021
• ISBN: 9798201367244

Paris Hansen

Paris Hansen currently writes both crime fiction and contemporary romance novels filled with strong heroines and sexy heroes. She has a moderately unhealthy obsession with Chris Evans, so if you happen to see him around be sure to send him her way. When she's not writing, Paris loves to curl up with a good book and a glass of wine or watch sports with her nephew.  

Book preview

Chapter One

Once upon a time, there was a man who loved a woman beyond reason.

When he saw her across a crowded room for the first time, he knew she was his happily ever after. He knew she was the woman he’d only ever dreamed of meeting.

Theirs was a whirlwind romance. The kind you only read about in epic romance novels or see on the big screen. He gave her everything she could ever want; a house straight from her dreams, clothes that cost more than the rent on her friend’s apartments. Anything she asked for, he happily provided.

All he’d ever wanted in return was a family of his own — a loving wife and two beautiful children that hopefully took after their beautiful mother.

For two years, they tried and tried, though no miracle came upon them. He was sad. She was not. While he worked two jobs to pay for her house and her clothes and her solo vacations, she lazed around the house all day, having quit her job to prepare for the baby that never came. He didn’t ask much of her, wanting her to rest and relax in hopes a baby would take root. But even the simplest of tasks she struggled to complete.

One day while picking her expensive clothes off of the closet floor, he found a letter and a few packed suitcases, and everything suddenly became much clearer. Words were yelled, heavy hands were swung at stubbled cheeks, yet his love for her raged on. In the heat of the moment, she told him she’d found someone else to love her beyond reason, and something inside of him snapped. Red tinted his vision, and everything around him grew muffled. He had no idea how long the sensations lasted. He didn’t understand what really happened the moment everything changed.

When the darkness cleared and sound returned, his beloved was laid out beneath him, her mouth open, her eyes glassy, his hands wrapped around her neck. A euphoria he’d never felt before coursed through him. He didn’t feel remorse for what he’d done. He didn’t panic at the sight of her. He knew now what was important. What was done was necessary.

Because once upon a time, there was a man who loved a woman beyond reason.

But that man was nobody’s fool.

And the bitch had to pay.

Chapter Two

The hustle and bustle of a busy coffee shop on a Tuesday morning during rush hour was the last place Sloane expected to be. Hope's End had a dedicated coffee shop, but rush hour was something the tiny island had no concept of. That's where she should've been. Home, safe and sound in her sanctuary, away from the confusing way the city made her feel. Well, not the city exactly, but the people in it.

When she agreed to come to San Francisco to help the FBI solve the Mommy Murderer case, Sloane had planned on running back to her secluded cabin the second the case was closed. Yet, she kept coming up with excuses to stay. They were mainly case-related, so she could easily justify them to herself, but once those excuses dried up, she started feeling uncertain about her next step. She should've been ready to head home, but part of her wasn't ready to leave quite yet.

Thankfully, Emily kept her from having to decide. At least not anytime soon.

You know we could've had this conversation at your place since Cooper took Tally to school this morning, Sloane pointed out as her gaze traveled from one end of the coffee shop to the other.

Sure, but then you'd miss out on seeing Coffee Shop Creeper up close and personal.

Is that the only reason you wanted me to stick around? You've done a pretty good job describing his creepiness over the last few months. I didn't really need to see it in person.

It's not the only reason I wanted you to stick around. You know I love having you here.

Sloane smiled over the top of her coffee cup at her best friend. I know, and I don't actually mind being here, which is surprising. It's a little busier and louder than I'm used to these days, but it's better than I remembered.

A lot of shitty things were happening the last time you were here, including my brother being a giant asshole and a terrible husband. I don't blame you for not wanting to come back. There are a lot of memories here, and most of them are traumatic.

I mean, your brother wasn't the only asshole. I have to take my fair share of the blame for how things went down between us. Not the stabbing me in the back part, but the aftermath, Sloane shrugged. I was just as difficult as he was.

As you should've been. He hurt you big time. I'm lucky you didn't cut me out of your life after that. I wouldn't have blamed you if you did.

I could never do that. Whether I'm married to your brother or not, you're family. Hell, you're the only family I've got, Sloane admitted. Now, can we move on to what we're doing here and this thing you so desperately needed my help with? Why did you work so hard to get me to stay, Emily?

Laughing, Emily shook her head. I didn't have to work very hard, Sloane. We both know you were looking for a reason to stay, and I handed it to you on a platter. Just like we also both know, I'm not the only reason you agreed to stick around.

Of course not, there's Tally, too, Sloane said, though she knew exactly what Emily was alluding to.

She couldn't bring herself to make eye contact with her friend. Instead, she looked out the window toward the San Anselmo Bridge and smiled. Maybe she could change the subject and comment on how cute it was that each of the Bridgeview Coffee shops actually had a view of a bridge, even ones as insignificant as the one she currently looked at. Or she could bring up Tally, which was a surefire way to get Emily to forget where she was trying to take the conversation.

You know what I mean.

I don't think I do.

Sloane smiled but wouldn't meet Emily's gaze. She certainly did know what her friend was talking about, but she sure in the hell wasn't going to admit anything. Especially not that a tiny part of her had agreed to stay in town on the off chance she'd get to see Special Agent James Cade again. She had no idea how, or if, it would happen, but part of her hoped it would, even if she couldn't say the words out loud.

Mmmhmm...sure you don't, Emily muttered as she raised her cup to her smiling lips.

Ignoring her friend's taunt, Sloane looked around the coffee shop, taking in the people milling about. It was surprisingly busy even though it was a little after eight. She'd figured most of the rush hour folks would've been starting their shifts soon or at the very least halfway to work by now.

So, tell me, Em. What's the deal? What could you possibly need my help with? You're the investigative reporter. I'm just an author who lives in the woods.

Ha...just an author, my ass. If you're just an author, then I must be the first lady.

Sloane shrugged. I know it sounds ridiculous, but that's what I am now.

Even if that's true, once upon a time, you were one hell of an FBI agent, and you just helped close a case that had been cold for five years. I was hoping you could use those skills again to help me with a situation someone brought to me. I've talked to someone at the police station, but they say there isn't anything to investigate. I think they're either lying or oblivious to what's happening around them. Neither one of those works for me.

Intrigued, Sloane leaned forward in her chair, her elbows resting on the table. She knew she probably shouldn't get involved with anything else while she was in town. Not even something as harmless as helping Emily with a story. Though if the police were involved...or not involved as the case may be, how harmless could the situation really be? With Sloane's luck, things could and probably would turn dangerous in the blink of an eye.

She also knew Reid, her ex-husband, and Emily's older brother, wouldn't appreciate her indulging Emily in whatever it was she was trying to investigate. He'd never been a fan of his sister's chosen profession, though it would've been easier to swallow if she'd chosen something simple like the lifestyle section instead of the crime beat. He constantly worried that some bad guy she reported on would try to find her and make her pay for whatever she wrote about him.

Sloane took a quick look around the shop to make sure no one was close enough to overhear their conversation. When they'd arrived, Emily had chosen a table as far away from the counter as possible for the privacy it would give them. In the time it had taken them to get their drinks, a couple of the tables around them were now being used, one by a woman and two young children, the other by a young man who looked like he was trying to study. Neither one was paying any attention to what was happening around them.

Leaning in further, she smiled at Emily. Okay, you've got my attention.

Not that she needed to announce it. Emily knew it wouldn't take much to pique Sloane's interest. No matter how hard she tried, she couldn't resist solving a mystery—even one she didn't have the details for. Giddiness seemed to exude from her friend as Emily leaned over and reached into her bag to pull out the notebook she carried around with her everywhere she went. Sloane recognized the notebook immediately as one she'd bought Emily for Christmas a year earlier.

Their mutual love of paper products was something they'd bonded over back when Reid first introduced Sloane to his family. Emily used them for her stories, and back then, Sloane used them for her case notes. Since then, they'd bought each other notebooks for Christmas and birthdays. It didn't matter that they both had more than they'd probably ever use; they still kept up the tradition.

A few weeks ago, I got an anonymous tip that local prostitutes were going missing. Not a completely unique phenomenon considering the lifestyle, but over the last six months, there have been at least two dozen women who've gone missing without a trace.

Any chance they've all decided to leave sex work behind and go legit? Sloane asked, though she already knew the answer.

It was doubtful nearly two dozen women would decide to make that kind of change in the same six-month timeframe. The life of a sex worker wasn't glamourous, but it paid well.

It happens, but not like this. Not this many in this short amount of time. And I know if they didn't stop, there are other things that could account for the change. Maybe they moved to a different area or changed how they operated, going more online than on the streets. It's all possible, but none of the ones with pimps would've been able to make those changes without someone knowing about it. There are far too many names on the list I have for it to be a simple coincidence, and no one seems to care.

Did the person who left you the tip tell you what they think is happening to these women?

Emily leaned back in her chair; her lips drawn tight. They think a serial killer is murdering them, and I think they might be right.

Chapter Three

Sloane cocked her head, her brows furrowing as she absorbed her friend's announcement. Do you have anything to back that up? Bodies being the most obvious necessity when throwing around the words murder and serial killer.

Shaking her head, Emily tapped her pen on her notebook. I don't have any evidence, and I don't have bodies that can prove my theory, but that doesn't mean I'm wrong. He could be dumping the bodies somewhere they won't be found.

It's a pretty big leap to make, though, Em. Missing sex workers doesn't automatically mean there's a serial killer out there using the Mission District as his hunting ground.

No bodies doesn't automatically mean there isn't a serial killer using the Mission District as his hunting ground.

Sloane didn't know what to say to that. Her friend wasn't wrong, and she could tell by the look on Emily's face that she wasn't surprised by Sloane's skepticism. It obviously wasn't the first time she'd been told her theory was faulty. Nor would it be the last. Without a body, or in this case, bodies, it would be hard to sell to anyone that there was a killer out there, let alone one of the serial variety.

It was interesting to her that Emily was not only entertaining the idea but completely on board with it. She usually needed cold hard facts to follow a story, but there was barely anything to go on with this one. Just a list of names and an anonymous person's suggestion that something nefarious was going on. Sloane knew there had to be another reason Emily was looking into a case that, on the surface, wasn't much of a case at all. And not only look into it herself but to ask for help.

No one cares about these women because they're considered high risk, Emily started before Sloane could ask her about her motive for getting involved. It's happened all over the country, sex workers go missing, and no one notices they're gone until bodies start popping up. Well, someone finally noticed before there were any bodies. Why doesn't anyone think it's important to look into them? Maybe these women aren't dead yet. Maybe they're being held captive somewhere. What about that?

Sloane sighed, reaching a hand over to rest it on top of Emily's. Her friend pulled her hand back quickly, leaving Sloane's hand to fall onto the table.

I don't need you to comfort me, Sloane. I know I'm grasping at straws here. I get the odds of there really being a serial killer preying on sex workers is slim, but it's not impossible. That tiny margin and the number of missing women, that's what I'm focused on.

Why? You usually need a hell of a lot more to go on to jump on a case. What is it about this case that's got you so worked up?

Emily stared down at her hands in her lap but didn't answer Sloane's question. They sat like that for a while, Emily trying to decide what to say, Sloane, giving her the time to figure it out. She didn't want to be pushy. It was apparent there was a personal aspect to the situation that Sloane knew nothing about. It was really the only thing that explained Emily's odd behavior and the desperation rolling off of her as she spoke about the missing women.

These women have children. They have mothers and fathers, sisters and brothers, friends. They have people in their lives who want to know what happened to them, and just explaining it away because they work in a dangerous, illegal profession doesn't give them that. Everyone deserves answers. They deserve closure.

I don't disagree, but…

I recognized one of the names on the list, okay. That's why this is so important to me.

Emily knowing one of the potential victims and wanting answers was the connection Sloane had been missing, and now everything made sense. If she were in Emily's shoes, she'd feel the same way and fight just as hard to figure out what happened to her friend.

Freshman year, I made friends with a girl that lived across the hall from me in the dorms. Neither of us got along with our roommates, hers partied too much, bringing a different boy home every other night, and mine was a snobby bitch. She and I got along so well. We talked about going to the housing committee to see if we could be roommates sophomore year. We had a solid plan, but then she seemed to change overnight. She went from being the happiest, most positive person I knew to angry and sullen. She started skipping class and disappearing for days at a time. Then a few weeks before the end of our second semester, she was gone. No warning. No goodbye. Just gone.

I'm guessing you tried to find her.

Of course. I was worried sick about her. I called her, checked her social media. I even made the drive down to San Diego to check with her parents. I'd met them a few times over the year, even went to stay with them over one of our long weekends instead of going to see mom and dad. That's how close we were, Emily paused for a moment, her eyes filling with tears.

She blinked a few times as she tried to get control of her emotions. It was so hard to watch her friend struggle. Sloane didn't need to hear the entire story, not if it hurt Emily to tell it. But she could tell it was too late to turn back now. Emily needed to get it out. She needed Sloane to know why the case meant so much to her.

They hadn't heard from her in over a month. They said the last time they talked to her she didn't sound like herself at all. She talked non-stop about a new boyfriend, something I knew nothing about. As far as I knew, she was still single, but the talk of a boyfriend lined up perfectly with the changes in her behavior. Her dad told me he suspected she was on drugs the last time they talked. I was shocked by that. The Joy I knew wasn't into that stuff. She literally personified her name until she suddenly didn't.

Emily paused again, this time to take a sip of her coffee, which had to be lukewarm, if not cold, by now. Sloane watched her for a moment, then glanced around the coffee shop. Fewer people were standing around waiting for their coffee, though now a couple more tables near them were occupied. Her eyes met those of a man sitting at the table across from them. He smiled at her, the whiteness of his teeth magnified by the reddish-brown beard surrounding his mouth.

The man seemed familiar to her, though she didn't know why. Part of her wanted to puzzle it out, but the way he continued to watch her was making her uneasy. In all likelihood, he was harmless, just a man who thought a woman was attractive, but there was something about him that told her he was more than that. Thankfully, Emily's voice brought her attention back to her friend and away from the strange man.

I kept trying to get a hold of her. I reached out over social media and through her parents but didn't hear anything until two years after graduation when I got a late-night call from her. She was sobbing hysterically, asking for help. I immediately went to her and was shocked by what I found. She'd been nearly beaten to death by a john. One eye was so swollen she couldn't use it for a month. She had broken ribs, a broken wrist, a broken orbital bone, and a bruised kidney, not to mention the extensive surface damage. Nearly every inch of her was covered in varying shades of bruising.

Jeezus. Did they catch the guy? Sloane asked, hoping like hell the answer was yes.

Emily nodded. Not right away. Unfortunately, he was able to hurt three other women before he was picked up for something else. His DNA matched what was left behind at the previous scenes. He hadn't only beaten them; he raped them too, then left his semen all over their broken and bloodied bodies. They also had his skin under their fingernails. Apparently, he liked it when they fought back.

Sloane's jaw clenched, her teeth grinding together. She hoped the guy got what he deserved after what he put those women through. She started to ask but then remembered Emily’s friend was what was important, not the guy who roughed her up.

What happened to Joy after that?

She wanted to get clean and get out of prostitution. The boyfriend that got her into both the drugs and the sex work was long gone. She thought she finally had a chance to make a change, so as soon as she got out of the hospital, she went into rehab. We talked a lot while she was there and after she got out. She was doing well; she had a job at a grocery store and seemed happy with her new life. That lasted for three years, and then she was gone again.

Oh no.

I haven't seen or heard from her in eight years. I tried calling. I reached out to her parents again. I even went downtown to see if I could spot her on the streets. To be honest, I thought she probably died years ago. I even stopped calling her parents like a total asshole. Then I saw her name on the list and realized she'd been alive and selling herself for money up until a few months ago. I shouldn't have given up on her.

We both know there's nothing you could've done, she made her choice, and you and her family had to live with it. But I get now why you're so focused on this case. You feel guilty, even though you shouldn't. Are you prepared for whatever we end up finding? There's a chance she might be dead, but not because of a serial killer. She could've OD'd or been killed by a john. Or she could be on that list because she did go legit this time.

And maybe she ended up like Julia Roberts in Pretty Woman. One of the cops I talked to actually said that to me. Like millionaires pick up hookers all the time, Emily rolled her eyes. You know they aren't even working on it, despite being given the same list I was. I know for a fact there are a few Jane Does sitting in the morgue, and since there's nothing in the system to match them to, they're just hanging out there. Why not use the list as a jumping-off point? Find out who the women on the list are, ask their families for help, compare the bodies to pictures in one of the many missing persons databases. I just don't get why they're doing nothing, Sloane. It makes me so fucking angry.

It made Sloane angry too. Far too many people slipped through the gaping cracks of the system. The police probably weren't looking into the case because they didn't have the manpower to do so. Every case had to be triaged, with the more urgent and volatile cases getting the higher priority. Missing person cases were typically the hardest to solve, especially when they involved people who preferred staying off the radar, like sex workers.

I don't know how much help I can be, but I'm in. We'll see if we can figure out what happened to the women on the list. At the very least, maybe we can narrow the list down a bit to women who are truly missing. Then we can see about getting DNA samples added to the database so we can identify the Jane Does in the morgue.

Before Sloane could react, Emily was pushing her chair back, the screeching sound echoing throughout the coffee shop, and within seconds had her arms wrapped around her shoulders, giving her an awkward hug. Sloane could feel the eyes of the employees and the few remaining patrons on them as Emily thanked her repeatedly.

Glancing over Emily's shoulder toward the table where the familiar-looking man sat before, Sloane realized it was empty. Relief settled over her, glad that he wasn't witnessing the exchange. There was something about the way he'd looked at her earlier that said he would have found the moment far more interesting than it was.

I can't tell you what this means to me, she said softly before returning to her seat with a huge smile on her face.

Worry settled in the pit of Sloane's stomach. She needed to make sure Emily was clear in her expectations. There was no guarantee Sloane would figure out what happened to her friend. She wasn't an agent anymore, and she didn't have the connections she once had. The closest she came was Reid, and she'd bet the royalties for her next book that he wouldn't help them even if Emily begged.

Please don't get your hopes up, okay, Em? I can't promise you anything other than I'll help you look into things. We'll probably hit a lot of dead ends and roadblocks. We may never get the answers you're hoping for. Especially not the answers you need about your friend. It's a long shot.

Emily's smile fell, a determined look passing over her features. I know there's a chance we won't find her, but there's also a chance we will. I'll be realistic about the situation, but I'm still going to cling to a little bit of hope that we'll figure this out. If not for Joy, then maybe for another woman on the list.

Alright then, when do we start?

With a renewed smile, Emily started to gather her stuff. I don't have to go into the office. I let them know I'd be working from home today. We can go back to the house and go over the information I have. You'd probably know best where to go from there.

Sloane followed Emily's lead and started cleaning up the table, then grabbed her jacket from the back of her chair. At some point, while they'd been talking, the sky opened up, letting loose another torrential downpour, so instead of heading through the door closest to them, they decided to use the door on the other end of the shop. Before they'd made it halfway to their destination, Emily was grabbing her arm and pulling her to a stop.

There he is. Coffee Shop Creeper.

Emily tipped her head toward the area across from the pick-up counter. Not wanting to be super obvious, she slowly glanced around the room until her gaze came to rest on a dark-haired man standing in the corner talking to a young blonde woman. He was tall, towering over the woman by nearly a foot. She looked a little uncomfortable, like she didn't enjoy making small talk with strangers, but he didn't seem to notice.

The guy in the brown jacket? Sloane asked quietly as she turned back toward Emily.

Yeah. He's just so weird. Sometimes he only orders water, but he always chats up some poor unsuspecting woman while he waits, she answered as they continued to the door.

As soon as they were outside, Emily started to run to her car with Sloane hot on her heels. She pressed the unlock button on her key fob long before they reached it, so they could jump in as soon as they got there. It didn't matter, though; they were both soaked through even though they'd rushed to the car.

You know it's not weird to start conversations with strangers, Sloane said once Emily had started the car and turned the heat on.

I know. It's the way he does it and the way he's constantly bringing up his wife. I don't know. He just gives me the willies.

Sloane laughed. The willies, huh? You know he could be a widower, lonely, and missing his wife. Or she could've left him. Or maybe she's just never around because she works so hard, and he's so lonely he needs to chat people up at Bridgeview.

"I don't care what it is. Since the first time I saw him, I've gotten weird vibes from him. And the day I saw his car at this Bridgeview, then saw him at the one closer to work not even fifteen minutes later...I can't help it. I just keep picturing