“Grips you from the beginning and refuses to let you go until the very end.” —Elle James, New York Times bestselling author
In the tradition of Brenda Novak and Karen Rose, the latest novel in Lisa Childs’ fast-paced romantic suspense series is laden with Gothic atmosphere and brilliantly plotted twists and turns, as an exclusive resort set on a remote island off the coast of Maine becomes the setting for grisly crimes.
Drawn to the former Bainesworth Manor in the wake of a murder, reporter Edie Stone wants answers. It’s been over forty years since the psychiatric hospital on Bane Island shut down, and the mystery of women vanishing there remains unsolved. But the exclusive retreat isn’t just protected by the dark pine forests and crashing waves of Maine’s rocky coast—it’s surrounded with silence. Everyone on the island is keeping secrets.
Especially the Dr. Elijah Cooke, grandson of the man who headed Bainesworth Manor and the psychiatrist-proprietor of a new wellness resort on the same premises. His desire to help people seems at war with his fierce loyalty to his family. He’s sure the world is out to get him. And as the accidents and coincidences pile up, Edie becomes convinced someone is trying to kill them both. But if she’s close enough to be a threat, she must be close to the truth . . .
PRAISE FOR LISA CHILDS
“Atmospheric, emotional, and well-told.” —New York Times bestselling author Lori Wildeon The Runaway
“Grabs you from page one . . . Lisa Childs paints an eerie, haunting suspense that will keep you riveted until the very last page!” —Rita Herron, USA Today bestselling author on The Runaway
“A page-turning romantic thriller. Bane Island may be a dangerous place, but readers will look forward to coming back.” —Publishers Weekly on The Hunted
Release date:
October 25, 2022
Publisher:
Zebra Books
Print pages:
352
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The sensation of someone staring at him pulled Elijah Cooke from his state of oblivion. He didn’t want to regain consciousness, though, because along with consciousness came all the memories....
As a kid, finding that body twenty-five years ago in the ruins of what had been his family home and business: Bainesworth Manor. And then, just a few weeks ago, another body turned up on the grounds of Halcyon Hall, which was what he and his brother had turned the old family business into—a posh spa for the rich and famous.
But would anyone want to check in again after what had happened tonight? After Elijah’s own cousin had tried to kill him, the sheriff, and one of those rich and famous guests?
He flinched as he remembered the blow from the butt of the weapon and then the gunshots.
He forced his eyes open, then squinted and grimaced at the glare of the overhead lights. Blessedly, a shadow fell over him, partially blocking the light. Was it a blessing, or another damn curse? Like anyone who had anything to do with Bainesworth Manor was rumored to be . . . cursed.
He peered up . . . into the face of an angel. Her features were so delicate, her eyes so big . . . her hair so bright and blond. He must have died. But how the hell had a Bainesworth made it to heaven?
“Good, you’re awake,” a husky female voice remarked.
And he realized his angel was the devil. “How the hell did you get in here?” he murmured.
Edie Stone chuckled. “Security at this podunk hospital isn’t like what you have at the hall. Though I hear that’s not all it’s cracked up to be.”
He flinched, and not just because of the pain reverberating inside his skull. Had David crushed it with the butt of that gun.
“Is everyone okay?” he asked. “Holly? Olivia? Deacon?” He couldn’t ask about David, not after what he’d done, after he’d tried to kill Deacon, who was the sheriff now, and abduct the man’s daughter. And poor Olivia, the guest, had gotten caught in the crossfire of it all, just as Elijah had. That wasn’t all the man had done, though; he’d confessed to other murders, his own brother and the woman he’d once loved.
She chuckled again. “I’m the reporter. I’m the one who’s supposed to ask the questions.”
“Right now you have more answers than I do.” He had no idea what had happened after David had struck him.
“Your cousin is dead,” she told him.
Pain gripped his heart, contracting it. David hadn’t been just his cousin; growing up, he’d been his best friend, the one with whom he and Deacon had found that body all those years ago. “And the others?” he asked anxiously.
“They’re all right. Better than you, actually.” And she reached out, her fingertips skimming along his jaw before she jerked her hand back.
His skin tingled from that brief contact. Maybe he was just getting his feeling back from being frozen. How long had they been out there before help had arrived? But help had arrived; that was all that mattered. A ragged sigh of relief slipped out through his lips.
“I answered your questions,” Edie said. “Now you owe me some.”
He shook his head and grimaced at the pain shooting through his skull. “No.”
“What are you doing in here?” a familiar voice asked.
“Checking on your brother, of course,” Edie replied. “I’ve been so concerned about him.”
His brother, Bode, snorted. “Yeah, right. Get the hell out of here before I call security on you.”
She laughed, and the sound quickened Elijah’s pulse. “What? You’re not strong enough to get rid of me on your own?” she teased the personal trainer.
And a smile twitched at Elijah’s lips.
“Out!” Bode told her.
And Elijah flinched.
“Careful,” she said. “You’re going to hurt your brother’s head. He has a concussion, you know.”
“How do you know? You’re not next of kin. Nobody better have told you anything.”
“Why?” she asked. “Worried I’m going to learn all your family secrets?” She walked toward the door then, but she stopped before she opened it and turned back to flash a cocky smile. “You should be worried.”
“Out,” Bode said. But it was much softer now. And probably not just in deference to Elijah’s concussion, but because he was worried.
Elijah was, too. Edie Stone wasn’t going anywhere, even though she finally stepped out of the room and closed the door.
His brother’s breath shuddered out with relief.
“Don’t be too relieved. She’ll be back,” Elijah warned him.
“I’m relieved you’re alive,” Bode said.
He lifted a hand to his pounding head. “Am I?”
His brother chuckled. “I feel your pain. Or I felt it myself not that long ago. Lucky for us we were born with thick skulls.”
Elijah chuckled, too. “Yeah, lucky . . .” That was something he rarely considered himself, but he had survived. “Is David really dead?” Not that he doubted Edie. She had no reason to lie to him.
“He’s dead,” Bode confirmed. “Even though I know you guys were close, I’m not sorry—not after what he did.”
Panic gripped Elijah’s heart. “Are Olivia and Holly really all right?”
“Yes,” Bode assured him.
“And Deacon?”
A smile curved Bode’s lips. “Since he got to kill the bastard who’s made his life miserable, he’s probably better than he’s ever been.”
Elijah wasn’t so sure about that. Deacon wasn’t like David; taking a life would affect him. How hadn’t it affected David that he’d killed his own brother and the woman he’d loved? How had he done that and continued on as if nothing had happened? What was wrong with him? What was missing?
He jerked, startled when he realized what else was missing. Or rather who else . . .
“Where’s Adelaide?” he asked with alarm and concern for Bode’s baby, his niece. He knew her nanny only worked during the day. “You didn’t leave her with Grandfather and his nurse?”
“No wonder they want to keep you overnight for that concussion,” his brother mused. “You must have been hit really damn hard to think that I would leave my daughter with Dr. Frankenstein and Igor.”
Another chuckle slipped out of Elijah’s lips and reverberated inside his cracked skull. He winced. “So where did you leave her?”
“Boardinghouse,” Bode replied. “With Rosemary and Genevieve. Of course, then I had to tell them what had happened. That reporter must have overheard and beat me to you.”
“Damn it.”
Bode sighed. “She won’t be the only reporter covering this. Maybe we should get ahead of it, do some damage control.”
“Let Amanda Plasky handle it,” Elijah advised. It was better that someone without Bainesworth or Cooke blood in their veins handle the press. “And focus on Adelaide.”
“I will,” Bode assured him. “It’s a tragedy that her mother is gone, that she’ll never get to know her.” Adelaide’s mother, Erika Korlinsky, whose body had been found a few weeks ago at the hall. Tears filled Bode’s pale blue eyes as he continued. “She won’t get to help pick out her prom dress or wedding gown.” He sucked in a shaky breath. “But at least it’s over now, right? David must have killed Erika, too.”
Remembering his cousin’s last words, his last confession, Elijah shook his head. Then he had to close his eyes for a moment until the room stopped spinning on him. “No, he didn’t.”
“What do you mean?” Bode asked. “Of course he did. He was obviously batshit crazy.”
Elijah winced again. He hated that word, hated more that it could be applied to so many of his family members. “He admitted to Warren’s death and Shannon Howell’s.”
Would Deacon ever forgive Elijah for that, for suspecting him instead? At least the sheriff knew the truth now, and so would the rest of the island soon enough; Elijah would make certain of that. He owed his old nemesis that much and more. Deacon had saved his life, and Olivia Smith’s for certain. There had been no way for him to save David, no way for anyone to save David. He’d been too far gone.
How had Elijah missed it all these years? How had he missed how unstable his cousin had been?
And what else had he missed?
“So?” Bode persisted. “Just because he didn’t confess to it doesn’t mean he didn’t kill her. Or maybe that kid who kidnapped the Walcott girl, maybe he did it. Either way, it’s over, Elijah. We don’t have to worry about anyone else getting hurt. It’s over.”
Elijah wanted to believe that almost as desperately as his brother did. But he had a feeling it was far from over . . . and there would be more bodies.
But he kept his fears to himself. He didn’t know who to trust anymore. David had been more than his cousin; he’d been his best friend.
And a killer . . .
How many other secret killers did Elijah know? And would one of them kill again?
Too bad they were keeping Elijah Cooke overnight at the hospital and had transferred him to a private room. If he’d still been in the open area of the ER, Edie Stone would have been able to hear all of his conversation with his brother, who was also his business partner, in the “House of Horrors,” as the Bane Island locals called Halcyon Hall. They would never forget its past as a hospital for the criminally insane and an asylum for the young women whose families had committed them to the place. But even with her ear pressed against the door, she could hear only the rumble of their deep voices through the solid wood. She couldn’t discern any of their actual conversation.
“What the hell are you doing here?”
The question drew Edie’s attention to the woman standing in front of her in the corridor. She’d expected to find a nurse or a security guard objecting to her blatant eavesdropping, but she didn’t recognize the blond woman who was glaring at her through heavily lashed eyes. Obviously, the woman recognized her because she continued, “What kind of parasitic reporter are you that you’re so desperate for a story that you’re harassing Dr. Cooke while he’s in the hospital?”
Edie shrugged. “The usual parasitic kind,” she replied, and she finally recognized the woman’s snippy voice. The last couple of times she’d called Halcyon Hall she had been transferred to this woman—instead of the person she’d requested: Dr. Cooke. “You PR types generally don’t have a problem dealing with us if you want us to promote something.”
Despite how late at night it was, the publicist for Halcyon Hall still wore her business suit. And despite how cold it was outside, she wore a short skirt and high heels with it. How hadn’t she slipped in the parking lot or lost a shoe in the snow that had been falling heavily?
“I want to promote the truth,” the woman replied, “while you’re only looking for scandal.”
Edie shrugged again. “When it comes to Bainesworth Manor, I don’t have to look very hard.”
The woman, who’d identified herself during their last call as Amanda Plasky, sniffed. “The spa is called Halcyon Hall. It hasn’t been Bainesworth Manor for more than forty years. Why are you dwelling on the past?”
“I’m not the only one,” Edie said. All the locals refused to call it Halcyon Hall as well. While the building and grounds had been totally renovated after decades of neglect, its new façade hadn’t fooled any of them into forgetting what it had once been—a psychiatric hospital that had carried on archaic practices long after they’d been deemed dangerous.
Lobotomies weren’t the only horrible things that had happened there, though. Children had been taken from their mothers, whose families had committed them to the facility. The girls had either been pregnant at the time or had been impregnated by someone at the hospital, and then their babies had been stolen and sold. And Edie needed to find them, needed to find the truth.
“Some people need to move on,” Ms. Plasky said. “Like you, right now. You need to leave.”
“We’re not at Halcyon Hall right now,” Edie pointed out. “I have as much a right to be here as you do.”
“Not with Dr. Cooke,” Ms. Plasky said. “You have no right to be anywhere near him. And if you persist on harassing him, I will report your behavior to the police.”
Edie smiled at her. “I’m going to report to the police right now. I was just on my way to check on the sheriff, his daughter, and Miss Smith.”
“You’re harassing them, too?” she asked.
“I’m an equal-opportunity harasser,” Edie said with pride. People had learned over the years that it didn’t matter to her how rich or powerful they were; she wouldn’t be swayed from reporting the truth. The truth was too important to Edie. “But they’re actually friends of mine.”
“Yeah, right, like anyone would trust you enough to befriend you,” the woman replied as she pushed past Edie to open the door to Elijah’s room.
“Ms. Plasky,” he said, his deep voice containing a note of surprise. Clearly he hadn’t been expecting her and didn’t consider her a friend or he would have used her first name.
Edie chuckled, and the woman quickly slammed the door shut on her. Knowing she wouldn’t be able to overhear their conversation, she stepped away from the room and headed down the hall to the other room number she’d bought from the receptionist in the hospital lobby. She probably could have just called Olivia or Deacon and asked them where they were, but she’d been paying for Elijah Cooke’s room information anyway, so she’d had no problem forking over a little more cash to the young woman. With most of the small island off the coast of Maine shut down for the winter, there were few places for employment or for visitors, like Edie, to stay. The hotel had temporarily closed, as well as many of the shops, bars, and restaurants in town.
So Edie, determined to learn the truth about the twisted history of Bainesworth Manor and the Bainesworth family, had checked into the local boardinghouse. To investigate fully, she needed to stay on the island, especially when the only way onto and off it was the four-mile-long, rickety bridge the state police often closed when the weather made it too dangerous to use.
The bridge wasn’t the only dangerous thing about Bane Island; so many terrible things had happened here, long ago and more recently. Like the tragic events of this evening . . .
David Cooke, Elijah Cooke’s cousin as well as the contractor who’d renovated the hall, had abducted the sheriff’s daughter and one of the guests at Halcyon Hall. And he or his brother had been trying to kill the sheriff . . .
What a mess....
And a great story, but not one Edie wanted to tell. Not when she knew and had come to care about so many of the people involved. She wanted to give them time to deal with everything that had happened and to recover fully. And even if they did, she wouldn’t tell their story . . . unless they authorized her to share it.
Instead of barging into Olivia’s room, as she had Dr. Cooke’s, she lifted her hand and knocked on the door first. Only silence greeted her; no one called out through the door, no one turned the knob to open it. It was late, and Olivia was probably exhausted. So Edie turned to leave, but before she’d taken more than a step down the hall, the door rattled and opened behind her.
She turned around to greet Olivia with a smile, but a state trooper in her drab beige uniform was the one who opened the door. The female trooper turned back toward the room occupants and remarked, “Remember what I said. You’re off this case. You’re not allowed to investigate.”
Had Olivia Smith, the pop singer AKAN, become an amateur sleuth?
But it was a man who replied to the trooper. “Remember what I said—you need to focus on the Cookes. David wasn’t the only killer in that family.”
Edie had just been alone in a room with Elijah and Bode. Was one of them a killer? Both? She shivered at the thought.
“David claimed he didn’t kill Erika Korlinsky,” Deacon continued. “And I believe him. I believe her killer is still out there, probably working and living at the manor. That’s why I found her body there.”
“I am going to speak to Dr. Cooke next,” the trooper assured the sheriff. Then she turned back to Edie and stared pointedly at her when she continued, “But whatever I discover won’t be a matter of public record until the investigation is closed.”
“I’m at a disadvantage here,” Edie said. “You seem to know who I am, but I don’t know you.”
“You don’t need to know me,” the trooper replied, but the nameplate clipped to the pocket of her uniform jacket gave away her identity: Sergeant B. Montgomery.
“You don’t want the credit when you catch Erika Korlinsky’s killer?” Edie asked her.
“I don’t do this to get credit,” the woman replied. “I do this to get justice for the victims.”
Edie had more in common with the trooper than the woman would probably ever acknowledge. She wasn’t looking for scandals to report; she was looking for the truth, and for justice as well.
“If that’s really what you want, Sergeant Montgomery, focus on the Cookes,” Deacon Howell advised again.
“Sheriff, you’re off this case,” the trooper reminded him before she walked away.
Edie stepped inside the room and closed the door before she asked Deacon, “Are you really?”
His daughter jumped up from the chair next to Olivia Smith’s bed and grabbed her father’s arm. She was tall, like him, and with the same dark brown hair and eyes. “Please, Daddy, stay away from the hall. I don’t want to lose you.” The teenager turned back to the woman in the bed. With her slight build and the dark circles beneath her hazel eyes, Olivia looked fragile, but Edie had already figured out that the pop singer was tougher than she looked. “I don’t want to lose either of you,” Holly told the woman.
Deacon smiled and assured her, “Yes, I’m really off the case. You don’t have to worry.”
His daughter hugged him. “Thank you . . .”
He clasped her close to his chest, to his heart. Even Edie, a newcomer to the island, knew how strained their relationship had been ever since Holly’s mother died two years before. Apparently it hadn’t been a suicide, as so many had thought, or Deacon’s fault, as some others had believed. Shannon Howell’s lover, David Cooke, was actually the one who’d killed her.
Feeling as if she was intruding, Edie backed toward the door. “I should leave you guys alone,” she said. “I just wanted to make sure everyone was all right.”
Olivia Smith chuckled. “Yeah, right. You wanted to get the scoop.”
“Just on your well-being,” Edie said. “I’m not going to write anything about you guys.”
She knew Olivia had come to the hall to escape from the media and a stalker. Fortunately, the stalker had been stopped, but the media was probably just stalled. While a couple of pictures had already been released of the pop singer, revealing where she’d been hiding the past few months, reporters had yet to descend on the island—probably because of the weather. So Edie would have had the exclusive story had she cared to pursue it.
“I’ll be old news soon anyway, since I’m retiring now,” Olivia said.
Holly gasped. “I know you’re staying on the island, but I thought you’d keep writing.”
“Writing,” Olivia said. “But I’m not going to perform anymore. I’ll leave that to better singers.”
“But you’re so good!” Holly gushed. The sixteen-year-old had worked part time at the spa where celebrities—like Olivia—sometimes checked in for treatment—either from stress or their vices. Olivia had checked in because she’d thought the hall’s security would keep her safe.
It hadn’t.
Deacon Howell had. “Remember, honey,” he told his daughter, “we want Olivia to stay.”
“Yes, of course,” Holly said. “But I love your singing.”
Olivia reached for the girl’s hand and squeezed it. “I’ll still sing for you. In fact, I’ve been working on some new material. . . .”
Certain now that she was intruding, Edie turned toward the door. “I’m glad to see you all survived,” she murmured. “I should get back to the boardinghouse before the roads get too bad. You know how much Evelyn worries about me. . . .”
Deacon chuckled. “My last visit there I believe your landlady actually confessed to putting arsenic in your food.”
Olivia laughed, and as she did, her shoulders rose, as if a burden of unhappiness had just fallen off her. “You’re the best. Please be careful out there.”
“Always.” Edie nodded and stepped into the hall, but before she could pull the door closed behind her, Deacon followed her out.
“Liar,” he admonished her.
She held up her hands. “What?”
“You’re not always careful or you wouldn’t even be here on Bane Island, poking and prodding into the history of the manor.”
She shrugged. “True. But you’re not one to talk about lying. There’s no way you’re really going to stay out of this investigation.”
He shook his head. “No. I meant it. I’m done.”
She narrowed her eyes and studied his face. She couldn’t believe he would abandon his search for the truth any more than she would abandon hers. “I heard you claiming David Cooke didn’t kill that personal trainer whose body you found at the hall.”
“Erika Korlinsky,” he said.
“Did you know her?” She wondered because he’d seemed intent on making sure Edie knew her name.
He shook his head. “No. But she was more than a personal trainer. She was involved with the younger Cooke brother. She was the mother of his child.”
“Oh . . .” Sympathy tugged at Edie over her loss, and Erika’s baby’s loss; now the child would never get the chance to know her mother. Edie understood that all too well; she’d never really gotten to know her own mother . . . even though the woman wasn’t dead. “So you’re not going to go after her real killer?” she asked the sheriff.
“I’m going to trust that the trooper will do her job,” he said.
“But you’re the sheriff,” she pointed out. “Isn’t solving crimes on Bane Island your job?”
He shrugged now. “Sergeant Montgomery took me off the case,” he reminded her.
“And you’re really going to let that stop you?”
“I have too much to lose,” he said.
“The election?” she asked. “Political backing? Money?”
He shook his head. “I’m not on the Bainesworth payroll like my father was. And if I lose the election, I don’t even care, not after nearly losing Holly and Olivia tonight. They’re what matters most to me, and they’ve been through too much for me to put them through any more.”
“So you don’t want to lose them . . .”
He shuddered, as if horrified at the thought, or perhaps the memory, of how close he’d actually come to losing them. “I don’t want anyone I love to get hurt any worse than they’ve already been,” he said. “Don’t you have anybody you care about, Edie? Anyone who cares about you?”
She thought of someone; not the family whose DNA she shared, but of the woman she’d thought was her mother. The woman who’d raised her for the first ten years of her life . . .
She shook her. . .
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