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Chapters (61)
  1. Cover
  2. Dedication
  3. 1
  4. 2
  5. 3
  6. 4
  7. 5
  8. 6
  9. 7
  10. 8
  11. 9
  12. 10
  13. 11
  14. 12
  15. 13
  16. 14
  17. 15
  18. 16
  19. 17
  20. 18
  21. 19
  22. 20
  23. 21
  24. 22
  25. 23
  26. 24
  27. 25
  28. 26
  29. 27
  30. 28
  31. 29
  32. 30
  33. 31
  34. 32
  35. 33
  36. 34
  37. 35
  38. 36
  39. 37
  40. 38
  41. 39
  42. 40
  43. 41
  44. 42
  45. 43
  46. 44
  47. 45
  48. 46
  49. 47
  50. 48
  51. 49
  52. 50
  53. 51
  54. 52
  55. 53
  56. Epilogue
  57. Epilogue
  58. Acknowledgments
  59. About the Author
  60. Also by Catherine Coulter
  61. About the Publisher

Sherlock said, “Puppet master. That sounds right, Detective. Harrington was Kent’s Svengali, a man born without a moral compass, a classic psychopath. And he made sure he damaged Kent Harper’s compass enough to manipulate him.”

Juliet pointed. “Look!”

The circle around the grave tightened. They saw a swatch of black hair spilling out of a rotten, molding tarp. One of the forensics team looked directly at Sherlock and nodded. “I think we found her.”

Sherlock said, “Tommy, Mia, Juliet, all of you, walk away now.”

Mia choked on a sob, but she didn’t move. “I’m not going anywhere.” She turned to Tommy, saw tears shining in his eyes, and pulled him to her. Juliet gathered them both in her arms, squeezed tight. “You found her, Tommy, Mia. You guys did it, you did it.”

Mia whispered, her voice liquid with tears, “It wasn’t a week ago Gail Ricci sent me those photos. Less than a week when it all started.”

Sherlock said quietly, “And now, because of you, it’s over, Mia.”

Mia, Tommy, and Juliet stood silent, holding one another’s hands as the tarp was lifted carefully out of the ground. Mia felt so many things at once, relief they’d found Serena, fury at the men who’d put her here, and relentless grief. Beside her, Tommy seemed frozen, no expression on his face, barely breathing. How could she comfort him when she wanted to curl up and sob? Juliet leaned into Mia and pulled her closer. Mia was grateful Juliet had asked to come, said it was important to her to see it through.

The wind had died down but the air was cold and damp. Detective Hoolihan had stood beside too many graves in his thirty-two-year career. None of them had ever been easy, some, like this one, a punch to the heart. He looked over at Mia Briscoe and Thomas Maitland, at Agent Sherlock, their anchor, their support. He had to admit he’d been lucky she’d asked to be included in his investigation.

Life, Hoolihan had found, happened in ways that always surprised you. At least for Serena Winters, there would finally be justice, even if it was seven long years in coming. He looked over at the amazing young woman, Mia Briscoe. She’d never forgotten and once she had the photos, she hadn’t stopped. He looked again at Serena Winters’s grave and wondered if there was ever any real peace at the end of a road like this.

Police Chief Moseley thought of the fat file that had sat on his desk for so long the pages were yellowed. Seven years, but he’d never had the heart to file it away. And in that thick file had been the blessed photo of Harrington’s Jaguar that would bring justice. Quietly, he said the Lord’s Prayer.

52

Mia

Alex Harrington’s Brownstone

Upper East Side

New York City

Saturday evening