He peered carefully at them, took his time with each one before moving to the next, then went through them all again.
“Only one of them,” he finally said. “This one.” He picked up a photo of a smiling woman in her late forties standing on a beach with the waves behind, and holding up a whole sand dollar. Laugh lines crinkled around hazel eyes set in an attractive face. Light brown hair with blond highlights waved to her shoulders.
It was the pic I’d hoped he would choose. “How do you know her?” I tried hard to keep my voice neutral, but Bryce was a sharp cookie and didn’t miss the tension and excitement that leaked through.
“She’s a detainee of Farouche’s.”
“Still? When did you last see her?”
“She was at the plantation on the morning of the day I was shot.” His eyes met mine. “Who is she to you?”
Adrenaline surged through me as a floodgate of possibilities opened. “This is Idris’s adoptive mother. We think she’s being held as a hostage to assure his good behavior.”
His expression went from curious to grim.
I pulled the wedding photo of Idris’s sister from the folder, passed it over to him. “What about this one? Was she at the plantation too?”
After a brief look, he nodded. “Yep. Until about a week ago.”
My pulse quickened. “Tell me everything you know about what happened to her.”
Bryce dropped both photos back to the table. “I wasn’t assigned so I don’t know a whole lot, but Sonny was their handler after they arrived,” he said. “They were brought in from out of state at the same time, but kept separately. Neither knew the other was there.” He tapped Amber’s photo. “I never talked to her. Jerry left with her about a week ago. He came back. She didn’t. I don’t know anything more.”
“Jerry?”
“Yeah. Jerry Steiner. Like me.” He shook his head, distaste curling his lip. “No, not like me. He never loses any sleep over the job. Gets off on it.” He sighed out a breath. “She’s dead?”
“Yeah, she is,” I said grimly. I touched the photo of her smiling and beautiful on her wedding day, then tugged out a crime scene photo of the young woman—naked and displayed with the sigils all over her torso and legs.
His expression went flat and cold. “Raped?”
I nodded.
“Jerry would do that,” he said tightly. He continued to examine the photo. “But the cuts? Jerry didn’t do that. Not that he wouldn’t, but those cuts are too careful. Controlled.”
“That’s specialty work with a big dose of the arcane,” I told him. “But he probably brought her to whoever did it.”
“What was her name?”
“Amber Palatino Gavin,” I told him. “I would dearly love to nail her murderer to the wall, but right now I want to get Idris’s mom to safety even more.”
Bryce’s expression remained dark, but I caught the flicker in his eyes. He wasn’t Amber’s killer, but twenty-seven other ghosts haunted him.
“The mom,” he said after a moment. “She was a nice lady. And being kept as a five-star captive.”
That much was a relief at least. “I can’t imagine Idris’s mom not being nice,” I said. “You know Farouche. Do you think he’d move her?”
He folded his arms, considered. “It’s not a black and white answer, unfortunately,” he finally said. “If he thinks she’s compromised in any way at the plantation, then yes, he’d move her. But he feels pretty invulnerable there. If I was to venture a guess, I’d say that she’ll be there until needed elsewhere.”
I carefully gathered up all the photos and printouts and tucked them back into the folder, then pulled out a photo of Idris, smiling at his high school graduation with his mortarboard precariously balanced atop his unruly mop of curly blond hair. “This is Idris around two years ago. He’s had to grow up fast.”
“Poor kid. He’s in a bad spot.”
I let out a soft sigh. “I’m not sure yet, but I think he may be my cousin.”
Bryce st
ared at me for a moment then gave a sharp nod. “Kara, we’ll get him back.”