Beloved (Inheriting Evil Book 2)

  Beloved

  An Inheriting Evil Novel

  Paris Hansen

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  Beloved Copyright © 2021 by Paris Hansen.

  All Rights Reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means including information storage and retrieval systems, without permission in writing from the author. The only exception is by a reviewer, who may quote short excerpts in a review.

  Cover designed by MR Creations

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  Paris Hansen

  Visit my website at www.ParisHansen.com

  CONTENTS

  Beloved

  CONTENTS

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Chapter Thirty

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  Chapter Thirty-Six

  Chapter Thirty-Seven

  Chapter Thirty-Eight

  Chapter Thirty-Nine

  Chapter Forty

  Chapter Forty-One

  Chapter Forty-Two

  Chapter Forty-Three

  Chapter Forty-Four

  Chapter Forty-Five

  Chapter Forty-Six

  Chapter Forty-Seven

  Acknowledgements

  Also By Paris Hansen

  About the Author

  Connect with Paris

  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, tho
ugh 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 o
f 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.