The Devil's Daughter (Hidden Sins #1)(6)

“You have trouble—”

“I heard that. The other part.”

She gave a wry smile. “The part where I said my name was Eden Collins?”

Yep, that was it. There was only one Collins he knew of, and it was one Martha Collins, cult leader. He looked Eden over again, trying to reconcile what she appeared to be saying. “You’re related to—”

“She’s my mother.”

This was Martha Collins’s long-lost daughter? The Elysians tended toward nondescript clothing and plain hairstyles—the exact opposite of the woman in front of him. Oh, there was nothing overtly flashy about her long dark hair or her clothing, but something about the way she held herself spoke of combat training. She’s dangerous. “If you think this is funny, it’s not.”

She sighed. “Let’s get this over with so we can move on to what actually matters. My mother and I don’t get along—or we didn’t when I was growing up. We haven’t spoken in ten years, though she’s reached out to me a few times.” Something passed over her face, gone too quickly for him to identify. “That’s not why I’m here. I’m here because I recognize that tattoo in the picture.”

“How? It’s barely more than a blot on the screen.” It’d been barely more than that when he’d actually seen it in person. He was hoping the coroner could get more once they cleaned the body.

The body.

It was such a cold way to refer to a person, even if whatever had made that girl a person had fled long before Zach had ever walked on the scene. Focus. You’re not doing her any favors by dwelling on that fact. She needs you to find her killer. Then you can mourn the loss of life.

If there even was a killer. He needed more information before he determined that fact. While it seemed fucking unlikely that she’d stripped naked, tattooed and beaten herself, and then hiked out to die on the side of a road, stranger things had happened. She could have been partying and wandered off.

And maybe you’re just praying like hell that was what had happened.

He forced himself to focus on the woman in front of him rather than the one on the slab at the morgue. “Explain.”

“I know what it is because I have one.” She shrugged out of her jacket and turned around, her tank top baring her upper back to him. It took him several seconds to find the spot in the midst of the swirling ink marking her skin, but there it was—a small circle with that familiar image in the middle of it. Eden’s was less blurred than the girl’s he’d found, but it wasn’t as clear a picture as he expected.

“What is that?”

“A bat.”

Now that she mentioned it, he could see the rough outline of a bat. Or it would be if a toddler had drawn it. The lack of expertise behind that particular tattoo only stood out against the skillfully drawn art that was the rest of her ink. “Why?” He didn’t realize he was going to ask until the word was out of his mouth.

She pulled her jacket back on and faced him. “It symbolizes death and rebirth in general, and Persephone in particular. Bats are sacred to her because they were thought to carry the souls of the dead in some cases.”

A slow dread uncurled inside him. “You’re not telling me—”

“I am. Every follower of my mother has the same tattoo. Several of them, in fact.” She pointed to her hip and her wrist—the same places that had been marked on Jane Doe.

Fuck me. He’d known something was up when Martha wouldn’t see him and the gates had been barred, but he never would have guessed this. Except . . . He eyed this stranger claiming to be Martha Collins’s daughter. There was no proof, and taking her word for it on something like this was too much to ask. “Can I see some ID?”

She flashed that same wry smile she’d given him before, but she pulled out her wallet and passed a Virginia driver’s license over.

He examined it, and sure as shit, her name was exactly what she’d claimed. “You’ll understand if I can’t just take your word for it.”

“Naturally.” She accepted her ID back and handed him a card. “This is my number. Eventually you’re going to have questions, and I’m the only one who’s going to be willing to give you answers. I’m staying at the bed-and-breakfast for a few days if you change your mind.”

He read the card, half-sure he was processing the words wrong. “Eden Collins, FBI.”

“Not right now. I’m on vacation.” She walked away before he could say anything else, the door to the station closing softly behind her.

Zach dropped into his seat, frowning at the card. “And here I thought my day couldn’t possibly get weirder.”



Eden couldn’t help the sense of relief that settled over her as she crossed the parking lot to her car. The sheriff—Zach—wasn’t going to call her. He thought she was a nut, and rightfully so. She hadn’t exactly done anything to disabuse him of that notion. But she’d done her part—she’d offered her help. It would have been so much easier to call, but her conscience wouldn’t let her. He would have dismissed her out of hand, and she’d had to make him sit still long enough to listen. After that, if he didn’t take her up on it, that was his choice. She could move on with her life with her conscience intact.

He wants justice done. She’d seen that in his eyes, in the way his attention had lingered on the photo of the body, the guilt there an almost physical thing. This was his town, and at least a part of him felt responsible for the fact that a girl had been brutally murdered here.