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niece.
The family narrative was that she was at an equestrian camp in the Hill Country.
“Who has her?” I demanded, stepping closer despite the officer’s hand raised to stop me.
“Curtis,” she choked out. “Uncle Curtis. She isn’t at camp. She is at Serenity Hills.”
Serenity Hills.
The name made my blood run cold.
It wasn’t a camp. It was a high-end juvenile continue reading …
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