Where Evil Treads (Hannah Tree: Private Detective Book 4)

A deadly cult. A desperate search. A detective pushed to her limits.

Private investigator Hannah Tree was ready to enjoy some peace—until a hit-and-run sends her straight into a chilling case of missing street kids, cryptic symbols, and whispers of a secretive cult. When bodies start appearing, Hannah must face a dangerous web of lies, abuse, and power that stretches far beyond what she imagined.

With help from loyal allies and a former cult member whose past may hold the key, Hannah follows a trail into an isolated mountain compound. There, she uncovers a horrifying operation involving child abuse, abductions, and masked predators. As the clock runs down, every choice becomes a gamble—and one wrong move could cost lives.

WHERE EVIL TREADS is the fourth installment in Deirdre Oliver’s gripping Hannah Tree: Private Detective series—a tense and timely thriller with sharp twists and high stakes.

Start reading Where Evil Treads today and uncover the secrets no one was meant to survive.

Excerpt from the book

I should have known, in some inner space, that it would all turn pear-shaped. That if I looked away for even an instant, the storm would break and swallow me whole.

But I didn’t. Sure, I did notice the three drops of rain out of a clear blue sky, but I forgot that the calm before the storm only lasts a few minutes.

And I was calm. I was feeling great after hearing that the cause of the last shitstorm I’d survived had just been sentenced to life in prison. That coincided with the launch of a TV series starring my client, the startlingly beautiful and charismatic actress she’d tried to kill. An all-round great outcome, which included sorting an issue between my boyfriend, Nick, and me.

Because of the dangers in my detective business, Nick had constantly nagged me to stop. But as I hate being told what to do, we were at war over it—until he joined forces with me. After we saved some lives, he saw things differently.

Right now, Nick was away filming in Myanmar and I was building up a head of very robust lust. I had switched on some soothing Grieg to slow that down and had just closed my eyes when the phone blasted me back to the real world. I snatched it up.

‘Yes?’

‘That’s nice’ It was Nola, My detective business offsider. ‘Did I interrupt somethin’?’

She was always cracking on about my love life. It was the only time she breached the unspoken code of us outsiders. You never intruded on another person’s turf. If someone wanted you to know something, they’d tell you. You never asked. And even though we’d worked together for nearly three years and saved each other’s lives more than once, we didn’t. Except for this.

‘‘Ullo, ‘ullo! Ya still there?’ The phone squawked in my ear.

‘Yeah, sorry.’

‘Ya sure yer alone there?’ She snickered.

‘Yes, Nola. How can I help you?’

‘We might ‘ave a bit of a problem down ‘ere at the refuge.’

The refuge was a house in suburban Elwood. The original in a string of houses for homeless street kids. I’d blackmailed the husband of a client—a high court judge—into donating it. He thought he’d got away with doing nothing to stop the atrocities at the club on whose board he sat. Then I came along and disabused him of that notion.

I never said I was nice.

‘Only one?’

There were always problems with these damaged kids. Drugs, crime, violence as well as pimps and other scum targeting them. So, problems weren’t uncommon.

‘Okay, what have you got?’ I asked.

‘Three missin’ kids.’

‘So? Those kids come and go all the time.’

‘Not these three. I want us to find ‘em.’

‘Come on, Nola. Who’s going to pay us to find a bunch of street kids, even if we could.’

‘These kids is different.’ She hung up.

All those kids were different to Nola. She’d become a regular den mother down there. Her years in jail meant she’d never had children of her own, so maybe that was why. As I said, you never asked.