The murders started quiet—scattered across Chicago, Harlem, and St. Louis. The victims didn’t seem connected. Different cities. Different lives. But one thing tied them all together: blood.
Not just spilled, but inherited.
 
They were all known descendants of slaves from the Richmond Oak Grove Plantation.
 
Now the bodies are turning up in Savannah, Georgia—and Irish Candy is already on a plane.
 
The killer’s not just picking names at random. He’s tracing lineage like a death certificate, pruning branches off the tree. And Irish? She just found out her great-grandmother was born on that same soil. Her name may already be etched in the killer’s plans.
 
She builds a new team.
 
Genesis Perez—a rookie cop on her very first day in the field. She scored the lowest in Georgia cadet history and was never supposed to be near a badge, let alone a serial case. But Irish sees something raw in her—something the system almost broke before it even started.
 
Moses Moran—a DEA supervisory agent with his eyes on the top job in D.C. Until they reassigned him to a department that doesn’t officially exist. No name. No record. No thank you. Now he’s working under Irish Candy, and every second of it feels like an insult.
 
They don’t want this assignment.
They don’t want each other.
And they sure as hell don’t want what’s waiting in the moss-covered graveyards of the Lowcountry.
 
Because this isn’t just another serial case.
This is personal. For Irish. For Genesis. Maybe even for the killer.
 
Irish Candy is hunting a killer who’s walking through her bloodline with a knife.
She’s got a rookie on her hip, a spook on her six, and her name may already be carved in the killer’s next tree.