Girl Hidden
Page 1
Girl Hidden
A Detective Kaitlyn Carr Novella
Kate Gable
Byrd Books LLC
Contents
Copyright
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About Girl Hidden Novella
Prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
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Copyright
Copyright © 2021 by Byrd Books, LLC.
All rights reserved.
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Cover Design: Kate Gable
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 written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
This book is a word of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental. The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of various products referenced in this work of fiction, which have been used without permission. The publication/use of these trademarks is not authorized, associated with, or sponsored by the trademark owners.
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About Kate Gable
Kate Gable loves a good mystery that is full of suspense. She grew up devouring psychological thrillers and crime novels as well as movies, tv shows and true crime.
Her favorite stories are the ones that are centered on families with lots of secrets and lies as well as many twists and turns. Her novels have elements of psychological suspense, thriller, mystery and romance.
Kate Gable lives in Southern California with her husband, son, a dog and a cat. She has spent more than twenty years in this area and finds inspiration from its cities, canyons, deserts, and small mountain towns.
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Also by Kate Gable
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Girl Missing (Book 1)
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Girl Lost (Book 2)
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Girl Found (Book 3)
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Girl Hidden (FREE Novella)
About Girl Hidden Novella
Don’t run after me…
A family is found dead in their home. The only survivor is the teenage daughter who managed to escape the burning house.
Who killed them? And why? Detective Kaitlyn Carr has to bring their killer to justice.
A year before her disappearance, Violet, Kaitlyn’s sister, comes to stay with her after a bad fight with their mom. She can’t stand living at home as much as Kaitlyn once did and wants to move in with her.
But Kaitlyn was just promoted to detective and her hours are erratic and long. She’s never home and she can’t take care of a teenager. Or maybe she can?
As she gets closer and closer to finding out who killed the Hendrel family, her own family reaches a breaking point.
What happens when her sister asks her to do the impossible? What happens when she can’t say no?
What happens when the dysfunction of her own family threatens to blow up her face and let the killer off for good?
Girl Hidden is a suspenseful thriller novella set in the same world as the Girl Missing series. It is perfect for fans of A. J. Rivers, Mary Stone, Willow Rose, James Patterson, Melinda Leigh, Kendra Elliot, Ella Gray, and Karin Slaughter. It has mystery, angst, a bit of romance and family drama.
Prologue
She runs.
She runs until she starts gasping for breath.
She runs until her throat burns and her lungs feel like they are lit on fire.
She runs until her calf muscles start to cramp up. The stitch in her side becomes a rip, a gash put there by a knife.
There's blood running down her head from where she collided with the door. It's a small cut, but her head bleeds profusely and covers her in a sticky substance that she first thinks is just sweat.
The ground is uneven and compacted in sand in one spot and others are like silt. It takes her foot and twists her ankle.
She takes another quick step to jump out of it and keeps going. She needs to get away.
Someone had come in the night and attacked her family.
She was asleep when she heard the screams, and they were already dead when she ran into their bedrooms.
Smoke engulfed the house and she didn't see the flames until she started to cough.
She tried to rouse her older sister and her brother, but they refused to move. When she ran into her parents' bedroom, she screamed because they were still sitting up in bed, leaning against the cushions.
Her mom had a book on her lap that had fallen to the floor, but her dad's computer had only slightly shifted as his lifeless body knocked into it.
Plumes of smoke filled the house and she remembered what she was taught in elementary school by a firefighter who had a beautiful white and black Dalmatian sitting obediently by his side.
He said to get down on the floor because the smoke will rise, cover your nose and mouth with a shirt, and to snake your way to safety.
If you're not sure if the room on the other side is filled with fire, you have to try the doorknob to see if it’s hot.
The girl follows all the directions precisely. She was always a good student; she liked to take notes, and she liked to learn things, but this is different.
This is her family.
This is her house going up in flames, and she can’t stay here. As the smoke gets thicker and thicker and she can’t open the window in her parents' bedroom, she tries a doorknob and rushes back into the smoke-filled hallway.
She drops down on the floor and snakes her way into the empty guest room separating the kids’ wing of the house from the parents’.
She climbs to her feet and she runs down the steps, jumping two at a time, sometimes three, and
then out the front door. She keeps looking over her shoulder half expecting the man, the people, whoever it is that killed her family, to kill her, too.
She runs down the porch and toward the gate into the darkness, the nearest neighbor isn’t too far away and if she runs fast enough, she can make it there.
She doesn't have a phone, she doesn't even have shoes, but the girl doesn't stop. She breathes hard and she gasps for breath, but she keeps going.
She was always a good runner, and her mom and dad attended all of her meets. They told her that one of these days, they were going to see her in the Olympics.
So, in the last act of love, the girl runs. She runs even though her feet get beat up and slam against rocks.
She runs even though all she wants to do is go back to that house and to her family and stay there with them forever.
But her dad told her and her siblings that if anything were to ever happen in the house, they were to run, just go, take off, and protect themselves.
That’s what she does, and her world will never be the same again.
1
When I get home from a two-mile jog and a coffee with my friend, Sydney, I find Violet dead asleep on my couch. She's my little sister, twelve years old. She's been living with me for only a couple of days, but she's already expecting me to take care of her as if she were completely helpless.
"Hey, wake up," I say, kicking her foot.
She rouses slowly, raising her arms up and rubbing her eyes. She has long flowing hair with a few highlights in the front and her hands are covered in rings and bracelets.
"You know, you're supposed to wipe your makeup off at night," I say, referring to the dark eyeliner around the rims of her eyes.
She has beautiful almond shaped eyes, but that style of creating a dark outline all around is doing her no favors.
"Yeah, but then I wouldn't be wearing it and be ready to go the following morning,” she says with a smile.
It's all in good jest. I'm making fun of her, but only because I'm her older sister and that's what we're supposed to do, right?
She's here to reconnect. She had a fight with our mom, and she’s camping out on my couch, two hours away from home.
I also know that if she has any plans to stay here long term, that's a no go for me.
I'm a detective with the LAPD and I work crazy hours. I work long shifts and I'm hardly ever home. I’m not exactly the picture of a perfect guardian. But then again, maybe that's exactly what she's after.
While I take a quick shower, Violet comes in and starts removing her eyeliner with a Q-tip in front of the vanity which she has crowded up with all of her creams and lotions.
"It'd be easier if you just wash your face,” I say, grabbing my towel from behind the curtain.
"It'd be easier if you didn't have a million suggestions," she snaps.
She's dressed all in black, which is kind of a new look. Maybe it’s a phase or maybe it’s not.
I have a day off today, so we made plans to go down to The Grove and grab some lunch. It's a big open farmers market with a movie theater, a Barnes and Noble, and lots of restaurants.
Going there was the only thing that seemed to get Violet excited and I'm glad that I could fill my role as the fun sister, as opposed to the nag. I don't like telling her what to do mainly because I don’t like anyone telling me what to do.
I’m a woman in my thirties who hasn't had more than a few relationships that have lasted longer than a year. I like to work and I’m not really looking for anything else.
"Do you want to go to the crepe place? I think they open at eleven.”
She nods her head and her eyes light up. That's the most excited that I've seen her since she arrived.
I'm hoping that she'll actually talk to me about what's going on and what happened. So far, I only have one side of the story, Mom’s.
It takes me a few minutes to get ready. I don't bother drying my hair because it's going to air dry on its own pretty quickly in the LA heat.
I slip on a comfortable pair of leggings, a loose-fitting t-shirt, and flip-flops, my uniform when I'm not on duty.
It takes Violet a little bit longer to get ready, but I'm used to that. Luckily, she doesn't take a shower. Instead, she just piles on some dry shampoo and colors in her eyelids with a dark plum color that ages her at least a decade.
She completes the look with a pair of high-waisted jeans and a cropped tank top.
"You look good," I say.
“Thanks.” She smiles with pride.
We pile into my Prius and drive over to The Grove and manage to only find parking on the third floor up since this place is pretty popular on weekends.
The French Crepe Cafe is located on the far end of the farmers market, back in the covered section. It's not so much a cafe as a stand, but it's a permanent structure, which has been around for at least fifteen years, when I first started going to the University of Southern California.
I order a crepe with Nutella and strawberries for us to split. The portions are more than generous, which is to say they’re gigantic, and we want to save room for some ice cream.
Grabbing a table right next to the thoroughfare, I take a sip of my lemonade and ask about Mom.
"Well, you don't wait, do you?" She smirks.
“You’ve been here since Thursday and you haven’t said much.”
“We haven't had much of a chance to talk,” Violet says.
“Let’s talk now.”
"Why do we even have to?" she whines, twirling her hair on her finger.
"You're here and you're supposed to be living up in Big Bear with Mom."
“Can't I just visit my older sister whenever I want?"
"Of course you can, but you just sprung this on me when I was there. I don’t mind you coming to visit, of course, but I'm concerned. I need to know what's going on."
“Didn't Mom tell you?" Violet asks, playing with her food.
"She did, but she told me her side and I want to hear it from you."
"What is her side?" she asks, crossing her hands demonstratively in front of her chest.
“She said that you lied about where you were. You said you were going to meet with your friend and then she called your friend’s mom and you weren’t there. Mom said that you went to a concert she’d forbidden you to go to.”
I want to ask her why she didn't make up some lie about sleeping over at a friend's house who would actually cover her tracks, but I don’t want to give her any ideas.
That's the kind of stuff that I used to do as a teenager, and it would drive Mom nuts.
“Mom also said that you are always talking back to her. You're closed off."
"How can I be talking back and be closed off?" Violet narrows her eyes.
"You know what I mean."
"Look, none of that matters. Mom doesn't know what's going on."
"What is going on?"
"Nothing. Just hanging out with friends. I don't know,” Violet mumbles. I have interviewed murder suspects that were more forthcoming.
"Do you have a new group of friends?" I try a different approach.
“Is that what she said?" Violet puts her elbows on the table and throws a strawberry into her mouth.
"I'm not here to tell you what Mom told me. I want to hear what's going on from you."
She inhales deeply.
"I don't know. Nothing's going on. Yeah, I have some new friends I met in art class. Natalie, her boyfriend Neil, and her brothers. So what?"
"Why doesn’t Mom like them?" I ask.
"First of all, no one doesn’t like them. They're really popular."
“So…why does Mom not think they are such a good idea?"
"It's not that. She just... I was on the newspaper and I don't want to be on the newspaper anymore. She's freaking out about that. She thinks I'm giving up on it or something but, you know, interests change."
I cut a small slice into the last bit of the crepe trying to make it last longer, wishi
ng that we had gotten two. If anything, it would've given me more time to get more information out of her.
"You know you can tell me anything, right? I'm your sister. I'm not going to tell Mom. I've been there. With her, I mean. She's kind of difficult, but I can help you."
"Can I live with you?" Violet asks, her eyes lighting up.
I hesitate.
"No, right? See. You can't help me."
She rolls her eyes, and the pouty expression returns to her face.
"Look, you know about my schedule. You know that I'm never home and the schools here aren't very good,” I say, leaning closer to her to try to make my point.
Violet licks her lips and brings her eyes to mine.
"There's an art school in Santa Monica,” she says after a long pause. “It's private, but I want to go there. It's not too far from here. You could drop me off or I could take the bus."
I hesitate. She has four years of school to go and I’m not sure I could handle a teenager for that long.
"Yes, that would be great, but it's private, right?" I point out.
She nods and looks away.
"I'm still paying off my student loans and Mom can't afford a private school. How much is it?"
“Forty-thousand a year," she mumbles.