by Leslie Wolfe
The Angel Creek Girls
A totally addictive crime thriller packed full of suspense
Leslie Wolfe
Books by Leslie Wolfe
Detective kay sharp series
1. The Girl From Silent Lake
2. Beneath Blackwater River
3. The Angel Creek Girls
Tess winnett series
Dawn Girl
The Watson Girl
Glimpse of Death
Taker of Lives
Not Really Dead
Girl With A Rose
Mile High Death
Baxter & holt series
Las Vegas Girl
Casino Girl
Las Vegas Crime
Standalone titles
Stories Untold
Love, Lies and Murder
Alex hoffmann series
Executive
Devil’s Move
The Backup Asset
The Ghost Pattern
Operation Sunset
Available in Audio
Detective kay sharp series
1. The Girl From Silent Lake (available in the UK and in the US)
2. Beneath Blackwater River (available in the UK and in the US)
3. The Angel Creek Girls
Contents
Acknowledgments
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
Chapter 42
Chapter 43
Chapter 44
Chapter 45
Chapter 46
Chapter 47
Chapter 48
Chapter 49
Chapter 50
Chapter 51
Chapter 52
Chapter 53
Chapter 54
Hear more about the Detective Kay Sharp series
Books by Leslie Wolfe
Beneath Blackwater River
The Girl from Silent Lake
A Letter from Leslie
From the Author
Acknowledgments
A special thank you to my New York City legal eagle and friend, Mark Freyberg, who expertly guided me through the intricacies of the judicial system.
1
The Guest
A quick rap against the dark window startled Cheryl.
The knife veered sideways in her trembling hand, stabbing the flesh of her finger, right where it held the carrot in place on the cutting board.
She whimpered quietly and put the throbbing finger in her mouth, easing the pain, while she stared into the pitch blackness outside the window.
Was Julie finally coming home? What in the world had possessed her to let her sixteen-year-old daughter go out when they should’ve been long gone by now? She’d told Julie she needed to come home early, but nothing stuck to that child, regardless of what had happened. Where could she be on a stormy night like this? Probably with that new boyfriend of hers, making out in his truck somewhere, completely forgetting everything they’d talked about. And still, she couldn’t be too mad at her; the poor girl had been through hell over the past two days. She just hoped she wasn’t sharing too much with that boyfriend of hers.
Another rap against the window, lifting hope in her chest only to send it plummeting a moment later. It was just rain, falling harder, heavier, large droplets smashing against the windowpanes under the strength of gale-force gusts of wind.
It would be senseless to leave now. The drive to San Francisco was long, a good four hours on the highway. She couldn’t see herself pulling that off with three children in the car when she couldn’t even see twenty yards in front of her. What if something went wrong? What if the car broke down? No… she’d have to live through one more night of terror, then leave first thing tomorrow.
She forced herself to breathe, containing the flood of worry-fueled tears that threatened to burst out in the open. Heather, her eight-year-old, lifted her eyes from her phone for a split second and gave her one of those penetrating stares that Cheryl had grown to expect from her daughter whenever she was upset. It was as if the child had an uncanny ability to read her mother’s mind.
Cheryl took her finger out of her mouth and forced a smile. “Are you hungry, baby?”
“Uh-uh.” Heather frowned, then returned to whatever she was doing on her phone, probably playing a game. She sat on the white sofa with her legs folded underneath her, dressed in oversized pajama pants and the sweatshirt she’d worn to school that day, her latest favorite she would’ve worn to bed if she had a chance. Her Mickey Mouse socks were scattered on the floor, discarded minutes after Cheryl had made her put them on.
“Mommy?” her youngest called from behind a spoonful of Cheerios dripping milk all over the table. The four-year-old girl had learned to use a spoon but still wielded it like a weapon, her tiny fist clutching it as if it were King Arthur’s sword, sending food flying through the air. Her pigtails bounced around with every move she made, held in place by green hair ties that were starting to slide loose.
“Yes, Erin, what is it?” Cheryl asked, unable to take her eyes off the blackness lining the kitchen window, droplets of rainwater making it seem more menacing than any other night. In the distance, rolling thunder struck an ominous vibration through the air, sending a chill down Cheryl’s spine.
“Heather is eating her hair again,” Erin reported proudly, her high-pitched voice teeming with laughter as her older sister shot her an unforgiving glare.
“You weasel,” Heather whispered under her breath after promptly removing a long strand of dark hair from her mouth. She liked twirling her hair into ropes and then chewing on them mindlessly while her fingers tapped her phone’s screen, or Julie’s tablet, or whatever device she could get her hands on. “Tattletale.”
“No name-calling your sister, Heather,” Cheryl intervened. The darkness outside suddenly vanished under a robust set of beams as a truck pulled up. Through the window, covered in a web of water drops creating shards of rainbow-edged light, she saw Julie throw the young driver a tear-filled smile, then rush out of the truck and toward the door, splashing carelessly through the puddles lining the driveway. The truck pulled away, and darkness regained its ownership of the land.
Cheryl’s chest swelled with relief. Still angry at her eldest’s recklessness, she returned to the pile of vegetables waiting on the cutting board. In the time it took Julie to unlock the door and step inside, she’d chopped the rest of the carrots into une
ven pieces and dumped them in the pot, instantly bringing the boiling stew to a mild simmer.
“Hey, Mom,” Julie greeted her from the doorway with a tiny, guilt-ridden smile, ready to bolt toward her bedroom. “Smells good in here.” Her wet chestnut hair was pasted on her face, dripping onto her cheeks and her chest. Her clothes were soaked, small pools of water starting to form at her feet.
“Not so fast,” Cheryl tempered her. “You’re going straight into the shower, you hear me? You’ll catch a cold. It’s freezing out there.” She shuddered as she remembered how, only two days ago, it had felt to be outside in that weather for hours, and wiped her hands against her apron nervously.
The girl’s smile withered. “I don’t need to. Brent’s truck was warm enough.”
Cheryl swallowed a long sigh. Youth. Fueling everything, from high hopes to the body’s ability to endure the cold and humid October weather on the slopes of Mount Chester. “And how old is this Brent, anyway? Should he be driving at night in this weather?”
Julie’s eyebrows converged above the root of her nose. “He’s almost eighteen, Mom. I told you that already.” She shifted her weight from one leg to the other and removed a sticky strand of hair from her face with long, pale fingers, tucking it behind her ear. “Can I go now?”
As the darkness outside seemed to fade again, Cheryl’s gaze veered to the window. Maybe it was a passing car or something. “Dinner will be ready in half an hour,” she replied, fear traveling through her blood, tension grinding her teeth. “You know we should’ve left today. We talked about it. I can’t believe you did this to me, Julie.”
Julie raised her hands in the air, then let them drop against her jeans-clad thighs with a loud splat. “I know how you feel about this entire thing, but I’m not afraid. Call me crazy, but I’m not. I want to stay. Please… you can’t be serious about it. We have nowhere to go.”
The escalating pitch of her daughter’s voice mirrored Cheryl’s deepest fears. Where would they go? How would they live? Life on the run was no walk in the park for a widowed mother of three. But there was no other choice, not after what had happened on Saturday night.
“I’m dead serious, Jules,” she replied sternly, her hands propped firmly on her thighs. “We’re leaving tomorrow first thing. We should’ve left today, but you and your boyfriend decided otherwise, now didn’t you?”
Julie shot the pile of suitcases lining the hallway a guilty, sideways look. “I’m sorry, Mom. I just can’t believe this is real. Stuff like this doesn’t happen to people these days. We would’ve heard about it on social media.”
“Social media has nothing to do with it. Now go clean yourself, dry your hair, and come back down for dinner.” The tension in her voice must’ve piqued Heather’s attention, because her eight-year-old had abandoned the phone and was staring at her with her mouth slightly open, seeming frightened. Damn.
The sound of the doorbell startled Cheryl. A faint whimper left her lips before she covered her agape mouth with a wobbling hand. She looked out the window and thought she saw a truck in the driveway, its headlights off. The white paint of the vehicle reflected whatever light escaped through the kitchen window; its appearance spectral in the falling rain.
Julie rushed to her mother’s side and grabbed her arm with both her hands. “Don’t answer it, Mom,” she whispered, her voice shaky. All her stated courage had vanished without a trace.
Cheryl gave the idea a moment’s thought. Whoever was at the door had already seen them through the window. Had seen the lights were on, had heard their voices through the closed door. She threw a rushed glance at the clock on the wall, right above the fireplace. Nine twenty-seven. The unexpected guest surely was bad news, but bad news had to be dealt with.
“Who is it, Mom?” Heather called, peeling her eyes off the phone’s screen for a brief moment.
Cheryl made her mind up. She was going to face whomever it was like she’d done before, with courage and a willingness to do whatever it took to protect her family, and she’d be fine. They’d all be fine, and come next morning, they’d be gone from this horrible place. Pushing Julie away, she approached the door. “Take your sisters upstairs, Jules.”
“But, Mom—”
“Just a second,” Cheryl spoke loudly for the benefit of the late-hour guest. “Now,” she whispered, in response to Julie’s disobedience, her eyes drilling into her daughter’s. She waited a moment until Julie scooped Erin in her arms and grabbed Heather’s hand, taking them upstairs. When she saw them reach the upper level, she unlocked the door.
She forced air into her lungs, then opened the door just a little, without removing the chain. In the dim, yellowish light coming from the porch bulb, she recognized the guest’s face. Not who she’d thought it would be, but still bad news, nevertheless. Thankfully, he was alone. “Oh, it’s you,” she said, closing the door just enough to remove the chain.
Inviting the man inside, she avoided his scrutinizing eyes. Seeing him had sent her senses into a frenzy, her fear raw, threatening to emerge in unwanted words. As she showed him in and motioned for him to take a seat at the dining-room table, she could barely steady her hands, the pounding in her chest so strong it rattled her entire body.
From the top of the stairs, Julie watched the scene with eyes rounded in terror. She was leaning over the rail, evidently trying to catch every word spoken between the two adults.
“Glass of wine?” Cheryl asked, and the man nodded with a hint of a smile on his lips.
“I’ll have some,” he replied, then followed every move she made, setting the glasses, uncorking a bottle, and pouring the blood-red liquid. His piercing gaze curiously watched her as if she were an exotic species he was eager to dissect.
Cheryl sat at the table and took a sip of wine, almost choking on it, the knot in her throat unwilling to give way to the chilled, flavorful liquid. She set the glass back on the table, then rested her trembling hands in her lap, waiting. Whatever the man was there to do or discuss, it would soon happen. And then it would be over.
A loud, hissing sound made her jump. The stew had boiled over, the sauce sizzling where it touched the red, hot surface, sending whirls of smoke upward. She stirred the pot and cut the power to the burner, ignoring the splash that had reached the floor by the stove. Then she sat down again, playing nervously with the hem of her white-and-green checkered apron.
The man staring at her had cold gray eyes, direct and unyielding, and didn’t seem to be bothered by the water dripping from his short hair down his neck. He looked at her as if he knew everything. As if he’d somehow found out what she’d done.
But there was no way.
“You know why I’m here,” he eventually said, his voice steady, matter-of-fact. “It’s time.”
His words shot icicles through her blood. “No,” she whispered, shaking her head and pushing herself away from the table. Her chair screeched against the tiles in protest. “No… leave us alone, please,” she begged, her voice a trembling whimper. Standing, she faltered backward until she reached the wall. “You don’t have to do this.”
A quick smile twitched the corners of the man’s lips. “It has to happen,” he said, looking at her in that intense, merciless way. “You’ve known this all along.”
“We were going to leave,” she replied, gesturing to the suitcases in the hallway. “I was going to disappear. If you would’ve come tomorrow, you would’ve never found us.”
The twitch had bloomed into a grin, the coldest one she’d ever seen. “But you’re here,” he argued. “One can never escape their fate. You know that, right?” He stood and took a few slow steps toward her. It took every ounce of self-control to not shriek in terror. “You know she must fulfill hers.” He shoved his hands into his pockets. “Tonight.”
“No,” she shouted, bolting toward the front door. If she could escape the house, then maybe she’d make it to their next-door neighbor. Perhaps he could help her.
From the top of the stairs, she heard
Julie shout, “Heather, call nine-one-one, just like Mom taught you. Do it now! And don’t come down.” Then she rushed downstairs, her feet pounding as they landed on the steps.
That girl never listened to her. Not even when her life depended on it.
Cheryl couldn’t bring herself to run for help and leave her daughter alone with that man. She froze in place for a brief moment, then turned back and stepped between Julie and him, sheltering her daughter with her own body. “You won’t take her, you hear me? I won’t let you,” she said, adrenaline fueling the courage that somehow filled her voice. “Let us go.”
The man took two more steps toward her. “Not going to happen. She’s coming with me. Tonight. Like it’s meant to be.”
A stifled sob swelled her chest. Not again. This madness wasn’t happening again. She thought she’d dealt with it. She’d thought they were safe. “I wanted to leave. Please let us leave. No one has to know.” She clasped her hands together in a pleading gesture while tears sprung from her eyes. “Please, I’m begging you, let us go.”