by Blake Pierce
i f s h e f e a r e d
(a kate wise mystery—book 6)
b l a k e p i e r c e
Blake Pierce
Blake Pierce is author of the bestselling RILEY PAGE mystery series, which includes fifteen books (and counting). Blake Pierce is also the author of the MACKENZIE WHITE mystery series, comprising thirteen books (and counting); of the AVERY BLACK mystery series, comprising six books; of the KERI LOCKE mystery series, comprising five books; of the MAKING OF RILEY PAIGE mystery series, comprising four books (and counting); of the KATE WISE mystery series, comprising six books (and counting); of the CHLOE FINE psychological suspense mystery, comprising five books (and counting); and of the JESSE HUNT psychological suspense thriller series, comprising five books (and counting).
ONCE GONE (a Riley Paige Mystery--Book #1), BEFORE HE KILLS (A Mackenzie White Mystery—Book 1), CAUSE TO KILL (An Avery Black Mystery—Book 1), A TRACE OF DEATH (A Keri Locke Mystery—Book 1), and WATCHING (The Making of Riley Paige—Book 1) are each available as a free download on Amazon!
An avid reader and lifelong fan of the mystery and thriller genres, Blake loves to hear from you, so please feel free to visit www.blakepierceauthor.com to learn more and stay in touch.
Copyright © 2019 by Blake Pierce. All rights reserved. Except as permitted under the U.S. Copyright Act of 1976, no part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed or transmitted in any form or by any means, or stored in a database or retrieval system, without the prior permission of the author. This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return it and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author. This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, organizations, places, events, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictionally. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental. Jacket image Copyright Lukiyanova Natalia frenta, used under license from Shutterstock.com.
BOOKS BY BLAKE PIERCE
A JESSIE HUNT PSYCHOLOGICAL SUSPENSE SERIES
THE PERFECT WIFE (Book #1)
THE PERFECT BLOCK (Book #2)
THE PERFECT HOUSE (Book #3)
THE PERFECT SMILE (Book #4)
THE PERFECT LIE (Book #5)
CHLOE FINE PSYCHOLOGICAL SUSPENSE SERIES
NEXT DOOR (Book #1)
A NEIGHBOR’S LIE (Book #2)
CUL DE SAC (Book #3)
SILENT NEIGHBOR (Book #4)
HOMECOMING (Book #5)
TINTED WINDOWS (Book #6)
KATE WISE MYSTERY SERIES
IF SHE KNEW (Book #1)
IF SHE SAW (Book #2)
IF SHE RAN (Book #3)
IF SHE HID (Book #4)
IF SHE FLED (Book #5)
IF SHE FEARED (Book #6)
IF SHE HEARD (Book #7)
THE MAKING OF RILEY PAIGE SERIES
WATCHING (Book #1)
WAITING (Book #2)
LURING (Book #3)
TAKING (Book #4)
STALKING (Book #5)
RILEY PAIGE MYSTERY SERIES
ONCE GONE (Book #1)
ONCE TAKEN (Book #2)
ONCE CRAVED (Book #3)
ONCE LURED (Book #4)
ONCE HUNTED (Book #5)
ONCE PINED (Book #6)
ONCE FORSAKEN (Book #7)
ONCE COLD (Book #8)
ONCE STALKED (Book #9)
ONCE LOST (Book #10)
ONCE BURIED (Book #11)
ONCE BOUND (Book #12)
ONCE TRAPPED (Book #13)
ONCE DORMANT (Book #14)
ONCE SHUNNED (Book #15)
ONCE MISSED (Book #16)
MACKENZIE WHITE MYSTERY SERIES
BEFORE HE KILLS (Book #1)
BEFORE HE SEES (Book #2)
BEFORE HE COVETS (Book #3)
BEFORE HE TAKES (Book #4)
BEFORE HE NEEDS (Book #5)
BEFORE HE FEELS (Book #6)
BEFORE HE SINS (Book #7)
BEFORE HE HUNTS (Book #8)
BEFORE HE PREYS (Book #9)
BEFORE HE LONGS (Book #10)
BEFORE HE LAPSES (Book #11)
BEFORE HE ENVIES (Book #12)
BEFORE HE STALKS (Book #13)
AVERY BLACK MYSTERY SERIES
CAUSE TO KILL (Book #1)
CAUSE TO RUN (Book #2)
CAUSE TO HIDE (Book #3)
CAUSE TO FEAR (Book #4)
CAUSE TO SAVE (Book #5)
CAUSE TO DREAD (Book #6)
KERI LOCKE MYSTERY SERIES
A TRACE OF DEATH (Book #1)
A TRACE OF MUDER (Book #2)
A TRACE OF VICE (Book #3)
A TRACE OF CRIME (Book #4)
A TRACE OF HOPE (Book #5)
CONTENTS
PROLOGUE
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER TEN
CHAPTER ELEVEN
CHAPTER TWELVE
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
CHAPTER NINETEEN
CHAPTER TWENTY
CHAPTER TWENTY ONE
CHAPTER TWENTY TWO
CHAPTER TWENTY THREE
CHAPTER TWENTY FOUR
CHAPTER TWENTY FIVE
CHAPTER TWENTY SIX
CHAPTER TWENTY SEVEN
CHAPTER TWENTY EIGHT
PROLOGUE
When Tamara Bateman walked into the two-story house at 3:30 in the afternoon, she was reminded of why she loved her job so much. As a real estate agent in Estes, Delaware, she saw at least four new houses a week. Most of the time, those homes were so-so at best—carbon copies of other homes in the area, usually with a price tag somewhere in the upper four hundred thousands. But every now and then she’d step into a house and get a sort of tingle…a feeling that this house was going to make an exceptional home for someone.
The house at 157 Hammermill Street was one of those homes. It wasn’t a brand new build like some of the houses she had shown this week, but it was new enough. Built in 2005, and only lived in by a married couple with no kids before being sold to a property owner who fixed it up even more, it still had that new-home smell. Of course, that had a lot to do with the immaculate cleaning job the hired cleaners had done.
It was a gorgeous house. All of the floors had been polished, there was a fresh coat of paint on every wall, and the picture windows that looked out onto the garden in the backyard were to die for. With the touch of a professional stager and some modern furniture, the place would go quickly and make a great home.
Tamara had been showing it for two weeks now, and while there was some general interest, there had not yet been a legitimate offer. With no furniture and having recently been cleaned spotless, it was essentially a blank canvas. But she was also starting to wonder if the lack of furnishings was what was hurting it.
She took out her phone and started taking notes, trying to improve the public listing. She knew there was no real science to writing the copy on the sell sheets, but she enjoyed doing it. She felt she had a knack for it—almost as if she was a we
ird sort of poet. And since she had two showings tomorrow, she wanted to make sure she was presenting it in its best light.
She walked through the large living space, then the gorgeous kitchen with its farmhouse sink and industrial-looking barstools. As she was trying to come up with a non-mundane word for the marble countertops, she heard something move upstairs. It was just a slight shuffling, barely there at all but definitely there. She cocked her head and listened for the noise again, and sure enough, there it was.
The noise was not footsteps, but softer. She imagined one of the windows opened, the light autumn breeze outside blowing the curtains. That was almost exactly what it sounded like. But she didn’t think anyone had been in here for two or three days. And the only people who had keys to the place right now were herself and the contractor.
She almost decided to ignore it, but then it came again. This time she was almost certain the sound was the rustling of curtains. But she could not see the contractor coming through and opening a window—much less opening it and leaving it open.
She instantly tried to recall if it had rained in the past three days. She didn’t think so, but even if not, there were all kinds of birds and insects that could fly in. Irritated, Tamara marched back through the living area and to the staircase that led to the second floor. As she climbed the steps, she rolled through phrases in her head to explain how wide and spacious the stairs were.
Before she reached the top of the stairs, she heard the noise again. This time it was louder and more constant. And now she wasn’t so sure it was the shuffling of curtains. Now, it did sound like footsteps.
But that made no sense. Only the owner and the contractor—a fifty-six-year-old man named Bob—had the other key and he was in New York right now, enjoying a show with his wife. Tamara knew this because he had griped about it the last time they’d seen one another. And the owner never bothered with any of his houses once they were listed by the real estate agency.
So who the hell is up there?
She surprised herself when she took a few more steps up. She was only two stairs shy of the second-floor hallway. She could see the carpet and the bottoms of the first two opened doors along the hall.
She nearly called out, but thought that would be stupid. If there was someone here, maybe it would benefit her for them to not know she was there.
Don’t be stupid, she told herself. There’s nothing in this house to steal. If there is anyone here, it’s either Bob or some nosy neighbor. And if they got in, it means the contractor left the door unlocked like an idiot. It wouldn’t be the first time Bob forgot to lock up a property after stopping by.
But then the footsteps came again, from somewhere very close. And then there was the sound of breathing—anxious, excited breathing.
Tamara then followed her instincts. She fought off her curiosity and bolted down the stairs. She fumbled with her phone, intending to call the police. Even if it did turn out to be nothing, she’d rather be safe than sorry. She’d rather—
She heard footsteps thundering behind her. She felt the tremors in the stairway beneath her feet. She let out a little scream as she neared the bottom of the stairs, but it never had time to fully come out of her mouth. Something struck her hard from behind, connecting solidly with the back of her head and her upper back.
Tamara went sprawling toward the floor. She threw her hands up to keep from smashing her face. In doing so, she twisted her wrist. She heard it snap but was only dimly aware of it. She was still thinking of those thundering footsteps that had come from behind her. She was in a foggy daze, her head screaming in pain and her wrist starting to throb in a dull ache. She tried to turn to see her attacker but never got the chance.
She felt something rough slide over her head and then rest on her neck. It was then drawn tight…and suddenly she was no longer fighting to turn over to face her attacker.
She was now fighting to breathe.
And as the darkness came in, the pain in her head overwhelmed by the desperate pain in her neck and lungs, it was a fight she lost quickly.
CHAPTER ONE
The kids on Stranger Things were starting to annoy Kate Wise. She supposed it made sense. They were just like any other kids. Exciting and cute when you first met them, but with a tendency to get irritating as they got older. Kate felt she knew the Stranger Things kids pretty well; she had binged seasons one and two over the course of three days. And now that she was staring season three in the face, she didn’t think she had it in her.
Kate set her Apple TV remote down on her coffee table and stood up. She looked at the clock and was a bit disgusted to find that it had somehow come to be 5:10 in the afternoon. She then looked at the end table by the couch, at the stack of books she had purchased from the used book store in Carytown last weekend. She’d started one—a rather dull look at the life of John Wayne Gacy—but had not had the mental capacity to handle it…or any book, for that matter.
So she’d taken to finally using her Netflix account, something she only had because Allen had talked her into it. They had watched a few things together, mostly documentaries and The Office, but had quickly discovered that when they were together, they much preferred to talk. But when Kate was alone as of late, she found that she preferred to just veg out. She’d never really enjoyed spending a lot of time in front of the television but lately, it seemed she was starting to enjoy mindless things that just let her unplug and detach from everything. She was beginning to enjoy the idea of escaping the real world; whether it was spending some time with the kids in the Upside Down or trying to feign interest in Grey’s Anatomy, it was nice to mentally check out and view someone else’s drama for a while.
She’d had plenty of time to do it, after all. Director Duran had stayed true to his angry words and had not reached out to her in over six weeks. She knew she was not fired, but that she was only being considered for cases needing her expert touch or in-depth research. He had scolded her a bit and then told her she’d only be used in a research capacity—a lifeline for other agents at most. She understood it; she was a bit too careless for her age when she was on the job, as evidenced by the last case. But he also knew she was good at what she did and was not ready to have her removed just yet.
So far, none of that had come about. As she had waited for his call, her life had gone on. In those stagnant six weeks, she had turned fifty-six, her granddaughter, Michelle, had turned one year old, and she and Allen had gone on two trips—one to a remote cabin in the Blue Ridge Mountains and another to Surfside Beach, South Carolina, to get one last hoorah out of the summer.
But that last trip had been two weeks ago. When they had come back, Allen had returned to work. While he still had his own place, he spent most of his time at Kate’s house. They had discussed permanently moving in together and she supposed that’s where they were headed. She thought about those sorts of things while wasting her days away. But then she’d found Stranger Things and, God help her, Grey’s Anatomy, and had plenty of ways to fill those long expanses of empty time.
She’d tinkered with writing the book she’d always wanted to write—a look at some of her more bizarre cases. She had about fifty pages down, but all that had done was remind her that her glory days were now behind her. Even with an agent already interested (though it was really just one of those friend-of-a-friend type of deals), she could not find the motivation to get the book moving along.
She knew she was in a rut. If Duran had decided he no longer needed her anymore, she really wished he’d just say something. Being let go, she thought, would be preferable to being left in the dark.
She had another hour before Allen would be home. With the TV finally off, she thought about the book but knew she didn’t have the drive to work on it today. She looked to her cell phone and thumbed through her old texts. She had received one from Kristen DeMarco five days ago, just checking in. She was still active, filling in on cases with agents who, for some reason or another, were short a partner. Still, DeMarco h
ad stayed in touch—a gesture Kate appreciated more than DeMarco would ever know.
DeMarco had become a friend very quickly. This was saying a lot, as Kate had always been very good about drawing that thick line between partner and friend. But there was something about DeMarco that was different from all of her other partners. It was more than her promising career and her never-say-die charisma. She was a well-rounded woman who reminded Kate far too much of her younger self at times. And staying in touch with her had been one of the more pivotal cornerstones in Kate’s life over the past six weeks.
Smiling, she pulled up DeMarco’s number and called. She was not too surprised when it went to voice mail after four rings. She didn’t bother leaving a message; DeMarco was probably working a case and while Kate did miss her, she did not want to interfere with her work.
She put the phone down and made her way into the kitchen. She and Allen had made plans to go out for dinner, so she wasn’t going to have to cook. She leaned against the kitchen counter and looked through the window, out onto her backyard.
She supposed this was what an actual retirement might look like. Yes, she had experienced it a bit about a year and a half ago, but she had been expecting that one. She had busied herself with little hobbies and the occasional trip to the gun range. But this time, she felt bored and out of place. Maybe it was because she knew Duran could call at any moment and she’d be back into the flow of things.
Or maybe, she thought, it was some sort of foreshadowing—of the universe or God or something similar telling her that this would be her life soon. So she’d better strap herself in for the ride and get used to it.
***
They’d agreed on Thai food, which Kate was fine with because it had become one of her favorite types of food over the last few years. It was the same restaurant they frequented at least twice a month. As they were seated, Kate felt the familiarity of the place and wondered if this was another aspect of the retired (or, in her case, partially retired) life—becoming all too familiar with local eateries and businesses, stuck in a loop that felt as if there was no real purpose.