Secret is in the Bones (Paynes Creek Thriller Book 3)

by Heather Sunseri

  “What is it?” I looked between them.

  He swirled the second glass of bourbon around in his glass, then met my stare. “The wrongful conviction civil suit.” He turned to Myra. “Am I right?”

  My eyes widened. I looked from him to Myra, who nodded. “I completely lost track of that. I assumed it had died when he did. How much was he awarded?”

  “One million…” she said and paused.

  I lifted the glass of bourbon and admired the dark caramel color behind the crystal glass. “Huh. Okay. Glad the city is having to pay something, I guess, for allowing such a gross coverup of evidence and for ruining a young man’s life. Had they done their jobs, I would’ve never had to testify against my stepbrother. Their negligence led to his untimely demise.” I lifted the bourbon to my lips and sipped. Flavors of orange peel, honey, and oak didn’t completely mask the taste of anger for what my family members and the city of Paynes Creek did to a seventeen-year-old kid. As I swallowed, Myra finished her sentence.

  “For every year he spent in prison.”

  Another line of storms passed through after midnight while Luke and I made love. The balcony doors were open and white, sheer curtains blew in the breeze. Candles around the room cast a warm glow inside our new bedroom.

  After, as we lay there naked, wrapped in new sheets on top of our four-poster bed, I drew on Luke’s chest.

  “You’re drawing on my skin,” he said.

  “I am.”

  “What are you writing?”

  “The number twelve.”

  “It’s a lot of money,” he acknowledged. “But don’t let it be bigger than it is.”

  I lifted my head to look into his eyes. “But it is big. And it’s not lost on me the sequence of events that led me—us—to where we are today. It’s very easy for me to process through all the what-ifs of my life. What if Ethan and I had told our parents that they couldn’t get married? Would that have mattered? What if Ethan had not acted on his feelings for me? What if my brother had made better decisions when he confronted Eli and my mom? What if my uncle hadn’t covered up my brother’s crime?”

  He ran his fingers along my arm. “What if those arson cases hadn’t brought me to Paynes Creek?”

  “Exactly. Which is why I vow to do good things with this money,” I said. “There were a lot of people who played a part in Ethan’s fate—an ultimate fate that he didn’t deserve. There have also been a lot of people in my life who have acted badly—people I trusted. Including Ethan. But I think he paid more than he should have for his crime.” He hadn’t deserved death. “I think I know what I want to do with the money.”

  His fingers paused mid-rub.

  I lifted my head to look at him. “I want to help people who can’t afford good representation. The justice system didn’t work for Ethan. And when he got out, he was trying to turn his life around. I see that now. I want to set up a charity or a foundation—I’m not sure what it will look like yet.”

  “Something like Legal Aid?” Luke asked.

  “More than that. I want it to be a charity that provides funds to people who need help with legal fees, additional detective work or labs done for their defense when the state’s labs are inadequate or misleading, and money to help with wrongful convictions. I think Ethan was trying to help former convicts at the Spotted Cat. I want to do even more.”

  Luke grabbed my face, leaned up and kissed me. “I think those are all worthy causes.”

  “And I want to use some of the money to help victims of rape. So many victims are silenced when the unthinkable happens. Ethan might have been sorry in the end, but that doesn’t make what he did any less terrible. A large portion of the money he was awarded should go to help other victims—people like the me, the one he hurt.

  “Through all the bad,” I continued. “I now have really good people in my life. I’m thankful for that, and I want to pay it forward.”

  “We’ll do it together.” Luke kissed me again to seal the idea. “How about we go out on the balcony and watch the last of the storm?”

  I glanced toward the open doors as flashes of lightning lit up the room. “Okay,” I said with hesitation in my voice. We had a front-row seat right there in bed, but, sure, we could get closer.

  Luke dressed in a pair of sweatpants and a t-shirt and stepped outside before me. I covered myself with a long, silk robe. When I joined him outside, lightning strobed the night sky.

  Luke had carried a pair of candles outside and set them on a small table.

  He reached out a hand. When I slipped mine into his, he pulled me to him. With one hand at the small of my back, and the other holding mine as if we were dancing, I met his gaze. “Did you bring me out here to dance?”

  A warm smile reached all the way to his eyes. “No,” he said, then reached into the pocket of his sweats. “I thought it was a better place to give you this.” From his pocket, he pulled out a ring. “I promise to fill your memories with joyous ones so that if you’re ever overcome by the sad events of your past, you’ll have happier ones to smother them with.”

  A tear fell down my face as he slid the ring onto my finger. “This is a really good start.”

  Thank you for reading Secret is in the Bones. If you missed the FREE Paynes Creek bonus scenes featuring Faith and Luke, be sure to CLICK HERE to sign up for my newsletter, and I will send you a link to these scenes. This story provides more insight into what happened to Cary, the night watchman from Darren’s dude ranch. And it provides more of what we all want: Faith and Luke.

  By signing up for the newsletter, you will also receive a notification any time I release something new.

  If you’ve already read the short story, be sure to scroll to the next page to check out the other books I’ve written. I’ve even attached a peek inside the first book in my best-selling series, Exposed in Darkness. You can download the book for free by CLICKING HERE, or keep scrolling to read the first three chapters.

  Also by Heather Sunseri

  PAYNES CREEK THRILLERS

  Death is in the Details

  Truth is in the Darkness

  Secret is in the Bones

  THE IN DARKNESS SERIES

  Exposed in Darkness

  Cut in Darkness

  Covered in Darkness

  Shot in Darkness

  Desired in Darkness

  SPECIAL IN DARKNESS STORY

  (Sequel to Cut in Darkness)

  Free to Newsletter Subscribers

  Protected in Darkness

  THE INTERNATIONAL THIEF SERIES

  A Thief Revealed

  A Thief Consumed

  A Thief Obsessed

  THE MINDSPEAK SERIES

  Mindspeak

  Mindsiege

  Mindsurge

  Tracked

  Deceived

  THE EMERGE SERIES

  Emerge

  Uprising

  Renaissance

  The Meeting (A short story)

  About Heather Sunseri

  Heather Sunseri is a recovering CPA who began writing novels in order to escape the mundane life as a muggle. After twenty years in the corporate world, Heather decided to use her business savvy and curious mind to start a publishing business anchored by fictional stories. She is proof that one can be a numbers person and a creative… And that it’s never too late (or too early) to get a do over. She’s married to the love of her life, mom to two amazing kids, and caregiver to the best golden retriever and one very needy cat. When she’s not writing, she’s making homemade pizza, listening to True Crime podcasts, and drinking Kentucky bourbon.

  Connect with Heather:

  heathersunseri.com

  heather@heathersunseri.com

  Exposed in Darkness - Book Description

  In the first of an FBI thriller series that USA Today calls “sophisticated and absorbing,” the FBI has one suspect in the latest terrorist attack—Declan O’Roark. And they’ve just assigned Special Agent Brooke Fairfax to get closer to the stunn
ing and sophisticated international mogul. Can she find the real killer while falling for FBI’s #1 suspect? Or is she falling for a man capable of mass murder?

  Just days before the running of the biggest thoroughbred horse race in the world, an act of bioterrorism kills Kentucky’s lieutenant governor, and former FBI Special Agent Brooke Fairfax receives a video of the murder from her long-time anonymous source. When Brooke discovers domestic terrorists are actually after the governor—her late husband’s brother—and that the radicals are eyeing more targets, she heads to Kentucky to stop the threat.

  Shortly after the political assassination, the FBI zeroes in on one person: international mogul Declan O’Roark. Though Brooke has been out of the game since her husband was murdered, her former boss thinks she is the perfect candidate to connect Declan to the crime.

  Despite the FBI clearly establishing means and opportunity, Declan remains unfazed; his motives have nothing to do with murder, but with getting closer to Brooke Fairfax. And Brooke finds the case becoming even more unclear as she falls for the FBI’s number one suspect.

  Don’t miss this page-turning thrill ride! Download and start your next favorite romantic thriller series for free.

  Exposed in Darkness - Excerpt

  Exposed in Darkness: In Darkness #1

  © Copyright 2017 Heather Sunseri

  All Rights Reserved

  Chapter One

  I ignored the first three pings—the annoying sound of emails hitting my inbox.

  My computer was across the room, I was still on my first cup of coffee, and it was only eight o’clock in the morning—way too early to deal with whatever was coming in. Sinking further into an oversized leather armchair, I pulled my grandmother’s quilt up around my neck with one hand and took a sip of creamy, perfectly sweetened, French vanilla coffee with the other. As I watched the hosts of the morning newsertainment show taste some disgusting-looking fruity dessert with shaved coconut, my computer pinged again.

  While I preferred this kind of “news”—the kind that involved the latest recipes for getting through the remaining cooler weather days—over the “real” news that favored the latest doom and gloom, I couldn’t help but keep one eye on the ticker scrolling across the bottom of the television with “Breaking News.” Out of habit, mostly.

  Once upon a time, my job had required that I stay on top of all breaking news items. Both the ones that made the national and world headlines, and the ones that were a little more… classified.

  My computer pinged again. I flinched a little this time.

  I took another sip of coffee, then reached for my phone on the side table. Nothing there, no texts. Just my wallpaper—a photograph of one of my last happy memories before my life went to shit. I switched the phone out of silent mode, but mentally reassured myself that the pings were just evidence that my email’s spam filter had stopped working. Or my mother had finally resorted to hassling me via email rather than her normal incessant phone calling.

  The newsertainment team moved on to a segment on fashion—something about transitioning from winter to spring and how to layer without downgrading your fashion sense. The ticker continued to run headlines.

  Ping.

  Growing increasingly uneasy, I swallowed another sip of coffee. That’s when I saw it. His name stood out from the news ticker.

  Truman Spencer.

  I sat up a little; the quilt slid down my arms. Dressed in only a thin camisole and silk pajama shorts, I felt my goose bumps swell as air hit my skin. I set my mug aside and shifted in the chair to dig for the remote control that had fallen down beside the seat cushion. I rewound the news by sixty seconds and read the ticker again. This time out loud.

  “Lt. Governor of Kentucky Melissa Centers is dead. Kentucky State Police speculate Truman Spencer was target. Spencer will give live news conference shortly.”

  Ping.

  I pushed up from the chair, let the quilt pool at my feet, and stared across the room at both the computer and the TV. A cold sweat formed across my neck.

  Ping. Ping. Ping.

  I padded barefoot across the hardwood floor until I stood in front of the computer, the screen black. My heart sped up at what might be lurking behind the darkness.

  Draped over the back of the desk chair was Teddy’s cashmere sweater. I let the soft fabric slide through my fingers before I slid it over my head to envelop me in familiar warmth.

  I brushed my fingers across the mouse pad, waking my computer screen. My hands trembled as I typed my password, one keystroke at a time. Slowly and deliberately. Then there they were: the words behind the pings. Subject line after subject line. Every one the same, and in all caps.

  BROOKE, TIME TO GET BACK TO WORK!

  I crossed my arms, hugging the softness of Teddy’s sweater around me, and swallowed.

  Ping.

  Each of the emails had an attachment. My first instinct was to open one of the emails and the corresponding attachment, but I hesitated.

  I knew the drill. I’d been through this many times before. The attachment could disappear after I opened it, and I’d be the only one to have seen it.

  Or the attachment could give my computer a deadly virus and destroy more than just the accompanying attachment.

  I pressed my fingers into my forehead and closed my eyes. “Think, Brooke. Think.” The sender of the emails obviously intended for me to have the information. “Just like all the other times,” I whispered.

  But I was out of the game. I had left the FBI over a year ago, unable to continue in my role as an analyst. Or as a special agent, the job I’d held before that. Life had broken me, and I’d left. So why was someone sending me information now?

  It didn’t matter. I had it, and I knew I couldn’t ignore it. I opened my eyes and stared at the repeated subject lines. And as if a gun had fired to signal the start of a race, I sprang into action and let instinct take over. I dug an external drive from my desk drawer, plugged it into my computer, and made a backup of everything on my hard drive. Then I started recording my keystrokes and everything that appeared on my screen, preserving whatever I saw next.

  When I was ready, I returned to the email.

  It was empty except for the file. I double-clicked the attachment, and a video popped up.

  It was a dim room. People laughed. Men were dressed in suits. Flashes of color indicated women in dresses. It looked to be a ritzy cocktail party.

  The video was shaky, probably taken from someone’s phone based on the low quality, and the image went in and out of focus. Then the camera zoomed in on one person in particular. A woman. “Melissa Centers,” I whispered. The lieutenant governor. I’d seen her on television before, at an event with Truman.

  The people in the video raised their glasses in some sort of toast, then tipped back their beverages. Everyone cheered.

  Several seconds passed.

  The person filming the video moved closer to the lieutenant governor. The image became clearer. That’s when everything went south.

  The smile on the lieutenant governor’s face faded. Her eyes widened. She stumbled, dropped her glass, and struggled to catch a breath. Her hands clawed at her throat, then stretched out to her side, grasping for something—anything—as she collapsed to the floor.

  People screamed. Others rushed to her side.

  The video zoomed in on her face, her wide, terror-stricken eyes. She was no longer moving. A trail of foamy liquid slid from the corners of her lips.

  I slapped my hand over my mouth.

  More screams erupted, and the video went black. At least it didn’t wipe my hard drive, as I had feared.

  I grabbed my phone on my way to the kitchen. A single wine glass, stained with last night’s merlot, sat on the counter next to an empty wine bottle. I removed a clean juice glass from one cabinet and a bottle of bourbon from another. After pouring two fingers of bourbon, I turned the glass up and swallowed the amber liquid, closing my eyes and cringing through the burn. When I opene
d my eyes again, I eyed the glass warily, considering the image of the lieutenant governor doing exactly the same thing moments ago.

  I picked up my phone and dialed.

  “Donaldson.” Special Agent Mike Donaldson answered on the first ring.

  “I need you.”

  That was all it took. Three little words, and I was back in the game—a game I had no desire to play.

  After asking Mike to come to my house—without offering any specifics as to why—I ended the call.

  In front of me, sitting on top of a stack of mail, was a fancy piece of cream cardstock, embossed with curly script. I’d almost discarded it several times over the last week. It was an invitation to a party hosted by Kentucky’s Governor Truman Spencer, and it was scheduled for tonight.

  I let well-trained muscles click into action. I raced through my quaint Virginia house, gathering laundry, both clean and dirty, and throwing it all on my bed. I removed Teddy’s sweater and stripped off my pajama shorts. I found a pair of jeans, slid them on, and pulled a black cardigan over my camisole. I slid some short ankle boots on my feet.

  From the top of the closet, I got my suitcase and began stuffing it haphazardly with clothes from my bed, from dresser drawers, and from the closet. I darted to the bathroom and gathered an armload of toiletries.

  When I’d filled one suitcase, I carried it to my car and stuck it in the back seat of my Mini Cooper. Then I returned to my bedroom closet, tossed boots, high heels, flip-flops, and anything else I thought I might need into a canvas bag, grabbed more clothes in my arms, carried them out, and stuffed the bag and the loose clothes into the car’s tiny trunk.

  The last thing I did was grab the unopened box holding a new laptop from the top of my closet. I packed it into a computer bag, along with the drive I’d just used to back up my old computer. I loaded this into the car as well.