by L. J. Stock
Table of Contents
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
Part 2
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Five
Chapter Twenty-Six
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Chapter Thirty
Chapter Thirty-One
Chapter Thirty-Two
Chapter Thirty-Three
Chapter Thirty-Four
Chapter Thirty-Five
Chapter Thirty-Six
Chapter Thirty-Seven
Chapter Thirty-Eight
Chapter Thirty-Nine
Chapter Forty
Epilogue
A Shot In The Dark
A Novel
L.J. Stock
Contents
Title
Other Titles By L.J. Stock
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
Part 2
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
Epilogue
Playlist
Acknowledgments
Other Titles By L.J. Stock
Ethan Walker’s Road to Wonderland
Parallel:
Book One in The Mortisalian Saga
From The Shadows:
Book Two in The Mortisalian Saga
Dishonored:
Book Three in the Mortisalian Saga
(coming 2018)
With Victoria L. James
Babylon MC Series
Without Consequence
Without Mercy
Without Truth
Without Shame (2018)
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced without written consent from the author, except that of small quotations used in critical reviews and promotions via blogs.
A Shot in the Dark is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.
A SHOT IN THE DARK ©2018 L.J. Stock
Cover Illustration Copyright © 2018 Depositphotos.com
Cover design by L.J. Stock, LJDesigns
Book Formatting by LJDesigns
Editing by Victoria L. James, Kayrn Lawless DeGiorgio and Claire Allmendinger of Bare Naked Words Editing.
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Dedication
To my little sister Emily.
Thank you for always taking me on adventures and showing me the places that inspire me, and thank you for always supporting my dream, even when it takes up time I should be hanging out with you.
I love you.
Chapter One
Childress, Texas
September 2001
It’s hard to explain rural Texas to someone who has never seen it before. On any given day you can stand on the roof of my dad’s house, turn in a slow circle, and the horizon will follow you in a perfect line. Flat is an understatement—at least, it is here, in the gateway to the panhandle. Down in places like Big Bend and the Hill Country, it’s a different story entirely, but I’d only ever been south of where we lived once, and I’d been too young to appreciate it. I’d lived in Childress, Texas, since birth, and though the town wasn’t small enough to know everyone in it, it was damn close, and there were only two things everyone here seemed to have in common: a love of football and a love of country music.
That may seem like a large carpeted statement, but it’s true, and although I like country music just fine, it’s not my first choice. It never has and probably never will be. I’m more of a classic rock kind of girl. Throw me music from Bad Company, Bob Seger, Led Zeppelin, or Bon Jovi, and I’m in Hog Heaven. A good ballad speaks to my soul in ways country was never able to. The music drove into the heart of me, offering familiarity. My love for classic rock started out as a means of comfort because my mom was always playing her vinyl collection as she danced around the house with me as a child. Rock music was like the blood that pumped through her veins. It was her food for thought. It matched the rhythm of her very own drum beat, and it soon became glaringly obvious that music was the same thrum in the veins for me. Our taste in music was the connection I still had with her, even after she died when I was eight.
My favorite thing to do most days was to jump into my ancient Buick and drive north toward the state line. It was there where I would slip into one of the empty fields and park under the low hanging branches of my junk trees and weeping willows while lounging on the hood of my car, the radio blaring classic rock as I tried to get my homework done. Either that or participate in my other favorite thing to do: read. There were some days I would just lay there with my eyes closed, glad for the escape from the constant noise that filled my dad’s house at all hours of the day and night while he partied – a daily occurrence now.
The road that led out to my grove of trees always had the optical illusion of hitting the horizon in the late afternoon. The heat mirage hovering over the asphalt made the air sway and ripple above the surface, enticing me to keep driving until I ran out of road—or gas, which was more likely. Hardly anyone would miss me if I left. I was the ghost who was barely in existence, on the edge of everyone’s peripheral, but I’d long ago taught myself to blend into the scenery for self-preservation. I’d never broken myself of the habit once I’d achieved the goal, either. Why bother? Life was easier when you weren’t expected to please anyone. No one set your goals when they forgot you were there.
The highway wasn’t typically busy, but tonight the asphalt was deserted. Friday night in Texas meant that all eyes of our little town were trained on Childress High School’s football stadium. As summer faded and the nights became shorter, the earlier the stadium lights were flicked on in preparation for Friday night’
s big game. The football team this year was supposed to be one of the best—it was what the fans said every year—and they finally had a chance to go to state and win. I’d believe that when I saw it happen, and considering I didn’t go to the games because it would require participation on some basic level, that would only be happening on this side of never. I didn’t participate in the big event, prepare for the upcoming game or exude cheer. I didn’t do anything that could be seen as celebrating leading up to it, but again, no one really noticed, and I was more than okay with that. If I was to miss something of significance, my best, and only friend, Megan was sure to give me an update on the situation. She attended every game, pep rally, and bake sale the school organized. She was the social butterfly of our odd coupling, and she loved to tell me the gossip she heard because I was the end of the line. Who the hell was I going to tell?
I smiled at the road again, enjoying the endless possibilities of what lay ahead as it stretched out to the horizon. This small part was the only time I pulled my eyes from the road ahead to note the break in the natural brush and peer down the turning that led to my dad’s house. As I’d known, passing the drive had been the right decision to make. There were already four cars parked outside the house, and I could only imagine how much alcohol they’d consumed since they’d arrived.
I sighed and continued, resolved that my night was going to be just as I’d planned. Leaning forward, I turned up the stereo and sang along with the lyrics, my lips curling into a smile as the signal became stronger with every foot closer I got to my special place. I’d barely made it another mile down the road when I heard the roar of an engine tearing up behind me, eating up the distance between us. I was doing the speed limit, so I could only imagine how fast the truck behind me was moving. The driver had the vehicle floored, too. The noise of dual exhausts drained my blaring radio as he neared, edging the bull bars closer and closer to my back bumper as he did. The entire road was open for them to pass me. There was nothing ahead, and there was nothing coming for miles in the opposite direction, but the good defensive driver that I was, I made a decision and eased onto the narrow shoulder in common courtesy. The gesture was normally enough to make someone ease by so I could continue on my way, not bothering anyone. Unfortunately, whoever was behind the wheel of that truck was either in a hurry and unaware of the passing laws in the great state of Texas, or they were aware that every sheriff, cop, and trooper would be at the football game meaning they could mess with me all they wanted with little repercussion. Even I knew that was the standard. The law enforcement attended the game, in professional and personal capacity, and it had been that way for at least as long as I’d been alive.
The truck lurched forward again, and my heart started pounding heavily enough to make a ringing start in my ears and anxiety dampen my palms. I’d executed everything Drivers Ed had advised, and I had no idea what to do in the middle of nowhere with no way to get away from the douchebag who was less than a foot from touching my trunk. In a final attempt to steer him away from me, I stuck my arm through my open window and tried to wave him by.
“Come on, asshole, go around me,” I said under my breath. The driver was playing a dangerous game, and I wasn’t a willing participant. I wasn’t that confident a driver. I had no idea what I’d done to offend the jackass enough to ride my ass, but he was pushing my foot onto the gas a little harder every inch he crawled closer, and my ancient car couldn’t handle much more of the abuse. My steering wheel was already trembling under my white-knuckled grip, but the truck lingered behind me like a bad smell, falling back only inches as he eased off the gas before rocking forward again to get as close as he could without touching.
It was like a cat playing with a mouse.
A twisted hunk of metal appeared right in my path on the shoulder. It came out of nowhere and disappeared under the car, seconds before a loud bang preceded a loud hiss and the pop of my tire. This was followed closely by the sound of all Hell rising and hitting the underside of the car, assuring me that the tire was now shredding apart and littering the highway behind us. My car swayed to the left before violently pulling me right again and down the small embankment into the drainage ditch where long grass accompanied the cloud of dust that now rose around me. The noise alone was terrifying. Grass and rocks ran along the underside of the car pinging and popping along with the music that was in and out of service, intermittently feeding into the white noise of chaos.
I managed to ease my foot on the brakes, steering into the spin as the radio found reception again and blared, while the car trembled and skidded to a complete stop, cutting everything out, leaving only the music playing merrily from the radio. The ringing in my ears was deafening when I dragged in a breath, but my trembling hand reached out and pushed the button on the radio leaving nothing but the clicking of expanding metal and the rain of stones settling around the car. The sound of insects regaining their previous chorus soared, but it was a sign of life that I needed to remind myself that I was okay and the world continued on.
Breathing for the first time, in what felt like minutes, I peeled my other hand from the steering wheel and dropped them into my lap with a small whimper. I was aware of the door to the truck opening behind me. I also heard the crunching of boots on the dirt through my open window where the dried dust cloud was settling. I even heard the rain of expletives as he jerked open my door, but I couldn’t move. I was frozen in partial shock.
“What the hell, lady?” the gruff tone spat contemptuously like the whole damn thing had been my fault.
I recognized his voice well and didn’t need to look at him to know who was standing there.
Dustin Hill was a senior at Childress High, and he was also the best defensive end the school had ever had, and the reason the team had a chance at State this year, which made him the best-known person in town. The boy was revered by everyone and worshipped by most, and I was always surprised when he didn’t have the drill team rolling out a red carpet everywhere he went. I finally glanced up at him as my anger rose enough to make my skin tingle. Everything from his square jaw to the spattering of stubble just pissed me off. His well-worn CHS baseball cap was bent to ridiculous proportions, and his football jersey hung loosely everywhere from the lack of pads—well, everywhere but his biceps, where he was gripping the door too roughly. Not that I was looking.
“Excuse me?” I demanded, my voice uneven and pitchy as I turned my head and glared up at him. His unusually bright blue eyes were piercing and bloodshot as they assessed me right back. “I believe you were the one riding my ass, while I was the one giving you room to go around me, right before I ran over whatever the fuck that was back there? I think I should be the one asking what the hell you were doing, asshole.”
“Wait. You ran over something?” There was less judgment and an injection of guilt in his tone that made me feel a little more validated in being as angry as I was.
“No, I make a habit of swerving all over the road and hitting the dirt just for the fun of it,” I said sardonically, popping my seatbelt open then pushing my dark hair from my face. “My tire shredded up because of it. Are you that self-involved you didn’t notice rubber making a quick evacuation from the back of my car?”
“How the fuck am I supposed to see that? I’m in a truck.”
“No,” I said, sliding from my seat and rising to my shaky legs. “It has nothing to do with your being in a truck, and everything to do with the fact that you were so far up my ass you couldn’t see anything. What the hell were you doing, anyway? Why are you even out here? Shouldn’t you be wowing your adoring fans in the stadium? Flexing your muscles to the tune of All Hail Dustin Hill and shit?”
“You know who I am?”
Was he serious? After everything that I’d just said, he was hung up on the fact that I knew his name? I rolled my eyes and pushed past him to march free of the dust cloud and the dried earth I could taste on my tongue. Dustin followed as closely behind me as he had been driving, and the smell of
bourbon washed over me. The fresh and familiar odor was enough to make my stomach roll. At least that explained his red-rimmed eyes.
“Jesus. You’ve been drinking?” I accused unapologetically.
“How do you know who I am?”
I ignored his question as he pushed his hands into his pockets and stared at me with his head cocked, waiting for an answer. The football team—or more accurately, its players—obtaining alcohol, wasn’t exactly a new thing. Any of them could get access to it at any store in town that they entered, no questions asked. They normally left their inebriation until after the game, though, and the whole team partied the night away in their little equipment barn the school always “forgot” to lock. This party destination was a renowned safe place where the team could stay, get messed up, and pass out, instead of attempting to drive home—while the town turned a blind eye to the beginning stages of early-onset alcoholism. Just another small perk of their superstar status that consistently turned out alcoholics and perpetual jerks that peaked in high school.
“Who cares if I know who you are? You were drunk driving, and you could have killed us both.”
“Who are you?” he asked, completely ignoring my indignation and closing one eye to examine me further. Lifting his cap with one hand, he ran the other over his flat hair before he pulled it back into place, his hands planting themselves on his hips as he looked at me expectantly when I didn’t respond. “Well?”