by Leanne Davis
River’s Winter
by
Leanne Davis
River’s End Series, Book Ten
Table of 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
Epilogue
Thank you
Excerpt from RIVER’S END
Other Books by Leanne Davis:
About the Author
Copyright
Prologue
LUNA CASTELLANOS GLANCED UP when the next patron entered the River’s End café. Six o’clock on a frigid January night brought in crowds of locals, eager to get out of their dark houses and boredom from the early nightfall. She turned to smile softly at the person entering. It was a lone man in his thirties with a beard and shaggy hair, wearing work clothes under a big, puffy coat. He appeared pretty much like every other man she’d encountered around River’s End.
River’s End. It still startled Luna. Every morning when she opened her eyes and sat up in her new house, the reality overwhelmed her.
She lived in the middle of nowhere.
She chose to live here too. Sinking her life savings into River’s End was all her own doing. Her own risk. Her own decision. Sink or swim, this strange adventure belonged entirely to her.
Her previous relationship was troubled, causing her ceaseless issues. It was time to end it, and she did, moving—maybe more like running—off to River’s End. There, she became the new owner of the River's End Café. It was a first for her. She never worked in, let alone ran any kind of establishment before, not even one unrelated to food.
She stood beside a table and started smiling as the elderly couple snagged her attention. “Luna? We just wanted to let you know the special desserts tonight are delicious.” Edgar smiled up at her kindly. He was in his seventies and he and his wife dined at the café regularly, at least twice a week, like clockwork.
“Yes, I agree you’ve done wonders with this restaurant. The changes you’ve made have livened up the place. It was so drab and old-fashioned before. The neutral colors and losing those awful lace curtains has let all the light in—”
Crack!
Pop! Pop! Pop! It echoed over and over again. Pings at first, and then… explosions? Glass. The windows. The water glasses shattered, the coffee and water splattering the walls and cascading off the tables.
What the hell? Luna wondered as her heart rate increased. Her body reacted before she understood what was happening or why. She turned to look over her shoulder and threw herself to the ground. She landed with a jarring thud onto her knees and left shoulder. It shocked her senses, rattling her teeth, and vibrating her spine.
Gunshots! It had taken a few seconds for the sharp pops to register.
Screams erupted around her, including those of Edgar and Delia who were just speaking to her. Delia was screaming from beneath the table, but Edgar was slumped over the top of it. Luna screamed too and fell to her hands and knees as she scuttled forward in panic, huddling beside Delia under the table.
Something oozed out from underneath Edgar’s face. It was some kind of liquid, sort of gooey, and dark brownish in color. Her brain could not process what it was exactly. Why was he not moving?
Fear made her limbs tremble and her heart race. Her involuntary screams escaped her mouth without conscious thought or understanding. What was going on? What? What was this?
Edgar!
Her mind screamed in protest.
Then… oh, God! The dark liquid oozed before pooling beside her on the floor. Then more drops fell until the puddle overflowed into a stream beside her.
Blood. Edgar was bleeding from above her. Still unmoving, she heard no moans from him. He was… fuck! What was he? She couldn’t think about it. Or talk about it. Or cry. Or scream.
Her breathing turned to gasps. Was she hyperventilating? Maybe. Shit, yeah.
Edgar? What happened? What was happening?
But she didn’t go to him. Shots still pinged, popped, and crashed as fresh rounds filled the area, bouncing off the Formica table tops and piercing the leather seating on the booths. Screams and sobs and cries filled the room. Each time, her entire body flinched, and she jumped and trembled as her tears fell uncontrolled down her cheeks.
Seconds. In a matter of a few seconds, the screams had already changed in pitch. Pained surprise, terror, shock, and worst of all, death. Were those horrible sounds actually coming from people’s mouths? People who were dying? They had to be. They didn’t sound of this earth.
She glanced out from where she huddled under the booth’s table top. Shoes and pant legs stood five feet from where she hid. The man quit moving and was standing still. The shoes were unexceptional. Beige pants and brown loafers with white socks. They could have been on any man she’d ever served at the establishment. Nothing distinctive or memorable about them. She hid under the table and wondered about the wetness on her face until she realized it was because of her tears, but she couldn’t feel anything. Her body was numb. She might have been in shock.
Her gaze lifted, and her breath caught.
The shooter was so young.
And so ordinary.
He looked pleasant enough.
Except for the gun he clutched tightly in his hand. Extra rounds of ammunition were secured in a belt he wore around his waist. Turning away from Luna, he lifted the large handgun and shot toward the left. Bang!
Luna cried out when the shot struck someone across the café who made the fatal mistake of getting up and attempting to run toward the front door. The victim fell forward and crumpled like a wet noodle on the hardwood floor. Shuddering, Luna sucked in more air to stem her sobs. The man glanced the other way and shot. Bang! Bang!
It shattered the window and Luna realized it was only two booths away from where she crouched.
The attack appeared random, unpredictable, and unplanned. Like a kid playing with a squirt gun, the gunman casually aimed before he shot. Only this wasn’t any game. This was murder in the first degree.
She scurried back farther, trying to block Delia if only to protect her old, fragile body with her own. She plugged her ears and closed her eyes, biting her lower lip to keep her screams inside. She forbade herself from making another sound. She had to stay still. Remaining quiet was the only way to avoid drawing the attention of whoever the fuck that man was. His gaze was not on her yet. He’d shoot them without hesitation, like concealed targets hiding beneath the sticky table.
He pointed and shot again. Luna’s body jerked as she peeked out from under the table.
Then something caught her eyes and her heart jumped.
She spotted a man huddled across from her just behind the main counter. The wall exploded above her again and she jumped when the granules of plaster and drywall fell on her skin. She covered her ears and tried to contain her horrified screams inside her throat.
She clutched Delia, who whimpered, and Luna shook her head at her frantically. She had only one message: be quiet.
Then she looked more closely at the man across from her, evaluating. What was he doing? Below the cash register, he remained crouched. Then he was on his feet, sliding below the table top.
But unlike everyone else, who could only respond with random outbursts of hysteri
a, he stood as if he were preparing for something. His body was so quiet. He remained calm and calculating, in contrast to everyone else. His mouth was shut, and his eyes were focused squarely on the shooter.
Shooter.
She could not register the last few minutes that forever changed her life.
A man with a gun was shooting at them. A ruthless killer. A murderer.
Inside her café.
She shuddered.
Her gaze returned to the blond-haired man crouching behind the counter. He kept his eyes firmly riveted on the shooter and then… Fuck.
The shooter turned away, and in that half second, the guy stood, sprinted, and then jumped, tackling the shooter!
The shooter didn’t hear or sense the imminent assault until the man launched himself through the air. The shooter opened fire, but his shots missed the man’s body. The man, however, pummeled the shooter’s chest and his rib cage. The blond guy was bigger, taller, and wider, dwarfing the nondescript shooter who instantly collapsed under the other man’s weight. Flinging his arm out and pulling the trigger, he dropped onto the ground when the blond guy pinned him down.
The blond man reached over and held the shooter’s arm down. But the wiry, little gunman started fighting back. He twisted his body in odd contortions to escape, reaching out and trying to grab the gun, which dropped from his hand. Only inches away, he clawed the floor in his urgency to repossess it.
He can’t get the gun. That was all Luna’s frantic thoughts could repeat. That hand could not be allowed to hold the gun again. Of course, he intended to kill the blond man who pinned him down and fought with him. Luna was incredulous at his gallant attempt to rescue everyone and she refused to let his efforts be in vain.
The shooter, no doubt, intended to kill everyone in the café.
Luna crawled forward. Unthinking. Unfeeling. Unbelieving. Yet something deep inside her gut forced her limbs to move. She had to move. If only to get the gun before it fired any more ammunition. Before it shed more blood with deafening noise, rampant destruction, and death. She had to reach it. She scrambled toward it, half crawling as she emerged from under the table. Her efforts to stand upright, however, were futile and her body crumpled into a heap. Her legs couldn’t support her weight. Something felt very off and wrong. She felt anchored down and numb. She stumbled and was soon relegated to using her arms in her effort to scoot forward. Her limbs refused to respond to her brain’s commands. It was like the nerve endings just didn’t understand how crucial this life or death instance was, right here and now. But somehow, she lumbered forward. The shooter kept reaching for his weapon while the hero wrestled to control the squirming prey that wiggled under him.
Luna was crying, and the odd sounds came out more like grunts of pain and distress from her mouth. Cold metal. She gripped the gun and shuddered as she dragged it away, taking it out of reach of the straining fingers of the murderer.
She had possession of it. She sighed with relief as she stared at the compact, black instrument of death in her hands. Clutching it tightly, the tears streamed down her face. They slid off her chin and fell onto her chest.
Oh, God. It was finally in her hand. The heavy object of destruction that just shot up the café. She screamed as she cried out in victory before shoving it away. Her tears blinded her, but she dared not let anyone else shoot it. Hysterical but taking command, she held it out in her hand, pointing it downwards. She hated this gun. Detested it. She wished she could melt it down into a puddle of scrap metal.
But at that moment, all she could do was clutch it tightly.
She glanced up.
Carnage was all around her. A reckless bloodbath filled the once ordinary, sweet, little, small-town café. She spotted more people huddled under tables and in corners. At least two bodies lay motionless on the ground. More cries, painful moans and groans persisted, all verging on hysteria.
She saw a lot of blood.
So much blood.
It spread from under and around the bodies. It was also splattered on the floor and walls.
She turned to the side and saw Edgar’s lifeless head still resting on the table. She cried out at seeing a young woman who was slumped over like Edgar. Another body fell to the side and was being supported by the chair next to her. Blood dripped incessantly into a puddle below her.
Holding the gun, Luna sobbed, and the entire café was unearthly quiet.
As their reality dawned on everyone, pandemonium quickly ensued. People still screamed and cried. Leaning over, she attempted to check on the others nearby. Some were on their knees from grief or prayer; she wasn’t sure which. Others screamed out.
All the while, Luna remained frozen.
Then a hand touched her shoulder. Startled, she all but swung the gun around, ready to shoot if it were starting all over again. No, it was not over. But how did it start? And how could she be sure it would end?
No! She shook her head, and her vision clashed with what her heart refused to accept. It was a human slaughterhouse. But thankfully, it had stopped.
She looked at the blond man. The man who leaped like a klipspringer across several yards of the café and managed to take out the shooter.
“It’s okay. It’s okay. It’s all over now,” he spoke. To her. She stared at him. Uncomprehending. She felt nothing. Maybe cold. Black clouds filled her peripheral vision. Why did she feel so weird?
“Ma’am? It’s over now. Why don’t you hand me the gun?”
He spoke clearly and calmly in a crisp tone. There was no trembling, hesitation, fear, or doubt in his voice.
She nodded, listening to his words and letting them fill her brain. Yes. It was over. They survived. Listen to this man. This champion. This new hero.
He was so unperturbed. How could he maintain his composure like that?
She lifted her arm up and his hand touched her wrist before he quickly took the gun from her. She let out a gasp and sighed with relief to be free of it.
“You’re hurt. I think you could be in shock. Can you look at me?”
He was talking again. The hero. He was still talking. He sounded so far away, like he was in a distant tunnel. Wait. Was he addressing her? Not her? No. She wasn’t…
She glanced down at her entire body and shuddered. She had to ignore what her body had all over it. Blood. So much blood was everywhere.
Was it Edgar’s? No. No. The hero kept talking.
Was it hers? Her blood? She understood then.
She’d been shot.
The coldness. The numbness. The sense that she was observing her own body meant she was in shock. Her mind instantly refused to believe she’d been shot. How could she move? How could she not realize it? Wouldn’t she have been the first to know that she’d been shot?
She tried to leave, but the heroic man went behind her, and his arms came around her shoulders. He pressed her gently, using a firm hand she could not shake off. “Don’t worry. It’s okay. It’s okay now. I’ve got you. You’re safe and I won’t let you go. It’s over now. It’s all over. Help will be here in a few more minutes.”
She didn’t know why, but she believed him. She trusted him. She had never seen him before now. But he shone like a knight in silver armor. He was a hero. A savior. A protector of life.
Then everything faded, and her vision went black.
Chapter One
THE DOOR STARTED TO open.
It was slow and unhurried. The person opening it didn’t bother to glance through the peephole or the window to see who was out there. Why would they? This was River’s End, a small, idyllic town with rare instances of crime. The house was also located on a huge ranch with dozens of employees and family members who often stopped by without calling first, so there was no reason to feel any alarm at the unexpected visit.
Jacob Starr was counting on that. His stomach flipped over. His hands were slick with sweat. Fear made his tongue dry, and he could taste the bitterness of it.
And whom did he fear? No one but his
own mother.
He shuddered at the thought of facing her. His mother. He hadn’t seen her in four years and hadn’t spoken to her for three years. He should have called or texted first. He should have done everything throughout his entire life differently. But he didn’t and now, here he was. His return visit was primarily to ask for forgiveness, which he didn’t deserve. The guilt he felt at the thought of asking made his tongue thick, like after getting a shot of Novocain, and any words of explanation instantly vanished. What could he say to her? How could he explain his lack of basic decency? His abhorrence of fundamental communication? More excuses were all he had to offer her. The potent drug addiction he’d embraced, fed, and polished for a decade, despite his futile attempts to beat it, prevented him from returning to her. No. A pang of acid irritated his stomach lining for coming back to this place, this town, this pivotal point in his life. Most of all, he dreaded facing his family.
How could he explain anything to them? After what he’d already said and done to his mom? Purposefully mean and careless, his indifference turned to rage if she ever questioned him or tried to help him. Heaven help her if she made any attempts to organize an intervention.
Jacob completely turned his back on her after she tried to save his life.
He responded to her efforts by abandoning his child to her without asking or giving her any warning. He didn’t worry about her opinion or any plans she might have had. He didn’t care how she felt about it. No. He couldn’t remember the last time he cared about how his mom felt, or how she was affected by his actions.
Yet Hailey could only love and support him, begging him to turn his life around. Upon stating her final ultimatum, insisting that he stop using drugs or move out, her green eyes filled with tears before streaming down her face. She didn’t even try to wipe them off. But Jacob still walked out and never went back.
He left his son without another glance just as easily as changing shoes.
How could he ask to be forgiven for that? No one could forgive such a sin.