THE EX WHO WOULDN’T DIE
Sally Berneathy
Copyright ©2012 Sally Berneathy.
http://www.sallyberneathy.com
Original cover art by Cheryl Welch
http://www.mywelchdesign.com/
This e-book is licensed for your personal use only. This e-book 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, please return to Amazon.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without express written permission from the author except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.
This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places and incidents are products of the writer’s imagination or have been used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, or to actual events, locales or organizations is entirely coincidental.
Chapter One
Amanda accelerated around a sharp curve, leaning her shiny black Harley Night Rod so low the toe of her boot touched the road. Coming out of the curve, she watched as the speedometer climbed…70…75.
She leaned forward, letting the wind flow over her rather than against her, savoring the sharp curves of Highway 259 as it wound upward through the Kiamichi Mountains, letting the thrill of speed and danger crowd out anger, desperation and frustration.
Eighty-five and still climbing. The trees along the roadside flew by in a rush of green.
Too fast.
She knew that.
Ninety.
It was better than getting drunk to escape her problems. No hangover the next day.
She could handle the speed. She’d been riding since she was a teenager. She could handle the motorcycle and her demanding mother and her ditzy sister. She could handle everything life had thrown at her except Charley Randolph, her almost-ex-husband. He’d held that title for fifteen months and counting. Today his scumbag lawyer had finagled another postponement of the final divorce hearing for his scumbag client.
Charley had sworn he’d never let her go, and she was beginning to believe that might be the only time in their two-year marriage when he’d told the truth.
She veered around a particularly sharp curve, leaning so far over she fancied she could feel the heat of the pavement through her thick leather pants. Adrenalin suffused every cell in her body. This was great. Another hour or two and maybe she’d calm down enough to stop plotting Charley’s demise.
She’d planned this weekend getaway to a log cabin nestled deep in the Kiamichi Mountains to celebrate the divorce she thought would happen and to mourn the marriage that had never really happened. Now she could only hope the peace and serenity of the mountains coupled with the exhilarating ride getting there would soothe her murderous anger.
She gave the throttle another twist.
Ninety-five.
One-hundred.
Blow out the cobwebs, focus on the joy of speed, of the wind rushing past her and the trees along the roadside turning to a green blur.
A sharp curve twisted to the left just ahead. She pushed gently on the foot brake, and a chill darted down her spine. The pedal was mushy. The bike didn’t slow. Something was wrong.
Not a good time or place for the brakes to go out. Her muscles tensed as she feathered the hand brake. The bike gradually slowed as she swept into the curve. She let out a long breath and ordered herself to relax. Everything was going to be okay. She’d check the brake when she got to the cabin. The hand brake controlled ninety percent of the braking anyway.
But everything wasn’t going to be okay. Something was wrong besides the brakes.
The back wheel wasn’t gripping the road the way it should.
She hadn’t noticed any sand or oil on the highway, no irregularities in the smooth surface. This shouldn’t be happening.
But it was.
Refusing to allow herself to panic, Amanda held the bike steady as she continued around the curve, slowing as quickly as she dared, making a Herculean effort to maintain control of herself and the bike.
It wasn’t going to be enough. The bike slid toward the side of the road, the side of the mountain.
She lost control—of the motorcycle and of her own pounding heart.
She slid toward the side of the mountain.
The adrenalin was gone. The euphoria was gone. Even her anger at Charley was gone. Her entire focus became survival. A blanket of calm fell over her, shutting out sound and scenery, bringing her world down to nothing but the bike and her.
Feeling as if she was moving in slow motion, she thrust away from the cycle, leaving the beloved bike to roll on its own down the hill, anywhere but on top of her body.
She tumbled, freefalling helplessly down the mountain, blue sky replaced by green grass replaced by blue sky, over and over. A tree slammed against her shoulder and sent her in a different direction. A large mossy rock filled her vision. Pain exploded through her head, her body, all around her. She gratefully embraced the enveloping blackness.
“Amanda! Wake up, damn it! Do you hear me? Get up! You have to get up!”
Charley. Of course it was Charley. Who else would be demanding that she wake from a pleasant dream?
“Go away,” she grumbled.
“No, I won’t go away until you get up. You have to get to the highway.”
The highway?
“No, I don’t.” She tried to go back to her dream, to the most amazing bright light she’d ever seen, a light that promised the fulfillment of all her dreams, but Charley continued to yell.
And now he’d ruined it all. She was awake and her head ached abominably. In fact, her whole body hurt.
She put a hand to her head, a gloved hand that touched something smooth and hard instead of flesh and hair.
She opened one eye and, through a fog, peered at her hand. Motorcycle gloves. And she was wearing her helmet which was fogged from her breathing with the faceplate closed and no air being forced through as she rode.
Why had she gone to sleep in her riding gear?
“Get up, Amanda. You’re hurt. You’ve got to have help.”
“I’ll hurt a lot less if you’ll leave me alone and let me go back to sleep.”
“No! You can’t do that. Listen to me. Look at me and listen to me.”
She pushed her faceplate up and lifted her gaze to see him kneeling beside her, streaked blond hair shining in the sunlight, blue eyes concerned, his khakis and white Polo shirt immaculate as always. In the background she saw trees and rocks and grass and sky.
Huh? Where the hell was she and why had she been sleeping outside in her riding gear?
The accident. She’d lost control of her bike, skidded going around that last curve, skidded as if she’d hit sand or oil.
She lifted herself painfully on one elbow. “What are you doing here? I knew you had something to do with it! You were following me, weren’t you? This is your fault! Somehow, this has to be your fault!”
“I didn’t. I wasn’t. I swear. I think I’m here to save your life. You’ve got to make it back to the highway so you can get help.”
Amanda blinked and looked around her, trying to focus through the fog inside her brain that couldn’t be dispelled by anything as simple as opening a faceplate.
“All right.” She’d learned to agree to Charley’s irrational demands t
o shut him up, then do as she pleased. “Okay. I need to get to the highway.”
“Good.” He rose and stepped backward.
“Go on,” she urged. “I’ll be there later.”
“Damn it, Amanda, this is no time to be stubborn! You’re hurt. You’ll die if you don’t get help.”
Amanda had to admit, she didn’t feel so hot. She’d taken quite a tumble, and her desire to go back to sleep probably wasn’t a good sign considering how hard her head had hit that rock. With a sigh, she tugged open the zipper of her jacket pocket and fumbled for her cell phone. With her gloves on, she couldn’t work the touch screen. “Call 911,” she said, offering it to Charley.
“Great idea!” He reached eagerly then drew back with a strange sad look. “I can’t.”
“Oh, for crying out loud!” She pulled off her gloves and started to punch in the numbers, but of course there was no signal so far into the mountains. She shoved the phone back in her pocket.
“Fine. You get your way again. I’ll walk back to the highway.” She tried to rise, but pain shot through her left ankle and she fell back with a groan. “I’m just going to lie down here for a minute and take a short nap. Then I’ll have the energy to walk.”
“No!” Charley shouted. “You’ll die!”
“And you can’t stand for me to escape from you even in death. Well, I can’t walk. I think my ankle might be broken.”
“Then you’ll have to crawl,” Charley declared.
Familiar fury rose in Amanda’s throat. “You could give me a hand!” she snapped. “You could carry me. You could at least let me lean on your shoulder.”
Charley grinned, looking like a mischievous boy. Which he was. A 32-year old child. “You always want to be independent. You’re always saying you don’t need any help. Guess you’ll have to prove it now.” He took another step backward, up the mountain.
“Why, you worthless...” Her words ended in a groan as she again tried to get to her feet. Every muscle and bone in her body protested, registering their complaints with sharp stabs of pain.
“Worthless what?” Charley taunted, moving farther away and still grinning—triumphantly, she thought. “Come on, Amanda, you can do better than that. Remember the time I hocked our wedding rings to pay off my gambling debt? You had some pretty colorful names for me then.”
Amanda unleashed a few heart-felt invectives, but Charley continued to step backward.
“What? I can’t hear you. Did you say you still love me?”
“You are the most despicable creature on this earth! I only thought I hated you before this. What kind of monster forces an injured woman to crawl?” She crammed her hands back into her gloves, grasped the nearest bush and pulled herself upward. Using her arms and her uninjured leg, she inched her way toward him, every movement an agony. Each time she gripped something with her right hand, a pain knifed through her shoulder. Fortunately her anger at Charley provided something of an anesthetic.
“You’re going to pay for this, Charley Randolph.” The rock she’d wedged her right foot against gave way and she clung to a small tree with only her right hand, the pain in her shoulder excruciating. Blackness crept around the corners of her mind, but she shoved it away, replacing it with righteous fury.
“All deals are off,” she panted when she’d stabilized her position. She reached upward, dragging herself along as Charley continued to move backward, away from her, up the hill. “I’m no longer offering to give you two-thirds of our property just to get away from you. I’m taking half of everything and all of my business. I earned ninety percent of everything anyway. I’ll fight you in court if it takes another ten years.”
“I won’t sign the divorce papers, Amanda. I won’t give you half. I won’t let you divorce me. If you keep trying, you’ll end up with nothing. Not even the cat.” And still he smiled that infuriating smile.
“Damn you to hell! Damn you to living with my mother and never going deaf for all eternity!” The bush she grabbed hold of had stickers so sharp they pierced her glove and her palm, but she ignored that relatively minor pain and continued to move. “We don’t even have a cat. That’s just like you to take something we don’t even have. I hope the next woman you sleep with gives you leprosy.”
“What was it you threatened to do with that rusty serrated knife when you caught me with Becky? Cut some flowers for a bouquet?”
“Cut off your penis and put it down the garbage disposal. And it was Megan! I didn’t know about Becky until now.”
Charley continued to taunt her, and Amanda continued to climb, determined to reach him and throw him back down the mountain. So much for moving past her desire to kill him.
After an eternity of pain and torment, he stopped, and she realized the highway was inches from her face. With a gargantuan effort she pushed herself erect, careful not to put much weight on her left ankle.
Charley beamed. “You made it, babe. I knew you could do it.”
She lunged for him—and fell onto the surface of the highway.
“Amanda, get up. We have to talk about something,” he said, his tone suddenly serious, but she was already drifting into the blackness, her last ounce of energy expended. “Amanda! You almost died. He tried to kill you! He’ll try again! You’re in danger!”
Chapter Two
Somebody was moaning, making an awful fuss. Being totally obnoxious.
Bloody hell. It was her.
Her head throbbed. She lay still, trying to remember what she’d done last night to deserve to feel so bad.
Oh, yes. The motorcycle wreck, skidding out of control, tumbling down the mountain, expecting to die.
Then Charley. He’d made her crawl up that blasted mountain to the highway, hadn’t given her even a little bit of help. She could have died, but he wasn’t about to get dirt on his hands or grass stains on his Dockers. Same old Charley.
She opened her eyes. Even without moving her head—which she didn’t dare attempt—she could tell this was a hospital room. Small, gloomy, an IV pole beside the hard, uncomfortable bed.
Apparently Charley had gone for help then probably gone for a drink. Even as she cursed his lack of responsibility in leaving her, she was glad she didn’t have to contend with him and a vile headache.
“You’re awake!” Her younger sister’s always-excited voice came from the other side of the bed, and Amanda smelled the floral perfume before the small, perky face appeared above hers. Jenny was always perky. Petite with short, dark hair framing delicate features, she was Amanda’s opposite in every way. Amanda, tall, red-haired and rebellious, had often wondered if she might be a changeling in the family that fell short of perfection only by her presence in that family.
Jenny lifted one dainty hand and touched Amanda’s cheek. “How do you feel?”
“Rotten. How do you feel?”
“Worried! We’ve been so scared ever since Mother got the call that you’d been hurt on that terrible motorcycle. We always knew eventually you’d have a wreck. Just the other day we saw a motorcycle wreck on the news, and Davey said, that could be Amanda. Thank God you’re okay. Well, I mean, you will be okay. Of course you’re not okay right now, not with your ankle sprained and your shoulder out of socket. It’s not out of socket anymore, but it was, and you have a lot of bruises. At first they thought they’d have to operate on your head, but they gave you some kind of medicine that made the swelling in your brain go down. It’s a good thing those people in that van found you when they did. Much longer and you might have died. Daddy tried to give them a reward—”
“Jenny, slow down.” If she had to listen to the babbling much longer, her head would surely explode. “In short, specific sentences, tell me where I am.”
“In a hospital.”
Amanda sighed. “And in which city or state does this hospital reside? I was in Oklahoma when I crashed.”
“Yes, you were. But Daddy pulled some strings and got you moved to a private hospital in Dallas as soon as we found out you we
ren’t going to die. You’re in Graham General. Daddy’s friend is your doctor. He—”
“How long was I unconscious?”
“Two whole days. They said you’d probably be out longer, but look at you! Wide awake! You’re—”
“I know, I’m okay. What time is it?”
Jenny checked the diamond-studded watch on her wrist. “Seven minutes past one. They brought your lunch.” She indicated a tray with a glass of milk, bread and a stainless steel cover hiding something on a plate, something that likely should remain hidden. “I made them leave it because I had a feeling you were going to wake up today, and I knew you’d be starving—”
“What about the motorcycle?”
Jenny blinked rapidly, never a good sign. “The…motorcycle?”
“Shiny black machine with two wheels. Makes this loud VROOM VROOM noise. Where is the motorcycle? They did bring back my bike, didn’t they?”
Jenny folded then unfolded her hands and fluttered nervously. “Yes. The police have it.”
“The police? What are they doing with my bike? This has something to do with Charley, doesn’t it?”
Jenny’s nervous look changed to startled distress, her small eyes widening, one hand flying to her mouth. “Oh, Amanda!”
Amanda groaned. She had been a little surprised that Charley wasn’t looming at her bedside, especially after that scene on the mountain. Her accident and confinement to a hospital bed would have been the perfect opportunity for him to prove his devotion, try to convince her to drop the divorce proceedings. But if one of his scams had landed him in trouble with the authorities again, he’d be hiding out. Or in jail.
Her father, a local judge, had managed to keep Charley out of jail during their marriage. However, there had been plenty of close calls, plenty of times the police had shown up on her front porch and plenty of times Amanda had hoped her father wouldn’t intervene. But Charley had always appealed to his father-in-law who didn’t want to “see the family’s reputation blackened.”
Charley had been caught at the scene of her accident, so the cops had confiscated her bike. It was the prettiest, hottest bike she’d ever owned. Now, thank you, Charley, the cops had it. They’d take it apart, looking for evidence. It would never be the same.
The Ex Who Wouldn't Die (Charley's Ghost Book 1) Page 1