Tomb's Tale
Page 1
Copyright © 2018 Amanda McKinney
Names, characters and incidents depicted in this book are products of the author’s imagination or are used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental and beyond the intent of the author or the publisher.
No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher.
Paperback ISBN 978-0-9995553-5-4
eBook ISBN 978-0-9995553-6-1
978-0-9995553-7-8
Contents
Also by Amanda McKinney
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
About the Author
Also by Amanda McKinney
Lethal Legacy
The Woods (A Berry Springs Novel)
The Lake (A Berry Springs Novel)
The Storm (A Berry Springs Novel)
The Fog (A Berry Springs Novel)
Devil’s Gold (A Black Rose Mystery, Book 1)
Hatchet Hollow (A Black Rose Mystery, Book 2)
Evil Eye (A Black Rose Mystery, Book 4)
Sinister Secrets (A Black Rose Mystery, Book 5)
Dragon's Breath (A Black Rose Mystery, Book 6)
Skull Shore (A Black Rose Mystery, Book 7)
And many more to come...
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For Mama
CHAPTER 1
Roxy squeezed her eyes shut as the ringing in her ears reached a fever pitch. A wave of nausea washed over her, and she suddenly became aware of the pain radiating through her body. An aching, throbbing pain, from her freshly-painted toenails to the headache pulsating in her temples.
She blinked, trying to make sense of the world spinning around her.
She was flat on her back, on the ground… in the grass. The grass?
What the hell just happened?
An explosion.
She felt a trickle of blood run down her cheek as she rolled to her side, broken glass and twigs crunching underneath her.
Her eyes shot open. Oh, my God—the girls. My sisters.
Panic seized her, and she surged to her feet.
Her gaze frantically darted around from the six bodies sprawled out on the lawn, surrounded by shattered glass, shards of wood, chairs, and papers. Papers from the meeting they had been in the middle of before their house exploded next to them.
My sisters. Oh, God.
She lunged forward, feeling a zing of pain shoot up her back. But she didn’t care. Hell, she barely even noticed. At that second, nothing else around her mattered. Not the flames, the scorching heat, the house.
The image of her mother—their mother—flashed in her head as she sprinted toward her sisters. The image of the last time she’d embraced her parents, right before she’d turned to her sobbing sisters, and promised that she would take care of them while mommy and daddy were on vacation. Little did she know that was the last time she would ever see them.
Little did she know that the promise she’d made to her sisters that day would last a lifetime.
“Scar, Dixie, are you okay?” Her pulse pounded as she looked them over.
Dixie groaned and rolled over as Scar sat up and gaped at the flames flicking through the windows of what used to be the kitchen. Black smoke barreled out of the old stone mansion—the home of their company, Black Rose Investigations.
She fell to her knees.
“Are you guys okay?”
Dixie gritted her teeth and nodded. “Yeah. Son of a bitch.”
Scar wiped the blood from her cheek. “Well, I’m bleeding, I guess.” She said it calmly, as if a casual, informative statement, rather than a cause for concern, which was true to form from the hippie, free-spirited sister.
Relief overcame her, and a smirk almost crossed her lips—almost. That was one thing about the Knight sisters—each were exceptionally strong, tough women, who had taken their fair share of cuts and bruises over the years. They were no babies, no whiners, no wimps, which was perhaps why they’d turned Black Rose into one of the most prestigious private investigation companies in the country.
Her relief was only temporary. Seeing her sisters bloody, bruised, and in pain made her blood boil.
She took a deep inhale. Not right now, Roxy. Assess, then act. She leaned in, looking closely at Scar. “Are you sure you’re okay?”
“Yeah, nothing that a few shots of whiskey can’t fix. You okay? You’ve got a cut on your cheek.”
She took a quick mental inventory of herself—legs, check, arms, check, head, check. Yep, she was good. Other than the lightning shooting through her lower back.
“Yes, I’m good.” She lightly trailed her finger along the nasty cut above her youngest sister’s eye. “It’s not deep. Probably from a piece of glass.” She turned to Dixie and grimaced at the knot already beginning to form under her right eye. Something had nailed her—nailed her hard. She’d have a black-eye for days, weeks, maybe. But they were okay. They were still in one piece. They were still alive.
What about everyone else? Her sisters weren’t the only members of the Black Rose team that flew off the patio—there were four others that she loved just as much.
She took one last look at Scar and Dixie, then turned to see her assistant, Fiona, stumbling across the grass in her one-remaining six-inch heel, her long honey-colored hair sticking out wildly from all sides of her head.
“You okay?”
“Yeah.” She gripped her chest, which had been blessed with a natural D-cup. “Yep, Tanya and Tucker are still here. Hell, I’ve taken harder hits than that at the academy. Now… I just need to find my other Louboutin.”
Roxy snorted a laugh. Born and raised in Italy, Fiona moved to the States with her father at the age of fourteen, with a single suitcase and a dream to be in the FBI, which she achieved until Black Rose Investigations came knocking on her door. She was tough, witty, and freakishly strong for her tiny frame. Her biggest asset—aside from her chest, of course—and her biggest weakness were one in the same, she was completely and utterly fearless.
Fiona spotted her shoe in a nearby bush. “There it is. Okay, I’m good.” She blew out a breath and put her hands on her curvy hips. “What. The. Fuck.”
“Well, Fiona, that’s what you call a massive explosion.” Ace Zedler, the office manager, super-genius, and super-smartass stepped over with Harley, Scar’s assistant, whose hair was speckled with sticks and shattered glass.
Fiona turned and looked at Ace, who looked abnormally put-together considering they’d just been blown ten feet into the air. “Do you have to be a smartass every second of your damn life, Ace? Jesus, we just about got blown to pieces.”
Ignoring the impending sparring match, Roxy looked Ace and Harley over. “You both okay?”
Harley nodded and gave Ace the side-eye.
He raised his eyebrows. “What? No thank you? No thanks for saving my life?”
Harley rolled her eyes. “Please. You threw yourself on top of me.”
“Exactly! And
saved your life!”
“About ten seconds after the explosion, Ace.”
He grinned and squared his muscular shoulders. “Just covering all the bases.”
“Yeah, second base.” She shook her curly brown hair. “I don’t even want to know how many women you’ve thrown yourself on top of,” she wagged air-quotes with her fingers, “to save their life.”
Raven limped up and quipped, “How many women are in Devil’s Den?”
“That’s enough, guys.”
The team turned to see Roxy, staring at the blazing fire ahead of her—a fire almost as intense as the one raging in her eyes. Her jaw was set, her fists clenched, her body tensed from head to toe.
The team followed her gaze, turned, and stood in a straight line, silently staring at the burning mansion.
The creeping fig vines that climbed the grey stones withered against the blistering heat. The gargoyles perched on the corners of the castle-like estate looked down onto the flames, their angry faces seeming to grimace more than usual.
The realization of what had just happened began to sink in, leaving them awestruck.
Black Rose Investigations was burning.
Ace stepped away. “I’ll call the police.”
Roxy nodded, her eyes remaining locked on the house.
Finally, Scar whispered, “Did you see it?”
Roxy narrowed her eyes, feeling the hot tingle of anger rush through her system. “Yes. I saw it.” She tilted her head up to the bright blue sky where just seconds after the explosion, the letter K had formed in the black, swirling smoke.
Krestel.
Krestel. The infamous witch of the Great Shadow Mountains.
“They’re on their way.” Ace slid his phone into his pocket and turned to Roxy, with a hint of fear reflecting in his usually confident, brown eyes. “I told you guys… she’s cursed us. We’re cursed.”
Roxy inhaled, trying to ease the fury burning inside her. Although she didn’t respond, her expression said it all.
Nobody fucks with the sisters of Black Rose Investigations.
CHAPTER 2
Sirens screamed through the air as Roxy picked up a shard of glass from the ground. A fire truck, followed by two police cars sped down the long, rock driveway and around to the back of the house.
She took a deep breath, straightened her back and began walking across the yard.
Police Lieutenant Zander Stone, a close family friend, jumped out of the first squad car and jogged across the lawn. His eyes immediately locked on Raven in the distance, whose heart he’d won after saving her life while working a particularly gruesome case days earlier.
His gaze shifted to Roxy. “She okay?”
Roxy nodded. “Yes, we’re all fine,” she said just as an ambulance parked behind the fire truck.
Raven ran over, and a split-second of jealousy surprised Roxy as she watched Raven and Zander embrace and kiss, soaking in the comfort that only true love could provide.
Zander pulled away. “Tell me everything.”
As Raven rambled out the story of what happened, Roxy watched the scene unfold around her.
It was chaos—people shouting and scattering like ants across the yard, vehicles unloading equipment, medics rushing toward them. Total chaos.
For a moment, it was as if she'd stepped outside her body.
A warm breeze carrying the sharp scent of smoke swept through her long, black hair, sending blades of grass tumbling to the ground.
Green grass. Spring was coming. A time of new life, renewal. Not a time of destruction and loss.
Her gaze shifted to a man—he had to be at least six-foot-three—jumping out of the fire truck as the other firemen scrambled to pull the hose to the house. He shouted orders at the men, his low, deep voice oozing with authority. He wore a grey DDFD T-shirt, which pulled tightly across his muscular chest and shoulders, khaki tactical pants, and scuffed boots.
He turned and looked at the Black Rose team.
“Everyone back, now.” He spread his arms and motioned the team to move farther away from the house and come together in a group on the hill. His gaze landed on Roxy, and he began to make his way up the hillside.
Their eyes locked and she watched him closely—he walked briskly, in strong, confident movements with his shoulders back and an intensity in his face that most might call intimidating. He was a massive, beast of a man.
In all her years of being one of the top private investigators in the country, Roxy relied on her uncanny ability to correctly read people within seconds of meeting them. And walking her way was a secure, competent man. A man that didn’t take a lot of bullshit.
It must be Chief Cage.
Roxy had never met him, but had heard that he was new to Devil’s Den, moving to town just a year earlier to fill the chief position at the fire department. Although, that wasn’t the only thing she’d heard about him—according to every warm-blooded female in the small, country town, Weston Cage was the hottest thing to hit the South since Aqua Net.
As he drew closer, his intense expression faded into concern and his steps quickened. He walked past Zander and Raven, straight to Roxy and frowned. “Miss Knight?”
“Yes. Roxy. Chief Cage?”
“Weston. Are you okay?”
The blood—her cheek. Did it look that bad? Shit, was she okay?
She swiped her cheek with the back of her hand. “I’m fine.”
“Sure?”
“Yes.”
“Can you confirm that no one else is in the house?” He spoke quickly, with a sense of urgency in his voice, yet a tone that told her he was in control. He leaned in closer, just inches from her face, looking closely at the cut.
“Yes, that’s right.” She could feel his breath on her cheek—apparently, this guy had no personal space issues. She did, so she looked down. “We were all outside having a team meeting.”
He reached into his pocket and ripped the top off a small package. He raised his hand to her face, and she quickly took a step back.
“Relax. It’s antiseptic. I’m going to get the dirt and debris off the cut.”
“I’m not the one needing assistance. You need to—
“Your friends are being taken care of, ma’am.” He lightly dabbed around her wound and took a quick glance at the broken beer bottles scattered across the lawn. “Must’ve been a long meeting.”
She cocked her eyebrow. Fire chief… and chief smartass. She cleared her throat. “We were celebrating a case win.” Not that it was any of his business.
The loud blast of water from the hose had her looking behind him.
“The man who called said no one was injured, correct?” He softly wiped her face, then stepped back.
She glanced over her shoulder at the medic who was tending to her team. She turned back. “Cuts and bruises, but everyone’s okay. We’re a tough bunch.”
He stuffed the antiseptic wipe into a baggie and put it into his pocket. “I’ve heard. Any animals in the house?”
She thought of the multiple dead black cats that Krestel had been leaving on their doorstep over the last few weeks. She wanted to say ‘none that are alive’, but decided against it. “No, no animals.”
“When did the fire start?”
“Less than ten minutes ago. Explosion, really.”
“You’re lucky. The thick stone walls in this place will keep the fire from spreading. My boys will get it contained before you know it.” He glanced at the house where the flames were already beginning to die down. “What room is that?”
“The kitchen.”
“That’s where the fire started?”
“Explosion, and, yes.”
He sighed and nodded, as if to say ‘shocker’, and she felt an immediate rush of defensiveness. Before she could catch herself, she said, “And, no, we didn’t leave the oven on, or the stove, or a silk scarf too close to a fancy candle.”
“I didn’t say that you did, Miss Knight.”
“Roxy.”
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He stared at her for a moment with an expression she couldn’t quite read. “Any idea what could have caused it, then?”
She took a deep breath and looked down.
“Ma’am?”
Her eyes met his. “Do you believe in witches, Weston?”
He squeezed his eyebrows together, gawking at her as if she had three heads.
Great—this should be interesting. If she knew anything about headstrong alpha males, which she’d already pegged him to be, it was that narrow-mindedness went hand in hand with their bulging biceps.
As he opened his mouth to respond, two firemen jogged up. The young one turned to her, his flushed face almost as red as his hair, as the other gave the chief an update. “Miss Knight, I’m Jimmy Campbell. We’ve closed off the rest of the house, and should have the fire out in no time.”
She exhaled. “Thank you. Once the fire is out, how long until we can go into the house?”
Weston cut in. “We need to make sure it’s safe first, above all else. Then we’ll determine the extent of the damage, and the cause.” He paused and started to say something, but stopped.
A snide witch comment, perhaps?
Most definitely.
He turned to the firemen. “Thanks, guys. I’ll be down there in a sec.” He looked at her. “Do you own the house?”
“Yes. My sisters and me.”
“Black Rose Investigations, right?”
“That’s right.” The hose turned off, and her gaze shifted from the chaos around her house, to the sun beginning to set above the Great Shadow Mountains.
As if reading her mind, he said, “It’s closing in on six o’clock, ma’am.”
She shook her head and muttered, “I can’t believe this.” She shifted her weight, and pain like fire shot through her back—like a damn machete slicing her in half. Before she could hide it, she winced and folded forward.
Weston quickly stepped forward and grabbed her arm. “You okay?”
She put her hand on his arm and straightened, trying to hide the now excruciating pain hurling through her. “Yes, I’m fine. It’s just my back…”
“You don’t look fine. Show me where it hurts.”