When Fall Fades (The Girl Next Door Series Book 1)

by Simpson, Amy Leigh

  Sadie had gone back to caring for Andy—a war vet with a bum knee, diabetes, severe hypochondria, and enough neuroses to fill a small ark. He was requiring a lot more physical assistance after his gallbladder surgery, and as a result, Sadie’s back balked when she leaned over the center console to gather her overturned purse from the passenger floor. But, the aching of her body wasn’t nearly as acute as the pain in her heart.

  Since the fund-raiser she hadn’t spoken to Archer. The two lonely days of separation felt like a lifetime. She still had her issues to sort out about Ryan, but the fear of every possible scenario held her hostage.

  Even through all the confusion and the guilt, there was no denying that she ached for Archer—physically ached. If she could find a medical explanation for this ailment, she’d get vaccinated and be done with it.

  That was what Archer was supposed to have been—a little dose of attraction to help build up an immunity for the long run. He should have been a temporary fix, a fleeting attraction, a failed experiment. But after the first inoculation, Sadie was hooked. Very soon she’d enter a full-blown state of withdrawal. How was she going to get that highly addictive man out of her system?

  He hadn’t called, but she didn’t blame him. She was the one who needed to patch things up after her little disappearing act, knowing, at the very least, she owed him an explanation—one that would force her to decide. That, she was dreading.

  Peeling off her work clothes, she changed into Archer’s baggy T-shirt and sweatpants. She hooked a finger in the neck, lifting the fabric over her nose and breathing in the scent of him she’d neglected—fine, refused—to wash away. She collapsed onto the heavenly softness of her bed. Exhaustion beckoned her surrender to a late afternoon nap, but as tired as she was she was too restless to sleep.

  For the past two nights, teasing memories of Ryan had plagued her dreams—nothing corporeal like at the fund-raiser but disturbingly real none the less.

  Why was this happening? And why now when she’d actually met someone? Someone all wrong for her, but still.

  Driven to distraction, she snagged the remote from the nightstand and flipped on the small TV. She scrolled through the channels hoping to find reruns of Scrubs or maybe The Andy Griffith Show—anything to scatter the ping-pong effect of her brain volleying between Ryan and Archer.

  All she found was daytime news and soaps. Every news channel flashed the same image of an armed and dangerous escape convict. “Well, that’s not gonna cut it.” She clicked it off.

  It was obvious what she needed to do, but whenever she thought of confronting “the box,” kicking and screaming was her first inclination. Gathering her courage, Sadie shimmied to the edge of her bed and reached blindly underneath. Blood pooled in her head making her all tingly and even more unsure of the can of worms she was about to reopen. Her fingers gathered clumps of dust from the neglected space until she found what she was searching for. The thing that held mementos and feelings she had stowed away—way back into the deep recesses of her heart.

  Sliding it into view, Sadie pulled it up onto her lap, smeared away the coating of dust. Then she let her hands rest on the top, absorbing the pain by osmosis. She squeezed her eyes against a hot rush of emotion and carefully removed the lid.

  Make me brave.

  When she opened her eyes, her heart gave a sharp spasm. Ryan—pictures of their youth, awkward and innocent. Ryan’s favorite Stan Musial baseball card that he’d lost to her in a round of four square, their prom picture of Sadie dipping Ryan, and an old Pink Floyd T-shirt he’d left at her house during a sleepover. Hundreds of memories lingering like apparitions in a room he had never set foot in. She forced herself to breathe through the pain.

  Wallowing in her sorrow, she dug around, picking at the scab until it bled. The wound was as fresh as it had been five years ago when she spotted it—the thing that taunted her, dangling happiness just out of reach.

  Ryan’s letter.

  Sadie’s hand trembled as her fingertips kissed the envelope. Fighting against a swell of anxiety, she bravely loosed the letter—and her fragile heart—from the vault. Tears burned in her eyes before she’d even started. It was time to confront this. Again.

  As she read, Ryan’s voice snuggled around her like an embrace.

  Sadie,

  I’ve only been gone three weeks now, but it feels like forever. I can’t stop thinking about you. It’s weird that this is the first time I’m telling you that because it has been the story of my life for at least the past ten years. I have so many regrets, Sadie. The first of which is what a coward I’ve been for not taking a chance. For hiding all these years.

  That kiss in the airport was the fulfillment of so many dreams for me, and if I close my eyes and pray, I can almost feel your lips on mine as I relive it every moment of every day I’ve been away from you. I regret that it should have been the millionth time, not the first. I wish I could rewind the clock to prom night when we were on the dance floor and you fit so perfectly in my arms. I wanted nothing more than to tell you how I felt, and now, because of your courage, I will.

  I love you, Sadie Carson. More than you can imagine. If I could, I would look into your amazing eyes and tell you to your face how beautiful you are. How you make me feel like the luckiest guy in the world to simply know you. And how many times I’ve longed to make you mine. You’re the best friend I’ve ever had. And I know I’m doing this all wrong, but when I get home I’m gonna ask you to marry me. I’m tired of living my life with regrets, and there is nothing that would make me happier than spending the rest of my life with you—if you’ll have me.

  I’ll be dreaming of you until I can hold you again.

  Forever yours,

  Ryan

  Sadie held the tear-stained letter to her chest, clinging to every word as if it was the first time she’d read them. “God, this is so hard. What do I do?”

  Just then she heard something. It wasn’t a still small voice whispering the answer in her ear. If only.

  It was … Frankie. He’d been quiet for the past week and she suddenly wondered if anyone from the FBI had remembered to feed him.

  Frankie’s chirps grew louder and more frequent. The flimsy drywall seemed to somehow amplify the bird’s panicked squawks.

  After thirty minutes of incessant and irritating chirping, Sadie’s nerves were shot. She decided she had to call the FBI to remind someone about the bird. That or pack up and move out.

  Except after some searching, she realized her phone must still be in the car. Snapping her fingers, she grabbed her keys and strode out the long path to the Camaro, finding it where her purse had tipped over onto the passenger floor mat.

  As she walked back to her door, phone in hand, a spiral of wind wrapped around her, whipping leaves into the air and plastering her hair to her face. She slipped the phone into a baggy pocket and wound her hair back with a band from her wrist.

  When she glanced up, a large man stood on Charlie’s stoop, closing the door behind him. The man was a little hunched over, peering around his shoulder before turning to leave.

  She was still too far away to see him clearly, but something about him was familiar.

  Where had she seen that guy before? Was he one of Charlie’s bingo buddies? She continued her stride toward her door just as he approached the shared walkway.

  Something squirmed in her stomach. He did not look like the kind of guy who played bingo. In fact, he kind of looked like a—

  In an instant, the mug shot from the news flashed in her mind, and she glanced at the approaching man with wide-eyed recognition. Apparently much sprier than his sixty-plus years suggested, he lunged in her direction.

  Sadie’s body jolted into action, and she vaulted up the porch steps to her door. Her fingers grasped around the cool metal knob just as hard arms wrapped around her
waist and neck in a vice. A brutal tug ripped her fingers from the door. Panic came flooding in, and she began to buck and claw wildly.

  The angry latch around her neck siphoned away every breath. She croaked against the spearing pain in her throat and he squeezed harder until tears blurred her vision.

  No no no no.

  Digging her chin down, she tried to weaponize her teeth in a futile struggle.

  Her lungs were ablaze, blinks of darkness filtered into her eyes. She flung her head back and successfully rammed the guy in the face. His arms loosened slightly. But it didn’t matter. She felt every muscle go limp, and it all faded to black.

  “Oh, make it stop.” A jackhammer was pounding a hole in her skull. The migraine was so intense she was about to yak. Sadie rolled her stiff neck from side to side, seeking relief.

  Weird dream, too. She tried to lift her hands to scrub the lingering sleep from her face, but her arms seemed to be stuck.

  Stuck? Her eyes shot open. Shadows hung in the dark room. “What … hap—” Horrific pieces of memory fractured through her mind.

  She’d been attacked. Taken. The pain radiating from her skull suggested blunt force trauma, and the skin crackling near her eye when she winced hinted at dried blood. Yes, she’d woken up once before—that part was a complete blur but it must have been when he’d struck her.

  The throbbing in her head made visibility hazy, but as she squinted into the darkness, she found she recognized her surroundings—she was at Charlie’s place. Thick ropes shackled her to an old metal armchair Charlie used to keep in the basement.

  She strained against the rough biting rope, but the more she wiggled, the more it seemed to clench around her and tear at her skin. Hysteria threatened to strangle out every breath of oxygen now huffing from her spastic chest. The fear was so potent she was dizzy with it.

  “Calm down, Sadie,” she whispered to herself with no immediate results. The weighty silence screamed of the horrors to come.

  Out of self-preservation, an old familiar Psalm rose up from the depths of her soul. “The Lord is my shepherd; I shall not want. He makes me to lie down in green pastures. He leads me beside still waters. He restores my soul. He leads me in paths of righteousness for His name sake. Even though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil; for you are with me.”

  A calm seeped into her pores—infiltrating her lungs and, for the moment, leveling her head.

  Think, Sadie.

  She’d gone out to her car for a reason—her cell phone! “Oh, thank God.”

  Her arms were restricted, each inch she forged into her deep, loose pocket a battle of pain and resistance. Please. Please let it still be there.

  She could have cried when her fingertips brushed the edge of her phone. Gritting her teeth against the burn, she arched her back and lifted her hips, the ropes ripping at the raw skin on her forearms. Her hand stretched and her body twisted and writhed until she found a tenuous grip with two sweat-slicked fingers.

  She’d just unlocked the keypad when she heard footsteps. The heavy thud of boots shook the groaning planks of the wood floor, the vibration inching up the metal chair as each step signaled a very short countdown.

  Her heart stuttered, her pulse lit like kerosene.

  Come on, come on!

  A cramp seized her hand, her fingers clumsily typed a 911 text message to Archer’s phone—she hoped. She pressed send and silenced the phone before giving it a desperate toss onto her lap where she let it slip between her legs.

  “Ahh, you’re up.” He traced a filthy finger across her cheek. “Lucky me.”

  Chapter 32

  Archer Hayes

  “Can we stop? I’m hungry.” The headlights stole out into the silver dusk. Sal squinted at the upcoming exit sign for fast food options.

  “How about a fat, juicy failure-patty with a side of unemployment?”

  Sal shrugged, his dark eyes wide with innocence. “Does that combo come with a soft drink?”

  Archer blew out a laugh and shook his head. “We’ll be back in an hour. You can wait.”

  “Aww.”

  Archer glanced over at his partner whose cheek was now mournfully propped up by his fist. Silence extended for several miles while Sal seemed to pout it out. The contemplative quiet should have been peaceful, but it wasn’t. And not because of Sal’s silent brooding.

  Something wasn’t right about all this. The tension in his chest was confirmation enough. And Archer had learned not to discount his gut.

  It seemed like Canterbury was their guy. The drugs from the lab he’d broken into needed to be confirmed, but it was a tight fit. He had motive—skewed and unfounded as it was. And with his recent release from prison, the timing fit too.

  “So what do we do about Canterbury? Manhunt?” Sal was apparently done sulking.

  Archer nodded. “With the media attention, hopefully he won’t get too far. I just wish someone saw which way he was headed.”

  “He seems to be our guy.”

  “Seems to be.” Archer kept his eyes on the road.

  “What? You’re not convinced?”

  Sucking in a deep breath, his unease wound tighter. Expelling the pressure, he loosed his tie from his neck and unbuttoned the top button of his collar. “I didn’t say that.” The interior of the car felt like a hundred degrees. He cranked the AC and raked a hand through his hair, questioning the flare in his intuition.

  “So, what are you saying?”

  “I dunno, Sal. Something’s not sitting right.” Archer pulled out his cell to check for missed calls. No signal. Stupid phone.

  “Did you eat without me before we left?”

  “Ha! No, man. Is your mind ever on anything else?” He set the phone in the cup holder.

  “Crime, chicks, chow. I know what’s important in life.”

  Sal was genuinely funny, and that should have been good for a chuckle. Instead, it pinched with a sad truth. Archer’s list would have one item. Work. Not family, not friendship, not …

  Oh.

  Something critical was missing from that list—from Archer’s life. The clarity of that one thing resounded in his head as if a megaphone screamed it against his ear.

  Love.

  Had he been too blind to see it? Or too stubborn. And did he truly deserve it? After everything he’d done?

  “What’s wrong?”

  “What?” For a moment Archer had forgotten he wasn’t alone with his thoughts.

  Sal’s puzzlement relaxed into a smug grin. “Oh, I get it. Don’t think you can hide that hopeful, gooey-love glazed look in your eyes from me. Such a softie. Whaddya think, Archer, think you’re aim is good enough to pin your girl with Cupid’s arrow?”

  His mind took a sharp turn. My girl. Sadie.

  He hadn’t even breathed her name, but panic ignited in his bloodstream. It was unfounded, and it didn’t make sense, but something in his gut fired off a warning flare.

  You trying to tell me something, Big Guy?

  The only response was his foot mashing down the gas pedal and a gut-wrenching premonition.

  “Whoa! You may not be hungry for food, but it appears your appetite for Sadie can’t …” The quip died on Sal’s lips. “Wait, seriously what’s wrong?”

  “I dunno, something. I can feel it.” Archer snatched his phone from the cup holder.

  No signal. “Come on!” Clenching the phone in his fist, he slammed it down against the steering wheel.

  Beep.

  The bars for the signal filled in and an envelope appeared on the screen.

  A message. From Sadie. Over twenty minutes ago.

  Archer’s hand shook as he opened the text.

  911

  Oh God, don’t give up on me. Pleas
e don’t let it be too late.

  Chapter 33

  Sadie Carson

  The adrenaline had been a rush of heated panic. Fear, on the other hand, was frigid. Icy little shards of it slithered slowly, tauntingly down her spine as she turned away from his perverse touch. Jagged fingernails dug into her jaw, forcing her face back to meet his dark soulless eyes—their wickedness painstakingly clear, despite the obvious cloud of derangement.

  He was tall and well-muscled. With a dull, granite tint to his skin from numerous faded tattoos and a greasy tangle of stringy hair, he wore the hard life he’d endured for all to see. She shuddered when he licked the bottom of his rotting teeth, his tongue smattered with a repulsive brown grit.

  “Pretty little thing, aren’t ya?” He clawed her tender flesh as his grip raked down to her throat. His eyes flashed, and his hold softened, skimming down her neck to her breast. “We can do things the easy way or the hard way. After twenty years in prison I think I prefer the hard way.” His hand tightened.

  Swallowing a sour breath of his stench, she gulped down the nausea ascending her throat, struggling to keep her wits about her. “What do you want?” She kept her jaw clamped tight, grinding her teeth to keep more strength in her voice than her trembling larynx would allow.

  “I want the book.” His hold firmed to the point of pain.

  “The b—book?”

  “Yeah, the evidence against my father. Give it to me.” He spoke near her face, a big league spew of chaw spit from his cracked and stained lips. Vapors from the tobacco on his sticky breath clogged in her nose.

  She bit back her repulsion. Just focus and answer the man’s question. “I don’t know where it is. As far as I know it was destroyed.”

  “NO! He will not destroy my father!” His outburst unleashed merely an inch from her face. She flinched, felt moisture seep from the corners of her eyes from his punishing grip.