ALSO BY MELINDA LEIGH
BREE TAGGERT NOVELS
Cross Her Heart
See Her Die
Drown Her Sorrows
MORGAN DANE NOVELS
Say You’re Sorry
Her Last Goodbye
Bones Don’t Lie
What I’ve Done
Secrets Never Die
Save Your Breath
SCARLET FALLS NOVELS
Hour of Need
Minutes to Kill
Seconds to Live
SHE CAN SERIES
She Can Run
She Can Tell
She Can Scream
She Can Hide
“He Can Fall” (A Short Story)
She Can Kill
MIDNIGHT NOVELS
Midnight Exposure
Midnight Sacrifice
Midnight Betrayal
Midnight Obsession
THE ROGUE SERIES NOVELLAS
Gone to Her Grave (Rogue River)
Walking on Her Grave (Rogue River)
Tracks of Her Tears (Rogue Winter)
Burned by Her Devotion (Rogue Vows)
Twisted Truth (Rogue Justice)
THE WIDOW’S ISLAND NOVELLA SERIES
A Bone to Pick
Whisper of Bones
A Broken Bone
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, organizations, places, events, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.
Text copyright © 2021 by Melinda Leigh
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced, or stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without express written permission of the publisher.
Published by Montlake, Seattle
www.apub.com
Amazon, the Amazon logo, and Montlake are trademarks of Amazon.com, Inc., or its affiliates.
ISBN-13: 9781542007047 (paperback)
ISBN-10: 1542007046 (paperback)
ISBN-13: 9781542007061 (hardcover)
ISBN-10: 1542007062 (hardcover)
Cover design by Shasti O’Leary Soudant
First edition
For Charlie, Annie, and Tom
You are my world
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
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
CHAPTER FORTY-ONE
CHAPTER FORTY-TWO
CHAPTER FORTY-THREE
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
CHAPTER ONE
June 1990
I squirm against the ropes binding my hands behind my back. Another rope binds my ankles. The trunk is tight and smells like gasoline and rubber. Nausea rises in the back of my throat. I suck in a lungful of stale air through the makeshift hood they’ve tied over my head. Curled on my side, I try for the tenth time to bring my bound feet through my tied hands. If I can get my hands in front of me, I have a small chance of fighting back. The way I’m trussed—like a Thanksgiving turkey—I’m helpless.
It’s no use. There isn’t enough space, and I’m not flexible. My shoulder presses against the wheel well. The arm I’m lying on is numb. Every time I shift my weight, a little blood rushes into my hand. Sensations of fiery pinpricks follow. I flex my fingers over and over to try to increase circulation, but my movements are limited.
I lie still for a few seconds, recovering my wind.
I shouldn’t be surprised. My entire life has been leading up to this moment. Every bad decision, every thoughtless act, has brought me here. I have no illusions about what is going to happen to me. I’ll be dead before the night is over. I think of my family. Will they miss me?
Sorry. For everything.
I’m no angel. I’ve done plenty of bad things in my life. I find it ironic that the one time I stand up for what’s right, that’s the decision that gets me killed. What was I thinking? What did I hope to accomplish? The thought of me becoming a decent man is laughable. The weight of my combined sins is too great to be balanced.
I’m a hopeless case.
The car lurches and bumps, and I assume we’ve left the paved road. It won’t be long now. My remaining time can be counted in minutes. Nervous sweat breaks out under my arms, and I can smell my own fear. Not sure why. It’s not like I’ll be leaving a rich, full life. I’m barely getting through the days. My life is pathetic. What will I be missing?
The car comes to a stop, and the engine cuts off. Despite my attempt to meet my end with calm, bile surges into my throat, and I begin to shake—not little tremors, but humiliating, body-racking quakes.
My life might be for shit, but I don’t want to die.
Stop it.
Honor isn’t possible, not for me, but I can at least die with some sort of dignity. I don’t want to meet death crying and whimpering. It’s the very last thing I’ll do. I should try to show a little class and act like a man.
I hear the trunk pop open. Humid night air rushes over my sweat-coated skin, lifting goose bumps on my arms.
“Get out,” he says.
“Please.” As if I weren’t humiliated enough, I hear myself beg. Have some pride. But a primal survival instinct overrides my need to be dignified. I can’t stop it.
I hear a switchblade snap open. Terror supercharges my heart. I have no control over it as it beats like a frantic hummingbird’s wings. But he doesn’t stab me. He slices through the ropes around my ankles. I shift my legs and feel the hot surge of blood flow as my feet come to life. I’d like to kick him in the fucking face, but I can’t see, and after at least an hour in the trunk, my legs are too weak.
The hood is ripped off my head. I gulp fresh air like I’ve been underwater.
“Fucking get out of the trunk.”
I hear dogs barking, big dogs. One begins to howl, and the others join in, as if they’re a pack ready to join a hunt. The thin sound lifts the hairs on the back of my neck, and dread balls in my gut. They are not friendly pets. These are hungry beasts conditioned to rip me or each other to shreds the second they get an opportunity.
“Move it,” he snaps.
“Why?” I find my voice and hope I don’t sound as scared as I am. “You’re going to kill me anyway.”
“Because if you don’t, I’m going to hurt you first.”
I’ve seen him in action. That is not an idle threat. For emphasis, he pokes me with the tip of the knife. The point bites into my shou
lder. I feel blood well out of the wound and run in a warm trickle down my arm.
I work my legs over the edge and lever myself into a sitting position. With my hands still bound behind my back, the task takes work, and I’m breathing hard. I settle there for a few seconds, taking in the night and what will surely be my last moments on this earth.
The shadow of a barn looms over me. I look up at the sky and spot the Big Dipper. My senses heighten. The stars seem brighter, and the scent of pine in the air is sharper. Clouds pass in front of the moon, darkening the summer night.
“Walk.” He barks the command, sounding as vicious as the dogs.
When I hesitate, he pulls the gun from his pocket and jerks it in the direction of the barn. I shift my weight to my feet and stand. My knees wobble, but I keep them under me. My first few steps are shaky, but they steady as I move. I glance at the woods behind the barn and think about running.
Do I have anything to lose?
I dig in a toe and get exactly three strides. A hand fists in my hair and my head is yanked backward. I fall on my ass. Pain rings through my tailbone and up my spine.
He grabs my arm and hauls me to my feet. “That was pointless.”
Yep.
There seems to be no end to my stupidity tonight.
With my arm chicken-winged, I’m half dragged toward the barn. He steps in front of me and pulls at the door handle. Despite the door’s age, weight, and lack of maintenance, it rolls open with little effort. Can’t find quality construction like that these days. The world is going to hell.
Am I?
He herds me inside, closes the door behind us, and turns on the light. The barn is mostly used for storage. I see a tractor in one corner, a pile of junk in another. A few animals occupy a pen on the far side of the space. They don’t like the intrusion into their quiet night. Straw rustles with their nervous movements. A goat bleats. An old pony pokes its nose through the slats and eyeballs me. Ridiculously, I hope the gunshot doesn’t scare them.
He shoves me. I trip over something and stumble. I can’t catch myself with my hands behind my back, and I go down. My knees hit the ground, and my teeth snap together. Kneeling, I smell manure and realize I tripped over a pile of animal shit.
The woman is already there. Is she dead?
He walks in front of me, lifts the gun, and checks for a round in the chamber. Ready. “All I wanted was loyalty. Was that too much to ask?”
“Apparently, yes.” I don’t even understand why I decided to draw my moral line tonight, after having very few ethics my entire life. I wasn’t even going to die on a stupid virtuous hill, but down in the filth where I’ve spent most of my days.
Maybe this is what I deserve. I want to go out bravely, but I just don’t have it in me. I used up my single drop of courage making the decision that led me here.
“You tried to betray me,” he says.
“I tried to do the right thing.” What the fuck? I’m dying anyway. I might as well go for it.
Our eyes meet. His are as cold and dark as always. I don’t bother asking for forgiveness. He doesn’t have an ounce of mercy in his soul.
“Go ahead. Kill me. We both know you’re going to.” I try to summon some courage, but it feels more like defeat.
He pulls a pair of bolt cutters from his pocket. “Oh, I’m going to kill you, but first, you have to pay for your betrayal.”
He cranks my arm behind my back and lifts my hand. I struggle, panic scrambling in my throat like an animal trying to claw its way out of a trap. I hear the snip of bone. Pain explodes in my finger and travels up my arm at light speed. My own scream sounds far away. Tiny lights swirl in front of my face.
Snip.
I scream again. The agony reaches a level my brain can’t comprehend. My heart beats so fast, it feels like it could explode. The sheer terror of suffering more pain fills my chest to bursting. My body shakes uncontrollably, as if it’s no longer connected to my will. Fear becomes a separate entity.
Snip.
I’m beyond words now, whimpering and grunting like a prey animal as he moves in front of me again. He lifts the gun and points it directly at my head. I snivel. I have only one thought. Do it. Please, just do it. Tears and snot run down my face. I have no control over the reactions of my own body. There’s no dignity now. He’s won.
And he knows it.
He looks down the barrel. Just above the sight, I see the corner of his mouth curve up in a cruel almost-smile. He’s in no rush. He’s enjoying this, dragging it out, savoring every second.
I have nothing left. I just want it to be over. I want to stare him down. I want to be brave. I want to be the person I’ve always imagined I could become. But that’s just not me. One attempt at virtue can’t undo all the bad things I’ve done. I’m a coward and a failure. In the end, I close my eyes.
No good deed goes unpunished.
CHAPTER TWO
Sheriff Bree Taggert stood in the road at the end of the driveway. Her stomach turned, a faint queasiness rising in the back of her throat as she stared at the house. Upstate New York was in the middle of a heat wave. At noon, the air was oppressive and humid. A sense of claustrophobia closed over her, which made no sense. She was outside. But the trapped feeling wasn’t due to physical constraints. It was the memories that came with this house. The only place she feared being trapped in was her past.
The roof sagged, and years of wind, rain, and neglect had peeled the paint from the wooden clapboards, turning the exterior to a weathered gray. Untrimmed trees and overgrown foliage blocked the sun and left the house cast in deep shadows, even on a sunny afternoon in mid-July.
Bree inhaled. The scent of decay and dampness lingered in her nostrils. Twenty-seven years before, this had been her childhood home, but she had no warm or fuzzy memories attached to it. Inside those rotting walls, her father had shot her mother and then killed himself while Bree and her siblings had hidden in terror. She shuddered, the memories she’d banished to the dark corners stepping into the light to show themselves.
She glanced at her younger brother, standing on the other side of her. At twenty-eight, Adam was tall and lanky, with unruly brown hair that curled over his ears.
“Sorry I’m late.” She did not tell him why. He didn’t need to hear about the college kid who’d OD’d early that morning. Bree wished she could forget his face, already blue by the time her department had responded. But his image, and that of his sobbing parents, would haunt Bree for some time.
“It’s OK,” Adam said.
Sweat dripped down Bree’s back. “I’m almost surprised the house is still standing.”
It should have been razed to the ground.
“Old houses are solid.” Adam didn’t take his eyes off the house. “They don’t build them like this anymore.”
The three-bedroom, one-story bungalow squatted on a large chunk of mostly wooded land. A thick canopy of fat branches crisscrossed over the house, casting shadows between the tree trunks, the eerie landscape worthy of the nightmare that had occurred here.
Adam nudged her with an elbow. “Are you sure you’re OK with going inside?”
“Yes.” Her answer was automatic, not honest, and the lie burned like acid in her chest.
She would never be OK with what had happened in that house, but she had managed to mostly put it behind her.
Now, every instinct in her body told her not to cross the threshold. The memories on the other side were the monsters under her bed.
Adam closed his eyes for a few seconds. His face scrunched in concentration. “This place feels familiar, but I can’t remember anything specific. I can’t even picture her face.”
“I’m sorry.” The atmosphere felt familiar to Bree as well. Dread pooled in her belly. “You were just a baby when she died. I wouldn’t expect you to remember her.”
He turned to her. The yearning in his hazel eyes brought unshed tears to hers. As hard as Adam was trying to recall their childhood, Bree was working just as
hard to forget it.
“Are you ready?” he asked.
No. Bree eyed the front porch. “Is it safe?”
“The structure is surprisingly solid.”
“You’ve been inside?” she asked.
He looked away and shrugged. “A couple of times. I fixed some stuff.”
Guilt weighted Bree’s shoulders. She should have come here when he’d first asked months ago. He shouldn’t have had to face this place alone. Though he stood a full head taller than her, he was still her little brother.
It was her job to protect him. Bree had failed their sister, Erin, and she had died. Bree could not repeat the mistake with Adam.
Her mouth went dry. She didn’t want to replay anything about the first eight years of her life, the years she’d lived in this place with her family—or the violent night that had ended that period. Once she entered, she would no longer be able to repress her memories. No more excuses. Since their sister had been murdered back in January, Bree had left her job as a homicide detective in Philadelphia, moved to Grey’s Hollow, and taken charge of her eight-year-old niece and sixteen-year-old nephew. Back in her hometown, she’d done her best to distance herself from her childhood tragedy. She’d never even considered visiting this house until Adam had asked. But her brother had stepped up to help with the kids. He’d done everything she’d asked of him, and he’d made only this one request in return.
“Let’s do this.” She stepped over the property line. Skirting a puddle, she strode toward the house.
Long-legged, Adam moved ahead. Thunderstorms had pummeled the area the previous week, and low-lying areas had flooded. Her brother’s strides were eager, while Bree’s feet dragged in the sole-sucking mud. Once, the driveway had been gravel, but the small stones had long since been ground into the earth.
Adam jogged up the stairs to the porch. Bree didn’t allow herself to pause until she stood beside him.
The porch boards didn’t sag under their weight. Some of the planks had been recently replaced. He moved toward the front door. Bree noticed the door, hinges, and lock were new. The doorframe had been repaired. How many times had Adam been here? Discomfort curled into a ball in her chest. She’d let him face the horror of their past alone. She’d let him down. She wouldn’t do that again, no matter what it cost her.
Right Behind Her (Bree Taggert) Page 1