by Mary Stone
So, this was what it meant to see red.
“Your brother,” the man growled.
“What?” she retorted. “Speak up, Kilroy!”
“What if I told you he’s still alive?” Even when his face was shattered, even when he desperately tried to wipe the stream of crimson from his nose as he braced himself for the impact of the next right hook, his tone was ripe with ridicule.
“What?”
All at once, she was thrown back to that night, to Justin’s goofy smile, to his adorable lisp.
Don’t let the bed bugth bite.
She could hear him as well as if he stood at her side.
“Damn it, Winter!” Bree exclaimed. “Get out of the way! He’s got a—!”
“I’m fine,” Winter shot back. “I can handle this! What the hell are you talking about, Kilroy? What did you do to my brother? Where is he?” Her voice was just below an outright shout, but she still didn’t feel the question had been loud enough.
He sneered. “Come a little closer, and I’ll tell you.”
She spotted the red glow beneath Kilroy’s olive drab jacket at the last possible second.
As she stepped aside to avoid the blade, fire rippled from beneath her armpit and up into her shoulder, hitting the vulnerable flesh that the Kevlar didn’t cover. She grasped at the source of the pain, and when she pulled away her hand, the distant work light glinted off the syrupy blood that coated her palm.
“No!” Through the haze of adrenaline, Bree’s exclamation sounded distant and tinny. “I can’t get a shot.”
Winter knew why. The bastard kept moving in front of her, using her in a reverse sort of shield. Bree’s gun was a .45. Unless they were lucky and it was loaded with hollow points, if she shot him, the bullet would go straight through his head and straight into Winter’s.
“If you can get a shot,” Bree shouted. “I suggest you fucking take it!”
She was shouting to Aiden and Noah, Winter realized, wondering where they’d taken up station.
“No!” Winter screamed. “Not yet.”
Kilroy took advantage of her distraction. She felt more than saw his movement. Moving quickly, she took a swift step backwards and felt a slight breeze as the blade whipped past her chest. She could handle this. Douglas Kilroy knew about Justin, and one way or another, she would make him tell her.
But he was faster. Much faster than a man of his age should have been.
Light glinted from the blade as it arced through the air. She dropped but instinctively knew it wouldn’t be enough.
Bang!
The retort of a gunshot cracked through the night air like a clap of thunder. Before she could register what had happened, a fine mist of dark crimson exploded from the side of Douglas Kilroy’s head. The hunting knife clattered to the ground, and a puff of dust rose around the silver blade as it hit the floor.
“No,” she cried as the murderer dropped an instant later.
When she whipped her head around to regard the source of the shot, her eyes met Noah’s as he lowered the rifle tucked against his shoulder. Though her rational mind insisted he was not to blame for the loss of Kilroy’s secrets, she wanted to take hold of his jacket and shake him until his teeth rattled in his head.
“No,” she repeated, but much softer this time.
Winter’s baby brother was alive, but thanks to a single gunshot, she would never learn more than that.
38
Three months, Winter thought as she glanced down to her steaming mug of coffee. Douglas Kilroy had been dead for three months, almost to the day.
The investigation of Douglas Kilroy, also known as The Preacher, ended much as it had begun—with more questions than answers. Crime scene techs had scoured any address where he had been known to reside, but they came away from each search empty-handed. According to the news, criminological experts had expected more than just the trail of bodies. They had anticipated a manifesto, a collection of trophies, a journal, something.
Instead, there was nothing.
Some reporters and journalists were still convinced that law enforcement agents would unearth a veritable treasure trove of information about the inner workings of Douglas Kilroy’s twisted mind. Winter could not say she cared either way. The man was dead, his remains cremated and buried in an unmarked grave. If there were answers to the multitude of questions, they had been burned away with the rest of Kilroy’s body.
Douglas Kilroy, also known as Barney Fife, Jared Kingston, and a whole host of other aliases, was dead.
Winter told herself repeatedly that she harbored no ill will toward Noah for firing the fatal shot into the side of Douglas Kilroy’s head. And, if she did, she shouldn’t. Kilroy’s knife-wielding arm had been raised, and if Noah had waited even a second longer, he would have sunk the blade through Winter’s heart. For the second time in their tenure with the FBI, Noah Dalton had saved her life in the nick of time. And for the second time, the former Marine had killed a suspect in the line of duty.
Aiden Parrish’s last-minute decision to collect a couple rifles for the venture to McCook had been a wise one, as had Bree Stafford’s decision not to risk a shot at Kilroy while Winter stood just behind him. The weapon Bree had forcibly taken from Kilroy had been one of the most powerful handguns of its caliber on the market. Kilroy was not clad in a Kevlar vest, and the shot would have undoubtedly ripped through him and then into Winter.
Aside from a handful of murders where some form of DNA evidence had been present, the majority of Kilroy’s suspected killings were still open cases. To Winter, the closure of the double homicide and kidnapping of the Black family had seemed watered down and meaningless when it was compared to the grief countless others faced.
Biting back a resigned sigh, she gingerly picked up her mug to take a sip of the steaming beverage. A flicker of movement from the corner of her eye drew her attention, and she offered her grandma a quick smile.
“How is he?” Winter asked, her voice hushed.
Whether due to her beauty regimen or good genetics, Gramma Beth rarely looked her age. But in the warm glow of the late morning sunshine, the lines on her fair face seemed more pronounced as she sat down across from Winter.
“He’ll be fine, honey,” Beth replied. “The golden years aren’t always so golden, I’m afraid. It’ll be okay, don’t you worry.”
Winter didn’t believe her, but with a solemn nod, she returned her attention to the cup in her hands. “How about you, Gramma? How are you? Is there anything I can do?”
“Oh, you’re so sweet for asking, honey. You’re doing plenty just by being here. I hope you know I don’t take that for granted. I’m so glad you’re here.” A ghost of a smile passed over Beth’s face as she scooped up her empty mug and pushed herself to stand. “Do you need a refill, dear?”
“No, thanks, Gramma.” Winter returned the warm look as well as she could. “My mug’s still pretty full.”
“Sounds like you’d better drink faster, then.”
“I’m not sure about that. If I chug a cup of coffee, I’ll probably get all jittery and antsy.”
“How are you liking the hot cocoa and coffee combination, anyway?” Gramma made her way back to her seat, freshly filled mug in hand.
“Uh, I love it,” Winter chuckled. “It’s the closest to a mocha I can be bothered to make on my own. It’s genius, honestly.”
As they lapsed into silence, she heard the birds chirping from a large, shady tree in the backyard. She’d tried to climb that tree a couple times when she was younger, but to no avail. Once, she had even made an effort to display her climbing prowess to her little brother. Maybe now that she had grown into her lanky limbs and tacked on a bit of muscle mass, she could finally make it.
The flash of her phone’s screen pulled her from the contemplation, and as her eyes fell on the preview of the text message, she heard her pulse rush in her ears.
For the entirety of the three months she had been with her grandparents, Winter had not
even replied to an email from any of her co-workers. Not from Bree—though the woman had not made an effort to reach out until she was, by her own admission, coaxed to do so by Aiden and Noah. Even though she appreciated Bree’s candidness, Winter didn’t reply. She had ignored Aiden and Noah with the same adamancy she might have used to keep herself off the radar of a debt collector.
Gradually, the attempts to reach out to her had dwindled in frequency. For the past two or three weeks, she had not received so much as a professional email from either man.
After she had avoided them for so long, how was she even supposed to reestablish contact? What would she even say? “Sorry, guys, my grandpa’s sick and Kilroy’s dead so I think I’m just going to sit over here and lose my mind for a few months?”
Yeah, I’m sure that’d go over great, she thought.
But the newest message from Noah was unlike any of the previous. I’m going to call you, and you NEED TO ANSWER. THIS IS IMPORTANT, WINTER.
As she read the words, she could almost picture Noah’s stern look of disapproval. Disapproval, disappointment, she honestly couldn’t tell the difference anymore. She had enough of her own feelings to deal with. She didn’t need to be beholden to someone else’s feelings too. Not even if that someone was the person she’d once referred to as her best friend. Not even if she’d kissed that same someone in a panic because she thought she was about to lose them.
This time, she couldn’t help the weary sigh as it slipped from her lips.
“What’s wrong, Winter?” Gramma Beth’s eyes darkened with a sudden rush of concern.
“I don’t know, Gramma,” Winter replied. “But I think I’m about to get a phone call.”
“Honey, they’re your friends.” Beth’s voice was gentle, but unwavering. “You should at least let them know that you’re okay. Just, you know, make a Facebook post about it or something.”
With a chortle, Winter shook her head. “I gave up on Facebook years ago.”
“Yeah, that’s always been your grandfather’s wheelhouse. Not mine.”
“Grampa Jack Facebooks?”
Now, it was her Gramma’s turn to snicker. “Oh, he used to play those silly little farm games. I had an account at the time, and he’d always send me requests to log in and send him crops or something. I got sick of it, so I closed my account.”
“No way.” Winter laughed. For the first time in weeks, the mirth in her voice was genuine. She wanted to ask Gramma Beth what other sorts of mobile games Grampa had taken on over the years, but before she could open her mouth to pose the query, she jerked her attention back to the table at an obnoxious buzz.
So much for that. Though she snatched the device from the wooden tabletop, she made no move to swipe the green answer key.
“I think I should take this,” she started. When she glanced across the table, her grandma offered a wistful smile and a nod.
“Do whatever’s right for you, sweetie.”
As she rose to stand, Winter returned the sad look and nodded. “I’ll be right back,” she said. After a warm clasp to her grandma’s shoulder, Winter pried open the sliding glass door and stepped out onto the deck.
In what she was sure was the last possible second, she slid her thumb across the screen. The caller ID had shown Noah’s name, but in the ensuing moments of quiet, she wondered if the other end of the line was staffed by a robo-caller.
“Hello?” a familiar voice finally said.
Winter bit down on her tongue to steady her voice before she answered.
“Yeah,” she managed.
She expected her friend to launch into a tirade about her lack of communication, to ask what in the hell went through her head when she left three months earlier without so much as a word of farewell. She expected him to rip her a new one for abandoning him, but he did none of the above.
Instead, his voice was crisp, cool, and professional. “Parrish and I have been looking into your brother, Justin Black.”
“W-what?” The stammer of disbelief was all but involuntary.
“If you’d answer your phone, you would have been the first person we told about it.” His response was flat, and she felt a twinge of guilt.
For the second time, she expected him to go off on a tangent about friendship. And for the second time, she was disappointed.
“We found something about Justin,” he said, his voice softer this time.
The sting of tears burned in the corners of her eyes as she turned her attention to the shimmer of green as the oak tree swayed in the summer breeze.
Once upon a time, on a day much like today, she had told her little brother to “watch and learn” as she made a valiant effort to climb up the trunk of the old oak.
It was her day to do the same.
Watch and learn.
The End
To be continued…
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Winter Black Series by Mary Stone
Winter’s Origin (Winter Black Series: The Prequel)
Winter’s Mourn (Winter Black Series: Book One)
Winter’s Curse (Winter Black Series: Book Two)
Winter’s Rise - Coming Soon
Acknowledgments
How does one properly thank everyone involved in taking a dream and making it a reality? Let me try.
In addition to my family, whose unending support provided the foundation for me to find the time and energy to put these thoughts on paper, I want to thank the editors who polished my words and made them shine.
Many thanks to my publisher for risking taking on a newbie and giving me the confidence to become a bona fide author.
More than anyone, I want to thank you, my reader, for clicking on a nobody and sharing your most important asset, your time, with this book. I hope with all my heart I made it worthwhile.
Much love,
Mary
About the Author
Mary Stone lives among the majestic Blue Ridge Mountains of East Tennessee with her two dogs, four cats, a couple of energetic boys, and a very patient husband.
As a young girl, she would go to bed every night, wondering what type of creature might be lurking underneath. It wasn’t until she was older that she learned that the creatures she needed to most fear were human.
Today, she creates vivid stories with courageous, strong heroines and dastardly villains. She invites you to enter her world of serial killers, FBI agents but never damsels in distress. Her female characters can handle themselves, going toe-to-toe with any male character, protagonist or antagonist.
Discover more about Mary Stone on her website.
www.authormarystone.com