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Unmasking The Shadow Man
Debbie Herbert


In a race against time…Can they defeat an unseen foe? Liam Andrews knows trouble when he sees it, and Harper Catlett is trouble! Working undercover, and with the mysterious goings-on in the home where Harper's sister died decades before, Liam's soon roped into Harper’s detective work. But can the pair solve these long-buried crimes…before they both wind up dead?







In a race against time

Can they defeat an unseen foe?

Officer Liam Andrews knows trouble when he sees it, and trouble should be Harper Catlett’s middle name. Especially considering the mysterious goings-on in the home where Harper’s sister died decades before. Secretly working undercover, Liam is soon roped into Harper’s amateur detective work as she probes Baysville’s sordid secrets. But together, can the pair solve these long-buried crimes…before they both wind up dead?


USA TODAY bestselling author DEBBIE HERBERT writes paranormal romance novels reflecting her belief that love, like magic, casts its own spell of enchantment. She’s always been fascinated by magic, romance and gothic stories. Married and living in Alabama, she roots for the Crimson Tide football team. Her eldest son, like many of her characters, has autism. Her youngest son is in the US Army. A past Maggie Award finalist in both young adult and paranormal romance, she’s a member of the Georgia Romance Writers of America.


Also by Debbie Herbert (#ua3337c45-ed6d-56f7-8b11-1c1f0b21ec20)

Appalachian Prey

Appalachian Abduction

Bayou Shadow Hunter

Bayou Shadow Protector

Bayou Wolf

Siren’s Secret

Siren’s Treasure

Siren’s Call

Discover more at millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)


Unmasking the Shadow Man

Debbie Herbert






www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)


ISBN: 978-1-474-09443-6

UNMASKING THE SHADOW MAN

© 2019 Debbie Herbert

Published in Great Britain 2019

by Mills & Boon, an imprint of HarperCollinsPublishers 1 London Bridge Street, London, SE1 9GF

All rights reserved including the right of reproduction in whole or in part in any form. This edition is published by arrangement with Harlequin Books S.A.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, locations and incidents are purely fictional and bear no relationship to any real life individuals, living or dead, or to any actual places, business establishments, locations, events or incidents. Any resemblance is entirely coincidental.

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www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)




Note to Readers (#ua3337c45-ed6d-56f7-8b11-1c1f0b21ec20)


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This book is dedicated to Karen Groce; thanks for

being such a great beta reader!

And, as always, to my husband, Tim; my dad, J. W.

Gainey; and my sons, Byron and Jacob.


Contents

Cover (#u6b9dc3c2-698b-598f-b95e-d508e142ffb0)

Back Cover Text (#u79ce39fa-78db-52a0-b93c-98cd478db0a5)

About the Author (#u503f6d09-1396-53b9-8a12-c84b16109ca3)

Booklist (#ua32ecfe2-2fe9-5dba-b740-a779b36e5980)

Title Page (#u8fe8fe1e-3fed-5fc4-a004-ec982aa4ece5)

Copyright (#u30445669-0367-5c87-b9fb-6d6ebd56b6c7)

Note to Readers

Dedication (#u5b06a0f9-63d6-5b86-9fdb-300c72b9814e)

Chapter One (#u8730e02a-ceed-5803-be66-387259d6ba40)

Chapter Two (#u13643b83-bfef-50bc-8cd0-926d67beab6f)

Chapter Three (#udb1f9fd5-66ce-567f-826a-2cd792bbd9f2)

Chapter Four (#u3edda0a2-401b-5bb0-87b2-b3edaf511de3)

Chapter Five (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Six (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Seven (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Eight (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Nine (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Ten (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Eleven (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Twelve (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Thirteen (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Fourteen (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Fifteen (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Sixteen (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Seventeen (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Eighteen (#litres_trial_promo)

Epilogue (#litres_trial_promo)

About the Publisher (#litres_trial_promo)




Chapter One (#ua3337c45-ed6d-56f7-8b11-1c1f0b21ec20)


The scratching began again. Skreek. A heartbeat of silence. Skreek. Skreek.

She could sleep through the blare of traffic in Atlanta, but this teeny noise in her mom’s old house in rural Virginia had roused her from deep sleep in a mere nanosecond.

It was the sound of her nightmares. The ominous scratching that had preceded the worst moment of her life and hounded Harper to this day. It was inexorably tied to the image of her sister Presley’s body lying on the kitchen floor as smoke swirled and fire licked the darkness. Harper sat up in bed and waited for the scratching to resume. But this time, the only noise was a faint swish of something soft brushing against a wall.

Probably just a mouse scampering behind the old Sheetrock, or so she hoped. Disgusting as that was, she’d welcome the prospect of mice infiltration over creepier alternatives. As a child, she’d wondered if the house was haunted by a ghost—or an even scarier type of supernatural horror.

Harper pictured the wraithlike, filthy creature she’d glimpsed the night Presley died. The thing—she wasn’t sure if it was a person or some remnant from a dream—had loomed over her sister’s lifeless body. She’d screamed, and the pale figure had vanished into the shadows. Never to be seen again.

Nobody had believed her. There’d been no signs of forced entry, and a search of the old Victorian had revealed nothing unusual. Presley’s death had been ruled accidental.

But even now, the skin at the nape of her neck prickled at the memory.

This wouldn’t do. After all, she’d returned to Baysville in order to settle her mom’s estate and make peace with her own disturbing past. Time to discover what was real and what was imaginary. Over the years, she’d pushed that night’s events to the back of her mind.

Of course, she wasn’t always successful. At unexpected moments, a vivid image of pale skin draped on a frail, gaunt figure would crystallize from the hazy memories of the night Presley died.

Sleep was no longer possible, so Harper climbed out of bed and turned on the bedside lamp. The light reassuringly spotlighted the familiar and mercifully vacant room. All was in order. The peach-colored walls cast a comforting warm glow. Her white French provincial bed and dresser were old but classic and had served her since childhood. She could have taken the larger master bedroom across the hall, but it still felt like Mom’s room. Probably always would, no matter how many years passed after her death.

Harper donned her comfy, though tattered, pink robe and opened the bedroom door, flipping on the hall lights. The recently polished oak floors gleamed golden and reflected the bright sheen of her red hair. She gripped the iron railing of the staircase, surveyed the stairs, and then her eyes darted involuntarily to the kitchen. After all these years, she still checked to make sure no flames or smoke billowed from the room. Grimly, Harper made her way down the steps. Would she ever descend them without remembering that night?

At the bottom of the stairs, she stopped abruptly. Heat spread from her bare feet and then up her spine, tingling like an electrical shock. Someone was here. Watching. Swiftly, she turned and surveyed the empty staircase behind her. Nothing was there except for the same old portraits that lined the stairwell wall. Generations of grim Catletts stared back at her, as if in silent rebuke of her foolishness.

Skreek.

The scratching started up again. And had she heard an echo of a footfall? Harper’s ears strained, but she detected nothing else. The old house had gone eerily quiet.

Stop creeping yourself out. Nothing’s here but you and the rodents.

Harper strode to the den, flipping on every light switch along the way. She turned on the TV, and the reassuring voice of a morning news show filled the house’s quiet void. Then she marched to the kitchen and started coffee. Familiar sounds and smells eased the niggling worry in her gut.

See? You did it. Spent another entire night by yourself here. A couple more weeks, and you won’t think anything of it. Easy peasy. Onward and upward until she’d satisfied every speck of uncertainty about what had happened that night.

In the meantime… “Exterminators,” she said aloud, with a determined nod. Coffee mug in hand, Harper sat at the kitchen table and fired up her laptop. This wouldn’t be just any old routine extermination. No, she was booking the full Monty—the entire house wrapped in a toxic bubble by men dressed in hazmat suits. She pulled up a list of local companies and dutifully scribbled down a couple of numbers to call when their businesses opened this morning.

Taking that action, however small, made her feel more in control. One step at a time, as her mom would say. And if anyone had reason to believe in that mantra, it was Ruth Catlett. She’d buried a husband and a child, yet every day she’d risen before dawn to work at a local diner one block down the road. And if her spirits had never quite recovered from Presley’s death, she managed to put on her game face in public.

And now there was one. Harper was the last of her family. Oh, sure, there were a couple of aunts and uncles and cousins scattered about Baysville, but it wasn’t the same.

Harper sighed and sipped her coffee as she stepped onto the front porch. Streaks of purple and orange illuminated the sky and were reflected in the Pagan River’s rippling water. Many of the quaint shops lining the riverfront had already turned on their lights. Baysville was awakening to a new day. She’d forgotten how beautiful her hometown was. The Tidewater region of Virginia was steeped in history and picturesque in a way that a big city like Atlanta could never match. She sat in the glider for several minutes, enjoying the slower pace. No clients to meet, no ringing phones or assistants to send on errands. She’d been much too busy this past year with her interior decorating business. In some ways, it’d been therapeutic after her breakup with Doug, but she was over that disappointment. Any man that fickle and gun-shy over commitment wasn’t worth the heartbreak.

The streets gradually began to fill. Slow pace or not, it was time to go in and get dressed before someone she knew spotted her in the grungy but comfy robe that was the epitome of ugly.

Inside, Harper strolled to the kitchen table and picked up the exterminators’ phone numbers. There were four new emails in her inbox. She supposed she’d better check them in case of pressing business in Atlanta. Sitting down, Harper opened her email, and her eyes were immediately drawn to one subject line that blared at her in all caps:

GET OUT OF THE HOUSE

With trembling fingers, she opened the email. No message in the body of the email, only the ominous warning from a sender: loser@life.






HARPER WALKED BY the front door of the Baysville Police Department three times before resolutely squaring her shoulders and marching in. Behind the charming brick facade of the station, the interior was utilitarian and stark. The designer in her was aghast at the yellowed linoleum floors, cheap metal chairs and institutional-green walls of the lobby, but taxpayers were paying for a service, not a pleasing office aesthetic.

At the counter, a bored woman handed her a clipboard. “Write down your name and reason for coming.”

Dutifully, Harper printed her name, then paused. Reason for coming? They were going to laugh her out of the station if she wrote “disturbing email.” This had been a terrible idea. Growing up, other kids had merely looked at her strangely if she mentioned the thing she’d seen that night. Worse, she hated that look of pity as they scooted away from her. As though she was a sort of magnet for disaster. It had been high school before her friendships had returned to normal, and that was due in large part to making the cheerleading squad and becoming friends with the popular Kimber Collins. Harper had learned to fit in with her peer group, keep her mouth shut and act as if all was well in her world.

“Never mind,” she told the city employee, handing back the clipboard.

She blinked at her behind thick glasses. Before the woman could ask questions, Harper flashed a fake smile and turned away.

“Excuse me, miss, are you sure about this?” the woman called out.

The few others slouched in the lobby waiting area looked up from their cell phones. Harper ignored them, too, as she waved a hand, the phony smile still in place. She looked and felt like an utter fool. All she wanted was a quick exit and…

Oomph. She crashed into a solid object and began tumbling backward. Hands gripped her forearm.

“Whoa, there. You okay?”

Dark, amused eyes flashed before her face. Bryce Fairfax.

Harper’s face and neck heated. “Fine,” she mumbled. Maybe if she hurried, he wouldn’t recognize her. She tried to pull away, but he held fast.

“Harper Catlett, Presley’s little sister,” he said, flashing his infamous grin that had had all the girls swooning in high school, including Presley. Truth be told, Harper had secretly crushed on him, too, although he was a good nine years older than her.

His smile faded. “Sorry to hear about your mom. I imagine you’ve been busy with her estate and settling loose ends.”

“Yes, thanks.”

His grip loosened but still remained. “What brings you to my station? Is there anything I can help you with?”

“Well, no. It’s not important.”

Bryce tugged at her arm and guided her back into the station. She fell into step beside him, wishing like hell that she’d never come.

“I’d do any favor for Presley’s little sister. Did you know that in high school, she used to tutor me in algebra? If it wasn’t for her, I might have failed that class. As it was, I managed to slip by with a D-minus.”

His self-deprecating laugh eased some of her tension. Bryce was as charming as ever. He had a knack for drawing people to him, especially women. He’d kept his athletic physique, and the crinkles at the corners of his eyes and forehead only made him look more interesting.

“Yes, I knew about the tutoring. Presley was so smart. Wish she’d been around when I struggled with math classes.”

Bryce shot her a sympathetic nod. “Such a tragic accident.”

“If it was an accident…” Harper clamped her mouth shut. No sense reminding anyone about her so-called mystery monster.

His brows rose, but he didn’t respond as they passed through the lobby and into the bowels of the station. From here, the slamming of iron doors and loud voices emanated from the county jail connected to the back of the building. It was disquieting. Any moment, she expected an escaped convict to pop out of nowhere, looking for a hostage.

At the end of a narrow hallway, she followed Bryce into his private office. She’d expected more from the police chief’s office, although she shouldn’t have been surprised, given the rest of the station’s decor.

Bryce slid behind a massive desk constructed of dark-stained plywood. A simple nameplate on his desk displayed his name and title. “About what you said back there—” he clasped his hands on the desk and leaned forward slightly, all business “—are you saying that you believe Presley’s death wasn’t accidental?”

“Not at all. I mean, I was only a child when it happened. What do I know?”

His dark eyes pierced her, as if trying to read her mind. “I remember the rumors. You claimed to have seen something—or someone—by Presley’s body right after she fell.”

She swallowed hard. “Like I said, I was a kid. One with a vivid imagination and who had awakened from a bad dream. A bad combination.”

“Describe what you saw, again.”

Harper shifted in her seat, uncomfortable with the request. “It sounds so silly now. I thought I saw a stick-thin person wearing filthy rags and staring at me with huge eyes.”

They were like the alien eyes that people drew after supposed encounters with UFO creatures, unnaturally large and black. But she didn’t elaborate on the details. Even now, the memory unnerved her. Harper rubbed the goose bumps on her arms.

Another cop entered the room and shoved a piece of paper across the desk to Bryce. The man was tall and exuded authority in the firm set of his shoulders. He shot her a curious glance, his gray eyes quickly assessing her. She had the feeling he’d overheard some of the conversation. Probably pegged her as a wacko. A nuisance taking up the boss’s time.

Bryce nodded at the cop. “I’ll call him back in a few minutes. Stay a moment while I finish up here. I have some questions for you on this matter. Harper, this is Officer Andrews.”

“Hello,” she said politely.

“Harper Catlett was born and raised here in Baysville,” Bryce told Andrews.

The chief turned his gaze back to her. “I can assure you the case was thoroughly investigated by this office and the fire department. No signs of forced entry, no evidence of foul play.”

Great. Now she’d insulted him. “I’m certain everyone here did an excellent job,” Harper hastened to agree. “I’ll never forget your father was the first firefighter to respond at the scene.”

“Must have been tough on you and your mom. And now she’s passed away, too. Lots of bad memories here for you in Baysville. I imagine you’re itching to sell the old house and get back to Atlanta.”

“You know I live in Atlanta now?”

Bryce gave an easy chuckle. “You forget how news travels in a small town. Kimber mentioned it after your mom’s funeral.”

“Oh. Of course.” She and Kimber had kept in close touch over the years.

“Sorry I missed the funeral—I had to testify in a case south of here. I did make it late to visitation one night, though. Fifty-two years old. That’s way too young to die.”

Just like with her father, death had crept up sudden and silent—in the form of a heart attack. Harper would always wonder if mourning over Presley’s death had been a contributing factor in her mom’s early demise.

“So what brings you here today?” Bryce asked, cutting through her reverie.

“Right.” She removed her cell phone from her purse and punched in the password, conscious of two sets of eyes on her. “It may seem like nothing now, but I was a little concerned this morning when this email popped up on my laptop.”

“Some kind of cyberthreat?” Bryce asked. “I assure you, we take everything seriously.”

Harper’s brows knotted with worry. The threatening email was gone. Had she accidentally deleted it? Quickly, she scrolled through her email trash folder. Not there, either. “I, um, it seems to have disappeared,” she explained reluctantly.

“That’s too bad,” Bryce said smoothly. “What did it say?”

“To get out of the house.”

Silence greeted her words.

“Anything else?” Bryce asked.

“No. That’s it, except for some strange noises in the house. Probably mice,” she admitted sheepishly. “In the light of day, in front of two cops, all this doesn’t sound so bad.” Harper rose. “I’ve wasted enough of your time. Good to see you again, Bryce. Nice to meet you, Officer Andrews.”

Bryce also rose. “Come back anytime. Let us know if it happens again.”

His words were kind, but she felt as though he was impatient to return to work. With a quick nod and smile, she hurried to the door, glad to make an escape.

Halfway down the hallway, she turned at the sound of approaching footsteps. Officer Andrews bore down on her. “Would you like to file an official report?” he asked.

“No. Forget it. I’m sure it’s nothing.”

“I wouldn’t say that.”

She blinked at his earnest kindness.

“Especially since you believe a family member may have been murdered in that house.”

He had overheard her conversation with Bryce. “I didn’t exactly say that,” she protested.

“Not in so many words. I don’t know if Chief Fairfax mentioned it, but there’s been a long string of unsolved murders in Baysville. Would it make you feel safer if an officer searched your house sometime this afternoon or evening?”

Harper hesitated. Yes, she wanted to scream. On the other hand, what would people say if they observed an officer in her home? The hell with appearances, she decided. She was only going to be here a short while. Might as well be able to get a sound sleep in the evenings.

“Yes, that would be great, actually. Thank you.” She withdrew a pen and paper from her purse and wrote down her address and phone number. “Whoever you send, just tell them it’s the last house on the left at the end of King Street.”

“Got it,” he said, tucking the paper in his uniform shirt pocket. “I’ll have no trouble finding your place.”

Was his kindness merely a scam to put a move on her? She rejected the suspicion immediately. Doug had really done a number on her mind for her to be so suspicious of a local cop doing a favor.

Harper made a quick exit, pausing at the lobby entrance. She turned around and caught both Bryce and Officer Andrews standing in the hallway, regarding her soberly.

A string of unsolved murders, Officer Andrews had said. They weren’t dismissive of this threat at all. Harper didn’t know whether to be relieved or worried about their concern for her safety.




Chapter Two (#ua3337c45-ed6d-56f7-8b11-1c1f0b21ec20)


Harper leaned against the pillows on her mom’s headboard and wearily brushed a hand through her tousled hair. Six cardboard boxes lay scattered on the floor, filled to brimming with her mother’s old clothes. On the bed, she’d kept out a few things she couldn’t bear to part with—a couple of Mom’s old silk scarves, the flannel night robe she’d worn for decades and several sweaters that were still stylish. The rest would be donated to charity. The sooner everything was packed up, the sooner she could hold an estate sale for the furniture. Whatever didn’t sell would also be given away.

Coffee was in order. Tonight, she wanted to finish the master bedroom and then move on to either the basement or attic in the morning. Harper kicked aside boxes and headed to the kitchen.

Twilight cast its dusky hue along the riverfront. Today had gone by much too quickly. There was so much to do before she returned to Atlanta and her normal routine. Without Doug. It wasn’t so much that she missed him, it was being alone yet again. And now, with Mom’s passing, the thought of Thanksgiving and Christmas on her own was depressing. Maybe she should book a tropical cruise and pretend the holidays weren’t even taking place. The idea lifted her spirits. Her business was successful, so why not have a little fun after this sad year?

Humming, Harper measured water into the coffeepot. Might as well fill it to the brim—Officer Andrews had called earlier, saying he’d stop by after work. Didn’t all cops love coffee and doughnuts? Tonight, cheesecake would have to do. Speaking of which, a tiny slice now would be a reward after all her hard work cleaning and packing. She got the dessert out of the fridge, then frowned at the dwindling size of the cheesecake. Had she really eaten that much of it in the past two days? Evidently, she had.

She limited herself to only a couple bites, eaten over the kitchen sink. A neighbor across the street, Mrs. Henley, walked down the driveway to collect her mail, which reminded Harper to check hers as well. Outside, the air was a bit chilly for October. Harper hugged her arms as she sprinted for the mailbox. She waved at Mrs. Henley, an old friend of her mom’s, and then withdrew a handful of envelopes.

An icy finger of fear trickled down the nape of her neck. Someone was watching her. She lifted her head and caught a faint swish of the lace curtain hanging in her attic window. Harper drew a deep breath. Inhale, hold for four counts, and then a long exhale—just as her yoga teacher advised for easing stress. Nobody’s there. The house had been locked up tight ever since Mom died. A couple more therapeutic breaths and she dismissed the silly feeling of being watched. The prank email this morning had her jumpy, that was all.

Quickly, she flipped through the envelopes. Mostly junk, but a couple of utility bills were due. Call and cancel utilities for next month—Harper added the chore to her mental checklist. By then, the house would be on the market, and…

A flash of something large came toward her at breakneck speed. A whisper of tires on asphalt, the faint scent of car exhaust—Harper’s head snapped up in alarm. A black pickup truck barreled down on the wrong side of the road and aimed straight at her, its headlights blinding. Paralyzing fear kept her rooted to the spot for a couple seconds.

Get back. Her body caught up to her brain’s screaming message. Harper lunged off the curb and rolled onto the sidewalk. The truck crashed into her mailbox, and then its engine revved, increasing speed. Gaping at the truck’s fading taillights, she lay on one elbow and watched as it sped around King Street’s sharp curve, disappearing into the night as quickly as it had arrived.

“Harper! Harper, are you all right?”

Mrs. Henley’s voice seemed to come from a great distance. Harper tried to catch her breath, to let her neighbor know that she was okay, but damned if the words wouldn’t form past her numbed lips.

Pain radiated from the palms of both her hands and her right hip. Blood formed beneath the ripped knees of her jeans. She raised her hands to eye level and stared blankly at the deep abrasions marking the tender skin.

“Oh my God, Harper. Tell me you’re okay.” Mrs. Henley knelt beside her and wrapped an arm around her shoulders. “The nerve of some drivers! He could have killed you with his recklessness.”

The reality that she’d been seconds away from possible death or disfigurement finally sank in, and Harper trembled uncontrollably. Reckless? It had seemed deliberate.

She sucked in deep breaths of the crisp air and managed a wan smile. “I’m okay, thanks.”

“Let me help you up.”

“No. Wait a minute.” She needed to collect her wits.

“Of course.” Mrs. Henley nervously scanned her prone body. “Where all are you hurt?”

Good question. “I—I think just my knees and hands and hip.” She drew a deep breath and sat up. “Okay, I think I’m ready to stand now.”

Mrs. Henley placed her hands under Harper’s right forearm. “I’ll help.”

She surveyed her neighbor’s somewhat frail body. “That’s okay. I’ve got this.”

The sound of a racing motor set her heart skittering. Had the truck returned to finish her off? Harper twisted around. A Baysville Police Department sedan screeched to an abrupt halt by her fallen mailbox. Officer Andrews was halfway out of the vehicle before the motor turned off.

“What happened? Are you injured?” he called, running toward them.

He was beside her, his brow furrowed with concern, assessing the situation. Harper had the oddest sensation of falling into the warmth of those gray eyes. She wanted nothing more than to lean into the broad expanse of his chest and shoulders—to draw momentary comfort from his strength and kindness.

“Some fool driver nearly ran her over,” Mrs. Henley jumped in to explain. “He nearly gave me a heart attack! And he didn’t even stop, just kept right on going.”

“Did you get a plate number?”

“No. Sorry, Officer. It happened so fast.”

Andrews turned back to Harper. “What about you?”

“All I can tell you is that it was a large black pickup truck.”

“Catch the make and model?” he asked hopefully.

“No.” Even if it hadn’t been for the darkness and her shattered nerves, Harper couldn’t have relayed that information. Vehicles were just vehicles, and she’d never bothered learning different manufacturers’ specifications. Not that Officer Andrews needed to know all that.

“How bad are you hurt? Should I call an ambulance?”

“No, don’t. I’m fine. Was just going to stand when you drove up.”

Andrews held out his hand, and she took it without hesitation. He wouldn’t let her fall. His grasp was strong, an anchor to momentarily lean on. She winced, though, as the raw patches on her palm pressed into the hard strength of his hand. Luckily, her legs and ankles were uninjured, and she stood on her own two feet again. She gave him a nod, and he released his hold.

“Thank God, you’re okay.” Mrs. Henley held up the stack of envelopes Harper had dropped as the truck came at her. “I believe I’ve gathered all your mail.”

Harper took the envelopes and shook her head. How unimportant the mail seemed now.

“Let’s go inside, and I’ll fix you something to drink while I take your statement.”

Andrews’s deep voice washed over her scattered senses like a balm. “I wouldn’t mind a cup of coffee.”

“I can do that for you,” Mrs. Henley chimed in.

“That’s okay, ma’am. Thanks for your help.”

Harper shot him a grateful look. Mrs. Henley meant well, but once she came in the house and settled down, she was likely to stay for hours, wanting to chitchat. While her neighbor was a perfectly lovely person, Harper didn’t feel up to that.

Andrews guided her in the house and helped her get seated at the kitchen table.

“Let’s get you cleaned up. Where are your first aid supplies?”

She pointed to the hallway on their left. “Second door on the right. Should be alcohol and bandages below the sink. At least, there used to be, years ago.”

He left momentarily, returning with an old, dusty bottle of rubbing alcohol, a washcloth and several square packages of gauze. Kneeling by her feet, he gently cleaned the abrasions on her knees and palms. At her slight, involuntary hiss as alcohol touched the wound, he bent low and blew on her skin to ease the pain.

Holy hell. The tender intimacy of the gesture bulldozed her senses with as much impact as when she’d crashed to the ground dodging the wayward truck. After he wrapped her palms with the gauze, he moved on to her knees and she gulped hard, fighting back unexpected tears. What was wrong with her? Was she so broken that a kindly ministration reduced her to a puddled mess?

He finished, cocking his head to the side as he regarded his handiwork. “Might want to pick up some antibiotic cream tomorrow. Just to be safe.”

She cleared her throat, determined to keep her voice steady. “Thank you. I’ve made coffee, and there’s some cheesecake in the fridge,” she told him. “Help yourself.”

She instructed him where to find cups and dishes. He set to work, and she watched. Andrews’s presence filled the kitchen, and she was again struck by his aura of confidence. He wasn’t handsome in the conventional sense like Bryce—his features were a little too sharp, his body more lean than overly muscled—but Harper was drawn to him nonetheless.

Bet the man was sorry now he’d offered to stop by and check her house. Seemed she was one problem after another lately.

Andrews sat across from her. “About that truck—I’ll need to file a report on the incident.”

“Okay. Sorry Mrs. Henley and I are no help in providing anything more specific, Officer.”

“Liam.”

She blinked. “Huh?”

“My name’s Liam.”

Liam. The lovely syllables washed over her.

“Why don’t I get started on the house search while you finish your coffee?”

“Okay. Be warned, it’s a bit of a mess with boxes everywhere. I’m getting ready to sell the place.”

“Understood.” He rose and regarded her with something that seemed like…interest. “So, you’ll be here, what, a couple more weeks?”

“More or less.”

He nodded. “I’ll start in the basement and work my way up.”

“Sure. I’ll tag along with you. I’m fine now.”

Her legs were still shaky, and she hoped Liam didn’t notice. He followed her to the basement, and she was conscious of his large form so close to her own. A stirring of excitement whispered through her body. How pathetic was she? The man was merely paying a kindness. Harper flipped on light switches and flushed a bit as he examined the junky, damp room.

“Lots of Dad’s old tools are still down here. Plus, Mom always kept a large pantry of canned goods and stored holiday decorations in the basement, too. Got loads of work to do clearing it all out.”

Liam shone a flashlight on the narrow overhead windows. “No sign of forced entry here.”

And didn’t she feel foolish. Going to the cops over a few scratching noises and a silly email?

“Onward and upward,” she joked. He followed her upstairs, and they made their way through each room. Liam opened all the closets and checked the windows. With each passing room, her embarrassment grew. In the attic, he walked through and inspected the cramped space filled floor to ceiling with plastic bins. “More holiday decorations,” she explained. “Mom went all out for every holiday—Valentine’s, St. Patrick’s Day, you name it, she had knickknacks to commemorate its occurrence.” An unexpected pang of nostalgia for the old days hit her in the solar plexus. Old meaning the years before Presley died. There hadn’t been much need to celebrate anything after that.

“This house is huge,” he commented as they made their way back to the kitchen. “Come from a large family?”

“Nope. There were only two of us kids and Mom and Dad. My dad used to talk about quitting work at the factory and turning this place into a B&B. But once he died, Mom lost all interest in the project. Truthfully, I don’t think she was ever gung-ho about the idea. She enjoyed waitressing at the diner. And Presley and I didn’t like the idea of sharing our home with a bunch of strangers, either.”

“Sorry about your sister’s accident.”

Speaking of which… “How did you know of it? Were you outside the office when I spoke with Bryce?”

“Couldn’t help but overhear,” he said easily. “I don’t like to barge in when he’s in the middle of a conversation.”

“Ah, I get you. Well, it’s been seventeen years since she died, so you don’t need to walk on eggshells when it comes to discussing what happened.” Harper cast an involuntary look back over her shoulder. “She fell down in the kitchen and passed out. The soup she had on the stove caught fire. She died from a combination of a head wound and smoke inhalation.”

“I see.” His kind gaze sent waves of comfort through her body. Lots of people acted weird when you brought up tragedies and tried to immediately change the subject. To his credit, Liam did not. “That must have been awful for your family.”

“Yeah. She was only sixteen.”

“Were you two close?”

“As close as you can be when you’re seven years apart. I looked up to her as a kid. Presley was smart. Genius kind of smart. Used to earn extra money tutoring students, including your boss.”

She motioned to the table, and they sat down, this time side by side. She was hyperaware of his arms and shoulders so close to her own. Harper gripped her coffee mug with both hands to resist an impulse to reach out and touch Liam. “What about your family?” she ventured. “How long have you lived in Baysville?”

A contented smile washed over his face. “I have a huge family. Three brothers and two sisters. Most of them live in Arlington.”

“Parents still living?”

“Yep. Both still kicking.”

“You’re lucky.”

A heartbeat of silence fell between them, a locked gaze that lasted a second too long to be casual. Liam scooted his chair. “Time for me to get moving. You going to be okay here by yourself?”

“Yes, of course.” They both rose at the same time, and Harper almost sighed. It would be ridiculous to start anything with her moving so soon, and she wasn’t into one-night stands. Damn it.

“What the hell?” Liam frowned and strode toward the back window of the kitchen.

“What is it?”

“Look outside.”

Dutifully, she walked over and stood beside him. An elliptical flashlight beam pierced the marshlands abutting the far side of her property. Liam hurried out onto the back porch, and Harper grabbed the flashlight she always kept on the chifforobe for emergencies. By the time she joined up with Liam, they were halfway across her yard.

“Get back,” he ordered. “I’ll check it out.”

“Alone?”

“I’m a cop.”

“Shouldn’t you at least call a dispatcher before you take off to investigate potential danger?”

“It’s one person with a flashlight. And I have my cell phone on me. Not to mention a sidearm. Stay inside,” he added. “Until I’m sure the area’s safe.”

But instead she fell into step behind him. “I’d feel safer with you.”

They walked away from the lights of town and into the dark silence of the marshes. Cordgrass leaves brushed against her thighs, and her sneakers sank slightly into the muck covered by black needlerush. In the distance, flowing river water lapped against the shore, and the occasional hoot of an owl punctuated the night. Moonbeams glowed silver on the tips of cypress trees and wax myrtles.

Again, the inky blackness was pierced by a flashlight beam, but it was farther away now.

“Whoever it was, they’re leaving,” she whispered.

Liam turned her flashlight on full beam and directed it toward whoever had been lurking. “Damn. If I thought I could trust you not to run after me, I’d give chase.”

“Good thing I’m here, then.”

He shot her a severe frown. “I’m going in a little closer anyway to see what he might have been up to.”

“We’re getting near the railroad tracks. Probably a vagrant wandering the area.”

“Awful brave of him, considering the several recent murders.”

“Several?” she asked in alarm.

“Over the past ten years, six have been reported. All were vagrants. You weren’t aware of this?”

“I’d heard of a couple over the years, but I didn’t realize there were so many. That’s awful. Have they been fighting among themselves, like some sort of gang war?”

“That’s one theory,” he said drily.

“I take it that’s not your favorite theory.”

The rev of an engine sounded from far away, but no headlights appeared.

“Think that’s our flashlight man—or woman?” she asked.

“If it is, he’s definitely up to no good.”

“Or she,” Harper remarked. “I’m an equal-opportunity crime theorist.”

“Fine. You go home and theorize up a storm. Can you see well enough to make it back?”

“Sure. I left the porch light on.”

“Great. I’m going to investigate.”

She’d said she could see the way home, but not that she’d obey. “Be careful,” she answered, turning around and taking a few steps. Once Liam was out of sight, she stopped and waited. Better to be here and learn what he’d found firsthand than to sit at home waiting and wondering. And no doubt every tiny rustle in the house would set her imagination down a fearful path she was sick of traveling.

Headlights beamed from far off, appearing for an instant and then vanishing along the winding county road out of town.

Harper shivered and wished she’d thought to grab a jacket from the porch. Liam moved quickly through the marsh, the flashlight beam set on high and shining in an arc over the wetland field. Whatever was out there, she hoped it wasn’t dangerous. She wished they would return to her house and call for backup—in case of trouble.

A hoot owl screeched, and chills bristled her skin. According to legend, the night’s predatory raptor had cried a message of death.




Chapter Three (#ua3337c45-ed6d-56f7-8b11-1c1f0b21ec20)


There. He’d almost stepped on the prone body lying facedown in the boggy soil. Liam shone his light on the victim, automatically categorizing details—Caucasian male, approximately six feet tall, long brown hair, wearing jeans, army boots and a flannel jacket shredded in the back upper torso area. Beneath the jagged slits, blood oozed from multiple lacerations.

It fit the pattern.

As he’d told Harper, this had been going on for years. Whoever the murderer was, he was smart enough to space the crimes out. The choice of victims was calculated, too. Usually, the homeless had cut ties with their families, and no one would report them missing for years—if ever. It was entirely possible that his missing uncle Teddy had met a similarly violent end in the backwoods of some small town. Perhaps even this one. Liam shook off the speculation to focus on his duty. Before he called out a team, he wanted to take a good look at the scene for himself. He knelt and searched the ground near the body for small clues—a button, a gum wrapper, anything the killer might have left behind unnoticed.

But there was nothing incriminating to be found.

Not only was the killer smart, but he was as cowardly as he was vicious. Each victim had been attacked from behind and stabbed multiple times. Liam pulled out his cell phone, hit the dispatcher contact button and quickly explained the situation.

A limb snapped nearby. “Officer?” a deep voice called out from the darkness. “That you, Officer Andrews?”

A group of about half a dozen men approached, in various states of dishevelment and sporting long hair and beards. Liam recognized a few of their faces.

One of the men stepped forward while the others lingered in the dark. “It’s Gunner, sir. We out here lookin’ for our buddy—Larry.”

“When did you last see him?”

“It were morning time. He gathered up our spare change and offered to go into town to buy us a few veggies for our stew tonight. Nobody seen him since.”

“Does your friend have long brown hair? Dressed in a flannel jacket?”

“Yes, sir. You seen him?”

“Unfortunately, I believe I have.” Liam waved him over. “Brace yourself. It’s not a pretty sight.”

Liam turned the flashlight on the body for a brief second. “That look like him?”

Gunner sank to his knees, gagging.

Liam gave him a moment, then asked, “Did you see anyone roaming around here minutes ago?”

“We saw a light and headed right over in the general direction.”

“Larry have a beef with anyone in town that you know of?”

“No, sir. He ain’t been in Baysville but a week or two.”

That was often their way. Ride the rails, then jump track to stay in a town for a bit until the urge hit to travel again. It made tracking someone damn difficult. Easy to get lost in this counterculture. Years ago they were referred to as hobos, a word probably derived from poor migrant workers who traveled from town to town toting knapsacks and a hoe for working the fields.

Baysville had once been a boomtown for them. Plenty of work in the old tobacco and corn fields. During the off-season, they could sometimes find jobs in the pork-processing factories. But these days, Baysville’s largest industry was tourism, and those farm and factory jobs for transients had almost dried up.

“If you don’t mind, I’d like you and your friends to stick around a bit longer. Might have a few more questions for y’all after forensics arrive and we search the area.”

“Yes, sir.”

Gunner clearly would rather slink away than face a group of cops, but Liam figured he knew better than to take off.

Looked like he’d be here awhile as well. Might be best to call Harper and explain the situation. After they were through here, it’d be too late to stop by her house. There was no reason to return, anyway, except to leave her flashlight on the porch and retrieve his car from the driveway. He’d checked her home and found no cause for alarm.

He ran a hand through his hair. Damn if the night didn’t feel a little colder and lonelier. He called Harper’s number but got no answer. Maybe she was getting ready for bed. Liam left a voice message that he’d found a body and would be tied up the rest of the evening.

Blue lights strobed on King Street at the same moment his phone rang. Liam held the flashlight straight up in the air as a beacon and verbally guided the officers to his precise location.

“What’s happening? What did you find?”

He whirled around at the familiar voice. “Thought you’d gone back to the house.”

“Fat chance,” Harper said, looking around the scene.

He knew the exact moment she spotted the body. She inhaled sharply. “Is he…is he—”

“Dead,” he confirmed. “We have the situation covered.” He briefly pressed her small, trembling hand. “Go on back,” he urged.

The police car bumped along the field and parked close by. A detective and the forensics examiner exited the vehicle and immediately set to work taking pictures and putting the body in a bag while Liam filled them in on what he knew. A siren sounded in the distance, and another cop car pulled up by the small crowd. Liam frowned when he recognized the driver.

Bryce Fairfax strode over, hands on hips as he surveyed the scene. His eyes widened at the sight of Harper. “What are you doing out here?”

“We saw a light in the marsh, and Liam… Officer Andrews…wanted to check it out.”

Bryce shot him a stern look. “Civilians don’t need to be at a crime scene—unless they’ve witnessed a crime, of course.”

Liam clamped his jaw tight to prevent an angry defense. His boss never failed to find something to criticize in his work. It had been like that almost since he’d transferred to the Baysville PD five months ago.

“It’s not his fault,” Harper said quickly. “He told me not to come out here, but I did anyway.”

“So I see.”

Bryce shot him another look that promised he’d speak with him later about this matter. What a jerk.

“I’ll go on home,” Harper said, giving Liam an apologetic smile before handing him her flashlight. “I won’t need this now.”

“I’ll have you escorted,” Chief Fairfax said, motioning to one of the responding officers.

For the next hour, they took statements and searched for forensic evidence. Bryce questioned the homeless men. His condescension was evident in his smirk and sharp, pointed questions. Bryce released them with a warning not to leave town. Liam predicted they’d be hopping the next train that passed through. Bryce had to realize that as well, which meant another unsolved vagrant murder.

“That should wrap it up for tonight, men,” Bryce said, hitching up his belt and puffing out his chest. “Appears this is nothing more than another case of vagrants killing one of their own. Probably arguing over alcohol or drugs, I bet.”

“You’re forgetting the car,” Liam pointed out. “There was someone roaming the field, and then we heard a vehicle driving off.”

Bryce chuckled. “Probably just some teenagers making out. You know how kids are.” He nodded at the other two men. “Sam, stay here and keep the crime scene secure until another officer arrives from the midnight shift. George, go on home now. I need to speak to Andrews.”

George left with a wave, Sam resumed searching the ground and Liam was alone with his boss.

“What were you doing over at Harper Catlett’s place?”

“I offered to search her house. She seemed upset this morning about the noises and that email. And someone tried to run her down with a truck. I’ll be writing up a report.”

Bryce popped a stick of clove chewing gum in his mouth. “Let me fill you in on Harper. Her sister, Presley, died in that house seventeen years ago. Harper was only nine at the time. She was the first one on the scene. Claimed she saw a sickly looking man—or creature—hovering over her sister and that he just disappeared into thin air. The police thoroughly searched the place. Nobody had been in that house. Nobody, you understand?”

“So she told me. What are you saying? That she lied?”

“Lie is a strong word. Maybe a better word is imaginative. After all, she was a kid. Probably woke up from a nightmare and then suffered a trauma when she saw Presley dead. Or it could have been she was thinking of the Shadow Dweller.”

“The Shadow Dweller? What are you talking about?”

“A local legend. Some people—mostly kids—claim to see a filthy, emaciated creature that vanishes the instant he’s spotted. They say he peeks out of house windows or deserted buildings, especially whenever the mailman passes by.” Bryce chuckled. “When items go missing—a jacket, a pecan pie, a blanket—folks blame it on the Shadow Dweller.”

Liam mulled over the new information. “And you think Harper’s mind leaped to the legend when she found her sister?”

“Could be. Took a long time before kids stopped giving her grief about what she claimed to have seen.”

“Kids can be cruel. What did her parents say about it?”

“Her dad had died a year earlier. Ruth, her mom, made Harper go to grief counseling.”

A stab of sympathy shot through him. Must have been pretty tough for Harper. “And you bring all this up because…?”

“Isn’t it obvious? Again, she’s claiming to hear noises in the house and that she received a threatening email. Weird how the proof happened to disappear.”

Anger thrummed along his temples at the insinuation. “Harper’s not crazy.” He’d seen her abrasions from the near run-in with the truck. Those were real, and there had been a witness to the incident.

“Now, now. I didn’t say that.”

“You implied it.”

“I’m merely laying out the facts for you. Might want to take what she says with a grain of salt. You found nothing in her house, correct?”

“Correct,” he reluctantly admitted. “But someone did try to run her over—”

“Just watch your step, that’s all I’m saying. You entered her house, still in uniform, and spent time alone with her. Use caution. Who knows what goes on in that head of hers? I don’t want my department getting a harebrained sexual harassment complaint because Harper’s made up some fantasy in her head about you.”

“Your fears are unwarranted,” he said stiffly. “Doubt I’ll even see her again before she leaves.”

“Might be for the best.”

Although it was offered as a suggestion, Liam understood his boss meant it as an order. Bryce hitched up his pants again and strolled to his car.

Alone in the marsh, Liam ran a hand through his hair and sighed. Porch lights shone from Harper’s house, and he could make out her silhouette where she stood, waiting. He’d return her flashlight and then be on his solitary way. Although he disagreed with his boss as to Harper’s state of mind.

Reluctantly, he returned. Harper opened the screen door and beckoned him inside, but Liam only climbed the porch steps and held out the flashlight. “Thanks for the loan. It came in handy.”

“No problem.” She met him halfway on the steps and took the flashlight. “Can I offer you coffee?”

“Sorry. I need to go back to the station and write up a report. I’ll be on my way.”

She reached out to him, and the heat of her hand bled through his uniform sleeve. “I appreciate you coming over.” An uncertain smile lit her pale face. “Thanks for taking this matter seriously. Not everyone does that for me. But you did.”

“So I heard.”

Harper winced. “Bryce must have filled you in on my past. That didn’t take long.”

“It doesn’t matter what other people think.”

“Easy for you to say.” Harper shrugged. “It took a long time for all that stuff to blow over. Should have realized no one’s forgotten it, though. Hell, I’m not sure I even believe what I saw anymore.”

“I see why you want to sell this place and get back to Atlanta. Lots of bad memories here.”

“And good ones from when all four of us were alive. It wasn’t all bad. Guess all families are complicated that way.”

“Right.” He dug his car keys out of his pocket.

“Maybe I’ll see you around?” she asked.

The wistful note in her voice tugged at him. “Maybe.”

He turned away and started down the steps, conscious of her watching. His legs felt as though they weighed a ton. He didn’t want to leave Harper. That murder had been way too close to her house, right after someone had nearly run her over, and the night grew darker by the minute. What if the murderer had seen them leave her home and head into the marsh where he’d just killed? Unlike Bryce, he didn’t believe it was an instance of the homeless killing one of their own. His boss was lazy, too quick to dismiss the murders as unimportant casualties of the transients turning on one another.

Liam would never forgive himself if he left Harper alone and something happened to her. He had to do more to keep her safe.

Liam turned back to Harper. “Want to go to the store with me? I need to pick up a few things before it closes at nine.”

Her face lit up. “Actually, I’m wound up too tight to relax, and I could use a few things. I’ll grab my purse and meet you out front.”

What Bryce didn’t know wouldn’t hurt him. He liked Harper, and he’d been in law enforcement for years. Not as though he were a rookie about to be taken in by a deranged woman. No, he was capable of making his own decisions about a person’s character. Bryce might have distant knowledge of Harper through her sister and mutual acquaintances, but that didn’t mean he knew the woman she’d become.

Soon, she stood by the vehicle, waiting with purse in hand.

“That was quick.” He opened the door for her, and she slid in.

“No time to waste if we want to make it by closing.”

Liam entered the driver’s side and started the engine.

“Is your fridge totally empty?” Harper asked. “That happens to me all the time in Atlanta. I’ll work long hours and forget to shop. I end up eating way too much fast food.”

“The groceries aren’t for me.”

She shot him a questioning glance as he backed out of the driveway.

“It’s for the men we met tonight,” he admitted reluctantly. “Gunner, I guess you could call him their leader, mentioned they’d been searching for the victim. They’d scraped together money for him to buy provisions for a stew tonight.”

“You’re buying the food for them? You’re a kind man.”

Liam shifted uncomfortably in his seat at her look of admiration. He shrugged. “It’s no big deal. I have a soft spot for the homeless. My uncle used to be one. For all I know, maybe he still is. We haven’t heard from him in years.”

“That’s terrible. Were you close?”

“Not me, but my mother was close to Uncle Teddy. She still harbors an irrational hope of reuniting with him one day.” Liam crossed an intersection, bemused at his admission. He didn’t normally open up to people so quickly.

“Anything’s possible. He might turn up one day out of the blue.”

“I’ve asked around about him, of course. Over a decade ago, he was arrested several times in Baysville for public vagrancy and for living in abandoned buildings. After the last arrest, he spent a few nights in the county jail. Probably a welcome change from cold and hunger. Never was seen or heard from again. I’ve showed old photos of my uncle to Gunner and some of the older guys, but they didn’t recognize him.”

“At least you tried. I’m sure your mom appreciates that.”

They fell into a comfortable silence as he drove through town. A few couples strolled the river walk, and others exited from the main street restaurants that were closing. The scent of crab cakes and lobster was strong enough to detect even in the car. One of the many advantages of living in a tourist town were the great restaurants and bars.

He’d be sad to leave when the time came. His stint in Baysville was temporary, although his boss and coworkers didn’t know that. Only one person knew his real reason for coming, and Liam trusted him to keep that knowledge secret.

“This seems like a great place to grow up,” he noted.

“Mostly. If only…well, if only Presley hadn’t had that accident and I hadn’t seen what I did.” She hesitated. “Or what I thought I saw.”

“Can you describe it again? In more detail?”

“A man hovered over Presley. Extremely pale. When he looked up at me, I couldn’t really read his expression. His eyes were large and full of contradiction—anger, surprise, but mostly fear. Although he couldn’t have been more afraid of me than I was of him.”

“How tall was he?”

“Hard to say since he was bent over, but I don’t think he was a tall man. He wore dirty clothes that were ragged, and his face and arms looked as though they were crusted in dirt. If not for that, he might have been glow-in-the-dark pale. Very sickly looking.”

“The legendary Shadow Dweller, perhaps?”

The corners of her mouth turned down. “Bryce was awfully chatty tonight, wasn’t he? And here I thought he was my friend—that we shared a connection through Presley’s memory.”

A false belief like that could be dangerous. He shouldn’t say anything, and yet… “A word of warning,” he said reluctantly. “Don’t trust Bryce Fairfax one hundred percent. He might not be all that he appears to be on the surface.”




Chapter Four (#ua3337c45-ed6d-56f7-8b11-1c1f0b21ec20)


She should be tired. Bone weary after the night’s events. Instead, Harper tossed underneath the covers. Even when she wasn’t consciously listening for an out-of-place sound, her brain remained on high alert. So far, coming home hadn’t eradicated her fear of old ghosts and things that went bump in the night. Yet, she owed it to herself to stay and confront the memories head-on. With each bit of clothing donated or trash discarded, with the stripping away of each material possession tied to the house, Harper hoped to sweep away the remaining cobwebs of mystery and sadness.

Sighing, she admitted defeat. No matter how much she needed eight hours of shut-eye, sleep eluded her. Experience taught her that when all else failed—a hot bath, yoga, warm milk and a misting diffuser of lavender essential oil—the best remedy was to read the most boring material available. Harper climbed out of bed, strolled to her mom’s bedroom and emptied out a drawerful of old papers from her desk. Might as well kill two birds with one stone, get rid of outdated paperwork and read until her eyes became so blurry she’d be forced to close them and drift off to never-never land.

She carried a stack of papers to the bed, fluffed a pillow behind her back and dug in. Outdated checks, old warranties and instruction manuals—Mom was clearly old-school and didn’t trust keeping records on a computer. But two-thirds of the way through the stack, an official government record caught her attention.

Her breath caught at the heading: Autopsy Report of Presley Lee Catlett. The yellowed sheet of paper shook beneath her trembling fingers as she read on. “Cause of death: Asphyxiation from severe spinal cord injury at the fourth cervical vertebra.” Paragraphs of further medical description continued, describing the damaged tissue on the base of Presley’s skull and trauma to internal organs, all consistent with smoke asphyxiation. “Other findings: Deceased was nine weeks pregnant. Signed, Dr. Thomas J. Lumpkin, Pathologist.”

Pregnant? In stunned disbelief, Harper slapped the report against her thighs. “Presley was pregnant?” she squeaked in the silent room, as if someone was nearby and could respond. Why hadn’t her mother ever mentioned it? Harper stood and paced, running a hand through her tousled hair. She’d imagined herself all cried out years ago, but a fresh well of grief burst inside. Nine weeks, so her sister had to have known about her condition before her unexpected death.

And so had Mom. Yet she’d never mentioned a word of it to Harper. Why not? Did she imagine shielding her from the news would make her sister’s death any less painful?

Who else knew about this? Did the biological father know? Harper abruptly stopped pacing, recalling Presley’s old boyfriend, Allen Spencer. They’d broken up days before Presley’s accident. She hadn’t thought much of it at the time, but now she couldn’t help wondering. Did Allen break up with Presley when, or if, she told him about the pregnancy?

A sliver of muted light shone through the lace curtain. Another day dawning. And yes, learning about the pregnancy made Presley’s early death even more tragic.

Would Presley have kept the baby? Harper rather thought her sister was the kind of girl who would do just that. And maybe, just maybe, that had enraged her ex-boyfriend. Maybe even enough to kill her.

Harper crawled back in bed and rubbed her temples. Allen was no killer. The man was a well-respected preacher now, had been for many years. Last she’d heard, he was married with three kids. Besides, whatever she’d seen or not seen that night, it certainly wasn’t Allen.

She had to get out of the suddenly stifling house. The only place open this early in the morning would be the Dixie Diner, Mom’s old place of employment. A chocolate crème–filled doughnut and a vanilla latte would provide a welcome sugary distraction. On a whim, Harper whipped out her cell phone and texted Kimber to see if her old friend had time to join her calorie fest.

She was in luck. Kimber agreed to meet her there in thirty minutes.






“I CAN’T BELIEVE that murder last night was so close to you,” Kimber said with a shudder. “Practically in your own backyard.”

Rhoda, a waitress, hovered nearby, smoothing her hands over her apron. “Heard about it on the radio this morning. Not what you needed after all you’ve been through.” She patted Harper’s shoulder in sympathy before returning to wait tables.

“Did you see or hear anything?” Kimber asked.

“I’d rather not talk about it.”

Kimber nodded. “Okay. I get it. If you change your mind later, give me a buzz.”

Harper soaked in the sweet, heady scent of chocolate, coffee and fresh-baked doughnuts that permeated every square inch of the rustic diner, which sported turquoise Formica tabletops, waitresses in white aprons and local folks sipping white mugs of steaming coffee. It was like stepping into a 1950s soda shop. Even the windows were clouded with condensation, and Harper imagined herself embraced in a cozy cocoon of warm deliciousness. Just what she needed after last night.

“Here ya go, honey,” Rhoda said, returning with Harper’s food and drink. She patted Harper’s shoulder. “I think of your mom every day.” The two had worked the morning shift together for nearly three decades. She shook her head, her gray curls straining against a black hairnet. “Keep expecting her to breeze through the door any minute and put on her apron.” Rhoda turned to Kimber. “What’ll it be this morning, sweetheart?”

“Toast and black coffee.” Kimber smiled at Harper’s wince as Rhoda sauntered to the kitchen. “What can I say? I’ve been on a perpetual diet since having kids.”

“You look great,” Harper assured her. And she did. Kimber was a tall, cool blonde with terrific bone structure and a homecoming queen aura, even if she’d finished high school eons ago. Smart, too. Owned a successful real estate company and ruled her roost of husband and three kids with an easy aplomb that Harper couldn’t help but admire.

“How’s the house prep coming along?” Kimber asked. “Don’t forget, I have a cleaning crew that can make short work of it for you. Reasonable rates.”

Harper waved a dismissive hand. “I remember. I need to go through a lot myself, but after that, I’ll give them a call. Text me their info.”

Kimber nodded. “I understand. Lots of old memories tied up in the place. How much longer you reckon it’ll take? Aren’t you worried about your business in Atlanta?”

“I’m going to call my assistant today and have her take over a couple of outstanding jobs. She can contact future customers and explain there’ll be a short delay due to a family emergency.”

“I’m sure they’ll understand. Just give me the word when you’re ready to place your house on the market. It might be difficult—it’s an older home—but I’m the best.”

“Even after what happened to Presley in the house?” she asked doubtfully.

“It won’t be the first home I’ve sold where tragic accidents have occurred, so even though it’s an obstacle, I know how to overcome it. Not all agents do.” Kimber laughed. “Not that I’m trying to rush you for a commission. Hell, I wish you’d move back to Baysville.” Her classically sculpted face grew pensive. “I could use a friend.”

“You?” She scoffed, surprised at Kimber’s words. “You’ve got plenty of friends. You’ve lived here all your life.”

“Mmm-hmm,” she murmured, not revealing anything. “But small towns can be lonely places.”

Harper frowned at Kimber’s uncharacteristic vulnerability. “Is something wrong?”

Kimber folded her hands on the table and gave a tight smile. “Not at all. Just an off kind of morning.”

She studied her friend’s blue eyes—the exact shade of Pagan River’s navy hue. Harper had always viewed it as a sign that Kimber perfectly fit in with Baysville. But what did one ever really know of another person’s secret trials? Presley had carried a huge secret on her teenage shoulders, without a word to anyone, as far as Harper could tell. Weren’t small towns supposed to be an open book where everybody knew everybody’s history and where gossip ran rampant?

But not a word of Presley’s pregnancy had been whispered about in the grapevine. Not that had gotten back to her, at any rate. Harper leaned forward, keeping her voice low. “Have you ever heard any rumors about Presley?”

Kimber blinked. “What kind of rumors? I mean, she’s been dead for years.”

“Before she died, did you ever hear talk of anything about her, um, sex life?”

“She dated Allen Spencer. Whether they slept together, I haven’t a clue. Why do you ask?”

Harper silently debated. What did it really matter after all these years? But Presley had kept her secret, and it didn’t seem right to spill the beans now. “Never mind. It’s not important. I’ve been going through old family stuff and it’s made me maudlin, I suppose.”

“Understandable. Your sister always kind of kept to herself. But I remember Presley as smart and very likable. Just don’t put her on a pedestal, though…after all, she was very young. Whatever it is you’ve found, if Presley was less than perfect, so what?” Kimber lightened the mood with a wink. “The two of us did plenty of questionable things as teenagers.”

“True enough. Guess I’m in an off mood as well. My house is still…unsettling.”

“The memories?” she asked sympathetically.

“Yeah. And other things… Sounds, senses…something. I know there has to be a logical explanation, but it gets to me.” Kimber was the only one she could talk to about it. Everyone else either shut her out or stared at her with eyes full of pity. She hated that look.

“Here y’all go.” Rhoda set down their food and drink. “Enjoy.”

“Breakfast of champions,” Harper grinned, biting into the doughnut.

Kimber stoically bit into her dry toast and downed it with a sip of black coffee. “I’m glad you texted about meeting this morning. There’s something I’ve been meaning to ask you.”

Harper raised her brows and kept eating.

“I have a proposition for you.” Kimber straightened, assuming her professional Realtor mantle. “As I said, your house presents certain challenges to a sale. Even though I know I could meet them, there’s a simpler solution to its marketability issues—I’d like to buy it.”

“Why?” She was taken aback at the offer. Kimber and Joe lived in a rambling old farmhouse outside town that they’d renovated into a showcase. It was her pride and joy. “Thought you loved your farmhouse.”

“Oh, we do. We have no plans to move. Your house would be an investment. I’ve studied the market carefully, and I believe I could turn it into a profitable bed-and-breakfast.”

An unexpected twinge of sadness swept through her. “You know, that’s what Dad always wanted to do with the place. Mom had started to warm to the idea before Presley died. She gave up on dreams after that.”

“I remember. That’s what gave me the idea. Besides making a nice profit, I figured it would be a blessing for you as well. A win-win. I’d buy it immediately, and you could return to Atlanta without worrying about selling it.” Kimber’s face brightened with enthusiasm. “Not only would the house be in good hands, but also it’d bring your dad’s dream to light.”

All true, so why didn’t the arrangement make her happy?

Kimber’s smile dimmed. “What’s wrong? You don’t like the idea?”

“It’s just unexpected.”

Kimber patted her hand. “If you don’t want to, no hard feelings. But think about it, okay? And, of course, I’d hire you to do all the decorating. That way, you’ll always have a presence there. Might even entice you to visit Baysville more often if you could spend the night in your old home.”

“You’re the best, Kimber. Let me consider it for a few days, and I’ll let you know.”

“Of course.”

She still wasn’t sold, which made no sense. Her friend’s offer would hasten cutting all ties to her hometown. Wasn’t that what she wanted? More people bustled in the diner, grabbing breakfast or coffee before heading to work. Several uniformed officers entered, and she recognized Liam and Bryce heading to the counter. At the sight of Liam’s tall figure, her heart kicked up its heels.

Kimber’s cell phone buzzed, and she picked it up, a slight frown tugging her face. “Business calls,” she said crisply. “I’ve got an unexpected client meeting. Sorry, I’ve got to run.”

“No problem. Quick question, though. This cleaning crew of yours, can they handle large jobs?”

“They’ve done everything from hauling off old furniture in vacated houses to fire damage renovation. Nothing’s too big or too small.”

Harper dug the spare house key out of her purse and slid it across the table to Kimber. “Consider them hired. I need a good set of muscles to haul off all of Dad’s old tools and benches in the basement. They can donate anything in good condition to charity and dump the rest. Stop by anytime and go down there to assess the fee. I don’t need to be home.”

“I’ll do it today,” Kimber promised. After they made a dinner date for later in the week, she bustled off. Harper watched through the window as she quickly walked to her car and climbed inside. Sell the house to Kimber? She tried to convince herself to accept the offer. It was the rational move to make, and yet…

“Harper?” Liam approached her booth. “May I join you?”

“Please do.” He slid in opposite her, and his gray eyes bored into hers, as if he could read all her secrets.

Bryce stopped by the booth. “Morning, Harper. Any more threatening emails or unexplained noises?”

Several customers shifted their gazes to them, and her face warmed. Did he have to boom out the question within earshot of so many people? “Not in the past twenty-four hours.”

“Good, good. We’re always here if you need us. You coming, Andrews?”

“In a few minutes.”

A look passed between them, a tiny beat of tension. “Don’t stay too long—we’ve got a full load today.” Bryce turned from Liam to her and rapped his hand on the table. “See you around, then. Hopefully not in my official capacity.”

She sipped her drink, relieved to find the other patrons resuming their own conversations. Liam leaned in, keeping his voice low. “You sure you’re going to be okay? You look…weary.”

“I didn’t get much sleep last night,” she admitted. “I kept thinking about that poor guy killed nearby. I tried to tackle a project, to get my mind off the murder, but I read something in Mom’s old papers that disturbed me.”

“Want to talk about it?”

The loud rev of an engine distracted her. Outside, Bryce backed a police cruiser out of his parking place. “Don’t you need to get to the station? What with the full load Bryce mentioned.”

“No hurry.” Liam kept his eyes pinned on her.

Somehow, she found herself telling him about the autopsy report. Strange how she felt so free to confide in him instead of her longtime best friend. Maybe because he never knew her sister, it felt like less of a betrayal to confide about the pregnancy.

“Damn, what a horrible way to find out.”

“I can’t believe Mom never told me.”

“She might have been trying to protect you from more pain.”

“Probably. But I wish she had talked to me. Mom shut down after Presley’s death. Her life became a matter of merely going through the motions of living.”

“Do you think this report has any bearing on your sister’s death—on what you saw that night?”

“No. Her boyfriend, Allen Spencer, looks nothing like whatever I saw on the staircase. Although—I do wonder if Allen knew.” She set down her drink. The sugary sweetness that had tasted so good going down now roiled in her belly.

“I can ask him for you.”

“Seriously? You don’t think that would be presumptuous? I barely know the guy, and you don’t know him at all. Won’t you get into trouble for asking about his teenage behavior—wouldn’t he think you were harassing him?”

“It’s all in the approach. I’ll tell him I’m searching for answers about what happened to Presley since some new information has come up. It’s the truth.”

“He’s a minister now. He’s sure to be taken aback by you questioning him and his reputation. Let me do it. At least I won’t be a stranger.”

“I don’t know…”

“He’s a minister. He knew my sister. Knew of her tragic death. Surely he’ll respond with compassion.”

“All right. But I’ll go with you. Not in an official capacity. I’ll change into my civilian clothes but let you do all the talking.”

His kindness tugged at her heart, yet an ugly suspicion arose inside. Why was he being so helpful? He barely knew her. “Why?” she asked abruptly.

“Why what?”

“Why are you being so nice?”

“Maybe I’m just a decent guy.”

Of course, that was one explanation. Why must she always be so suspicious of people’s motives? If alive, Mom would advise her not to look a gift horse in the mouth. “Okay, let’s do this. When’s a good time for you?”

“When I get off work this evening. Find out the minister’s schedule, and we’ll work something out.” Liam finished the last of his coffee and set it down. “One last word of advice—don’t warn him we’re coming.”

She hadn’t expected that. “Why not?”

“He might not have been the man you saw that night, but say he and your sister argued about the pregnancy. Maybe she wanted to keep the baby, and that infuriated him. Enough so that he hired someone to hurt her.”

“A teenager hiring a hit man? Bit of a stretch, I think.”

“I’ve seen it all in my line of work. Never underestimate what people will do when they’re in a rage or feel cornered. By the way, I filed the report on that truck that came at you. Nothing’s come up yet, but I’ll let you know if something does.” Liam slid out of the booth. “I’ll buzz you later.”




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