Some secrets are better left dead.
Rachel James’ ex-husband is released from prison determined to reclaim her and her little girl — the child is his key to controlling the James fortune. Frightened, Rachel flees to Denver with the child who hasn’t uttered a word since her daddy went to prison.
Contractor Patrick Thorne wants nothing to do with another of his parents’ charity cases. He failed his own wife so abysmally she took her own life as well as his unborn son’s. After two years, it’s time to concentrate on the bid he’s won and the saboteur trying to destroy his construction firm.
There is no room for trust in either of their hearts. But trust is all that will untangle the secrets that dominate their lives, free a little girl of her silent prison, and save them all from a serial killer who stands too close.
Killing
Secrets
©
Copyright 2014 – K.L. Docter
Four weeks….
Two days….
Sixteen hours….
…‘Til death.
The first
time he laid eyes on her, he stood on the threshold of a doorway he dare not
cross. He fell into her fathomless dark gaze, unable, unwilling to shake his soul free and, in that one moment, he knew.
She was
meant for him to love.
Untouched by
the sordid life that flourished around her, she was sunlight in a gray
existence. A smile in a dingy room. A joy such as he’d never known. She was a
gift from a cold, unforgiving God. Forever innocent.
Why God
would give him such a precious angel, he didn’t know. But he suddenly knew what
he was willing to die for. What he’d kill for.
In that
instant of clarity the monster that lurked in the dark recesses of his mind was
freed. A creature designed to kill. To live and die. Over and over again. Until
his angel ascended once more to her place in Heaven at God’s feet where he
couldn’t reach her.
‘Til death
parted them, she was his and his alone.
Certain she’d been lost to him, the
shock of spotting her again in LoDo, a lower downtown section of Denver, nearly
brought him to his knees. His brain tried to tell him he was mistaken. She had
more curves than he remembered. Her hairstyle and clothes were different.
The
others were different, too.
He shook his head against the monster’s
treacherous whisper. He refused to listen. Couldn’t listen. His angel smiled at
him. His soul recognized her. Somehow, some way, his fractious God had been
appeased and given him yet another chance.
The past seven days were hell. Watching
her. Wanting to take her. Knowing he couldn’t screw up and lose her again. Tonight,
his preparations in place, she’d return to his side where she belonged.
Breathing slow and measured through the
full-face ski mask he’d bought at a thrift store, he sucked in a lungful of
musty stench. In this uncommon late-May heat wave, he was sweating bullets but
the wool soaked it up before it could sting his eyes. The itching would drive
him insane, though, if she didn’t come home from work soon.
The LoDo sports bar where she waited
tables closed almost an hour ago. She couldn’t have gone on a date at two
o’clock on a Thursday morning, could she?
Three times he’d entered her ground
floor apartment after she’d left for work, and he’d seen no sign she was
involved with anyone. No jockey shorts mixed with her panties in the hamper. No
extra razor. The food in the refrigerator wasn’t enough to feed a cat, let
alone her and a boyfriend, and the only scent on her pillows was floral. The
sole message from a male on her answering machine had identified himself as a
special research librarian from the Denver Public Library reminding her to pick
up the copy of “The Warwick Genealogy” she’d requested.
That
doesn’t mean she isn’t still involved with him, the almighty scion of Thorne Enterprises. She’s
probably crawling into his bed like a whore right this minute, letting him do
things to her, making her scream….
Screams.
Blood.
Death.
“No!
Stop!” he whispered. “That was a mistake!”
Was
it? The insidious question lashed him from the
dark place in his pounding skull.
He rejected the smirking voice, the
vivid images. Think of something else. Anything else. Forgetforgetfor—
A car alarm screamed at an outlying
parking lot and dragged him out of his fugue. His eyes cleared. The pain behind
them eased to a level he’d learned to carry over the years. He took a deep
breath to smother his panic.
Soon, he would kill the nightmares
forever. Patrick Thorne would die and the secrets with him. But the contractor
hadn’t been punished enough yet. Before he finished, he’d ruin Thorne’s
reputation, his livelihood, and destroy everything he loved most in the world.
Just
as Thorne destroyed our lives. The man must die! Now!
Restless to escape its bonds the
monster thrust knife-hot pain into his brain, but he wrestled it back into the
shadows and locked it down. Retribution was almost at hand, but not tonight. This
night was about her.
Where the hell was she?
There!
Her tennis shoes slapped the sidewalk as she approached. He caught a
flash of uniform—shorts and sports shirt, both too tight for decency. Then she
walked out of the weak light that pooled across the commons into the dark well
that led to her door. Her building superintendent had replaced her broken porch
light this morning, but he’d smashed it again. He smiled when she cursed
someone named Ronnie.
With a jingle of keys, she passed the
niche he’d carved for himself in the shrubs. A bunch of adrenaline surged
through him, made him light-headed with anticipation. He shook the buzz from
his head and crashed out of the bushes with more noise than he intended.
Her head snapped left. She shot a
glance over her shoulder. Her eyes widened. She lunged for the safety of her
door.
He chased after her, grabbed her by the
throat. A squeeze of her windpipe cut off her scream. He didn’t want to damage
her too much. He just needed to get her alone.
To atone. To give him another chance.
With her soft body pressed against him,
he groaned with pleasure. It had been so long!
For a moment he forgot his purpose, lost in the new scent of her, in the
innocent softness of her curves against him. Her breasts were full beneath his
forearm. The sweet curve of her ass cradled his stiff penis. With another
groan, his grip relaxed.
She screamed. Struggling, she broke
loose of his hold.
Shit!
Reaching out, he snagged her long ponytail and yanked her back hard. With
his other hand, he strangled her next scream into a whimper. “Do that again,”
he grated, “I’ll use my knife.” The
honed blade was secure in his pocket but she didn’t know that.
“I have money,” she croaked. “Three
hundred. Tips. In my pocket. Please!
Don’t—”
“Shh. Don’t fight me. Shh,” he crooned
into her hair. He tugged a chloroform-laced rag from his pants pocket and
fitted it over her nose and mouth. “Just give me another chance, Angel, and
everything will be fine.”
This
time she’d make the right choice because, God only knew, he’d truly go insane
if he had to kill her all over again.
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