by CJ Lyons
“You do? How?” Emily squinted at her as if she might be lying.
“I grew up here, silly.”
“You know…” Ruby told Emily, although her gaze slanted to meet Leah’s—it was difficult to ignore the yearning that filled it. “If you and your mom want to, you could stay here. With me.” She gave Leah a tentative smile. “After all, it’s your home, too. I think Nellie—and Ian—would have wanted it that way.”
Emily bounced up and down. “Can we, Mommy? Stay here? Please?”
Typical Ruby. Pushing things too far, too fast, so that Leah was suddenly backed into a corner, her daughter’s emotional well-being used to blackmail her into doing what Ruby wanted. When would she learn? And yet, a glimmer of an image teased her: Leah and Emily, making Nellie’s home their own. It was tempting, so tempting.
A red pickup truck appeared on the lane. Luka Jericho. He parked and Nate jumped out of the passenger side like a prisoner sprung from jail. He and Luka still didn’t get along—Nate blamed Luka for his mother’s death. But they were working things through with the help of a child trauma counselor, which was where Emily and Nate had met, in his waiting room.
Nate stood pressed against the truck’s door, one hand shielding his eyes from the morning sun, scanning the environment warily. Until he met Emily’s gaze. She waved, bouncing on her toes with excitement. “Nate!”
Without a backward glance at Leah—which Leah knew was a good sign, as much as it stung—Emily raced to her new friend and they took off, vanishing around the side of the house.
Luka strode to the truck’s passenger side. Leah joined him. “How’s Ray?” she asked.
“Home. Driving his wife nuts.” He slid a large flat package out from behind the passenger seat. “Thought you might want this. Got it released from evidence.”
Leah glanced at Ruby, who stared with unabashed curiosity from her rocking chair on the porch. She and Luka climbed the steps to the front door and Leah held it open for him. “Let’s go inside where we’ll have some privacy.”
They’d talked a lot over the past couple of weeks, mostly about pain and healing. She’d learned from Luka that Jessica had been planning her revenge on Leah for years—had met Brody through an offender/victim reconciliation program, even arranged for his early release and offered him a job as her research assistant. Poor guy never had a chance.
Her and Luka’s conversations had all been over the phone or while sitting in the counseling center waiting for Nate and Emily—neutral territory. This was the first time she’d invited anyone, as a friend, inside her home.
Her home. Leah stopped, took a breath to recognize the thought. It felt good—yet also dangerous, a painful risk, investing so much, maybe too much.
“We found it at Kern’s,” Luka told her as he set the package on the dining room table. “From the video she shot that night, Valentine’s, she took it from your house. Your husband had it all wrapped up, waiting for you.”
Leah remembered the last words Ian had said to her. “He said he had a surprise, wanted to see my face when he gave it to me.” Leah stared at the package, her hand hovering as she hesitated. “I guess this is it.”
Luka shrugged. “Won’t know until you open it.”
Leah took a deep breath, then carefully removed the heavy brown paper. She felt the outline of a frame. Glass shimmered as she folded back a layer of tissue paper, exposing a large drawing.
Leah. Cradling Emily in her arms, reading her a bedtime story. Both drawn with loving precision, every detail so fluid the image felt as if it might come alive.
Scrawled at the bottom was Ian’s signature.
“Guess Balanchuk wasn’t lying about those art classes after all,” Luka said as he studied the portrait. “Your husband, he did good work.”
Tears ambushed Leah but for the first time in weeks they weren’t tears of grief but rather of joy. Ian may have had his secrets, but he’d never betrayed her, never abandoned his family.
“I’m not sure how I’m going to do this without him,” she confessed. “I don’t know if I can.”
“You can. We both can.” She wished she could be as certain as he was. Laughter drifted in from the open front door. Luka jerked his chin in the direction of the delightful noise. “For them.”
They stood in silence for a moment, listening to Nate and Emily as they played Space Aliens and Pirates. Nate was the pirate, swinging an imaginary cutlass, while Emily zapped him with her ray gun.
Then Luka shook himself. “Sure it’s okay for him to stay the afternoon? I’ve got another meeting with the social worker and the judge. Think they’re ready to sign off.”
“Good job, Dad,” she told him.
“It doesn’t feel real. Not yet.” He took his keys out and stepped to the door, then stopped. “Almost forgot. The feds finally released your house—the cleaners can get in there tomorrow. If you want, I can set it up for you. I know some good guys, won’t rip you off.”
“Thanks, Luka.”
Then he was gone, leaving her alone with Ian’s final gift. She took a deep breath, filling her lungs with one of her oldest, warmest memories: the scent of dried lavender and roses. She touched her fingers to her lips and pressed them against the glass above Ian’s signature. Gratitude surged through her. It was Ian who’d taught her how to trust, to risk letting someone get close enough to love. Now, thanks to his lessons, she knew what she needed to do next.
She rejoined Ruby on the porch. They both turned their chairs to watch Emily and Nate as the kids ran through the fields near the woods. It wouldn’t be easy without Ian to help, but Leah wasn’t in this alone. And most importantly, neither was Emily. Leah would make sure of that.
Her daughter would always know how much her father loved and cherished her. The pain of his death was a pain they’d share and carry and someday heal.
Together.
“We’re staying,” she told Ruby, feeling light, unfettered, as if she could finally breathe. “I’m taking the job at the Crisis Intervention Center.”
A shadow moved in the corner as a stray breeze rustled the empty porch swing. Leah swore she saw Ian there, his smile brighter than the sunshine as he gazed down upon his family.
No. Leah wasn’t alone. She was home. Finally home.
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Books by CJ Lyons
Jericho and Wright Thrillers series
The Next Widow
Fatal Insomnia Medical Thrillers
Farewell to Dreams
A Raging Dawn
The Sleepless Stars
Lucy Guardino Thrillers
Snake Skin
Blood Stained
Kill Zone
After Shock
Hard Fall
Last Light
Devil Smoke
Open Grave
Gone Dark
Bitter Truth
Angels of Mercy Medical Suspense
Lifelines
Catalyst
Trauma
Isolation
A Letter from CJ
Thanks so much for reading The Next Widow. Want to follow more of Leah and Luka’s adventures? Then sign up at the following link to receive updates on the next book in the series. Your email address will never be shared and you can unsubscribe at any time.
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The inspiration for The Next Widow came from what is any ER doctor’s worst nightmare: having absolutely no control over the fate of a loved one.
When my niece was born, I diagnosed her with a life-threatening heart condition, which enabled her to start treatment
before she was even a few hours old. I watched her grow and thrive, refusing to allow her condition to hold her back, and she became a gorgeous young woman attending university.
Until the night when she died… for nine minutes. Thankfully, two nursing students began CPR immediately and the ER team who treated her refused to give up. Her parents and I rushed to the ICU where she was in a coma, unsure—if she ever woke up—how much of the “old” her would remain intact.
As you could probably tell from The Next Widow, those of us drawn to emergency medicine tend to be control freaks (and proud of it, lol!) During those long, empty hours of not knowing my niece’s fate, standing helpless, powerless by her side, my imagination couldn’t help but travel down some dark and twisted paths, wondering… what if?
What if an ER doctor saved the wrong patient? What if this led to someone’s death? What if a loved one sought revenge by taking control in every possible way, body-mind-soul, orchestrating a living hell for the doctor and the patient she saved?
Thankfully, my niece not only recovered, she’s stronger and more fearless than ever before, back at her studies (and on the Dean’s list despite the time lost from her hospitalization and recovery!) and doing great.
And, of course, being a thriller writer, I used all those nightmare ideas conjured at her bedside to create The Next Widow.
I hope you enjoyed Leah and Luka’s first story! If you did, I would be very grateful if you could write a review. I’d love to hear what you think, and it makes such a difference helping new readers to discover one of my books for the first time.
I love hearing from my readers—you can get in touch on my Facebook page, through Goodreads or my website.
Thanks for reading!
CJ
www.cjlyons.net
Published by Bookouture in 2020
An imprint of Storyfire Ltd.
Carmelite House
50 Victoria Embankment
London EC4Y 0DZ
www.bookouture.com
Copyright © CJ Lyons, 2020
CJ Lyons has asserted her right to be identified as the author of this work.
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in any retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without the prior written permission of the publishers.
eBook ISBN: 978-1-83888-711-7
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, organizations, places and events other than those clearly in the public domain, are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or locales is entirely coincidental.
