by Karen Rose
Copyright © 2016 Karen Rose Hafer
The right of Karen Rose Hafer to be identified as the Author of the Work has been asserted by her in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.
Apart from any use permitted under UK copyright law, this publication may only be reproduced, stored, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means, with prior permission in writing of the publishers or, in the case of reprographic production, in accordance with the terms of licences issued by the Copyright Licensing Agency.
First published as an Ebook by Headline Publishing Group 2016
All characters in this publication are fictitious and any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.
Cataloguing in Publication Data is available from the British Library
eISBN: 978 0 7553 9009 0
Cover photograph © Larry Rostant
Ebook conversion by Avon DataSet Ltd, Bidford-on-Avon, Warwickshire
HEADLINE PUBLISHING GROUP
An Hachette UK Company
Carmelite House
50 Victoria Embankment
London EC4Y 0DZ
www.headline.co.uk
www.hachette.co.uk
Contents
Title Page
Copyright Page
About the Author
Also by Karen Rose
Praise
Dedication
Acknowledgements
Prologue
One
Two
Three
Four
Five
Six
Seven
Eight
Nine
Ten
Eleven
Twelve
Thirteen
Fourteen
Fifteen
Sixteen
Seventeen
Eighteen
Nineteen
Twenty
Twenty-one
Twenty-two
Twenty-three
Twenty-four
Twenty-five
Twenty-six
Twenty-seven
Twenty-eight
Twenty-nine
About the Author
Karen Rose was introduced to suspense and horror at the tender age of eight when she accidentally read Poe’s The Pit and the Pendulum and was afraid to go to sleep for years. She now enjoys writing books that make other people afraid to go to sleep.
Karen lives in Florida with her family, their cat, Bella, and two dogs, Loki and Freya. When she’s not writing, she enjoys reading, and her new hobby – knitting.
By Karen Rose
Don’t Tell
Have You Seen Her?
I’m Watching You
Nothing to Fear
You Can’t Hide
Count to Ten
Die For Me
Scream For Me
Kill For Me
I Can See You
Silent Scream
You Belong To Me
No One Left To Tell
Did You Miss Me?
Watch Your Back
Closer Than You Think
Alone in the Dark
Every Dark Corner
Novellas available in ebook only
Broken Silence
Dirty Secrets
Praise
Praise for Alone In The Dark:
‘Deftly mixes a family crime saga and the horrors of human trafficking into a murder investigation . . . a gripping story’ Publishers Weekly
‘An addictive thriller that will accompany many a reader through a few winter’s nights’ CrimeSquad
Praise for Closer Than You Think:
‘A chilling, enthralling read that succeeds on every level’ Kirkus Reviews
‘Gripping, thrilling and ever so tense, this is writing at its best’ Erisea Magazine
Praise for Watch Your Back:
‘Tense, compelling and I couldn’t put it down until I finished it’ Daily Record (Glasgow)
‘Slash and cut crime at its sharpest’ Northern Echo
Praise for Did You Miss Me?:
‘She’s up there with James Patterson and Nora Roberts when it comes to sweaty-palm suspense and a twist with a sting in the tail’ Peterborough Telegraph
‘A brilliant book’ Essentials
Praise for No One Left to Tell:
‘Rose’s rich cast of characters and intricate plot layers give the story real punch. Hang on tight and remember to breathe!’ RT Book Reviews
‘Every page is action-packed’ www.theallureofbooks.com
Praise for You Belong to Me:
‘[Karen Rose’s] glossy blend of romance and crime is completely compelling . . . another enjoyable and page-turning novel from the queen of romantic suspense’ Crime and Publishing
‘Fast and furious’ Sun
Praise for Silent Scream:
‘A high-octane thrill ride that kept me on the edge of my seat and up far too late at night!’ Lisa Jackson
‘Rose packs action into every moment . . . Thriller fans will love the high-adrenaline story and robust cast of intriguing supporting characters’ Publishers Weekly
Praise for I Can See You:
‘A terrific whodunit’ Harriet Klausner
‘Rose keeps the action popping’ Publishers Weekly
Praise for Kill For Me:
‘Rose has never disappointed with her books and this newest, Kill For Me, is her scariest and best book to date’ www.iloveamysterynewsletter.com
‘Rose juggles a large cast, a huge body count and a complex plot with terrifying ease’ Publishers Weekly
Praise for Scream For Me:
‘From the first rousing chapter to the last, Scream For Me is intense, complex and unforgettable’ James Patterson
‘Word is spreading about quite how good [Rose] is’ The Bookseller
Praise for Die For Me:
‘A blend of hard-edged police procedural and romance – engaging’ Irish Independent
‘Chilling thriller with page-turning passion’ Asda Magazine
Praise for Count to Ten:
‘Takes off like a house afire. There’s action and chills galore in this nonstop thriller’ Tess Gerritsen
‘Gripping, chilling and utterly compelling, Karen Rose is a classy storyteller’ Lancashire Evening Post
Praise for You Can’t Hide:
‘Every page is as gripping as the next, fast paced with surprising twists and turns. Really hard to put down’ South Coast Register
‘Karen Rose is quickly becoming an author that readers of suspense should have on auto-buy’ www.joyfullyreviewed.com
Praise for Nothing to Fear:
‘A pulse pounding tale that has it all’ Cosmopolitan
‘Tense chilling suspense that readers will appreciate from start to finish’ www.thebestreviews.com
Praise for I’m Watching You:
‘Don’t miss this perfectly pitched chill-fest with a human edge from a rising star in the thriller market’ Scottish Daily Record
‘Another stellar thriller . . . Rose’s strength lies in her characters’ www.bookloons.com
Praise for Have You Seen Her?:
‘Rose is adept at creati
ng believable characters and balancing murder, violence and nail biting suspense’ The Royston Crow
‘The perfect recipe for an edge-of-your-seat suspense’ www.bookloons.com
Praise for Don’t Tell:
‘Rose delivers the kind of high-wire suspense that keeps you riveted to the edge of your seat’ Lisa Gardner
‘As gripping as a cold hand on the back of one’s neck . . . this assured debut bodes well for Rose’s future books’ Publishers Weekly
To my friend, Amy Lane, because your stories soothed my heart
when I was afraid and grieving, and because your characters
helped me fall in love with my own characters all over again.
PS: Thanks for the knitting :-)
To Aunt Maurita. You’ve demonstrated true strength and grace
in the midst of great sorrow. Thank you for allowing me
to be your honorary kid.
To the memory of Reverend Richard Wertz, aka Uncle Dick.
You married us, you laughed and lived with us, and when your time
on earth was through, you faced the end with dignity and great faith.
We wish you were here.
And, as always, to Martin, for our thirty-five amazing years together
(so far). I love you.
Acknowledgements
Marc Conterato for all things medical. Thank you for always making time to answer my questions.
Amy Lane for reintroducing me to the art – and the therapeutic benefits – of knitting. It really does help quiet my over-active mind.
Mike Magowan for your firearms expertise.
Terri Bolyard and Kay Conterato for talking me through the rough spots.
The Starfish – Cheryl, Chris, Kathy, Sheila, and Susan for the encouragement and discipline. Time to write!
My sweet husband, Martin, who takes care of our family while I’m in my cave working.
My amazing readers all over the world – you allow me to have the best job ever. Thank you!
As always, all mistakes are my own.
Prologue
Cincinnati, Ohio,
Saturday 8 August, 12.45 P.M.
Cookies. Chips. Fruit Roll-Ups. Mallory Martin gritted her teeth harder with every package she tossed into the grocery cart. Crossing the fruit snacks off his list, she made her way to the frozen food section of the store. Frozen pizza. Ice cream. Then on to the toppings – one of each type on the shelf at the end of the aisle. Chocolate syrup, candied walnuts, peanuts, caramel. No store brands, he’d said. Get the most expensive. Bile burned her throat. Only the best, Mallory dear. Only the best.
She dropped her gaze back to the list, double-checking that she’d gotten all that he’d specified. Don’t forget anything, Mallory darling, he’d said, his smile tight as he’d run his finger down her face. You know how I hate to have to punish you.
‘Looks like somebody’s having a party.’
Mallory jerked at the deep male voice, her grip tightening on the jar of cherries she’d just pulled off the shelf. Because we must have cherries. She could hear the lilting, mocking words inside her mind.
Always inside her mind. Always. Everywhere. She hated that. She hated him. She stared at the jar of cherries in her hand. She hated herself.
‘Are you all right, miss?’ the man standing in front of her cart asked with concern.
Mallory shoved the hated voice from her mind, lifting her eyes to the stranger standing in front of her. He was about thirty, with wide shoulders and a slight paunch. Looked like a used-to-be football player, once upon a time. She knew the type. She knew all the types. He was watching her, his expression wary. Like she was a lunatic just waiting to do something crazy.
And he’d be right, she thought.
‘I didn’t mean to startle you,’ he said. ‘I’m sorry.’
‘I’m fine,’ she said quietly. ‘Thank you for asking.’ She tried to move her cart, to get around him, but the man took a step to the side, blocking her movement before it had a chance to become an escape.
She took a step back, but once again he mirrored her movement, stopping her. ‘I know you,’ he said, his eyebrows bunching as he studied her more closely.
A shiver ran down her spine. Fear. Disgust. Despair. She forced herself to smile. ‘No, I’m sure you don’t. I’m new in town.’ A lie, of course. But after so many, what was one more?
He tilted his head, eyes narrowing. Mallory pulled the cart backward a few paces, gritting her teeth when beefy fingers closed over the metal, keeping her in place.
She could tell the exact moment he recognized her, his lips curling in a Grinch-like smile. She didn’t know this man, but that smile? That she knew. Once again bile burned her throat, but this time it was mixed with desperate fear.
‘Let me pass,’ she said, hearing her own panic. ‘I have to get out of here.’ She yanked her cart from his hands and careened around him. Briefly she considered abandoning the cart and running like hell.
Running as far as she could. As fast as she could.
Running until she reached a place where no man would ever wear that smile.
But that wasn’t possible.
Because the Internet was everywhere. Mallory was everywhere. Even though she wanted to be nowhere. Which also was not possible. So she pushed her cart to the dairy section and opened the door to the milk. For a moment she stood there, the cold air of the fridge a blessed relief to her overheated face.
Her heart was racing, her pulse pounding in her head until it was all she could hear. Still holding on to the door, she carefully glanced over her shoulder. Her stomach pitched.
The man stood at the very end of the aisle, texting, his phone small in his big hands. He looked up, saw her watching him and smiled that Grinch smile again. Fluttered his sausage-sized fingers in a wave.
And took her photo.
No. No. No. Not again. Please, she wanted to scream. Not again. No more.
But she didn’t scream. Didn’t cry. Didn’t run. Instead, she chose a gallon jug of milk with as much dignity as she could muster, placed it in the cart, and checked his list once again.
Whipped cream. It was the last item on the list and her hand shook when she reached for the red can. It should be a normal thing, buying a can of whipped cream. But she knew why he wanted it. Knew he’d use it for far more than topping an ice cream sundae.
Tell someone. For the love of God, Mallory, tell someone.
Shut up, she wanted to snap. How many times had she told herself to tell? But it wasn’t that simple. Nothing was ever that simple. If it was simple, I’d’ve done it by now, she thought wearily. The red can went in the cart and she made her way to the lanes of cashiers.
The used-to-be football player with the deep voice was in the checkout line to her left, trying to catch her eye with flirtatious winks. Mallory ignored him, keeping her head down. She paid the bill with cash, as she always did.
Can’t be leaving a trace now, can we, Mallory dear?
No, she thought dully. We can’t. But I did. She’d left a trace that could be seen from goddamn space. She’d never meant to. It wasn’t my fault.
Which was the truth, but who the hell cared?
She shook her head mutely when the cashier asked if she needed help with her bags. She was eighteen years old, after all. She could load her own damn car.
Well, not her car. It was his. Everything was his.
Even Mallory. And he never let her forget it.
The intense heat of the August noon slapped her in the face as she pushed her cart out of the store. On edge, she glanced both ways before crossing the street to the car. The used-to-be football player was gone. ‘Thank you,’ she breathed softly.
Quickly she loaded the groceries in the trunk, making sure to put the ice cream in a freezer
bag so that it didn’t soften on the drive home. He got angry when the ice cream softened. It was never good when he got angry. Mallory had the scars to prove it. Not that anyone would believe her.
He’d seen to that, she thought bitterly, slamming the trunk shut with both hands. For a moment she stood there, her palms flat on the blisteringly hot metal, holding herself up because her legs were trembling. No one will ever believe me again.
A shadow fell over her shoulder. ‘Well, if it isn’t Sunshine Suzie!’ the deep voice drawled.
Mallory froze, her hands clenching into fists. She didn’t move away from the car. She wasn’t sure that she could.
The used-to-be football player was back. Standing behind her. She could see his wide shoulders reflected in the car’s rear window. He held a phone in front of his face. ‘I told you it was her,’ he added smugly, then turned the phone in her direction. In the window, she could see the fuzzy reflection of another man’s face. A video call. Shit. ‘Turn around, Suzie. Say hi to my friend. He’s a big fan, too.’
Mallory slid her hand into the pocket of her jeans, her fingers closing over her keys. Just a few feet. Get in the car and you’ll be safe. She bolted, only to have those beefy fingers close over her upper arm in a grip tight enough that she’d have a ring of bruises. This she knew from experience.
‘Let me go!’ she cried. ‘Please, just let me go.’
‘Not a chance,’ the man said, cruel laughter in his voice. ‘Nobody’s seen you for a few years, sweetheart. Now that you’re back, I’d like an encore performance. What do you think, Justin? Don’t you think Sunshine Suzie owes us a show?’
‘Oh, man,’ the guy on the phone whined. ‘I think you’d better be fucking making a video.’
‘Abso-fucking-lutely.’
Mallory fought the bile that was rising once again. ‘No!’ Keys in her hand, she whipped around, grazing the big man’s cheek and startling him into dropping his phone on the asphalt. The screen shattered and the face of the man on the other end of the call splintered into a hundred different pieces.
Mallory tried to run, but Mr Football grabbed her tighter, his face grown dark. ‘That was a new phone, bitch,’ he snarled. ‘You’ll pay for that, one way or another.’
