by Mary Stone
“I think he’s back. I think he’s started again.”
Noah had apparently picked up her mood from all the way across the house. He stepped through the hallway door. “What is it?” he hissed.
She shook her head at him and held up a hand. The last thing she needed was her grandparents coming to investigate. She didn’t want to bring any of this stress to them.
“How do you know it’s The Preacher?” She kept her voice hushed. Just above a whisper. Gramma Beth and Grampa Jack could not overhear this.
“I know it’s him. I’m very familiar with his work.” The reply was dark. “A man and a woman were found this morning by a neighbor who noticed their door standing open. He’d been killed with a single shot to the head. She was brutalized. Her throat slit. No witnesses. We’re reopening his file. Not that it was ever really closed.”
Winter closed her eyes. “Crosses?”
“Of course.”
“What was the Bible verse?”
“First Timothy, chapter two, verse twelve.”
Winter had tried to read the Bible after learning the media had dubbed her parents’ killer as The Preacher. She wanted to understand the man’s mind, even at a young age.
But she couldn’t remember what that verse said, so she asked, “What’s it mean?”
“I do not permit a woman to teach or to have authority over a man; she must be silent,” Aiden quoted, and she had no doubt that he already knew it by heart.
“So, the woman wasn’t silent?”
“No. She was actually a preacher on a highly popular televised show.”
Winter pressed her fingertips to her temples. She didn’t know if she’d ever be able to fully understand The Preacher or how he targeted women.
This one was, at least, pretty clear. The Preacher targeted a female preacher, believing women should be silent and shouldn’t hold any authority over a man.
But why had he targeted Winter’s mother?
She needed to understand that question as much as she needed to capture the bastard.
“Where at?” she asked, gathering what information she could.
“Chattanooga.”
“All right. We’ll head back.”
“We?”
“Noah’s here.”
There was a brief pause, and Winter winced.
“All right,” Aiden went on, his voice brusque. “Let me know when you’re in town. I’m coming into the office.”
“Are you sure you’re up for that?”
“I’ll get a driver. It’s fine. See you later.” He hung up, leaving no room for argument.
She dropped the phone on the couch.
Sheer hatred overwhelmed her for a moment, and she had to drop her head into her hands to get herself under control.
“I fucking hate him,” she whispered. She felt the cushions sag as Noah sat down beside her. He pulled her into his side, but even his warm bulk couldn’t penetrate the ice that had encased her at Aiden’s news.
“Parrish?” he asked hopefully. There was no love lost between the two of them, but his question was facetious, and she knew it.
“No.”
“I’ll get my things packed up,” Noah said. “I can be ready to roll in ten minutes.” He didn’t move. She was grateful for his solid presence at her side.
“I don’t want to go.” The words sounded petulant, but it was a visceral feeling. With every fiber of her being, she did not want to leave this house, her family, her safe zone. Even Noah, with his friendship, was part of this charmed circle.
If she left now, she had the feeling she’d be putting everything at risk.
“I don’t blame you. I don’t want to leave, either.”
“He took my parents, my brother. Now he’s stealing time from me and my grandparents.”
“Then go get him. Bring it all to a close.”
Gramma Beth’s sharp voice had Winter’s head flying up. She held a small plate of fudge in her hands. Her blue eyes were clear and steady on Winter’s, and Grampa Jack stood behind her, his hand on her shoulder. They were such a team, Winter thought. But Grampa, usually the stronger of the two, had abdicated his strength to Beth. She was the one whose face was hard in determination.
“I’ll make you both plates to go.” Despite her fierce expression, Beth’s voice was even and serene. “I did most of my cooking yesterday, just in case something like this might happen.”
“I’m sorry.” The words felt weak and inadequate, and tears clogged Winter’s throat.
“Don’t be.” Gramma Beth was firm. “This is your path. We’ve come to terms with it. You need to go and finish this.”
“You’re a badass FBI agent,” Grampa Jack growled. “Don’t forget it. We’ll be here waiting for you when you’re finished.”
Noah squeezed her shoulder in a comforting gesture, his grip strong and bracing.
This was it, Winter vowed. The Preacher had taken enough from them.
She was going to bring him down.
The End
To be continued…
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Winter Black Series by Mary Stone
Winter’s Origin (Winter Black Series: The Prequel)
Winter’s Mourn (Winter Black Series: Book One)
Winter’s Redemption - Coming Soon
Winter’s Rise - Coming Soon
Acknowledgments
How does one properly thank everyone involved in taking a dream and making it a reality? Let me try.
In addition to my family, whose unending support provided the foundation for me to find the time and energy to put these thoughts on paper, I want to thank the editors who polished my words and made them shine.
Many thanks to my publisher for risking taking on a newbie and giving me the confidence to become a bona fide author.
More than anyone, I want to thank you, my reader, for clicking on a nobody and sharing your most important asset, your time, with this book. I hope with all my heart I made it worthwhile.
Much love,
Mary
About the Author
Mary Stone lives among the majestic Blue Ridge Mountains of East Tennessee with her two dogs, four cats, a couple of energetic boys, and a very patient husband.
As a young girl, she would go to bed every night, wondering what type of creature might be lurking underneath. It wasn’t until she was older that she learned that the creatures she needed to most fear were human.
Today, she creates vivid stories with courageous, strong heroines and dastardly villains. She invites you to enter her world of serial killers, FBI agents but never damsels in distress. Her female characters can handle themselves, going toe-to-toe with any male character, protagonist or antagonist.
Discover more about Mary Stone on her website.
www.authormarystone.com
