The threat of death didn’t scare Gray; Sean Dixon had threatened to kill her once a month. No, she was shaking now because she realized that she had never met the real Tea Christopher. Not at Sam Jose’s. Not at Post & Beam. Not once. “Where is she?” Gray asked now. “Where’s Tea?”
Deanna stepped closer to Gray. “She’s out there, watching TV. Well, technically, for the last three weeks her soul has been resting in the Lord she never shut up about.”
The real Tea Christopher was dead. Bishop Dunlop hadn’t seen her in weeks. Neither had Ian. And that was because …
“Where is Isabel Lincoln? The real Isabel Lincoln?”
“My old pen pal? She’s been gone for almost twenty years. Who cares?”
“Her family—”
“Ain’t nobody left in Isabel’s family except for her blind-ass aunt. Ruby can thank me for keeping her alive—Bobby been wanting to kill that bitch in her sleep. I told him, Have a heart. Collect your check. He acts like I don’t pay him.”
Gray whispered, “Pay him for…”
Deanna shrugged. “My Boy Friday shit. He owed me again. First, I introduced him to my little pen pal—she was too young for him, but who am I to pass judgment, right? He was grateful once she … disappeared. And then convincing Ruby to let him be her eyes. Little known fact: I take—a lot—but I also give, give, give.”
Gray could feel the heat pulsating off the impersonator’s body. She could smell the liquor on Deanna’s breath. She could smell old blood, too. “Why did you call me here? You could’ve just left the country. You could’ve just—”
“You have a check that belongs to me.” Deanna took a step. “You’re making this more complicated than what it needs to be. I’ll be out of your hair soon.”
“Why?”
Deanna held out her arms. “I got a funeral to attend. You’re looking at the newest resident of Belize City.” She held out her arms and posed. “Meet the new Gray Sykes, the worst private investigator in—”
Gray pressed the trigger of the Mace can.
The spray shot out like a snake.
It missed its mark and hit Deanna’s neck.
The woman still reeled backwards and out into the hallway.
Gray rushed to the bedroom doorway and darted past her.
Deanna grabbed the tail of Gray’s shirt.
Both women stumbled to the carpet.
Deanna climbed atop Gray.
Gray held up her left arm.
Deanna’s blade sank into Gray’s wrist.
Gray screamed and used all of her anger, resentment, and fear to push Deanna Kelly off of her. With her healthy hand, she reached into her back pocket for her own knife.
She blindly swung the blade.
Deanna cried out and reached for her now bloody forehead.
Gray scrambled to her knees.
Deanna grabbed Gray’s leg.
The knife sank into Gray’s calf.
Gray donkey-kicked with her healthy leg. Soft cartilage—some part of Deanna Kelly—met the sole of her sneaker. She didn’t look back to see which part of Deanna she’d kicked.
She scrambled to the living room as Deanna Kelly rolled on the hallway floor.
In the living room, Gray shoved her hand into her battered purse.
Keys, lipsticks, tissue packets, boarding passes, tweezers, envelopes, wallet, gift cards—yes! The purse’s torn lining had hidden the prize.
Deanna staggered toward Gray. Blood stained her face and filled her mouth. Her knife glistened red with the blood of two women.
Gray held up the gun. “Stop.”
But Deanna Kelly didn’t know how to stop.
Gray squeezed the trigger.
Deanna Kelly stopped and dropped to her knees. The shock on her face was brighter than the bloom of red spreading across her white tank top. “You…” She dropped to her knees.
Then Gray felt herself drifting … drifting … falling …
* * *
Big men wearing blue wool or yellow canvas swarmed the Christophers’ house. One man in yellow shone a flashlight in Gray’s eyes. “What’s your name, miss?”
Gray blinked past the tears and croaked, “Name?”
And then she laughed and laughed.
EPILOGUE
The soft, warm winds of Cabo San Lucas drifted past the open windows and lifted the sheer, gauzy curtains. Palm trees rustled as birds called out to each other. Out there, turquoise jewel–colored waters swirled against the sand.
Gray turned over in the king-size bed.
Dominick Rader lay on his back and stared at the slow-turning ceiling fan as his chest rose and fell.
She tugged a lock of his disheveled hair. “You okay?”
“I am now.” He smiled at her.
She kissed him. Then she kissed him again and kept her eyes open and let the millions of butterflies flutter around her belly. “Do you think people know?”
Nick shrugged. “People paid to snoop saw us leave together after the reception. They’ll think we got drunk and…”
“Hooked up.”
“Happens all the time at weddings.”
Gray had caught Jennifer staring at her and Nick throughout Clarissa’s wedding, and she’d noticed how Nick had held Gray on the dance floor. The blonde wasn’t dumb.
His finger traced her nose. “I have something for you.”
She cocked an eyebrow. “A pony?”
He shook his head, his expression now serious.
She hardened. “What? What’s wrong? Did she escape somehow?”
The medical examiner had confirmed that Tea Christopher had been dead in that living room since mid-May. The district attorney had declined to charge Gray for shooting Deanna Kelly. It was over for now. Just in time for Clarissa and Irwin’s wedding.
“No, Deanna’s still in jail. It’s not her.” He slipped out of bed and over to his bag.
Nick’s scars matched hers, and she had kissed each of them. Then she had closed her eyes as he kissed every one of hers—including the newest ones at her navel.
According to Dr. Messamer, Gray had an intra-abdominal abscess, a complication after her appendectomy.
“Here.” He climbed back into bed with an expandable file folder. “For you.”
She pulled out a sheet of paper from the folder.
LAST KNOWN ADDRESS AS OF AUGUST 30 FOR …
Mouth dry, mind spinning, Gray’s eyes darted to Nick’s. “Sean. You found him?”
“He’s there. Nursing his most recent stab wound, I guess.”
“How do you know?”
“Before coming here, I found him there.”
There. Playa del Carmen, Mexico.
“Luxury condo with an ocean view,” Nick said. “Four bedrooms, five baths, blond wood floors, quartz countertops. And a dog run.”
“Why Mexico?”
“Someone has a little tax problem with Uncle Sam.” Nick paused, then amended himself. “No—a big tax problem.”
Gray’s eyes bugged. “Is he evading…”
“The feds?” Nick nodded. “But I have friends. Eyes everywhere.”
She squinted at him. “I wanna be there when they arrest him. I’ll buy the tickets.”
Nick said, “We were supposed to go on that booze cruise tomorrow.”
“Fuck a watered-down mai tai. I want this.”
Nick lay back in the pillows. “If I do that for you, what will you do for me?”
Him looking like that … looking at her like that …
Damn.
The room tilted.
Smiling, Gray straddled Nick’s hips and gazed into her lover’s eyes.
She’d do anything.
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
For many reasons, this is one of my most personal stories. It took a moment for me to figure out how to write it and I’m so grateful to those who helped bring it to the world. Thanks to my agent, Jill Marsal, for always being there—your sharp eye and constant encouragement mean so much to me. Thanks to
my editor, Kristin Sevick, for believing in this story, and Alexis Saarela and my team at Forge for spreading the word. Thank you, Crystal Patriarche, Tabitha Bailey, and BookSparks, for your great ideas and incredible support.
Special thanks to David Corbett for sharing all that he knows about private investigators—and it’s a lot. All mistakes are mine. Also, thank you, Kellye Garrett, Hank Phillippi Ryan, Kristi Belcamino, and Jess Lourey. I cried and whined to you all about this book, and you gave me cocktails, tater tots, or plain ol’ love.
Thank you to my family: Gretchen and Jason for driving me around Las Vegas so many years ago as I was conceptualizing this story, and Terence for driving me around Oakland. My mother, Jacqueline, is the glue that holds us all together, who constantly encourages me and reminds me to rest. Thank you, Maya Grace—I am blessed to be your momma. Thank you, David—you have no idea how important your input has been over the last twenty-five years. I love you all.
ALSO BY RACHEL HOWZELL HALL
Land of Shadows
Skies of Ash
Trail of Echoes
City of Saviors
They All Fall Down
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
RACHEL HOWZELL HALL is the author of the acclaimed Lou Norton series, including Land of Shadows, Skies of Ash, Trail of Echoes, and City of Saviors; the standalone thriller They All Fall Down; and is the coauthor of The Good Sister with James Patterson, which appeared in the New York Times bestselling anthology The Family Lawyer. She is a senior development officer for the donor relations department at Cedars-Sinai Medical Center. Currently, she serves on the board of directors for the Mystery Writers of America, is a member of Sisters in Crime, and has participated as mentor in the Association of Writers & Writing Programs’ Writer to Writer program. She lives in Los Angeles. You can sign up for email updates here.
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CONTENTS
Title Page
Copyright Notice
Dedication
Epigraph
She Had to Leave
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
He Had to Stop Her
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
She Wouldn’t Stop
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
She Found New Direction
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
Chapter 42
Chapter 43
Chapter 44
Chapter 45
She Faced the Dragon
Chapter 46
Chapter 47
Chapter 48
Chapter 49
Chapter 50
Chapter 51
Chapter 52
Chapter 53
Chapter 54
Chapter 55
Chapter 56
Chapter 57
Chapter 58
Chapter 59
Chapter 60
Epilogue
Acknowledgments
Also by Rachel Howzell Hall
About the Author
Copyright
This is a work of fiction. All of the characters, organizations, and events portrayed in this novel are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.
AND NOW SHE’S GONE
Copyright © 2020 by Rachel Howzell Hall
All rights reserved.
Cover design by Esther S. Kim
Cover photographs: paper © Shikhar Bhattarai / Stocksy; woman © Jack Sorokin / Stocksy
A Forge Book
Published by Tom Doherty Associates
120 Broadway
New York, NY 10271
www.tor-forge.com
Forge® is a registered trademark of Macmillan Publishing Group, LLC.
The Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data is available upon request.
ISBN 978-1-250-75317-5 (hardcover)
ISBN 978-1-250-75316-8 (ebook)
eISBN 9781250753168
Our ebooks may be purchased in bulk for promotional, educational, or business use. Please contact the Macmillan Corporate and Premium Sales Department at 1-800-221-7945, extension 5442, or by email at [email protected].
First Edition: 2020
And Now She's Gone Page 33
