Gone Daddy Gone (Sloane Monroe Book 7)

by Cheryl Bradshaw

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, businesses, and incidents either are the products of the author’s imagination or are used in a fictitious manner. Any similarity to events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  First US edition April 2017

  Copyright © 2017 by Cheryl Bradshaw

  Cover Design Copyright 2017 © Indie Designz

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored or transmitted, in any form, or by any means whatsoever (electronic, mechanical, etc.) without the prior written permission and consent of the author.

  DEDICATION

  To my daughter Kylie, who is and will always be the very best part of me.

  “Whatever woman may cast her lot with mine, should any ever do so, it is my intention to do all in my power to make her happy and contented; and there is nothing I can imagine that would make me more unhappy than to fail in the effort.”

  —Abraham Lincoln

  CHAPTER 1

  Shelby McCoy walked the same snowy path through the park that she walked every Monday morning after gym class, but today it felt much different than the other times. Something was off, a restlessness causing such unease she stopped for a moment and scanned the area around her. She saw no one, heard no one, yet a discomforting feeling like she was being watched consumed her. Troubled, she kept her eye on her destination and picked up the pace.

  The brittle winter air scratched against her skin like sandpaper, chilling her to the core. She pulled the scarf around her neck a bit tighter, burrowed her face into it, and kept going.

  Almost there.

  Not much farther now.

  Just make it past this next turn and everything will be okay.

  One week earlier she’d returned to college in Salt Lake City after spending Christmas break at home with her father and his girlfriend in Jackson Hole. The visit had gone well until the end when she confessed to her father that she’d lied to him about her previous semester’s grades. She had failed two classes, which, in his eyes, violated their agreement—he would foot the bill as long as she maintained a decent grade point average.

  “It’s the first semester of the new year, Dad,” she had said. “I always bomb at the beginning. Cut me some slack.”

  “You want slack?” he’d replied. “Fine. When you get back to Utah, go out and get a job. Maybe you should be responsible for payin’ your own way from now on.”

  She had a job—a good one, in fact—but she couldn’t talk to him about that either.

  The rest of the morning had passed in silence. He didn’t speak to her, and she didn’t speak to him. When it came time for her to leave, he’d leaned into her car and planted a kiss on her forehead, telling her to drive safely and to text him when she arrived back in Utah. She’d tried apologizing one last time, but he had just swished a hand through the air and walked away. It wasn’t the way she’d wanted to leave things, and now she regretted the awkwardness between them.

  She lifted a gloved hand and wiped a tear from her eye, thinking about what else she hadn’t said when she was back home. She hated college. The only reason she hadn’t dropped out was because she knew how disappointed he would be. It didn’t matter what she said or how she said it—he wouldn’t understand. So what was the point of saying anything at all?

  A sound like the cracking of ice startled her back to the present. She slowed down and looked around, again seeing nothing and no one. It was early. The sun hadn’t fully risen, and aside from a few park lamps, visibility was poor. Perhaps what she’d heard had been a rabbit or a squirrel. It was possible. Wasn’t it? When the noise rang out a third time she froze, staring in the direction the sound had come from—a thicket of trees beside her.

  “Hello? Is someone there?”

  Silence.

  “Hello?”

  All was still.

  Deciding what she’d heard was nothing more than a tree shaking loose snow from its branches, she shrugged it off and again increased her pace.

  “Shelby.”

  The male voice was faint and low, her name spoken in a whisper.

  “Paul, is that you? What, you’re stalking me now? Where are you hiding? Come out. This isn’t funny.”

  There was no reply.

  “I’m serious, Paul. There’s nothing left to say. Please. You have to stop this, okay? You need to leave me alone.”

  Her instincts kicked in, and she realized the man might have been someone other than Paul. Paul would have presented himself by now, springing out from behind a tree or chucking a snowball in her direction. She slid one of her gloves off and shoved a hand into her pocket, feeling around for the miniature can of mace attached to her keychain. The pepper spray had been a gift from Sloane, her father’s girlfriend. When she’d received it, she laughed, thinking Sloane needed to stop being so paranoid about everything. Besides, she was tough and spirited, capable of taking care of herself. She never thought she’d need it, until today.

  Now, gripping it in her hand, she was amazed at how much comfort she felt holding the small canister. She pressed it against her chest, her finger on the trigger. If she needed to use it, she’d be ready.

  “Shelby McCoy.”

  This time when she heard her name, she set off into a sprint, only making it a few feet before tripping over a snow-covered rock and plowing face first to the ground. Bruised and in pain, she pushed herself into a kneeling position and whipped around. She saw no one, but her stalker was there, and he was close, the trudge of his footsteps sounding off in the distance.

  He’s close.

  Too close.

  Get up, girl.

  Get up!

  Blood dripped off one of her hands, and her left cheek stung like the side of her face had fallen into a cactus. She had lacerations in multiple places, and the mace keychain was nowhere in sight. Heart thumping inside her chest, she brushed her hands along the snow, searching. Come on, come on! Where the hell is it?

  Gone.

  It was gone.

  And she was out of time.

  She pounded her fists into the ground and stood. Pulling her cell phone from her pocket, she dialed Maddie. The call went to voicemail, and she remembered Maddie saying she was sleeping over at someone’s house the night before, a man she’d been dating. She pressed the end button and dialed again, this time trying her father.

  Voicemail.

  Again.

  Voice trembling, she said, “Dad, please pick up. I need you, Daddy. Please. I’m scared. I think someone’s following—”

  A gloved hand loomed over her shoulder, ripping the cell phone from her hands. She whipped around, facing the man behind her. He wore a gray beanie, snow goggles, black snow pants, and a jacket, and he was substantial in height, towering over her by at least six inches.

  He raised the cell phone above his head, taunting her.

  “Give me back my phone, asshole!” she said.

  It surprised her when he did what she asked. Then he said, “Call your father one more time. Say goodbye.”

  This wasn’t a random attack. It was calculated. She was the target—his target.

  Does he know me?

  Does he know my dad?

  If only she could sprint for home. But she didn’t dare move. He had a pistol pressed against her jacket.

  “Go ahead,” he said. “Call your father.”

  She put the phone to her ear and made the call, trying to steady her voice when it went to voicemail yet again. She managed to choke out a few simple words, “I love you, Dad. And I’m sorry. I’m sorry for everything.”

  Snatching the phone away from
her, the man pressed the end button on the phone and then chucked the phone deep into a mass of bushes and trees.

  His attention temporarily diverted, she grabbed at his beanie, ripping it off of his head. Though daylight was still minutes away, she caught a glimpse of his thick, brown hair. Whoever he was, he wasn’t familiar.

  They stared at one another.

  “Who are you? How do you know me?”

  “It doesn’t matter.”

  “Maybe not to you, but it matters to me. I don’t understand. Why are you doing this?”

  He grabbed her arm, yanking her toward the trees. “Let’s go for a walk.”

  “No! I’m not going anywhere with you.”

  She tried to pull away, and he swung around, glaring at her.

  “Then you’ll die. I’ll shoot you right here, right now.” He rammed the barrel of the pistol into her gut. “Don’t make this harder than it has to be, Shelby.”

  But it was hard. She wasn’t prepared to die.

  Think, Shelby! Do something. Do something now!

  She lifted her knee, using all the force she had to drive it right into his crotch. He staggered back, grunting in pain, and she broke free of his grip, running toward Maddie’s.

  She could see the front porch light from here.

  She could get there.

  She could make it.

  She had to make it.

  “Help! Someone help me, please! Please help!”

  The crack of gunfire pierced the air, making it come alive again, the bullet connecting, drilling into her back. The force of it jerked her forward. Her legs wobbled beneath her, and she went down. Seconds later, the man was over her again. He grabbed at the hood of her jacket, gagging her as he yanked her behind him. A front door opened in the distance. Maddie’s neighbor, Karen. She stepped out, staring down the path.

  Upon seeing her, the man knelt down, pressing the gun to Shelby’s forehead. “Not another sound.”

  He’d get what he wanted, but not because he demanded it. She was in shock, incapable of producing a sound loud enough to carry it where she needed it to go. The neighbor remained outside for a moment and then turned and walked back inside her house.

  The impact of the bullet had done its job, and Shelby felt her body shutting down. She blinked through the tears, looking up at the man’s unsteady hand like he wasn’t sure if he could follow through with shooting her a second time if he had to shoot her again. It was strange. She felt his anger and his rage, but she also felt something else.

  Did he feel remorse for what he’d just done?

  Through staggered breaths, she said, “I’m dying.”

  It was an odd thing to say to a stranger who’d just shot her, and she didn’t know why she’d said it. Perhaps it was because there was no one else.

  He smoothed a gloved hand over her hair. “I know. I’m sorry it had to be this way.”

  Sorry?

  He’s sorry?

  She wanted to scream, pound her fists into his chest. With what little strength she had left, she reached up, clutching his coat in her hands. “My ... dad ... will find you. You’ll pay ... for this.”

  CHAPTER 2

  I’d never been fond of winter, or of snow, or of anything involving frigid, uncomfortable temperatures. So when Cade asked me to spend the weekend with him in a camper in the woods, I was reluctant to go at first. For the past two years, we’d been cohabitating, living together at his home in Wyoming. I still worked as a private investigator, just like I had when I’d lived in Park City, but PI work in Jackson Hole wasn’t the same. Jobs were small and mundane. I’d gone from tracking murderers to tracking ignorant people who didn’t know how to pay their bills on time, which made me feel like a debt collector. Lately I’d found myself feeling antsy, missing the thrill of the chase, often wondering if the excitement I craved would ever be satisfied again. I loved Cade, but I was restless. I needed a change.

  It was morning, and I was sitting on the bed in the master suite of the camper, if one could call a room in a thirty-five-foot vehicle on wheels such a thing. In the corner of the wall, a tiny piece of fake brown paneling about the size of a nickel had ripped out, leaving an irritating black hole behind it. I tried forgetting it was there, but my OCD was on overdrive, demanding I stare at it again and again.

  I watched through the small window as Cade attempted to build a fire. He had misplaced the book of matches and was on his knees, hunched over a pile of branches, trying to light kindling the hard way. Minutes passed, and then small bits of smoke turned into a healthy, roaring flame. Proud of his achievement, he slapped a hand on his knee, laughing like Tom Hanks had when he’d created fire in Castaway. He looked in my direction to see if I’d noticed, giving me a thumbs-up. On the outside, I was smiling, and proud. On the inside, I dreaded what I knew was coming next: him coaxing me to leave the warmth of the camper and join him.

  Lord Berkeley, a.k.a. Boo, my Westie, danced circles around my feet, indicating he too wanted to be outside—now. I scooped him up, pressing my face against his. “Not you too? Do you know how cold it is out there?”

  The camper door swung open. Cade walked in, kicked the snow off of his boots, and poked his head around the corner. “Not bad, right? Now I can make you the campfire breakfast I promised.”

  I smiled. “Looking forward to it.”

  He pointed at the refrigerator. “There’s a plastic bag inside there filled with everything I need. Can you hand it to me?”

  I wrapped my blanket around me, walked to the refrigerator, and retrieved the bag, handing it to him.

  He leaned in and we kissed. “Can’t believe you won’t part with the blanket. With the generator going, it’s eighty degrees in here at least. I’m roastin’ to death. Aren’t you?”

  I grinned. “Nope. Not yet.”

  “There’s nothin’ like a good breakfast cooked over a campfire. Wanna come hang out with me while I cook?”

  There it was—the wind up and the pitch.

  “It’s only twenty-five degrees outside, isn’t it?”

  He pushed the door back open, looking at a temperature gauge on the side of the camper. “It’s ... uhh ... well ... it’s a bit on the cold side. Not too bad.”

  “How cold are we talking?”

  “Twenty-one. Sun’s out though. If you bring the blanket and I stoke up the fire, you won’t even notice.”

  Oh, I’d notice, but he seemed determined, and I didn’t have the heart to refuse him. I laced up my snow boots, grabbed a beanie, pushed it over my short, black hair, and followed him outside. He pulled a camp chair close to the fire, and I sat down, tucking Boo beneath the layers of blanket on my lap.

  Cade dumped a bowl of shredded potatoes into the pan, added an entire stick of butter, and then stood up, breathing in a lungful of crisp, mountain air. “It’s beautiful up here, isn’t it? I suppose if I lived somewhere else, I could always come back and visit.”

  Somewhere else?

  “You don’t live somewhere else though. You live here.”

  “I was hopin’ we could talk about that. It’s one of the reasons I wanted to come up here this weekend.”

  I was curious to know what he was getting at.

  “Okay, let’s talk.”

  “I’ve been thinkin’ about puttin’ my house up for sale and leavin’ this place.”

  The announcement took me by surprise. He’d always seemed content in Jackson Hole, and I never thought he’d leave. “How long have you been thinking about moving?”

  “A few months now.”

  “What about your job? You’re the chief of police. You can’t just walk away.”

  “Why not? My tenure’s almost up. I knew the job would only be for a few years when I accepted it.”

  “Why do you want to move?”

  He took the lid off the pot, stirred the potatoes, added a bit of seasoning, and put the lid back on again. “There’s a lot more to life than spendin’ all of it in one place.”

  I agre
ed.

  “Plus, I’ve never thought you were happy here, and truth be told, I don’t know if I am either.”

  “I haven’t complained since I’ve been here, have I? I’m fine.”

  “Fine isn’t good though. It’s gettin’ by. You’re here because I’m here, and I don’t need to be here anymore. Shelby’s in college and livin’ on her own now. Why not find a place we both like and go there together?”

  “Are you serious?”

  “‘Course. I wouldn’t bring it up otherwise.”

  He grinned at me in a way that reminded me of the first time we met, when I had to do a double take to convince myself Brad Paisley hadn’t just entered the room. “What do you think?”

  I shook my head. “I won’t let you give all of this up for me, if that’s what you’re doing. I thought you loved it here.”

  He raised a brow. “I like it here. Let’s not get crazy.”

  “Where would you go? Have you thought about it?”

  “You mean where would we go? I don’t know. Figured we could decide together. If you could live anywhere, where would it be?”

  It was a loaded question, one I hadn’t considered for a long time. “I’m not sure. I need time to think about it.”

  “You should, think about it.”

  I smiled. “I will.”

  For several minutes, I daydreamed about where I’d go, the wheels of opportunity spinning ‘round and ‘round inside my head. I liked our life together, and Jackson Hole was beautiful, breathtaking even. But he was right. It wasn’t me, and it never would be.

  Cade glanced inside the plastic bag and frowned.

  “What’s wrong?” I asked.

  “I thought I brought silverware out here when I grabbed the plates. Guess I didn’t.”

  I looked down at Boo. Even tucked inside the blanket, he was shivering. “I think the furry one is ready to go back inside. I’ll get them.”

  I was in and out in less than a minute. When I returned with the silverware in hand, Cade offered me a plate. I eyeballed it, noticing he had added a little something extra next to the scrambled eggs, potatoes, and bacon. A pebble. And not just any pebble. A pebble shaped like a heart.