by Robin Caroll
Praise for In the Shadow of Evil
Romantic suspense lovers will enjoy In the Shadow of Evil. Robin Caroll captures the southern flare of this Louisiana town, and turns the construction industry into an interesting vehicle for her plot twists.
—Terri Blackstock, author of Intervention and Predator
No one does Southern mystery and suspense like Robin Caroll! In the Shadow of Evil ignites with conflict between Maddox and Layla in a ripped-from-the-headlines tragedy. The tight plot, intriguing twists, and engaging characters are not to be missed.
—Ronie Kendig, author of Nightshade and Digitalis
Robin Caroll masterfully weaves engaging plot threads. Her characters are authentic; they cope with polarizing human frailty—faith and doubt, love and loss, courage and fear, truth and deception. Suspense abounds. In the Shadow of Evil memorably lingers long after the last page.
—Mary Busey Harris, CAE, National Association of the Remodeling Industry
In the Shadow of Evil is a riveting romantic suspense from Robin Caroll! She's one of my favorite authors and a terrific storyteller. I'm first in line to get each new release. Don't miss this one!
—Colleen Coble, author of The Lightkeeper's Ball and the Lonestar series
In the Shadow of Evil by Robin Caroll is a great Southern suspense. It has all the elements I've come to expect from her books. Richly drawn characters. Twisting plots.
—Cara Putman, author of Stars in the Night
In the Shadow of Evil is a gripping, highly entertaining suspense! With richly drawn, sympathetic characters, the story effortlessly weaves a very satisfying romance with a mystery that kept me glued form the first pages. This novel belongs on any suspense reader's keeper shelf!
—Camy Tang, author of Deadly Intent and Formula for Danger
Copyright © 2011 by Robin Miller
All rights reserved.
Printed in the United States of America
978-0-8054-4979-2
Published by B&H Publishing Group
Nashville, Tennessee
Dewey Decimal Classification: F
Subject Heading: MYSTERY FICTION ROMANTIC SUSPENSE NOVELS SWINDLERS AND SWINDLING—FICTION
Scripture quotations or paraphrases are taken from the following version: the Holy Bible, New International Version, NIV. Copyright © 1973, 1978, 1984 by International Bible Society. Used by permission of Zondervan Publishing House. All rights reserved.
Publisher's Note: The characters and events in this book are fictional, and any resemblance to actual persons or events is coincidental.
1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 • 15 14 13 12 11 11
For Trace
Because we've been friends of the heart forever . . .
You love me in spite of knowing all my faults . . .
You're my harshest critic and my loudest cheerleader . . .
And you're still the best partner in crime I've ever had.
CONTENTS
Acknowledgments
Prologue
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Five
Chapter Twenty-Six
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Chapter Thirty
Chapter Thirty-One
Chapter Thirty-Two
Chapter Thirty-Three
Chapter Thirty-Four
Chapter Thirty-Five
Chapter Thirty-Six
Chapter Thirty-Seven
Chapter Thirty-Eight
Chapter Thirty-Nine
Epilogue
Dear Reader
Discussion Questions
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
I'M ALWAYS SO BLOWN away by the amazing team of talented and hardworking people who come together on my books to bring the project to publication. Everyone I've been blessed to work with at B&H Publishing inspire me with their gifts. My most heartfelt thanks to the entire group—sales-team members, marketing, art department, media, and administrators, but especially those I'm honored to work with closely: Karen Ball, not only the editorial driving force behind the Pure Enjoyment line, but also a woman with a heart for God who inspires me; Julie Gwinn, marketing guru extraordinaire who has such vision and energy that it simply amazes me . . . and humbles me; Jeff Godby, über talented art designer who takes the essence of what my book is about and brings it to living color on the book cover; Greg Pope, the whiz whose talent brings me to tears to see his interpretation of my story in the design of my book trailers; Haverly Robbe, phenomenal promotions and marketing assistant who works tirelessly behind the scenes on the fiction line to ensure we authors get first-class treatment; and Kim Stanford, managing editor, Product Development, whose hard work ensures my book is in stellar condition prior to going to print, and that's just a part of what she does. For everyone at B&H, thank you for being part of my publishing "family." I truly appreciate each and every one of you extending your talents and skills on my behalf.
My very wise mentor once told me that a book is nothing more than words on a page until someone reads it and interacts with the characters and story. I'm beyond blessed to have the honor of working with genius editor Julee Schwarzburg, who does just that—steps into my characters to make them richer, the plot better . . . all with grace and talent. Thank you so much for all your hard work and sharing your wisdom with me to make my book the best it can be.
Colossal thanks to Pam Hillman, who gave me the story idea for this book and sat on the phone with me for hours brainstorming it. Not only a visionary plotter and talented writer in your own right, you're also a dear friend. Special thanks to Cara Putman for helping me when I hit the wall in the plot and to Cheryl Wyatt for talking me through some seriously rough patches. And thanks to Rachel Hauck, for talking me through the idea of the final twist in the book. It ROCKS and I wouldn't have even gone there had Rach not made such stellar suggestions.
I owe a huge amount of gratitude to several medical professionals who answered my complicated and detailed questions to make my plot work: neighbor extraordinaire and host (with his wife Malinda) of awesome Halloween parties, Dr. Skipper Bertrand; author and fellow ACFW member, Dr. Richard Mabry; talented writer and fellow ACFW member, Dr. Ronda Wells; and staff members of the CDC. No way could I have written the medical plot intricacies without your help. Thank you for sharing your knowledge with me.
So many law enforcement professionals put their lives on the line each and every day. I hope I portrayed their dedication and bravery in this story. Enormous thanks to Mike Byrne, commander, Criminal Investigation Division, Calcasieu Parish Sheriff's Office, who not only answered my many, many off-the-wall questions regarding titles, procedures, and policies, but also provided me with a virtual map of the office. Thank you so much for taking the time to never tire of responding to my inquiries.
Special thanks to certain NARI (National Association of Remodeling Industry) staff who answered my random questions regarding the CotY Awards: Gwen Biasi, Mary Harris, Tracy Wright, and Nikki Golden. To le
arn more about NARI and the CotY Awards, visit their Web site at www.nari.org.
My most sincere thanks to my critique partners: Ronie Kendig, Dineen Miller, Sara Mills, and Heather Diane Tipton. With this novel, I greatly appreciated the quick turnarounds of the chapters and your amazing insight. I love y'all and am so thankful to have you in my life, not only as my CPs, but dear friends as well.
I owe a huge thanks to my mentor and friend Colleen Coble, who never fails to encourage me every single time we talk and e-mail. Love you!
Special thanks to fellow authors who allowed me to vent, celebrate, and/or scream: Margaret Daley, Jim Rubart, and Camy Tang.
Huge thanks to one of the most respected agents in the industry, my agent, Steve Laube. You always know the right thing to say, even if I don't want to hear it but need to.
Every author needs first readers who point out inconsistencies and pose the questions that need to be asked. Special thanks to mine: Lisa Burroughs, Krystina Harden, and Tracey Justice.
Enormous gratitude to my extended family whose support and encouragement keeps me going on the hard days: Mom and Papa, BB and Robert, Bek and Krys, Bubba and Lisa, Brandon, Rachel, Johnny and Elizabeth, Shawn, Julie and Dan, Shannon, Meghan, Scotty and Jan, and Bob and Linda. And especially to my Aunt Millicent, my "biggest fan."
My most heartfelt thanks to my girls: Emily Carol, Remington Case, and Isabella Co-Ceaux. Without you three, my life would not be complete. I love you so much.
To the newest blessing in my life, grandson Benton Alexander—your smile lights up my life. Gran loves you.
To my husband and soul mate, Case. Every day, you give me a reason to get up and do what I do. I couldn't chase my dreams without your love, support, and encouragement. And your awesome input and suggestions. I love and adore you.
Finally, all glory to my Lord and Savior, Jesus Christ. I can do all things through Him who gives me strength.
"There is no dark place, no deep shadow, where evildoers can hide."
JOB 34:22
PROLOGUE
Eighteen Years Ago
WHAT A NIGHT!
Maddox turned into the residential area and glanced at the digital display on the car's dash—12:28. Great, late for curfew. He smiled. Being late was worth it when he'd had a hot date with Julie Cordon. Man, the girl was something else. Beautiful, sexy, and funny. Just being with her made him feel special. Made him forget lots of things, including time.
He was seventeen and shouldn't have a curfew anyway. A senior in high school and he had to be home by midnight? All his pop's doing.
Tyson Bishop . . . Mr. Air Force man, determined to force the entire family to live by rules and regulations.
But his dad was over foreign soil right now, jumping out of perfectly good airplanes. His mom understood better, wasn't quite the stickler about curfews like his dad. Good thing too. Maddox was almost thirty minutes late tonight. Pop would blow his top and ground him for at least a month. Probably take away his car. But not Mom. She'd just caution him to pay closer attention to the time. Launch into the whole spiel about responsibility and accountability. He could recite it from memory.
Maddox whipped into the driveway and pressed the garage-door opener. The light from the kitchen door spilled into the garage. Mom would be up . . . waiting. He should've called.
But being around Julie was like being caught in a time warp. Even the car's interior held her smell. Light, flowery . . . teasing and tempting.
He killed the engine and jogged up the steps, slipping his charming smile into place. His mom had never been able to stay mad or disappointed when he flashed his dimples at her. He'd promise to mow the grass tomorrow before Pop got home, and she'd forget all about his tardiness.
He shut the garage door behind him and entered the kitchen. "Mom? I'm home." The hint of roast lingered in the air.
The house was as silent as a tomb.
Odd. She would normally be on her feet to meet him.
He passed the kitchen's butcher-block island and continued into the living room. A soft light filled the space beside her reading chair, but no sign of her.
"Mom?"
Maddox backtracked to the kitchen. Maybe she was in the downstairs bathroom.
"Hello?" His voice rose an octave as his pulse hammered. The bathroom door was wide open, the room dark.
Where was she?
His steps faltered as he pressed into the kitchen again. The back door stood open, the glass pane closest to the knob—shattered. His heart jumped into his throat.
"Mom!"
Using the agility that had garnered him the wide receiver position on the varsity football team, Maddox flew down the hall toward his parents' bedroom. He pushed open the door with shaking hands.
His mother lay sprawled on the floor, a pool of blood staining the carpet around her. A knife stuck from her heart, her face pale against the dark red spilling from her chest. A metallic odor permeated the room.
What? He blinked repeatedly, his mind not processing what his eyes saw. Then . . . he did. And nearly vomited.
He raced to her side and lifted her head into his lap. "Mom." Tears backed up in his eyes as he smoothed her hair.
"Mad-dy," she croaked.
He grabbed the phone from the nightstand, the base landing on the floor with a resounding thud. He grabbed the receiver and punched in 9-1-1.
"Hang on, Mom. I'm calling for help." Every nerve in his body stood at high alert.
"Too. Late." Her face grimaced into a snarl-smile. A gurgling sound seeped from between her lips. Her body went slack in his arms.
"9-1-1, what is the nature of your emergency?"
"My mother. She's been stabbed."
ONE
"It is possible to provide security against other ills, but as far as death is concerned, we men live in a city without walls."
—EPICURUS
THE WICKED DRUG HELD him hostage in its merciless grip. Crack turned his eyes red and wild, his face stark. He brandished the knife, stabbing the air in jerky motions. Jittery.
Dangerous.
Layla stood still as the stone wall beside her sister, Alana, her attention never shifting from the young man who ranted and paced the gazebo, a mere twenty feet in front of them. Where were Ralph and Cody? Shouldn't they have arrived to contain him by now?
"Gavin, just calm down." Alana's voice hitched.
"Y'all are the ones excited." His eyes darted back and forth between Alana and Layla like he was watching a tennis match. "I need space, dude."
The January wind came across the lake and cut through the grounds of Second Chances retreat. Layla shivered in her hoodie. All the recent rains that had brought a screeching halt to Layla's business left the ground saturated and put a dampness in the cutting wind.
Alana glanced over her shoulder, then took a slow step toward Gavin.
Layla grabbed Alana's arm, holding her in place. What was her sister thinking? With Alana's slight build, blonde hair cut in a short pixie, and big, blue eyes, she looked more like Tinker Bell than someone equipped to handle a drug-induced, deranged kid wielding a hunting knife.
Alana shook off Layla's grip, then inched toward the gazebo. "Gavin, look at me. Look at me." Her voice barely wavered.
His stare snagged on her face.
"I'm calm. Only Layla's with me. We're calm."
"Stop boxing me in." His gaze flitted back and forth again. "Just back off. Leave me alone." He waved the knife with a jumpy hand.
Layla moved beside her sister. No way would she allow Alana to get within striking distance of this hyped-up, armed kid. No telling what could happen with the drug in control. Lord, please watch over her. Us. Send Cody and Ralph quickly.
But Alana moved away from Layla. "Gavin, no one's trapping you. I'm trying to help. You know that."
"Right." He snorted and teetered backward. "Just go away."
From the corner of her eye, Layla caught a shadow of a figure. Cody crept to the gazebo. Ralph crouched behin
d him, a syringe in his hand.
Alana froze. "Okay. Okay." She took a step back and moved alongside Layla.
He stopped pacing and glared at them. The leeriness came through loud and clear in his body language. He pointed the knife in Alana's direction.
Layla wrapped her hand around Alana's. She tugged her sister back a foot, then another, and another—never turning away from the strung-out kid.
Still glaring and holding the knife, he inched to the stairs.
The interns lunged from the shadows as he stepped. Grabbing Gavin in a choke hold, Cody restrained him while Ralph slipped the needle into Gavin's arm and lowered the plunger on the syringe. The kid bucked and thrashed, then went limp in Cody's arms. The knife clattered to the wood floor of the gazebo.
Layla remembered to breathe. Thank You, Lord.
Alana dropped her hand and approached the gazebo. "Thanks, guys." She squatted beside Gavin. Her hand didn't tremble as she stroked the hair off his forehead. "He was doing so well. Five weeks . . . all gone now." She shook her head. "What a waste."
Cody and Ralph hoisted him between them. "We'll take care of him, Ms. Alana." They shuffled along the stone path across the retreat grounds, heading to the main cabin.
Alana stood and popped her hands on her slight hips. Her brow furrowed as she sighed. "I'll have to call his probation officer. He won't take this lightly."
Once again Alana would carry all the world's burdens on her own shoulders. Layla met Alana's intense expression and concentrated on keeping her tone neutral. "Hey, it's not your fault he chose to get high." She nudged her sister. "You can't be responsible for someone else's bad decisions."
