Seeking Worthy Pursuits: A Dark Romantic Suspense Novel (Alace Sweets Book 2)

by MariaLisa deMora

  Seeking Worthy Pursuits

  Alace Sweets, #2

  MariaLisa deMora

  Edited by Hot Tree Editing

  Proofreading by Whiskey Jack Editing

  Copyright © 2020 MariaLisa deMora

  All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the publisher except for the use of brief quotations in a book review. This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author's imagination, or are used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is entirely coincidental.

  First Published 2020

  ISBN 13: 978-1-946738-59-2

  DEDICATION

  Terror was a diminutive woman named Alace Sweets. ~Todd Worthson

  To all the folks out there like me who don’t fear those loud bumps in the night. We know embracing the darkness doesn’t always mean what society implies.

  Contents

  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

  Epilogue

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  Writing and preparing a book for publishing is not entirely unlike raising a child: Not something one can do alone. It takes a village.

  From editors and proofreaders, to critique partners—there’s no way I could do this without their assistance.

  So thank you, Hot Tree Editing. Headed up by Becky Johnson, this team of experts has always had the best interests of my stories in mind, and this one is no different. I’m quite pleased Alace and Owen’s story evoked such visceral reactions from you. Your feedback and assistance is critical, and I do appreciate everything. Five years we’ve been doin’ this thang, and I’ve never regretted the partnership.

  Thank you, Mel Barber of Whiskey Jack Editing. You’ve taken my manuscript and polished it until it shines. Your comments and observations are always thought provoking, forcing me to dig just a little deeper for the right phrasing and words. Plus, those moments when I jar a personal reaction from you truly feeds my creative ego. Makes me kinda preeny.

  To those authors whose opinions I lean upon, thank you. Cover guidance, book description review, comments on the story theme—each piece of advice offered matters so much to me. Chelsea, Kathleen, and Glenna, you guys are the bomb-dot-com, and I hope you understand how much your friendship means to me.

  Megan and Kori, my favorite alpha readers—huge thanks just for putting up with me and all my “but how did it made you feel” inquiries in addition to the dozens of other questions I threw your way.

  Finally, to the readers who’ve come to love my favorite little serial killer: Thank you. I hope you find this expansion into Alace’s world worthy of your time. I certainly enjoyed bringing her back to life.

  Woofully yours,

  ~ML

  Seeking Worthy Pursuits

  Alace Sweets might have discovered her happily ever after in the life she’s building with her new husband, but that doesn't mean she's stopped serving her own brand of justice. Turns out, there are plenty more people who've come to believe in the rules of Alace. Maybe she can have it all.

  When a current gig is complicated by something unexpected and her husband’s best friend is involved, Alace has to pull out all the stops to determine the right solution before more young women die. Her answer? Owen Marcus.

  Ex-military intelligence, ex-rogue government asset, Owen stoked the flames of his hatred for human traffickers during his missions in Central America. He’s secretive, paranoid, struggling with PTSD—and the only one Alace trusts to do the job as well as she could.

  Now, if she can just keep from killing him before they unravel a mystery, take out a serial killer, and save the life of at least one friend…

  Prologue

  Wilderness area

  The figure sat on the edge of a planting barrel in a wide field—unnaturally still except for the tick-tocking metronome of their head. Tipping back and forth, it kept perfect time to the a cappella song floating through the air. The setting sun granted the monstrosity a dark halo, the buzzed-close hair on their scalp an illusion lending an air of false divinity to the figure. That vision was disturbed when they drew a tattered and torn hairnet tight over their head. Uneven coils of hair stuck through the mesh in clumped tufts where the netting was pulled awry. Foot-long hanks of different shades of blonde were woven in here and there, trapped by twists of wire, no care given to where sharp ends lay. Blood-darkened metal stuck both out and in, the hair lank and swaying in bunches framing the angular face.

  When the song ended, they lifted their trophy-adorned head, the straight blade of their nose angling towards the nearby line of trees. “Again.” Rough as bitten nails on a chalkboard, their voice scraped out in a croak ragged with disuse. “Please?”

  An audibly drawn-out, shuddering sigh was followed by an uncomplaining resumption of singing. Wrecked here and there by coughing, the tune wavered high and low, unanchored on any given octave, shattered tone mattering less than the strangely predictable cadence.

  Face tipped towards the sky and greasy hair falling in a tattered curtain down its back, the figure joined in on a final verse. Whispered vocalization tumbled out over dry and cracked lips, the last note sustained on a smile as they attempted to harmonize with the other singer.

  “Don’t go.” The plea seemed to come from the air. “Please.”

  “Oh, darlin’.” The figure pushed to their feet. The too-tight clothing cinched around their chest and middle made a division of their form, joined as if awkwardly sewn together from dissimilar things. A “made” monster like Frankenstein’s. The binding wasn’t comfortable, but it didn’t have to be. It’s what I need. “I have to, you know that.”

  “Please.”

  Bending at the waist, the figure put their hands on the edges of the barrel and tipped it onto one edge. Carefully balanced thus, they rolled the barrel to a small, bare spot darkening the yard. Framed by fertile, thick grass that looked black in the deepening dusk, the emptiness was revealed to be a buried piece of metal mesh. Stained fingers threaded through the diamond-shaped openings, beds of the ripped nails blackened by dirt and excrement. The closer the barrel came to that tiny, one-foot square space, the tighter their grip was on the wire, until the fingers were stark white in the twilight.

  “Please.” No longer wafting through the air, the plea bled up from the space below ground, voice hoarsened from hours of singing. “Please. I’ll be quiet. Or I’ll sing whatever you want. Anything. I’ll do anything. Please don’t go. I’ll do whatever you want.”

  “Move your fingers, darlin’.”

  “Please. Oh God, please.”

  The form shook its head, hair falling in tangled sheets around its face. “You
know I can’t do that. Now—” They rolled the barrel closer. “—move your fingers. Don’t want to give you a pinch.”

  Before the barrel full of dirt and flowers settled into place, cutting off the waning daylight from the cage constructed of dirt and wire and tree roots and boards, the form caught sight of the face that went with the fingers. Only for a moment, but enough to see hair darker than night, matted skull-tight to the prisoner’s head. An eye tinged with yellow stared up—the green iris a startling clarity and brilliance incongruous in contrast. Plump lips looked nearly purple next to the blanched white skin of its face. Their gazes locked for a moment; then even that was cut off by the bottom of the barrel settling into place.

  Chapter One

  “All rise.”

  Well accustomed to the trappings of his courtroom, the Honorable Judge Todd Worthson swept out of the back rooms and up the steps to the Bench, ear tuned to the murmur of the spectators. He settled and leaned forwards, holding his hand out towards his bailiff for paperwork from the first case on his daily calendar.

  “You may be seated.”

  Deputy Marshall had worked with Todd for several years, and they were in tune with one another, so Todd had learned to notice when Marshall did anything out of the ordinary. Today, his tone was significantly more formal than normal, and the difference tweaked Todd’s attention.

  “Anything I need to know, Marshall?” Todd accepted the folder without looking at it, staring at the deputy instead. Marshall’s eyes cut to the folder and back to Todd, and he nodded towards the front of the courtroom. One of today’s defendants had to be someone Todd knew. Typically, his bailiff would have brought it to his attention in chambers, unless he’d learned the details too late. Great.

  Setting his jaw, he straightened and rested the folder in its accustomed place, then flipped it open. A picture stared up at him. Long, dark hair scraped back from a face that was gorgeous when it wasn’t fixed in an expression of defiant anger, the woman was thin, the symmetry of features broken by sharp lines of cheekbones and nose.

  He sighed, then angled his gaze up and across the room to where she was seated at the counsel table with her lawyer. She was staring at him, and even from this distance her brilliant blue eyes were captivating. Son of a bitch.

  He flipped the folder closed, leaned forwards and motioned to both lawyers, silently asking they approach the Bench. “Gentlemen.” He sighed again. “We are going to have a postponement.” As expected, both men’s eyes stayed on him, waiting. All of the attorneys who regularly appeared in his courtroom knew he didn’t tolerate dramatic statements, and arguing with him without knowing the why would be a misstep neither would be willing to take. “I need to recuse myself.” The prosecutor glanced over his shoulder to where the defendant sat alone. “I suspect you know why, but I’ll make it clear for the record.” Todd looked at his court reporter with a wry smile she returned, fingers moving on her machine. “I have a personal knowledge of the defendant.” Both lawyers smirked, and he took it without comment, knowing he would be the topic of the day at the bars after court.

  With a dismissive gesture, he sat back and stated, again for the record, “In the matter of the State versus Temple, I must recuse myself from the case, as I have a personal knowledge of the defendant, Madison Temple.” He glanced at the folder, picked up his pen, and wrote a note on a sheet of paper affixed for that use. “There will be a one-week continuance as the court seeks audience for the case before another judge.”

  He gathered up the folder and handed it to Deputy Marshall, accepting the next case folder in exchange. He opened it and studied the information while the various lawyers and parties shuffled around, Maddy’s lawyer making way for the next defendant’s legal team. He glanced up in time to watch her ass sway out the door in her knee-length skirt, sensible heels elongating her legs in an attractive but understated way. He sighed again.

  ***

  “Why didn’t you call me?” Todd’s words came out harsher than he intended, his tone more abrasive. “Shit, I’m sorry, Maddy. It just was a blindside, seeing you in my courtroom today.” Ignoring the people bustling past his chambers, he reached out and cupped a palm on each shoulder, noting she’d lost weight in the couple of weeks since he’d seen her last. “You could have called, though.”

  “I know.” She stood firm, chin up. “I didn’t think it would go that far. I expected a hallway conversation and then for him to drop the charges.” She shrugged and he gave her a squeeze. “Like he always does.”

  “You can’t keep harassing him like this. He’s a state employee, and there’s always a chance of him picking up the phone and calling in a favor.” Todd closed the door and took a step towards her, knowing from her stance that she’d resist being pulled into his embrace but that she’d gladly take it if the first move showed his need for her. He scooted close to align their bodies and wrapped his arms around her, neck bent to press his cheek to the top of her head. “There’s no evidence he had anything to do with it.”

  “It” referred to her twin sister’s disappearance three months ago.

  “It” was the reason Maddy had been in the courtroom today, because she believed her sister’s boyfriend knew more than he’d told the police—any of the three dozen times she’d caused him to be questioned.

  “It” was also the reason Maddy wasn’t in Todd’s bed full-time as a live-in girlfriend.

  “He did. Or he knows something.” The words were hissed softly, muffled by his shirt. She’d buried her face in his shoulder, and her arms crept around his waist. She was reluctant to grant herself comfort, not knowing how her sister fared. Her dreams had given him that knowledge, an insight of which he suspected Maddy wasn’t even aware. “I know it. I feel it in my gut.”

  Todd’s eyes closed, and he focused on the woman in his arms, trying to communicate his care and a desire to see her healthy and whole through the contact. If I could hold her together with my heart alone, I would. “You can’t keep this up, sweetheart.”

  “I’m not going to give up on Mackie.” Her ferocity and loyalty, two traits he found attractive, were even more evident in Maddy’s fight to find out what had happened to her sister.

  “No one’s saying to give up. I’m saying you need to let the cops do their job.” Todd didn’t have any dealings with the police in the Utah county where Makenzie had disappeared, but he knew enough cops in general to be certain of what he was saying. “He’s already been cleared, honey.”

  “He was the last one to see her.” Alive. The unspoken word hung in the air at the end of Maddy’s sentence. “He admits that much. But he knows more. I feel it in my gut.”

  I feel it in my gut.

  He’d heard that phrase recently, spoken by someone who had made a life’s study out of paying attention to those indefinable details that the unconscious mind noted as odd.

  “I have a friend who locates…people.” Understatement. “Why don’t I make a call or two tonight or tomorrow, see what it’ll take to get this case in front of them?” Mentally slamming his head against a wall, he was immediately sure his impulsive offer would become a regret in the near future.

  Maddy stumbled in her haste to pull back, blue eyes shining up at him. “Please. Anything we can do.” In the face of her heartfelt plea, he had no answer other than a nod. Her arms were tight around his neck when she broke down, her “thank you” mixed with sobs.

  Todd would do anything to keep this kind of pain from her, hated that Maddy was hurting like this. Even if Mackie was dead, as he expected she was, once Maddy knew for certain, that’s when she could move on. Would give herself permission to begin to heal. She’d be stuck in this agonizing limbo until then, in every aspect of her life.

  Now, he just had to convince his friend to talk about the job that would need doing to settle this case. This meant that first thing, he’d be making a call to the only person he knew who hunted people.

  Alace Sweets.

  Chapter Two

  Wilde
rness area

  “Hey.” The request was muted, weak and thin. “Can I have some water?” Silence lay thick on the clearing, the area so quiet just a faint hum of machinery could be heard in the distance. “Are you there?”

  From inside the sunken cell, the overhead opening created an illusion. From far away, along the farthest wall, perhaps, it appeared no larger than a postage stamp. Sometimes the prisoner manufactured makeshift telescopes by cupping shaking hands together, creating the visual impression it was even farther away. With distance comes perspective.

  Closer to the opening, the view expanded, growing until it stretched horizon to horizon. It revealed an entire world out there. Within sight, but entirely out of reach.

  “Please?”

  This plea was no more successful in garnering a response than previous questions. Fingers wound through the web of metal covering the opening, tightened, and pulled hard. The scrape from their body dragging along the dirt floor was loud, echoing in the space. When the prisoner’s face pressed at the opening, the sharp edges of metal scratched the exposed cheek, grooved marks appearing in taut skin.

  “Hey.”

  Silence.

  From far away came the sound of a helicopter, buzzing along its way. The idea of working, of existing in the open air and interacting with other people, nearly caused a retreat. Fingers were forced tighter, the grip fiercer as a skim of blood made the wire slippery, hard to hold.

  “Hello.”

  Louder this time, making a demand of the air because there was a sudden terror of being alone. Before, the fear had always been of the figure seen at the edges of vision. The form that gave sustenance…or withheld. Subject to their whims as untrackable as weather patterns. Running cold one day and hot the next.

  Now the fear was a forced aloneness, the captor’s hiding of self. Denial of company. Those few hours in any given sun-span that kept everything in balance. If they can’t hear me, then I can’t be heard. I’ll be alone. Far worse than the threatened destruction of existence was the loss of being.