Devil's Gold
Page 1
Copyright © 2018 Amanda McKinney
Names, characters and incidents depicted in this book are products of the author’s imagination or are used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental and beyond the intent of the author or the publisher.
No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher.
Paperback ISBN
978-0-9989599-9-3
eBook ISBN
978-0-9995553-0-9
978-0-9995553-1-6
Table of Contents
Also by Amanda McKinney
CHAPTER 1
CHAPTER 2
CHAPTER 3
CHAPTER 4
CHAPTER 5
CHAPTER 6
CHAPTER 7
CHAPTER 8
CHAPTER 9
CHAPTER 10
CHAPTER 11
CHAPTER 12
CHAPTER 13
CHAPTER 14
CHAPTER 15
CHAPTER 16
CHAPTER 17
CHAPTER 18
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Also by Amanda McKinney
Lethal Legacy
The Woods (A Berry Springs Novel)
The Lake (A Berry Springs Novel)
The Storm (A Berry Springs Novel)
The Fog (A Berry Springs Novel
Hatchet Hollow (A Black Rose Mystery Book 2)
Tomb's Tale (A Black Rose Mystery Book 3)
Evil Eye (A Black Rose Mystery Book 4)
Sinister Secrets (A Black Rose Mystery Book 5)
Dragon's Breath (A Black Rose Mystery Book 6)
Skull Shore (A Black Rose Mystery Book 7)
And many more to come...
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For Mama
CHAPTER 1
The silver glow of the moon lit her way as she slipped silently through the woods, her eyes locked on the silhouette a few yards in front of her. A gust of ice-cold wind whistled through the tall pine trees above her, breaking the eerie silence of midnight.
He stopped.
She stopped.
Dixie peered through the binoculars and watched the tall, bulky man step behind a tree, his gaze fixed on the rickety log cabin just ahead of him—the home of her client, Beverly Clemens, who was terrified that her crazy ex-boyfriend, Emmett, was stalking her.
And it appeared that Beverly was right.
She pulled the night vision camera from her bag—click, click, click. She switched angles—click, click, click.
“I’ve got you now,” she muttered under her breath. Just a few more pictures—preferably with a full-face shot—and her client should have no problem getting a restraining order against her obsessed ex.
She slid the camera into her pocket and glanced at the house. A dim light shone through a back window, its orange beam spilling onto the ground, illuminating the fresh dusting of snow.
It was a cold, quiet night—the calm before the snow that was promised to be on its way.
She wiggled the stiffness from her toes, yanked up the collar of her trench coat, and kicked herself for not grabbing a hat on the way out of the house. Although, at the time, she sure as hell hadn’t realized that an evening of casual surveillance would turn into a bone-chilling hike through the mountains, in the middle of the damn night.
She narrowed her eyes and watched him. Watched him, watching her client.
Emmett was a big guy—she guessed over six feet, two-twenty, at least. Not someone she’d want stalking her, that’s for sure. So far, this case had been the typical ex who couldn’t let go, but there was something about tonight; something about the way Emmett had tromped through the woods, with purpose, with a sense of urgency, that had Dixie on edge.
Her sixth sense—her gut instinct—was telling her to stick around, and to keep her head on a swivel.
She reached into her bag, grabbed her thermos, sipped, and immediately wrinkled her nose—nothing like tepid coffee to take the fun out of a stakeout. She shoved the drink back into her bag and felt around for anything to give her a boost of energy. Bingo—a half-eaten Snickers bar. She took a bite, savoring the tingle of sweetness on her tongue, and slid the wrapper into her pocket.
The blustery wind whipped through her long, dark hair, as dead leaves spun up from the ground. She wrapped her coat tighter, crossed her arms over her chest and leaned against the tree to take the weight off of her aching feet.
Suddenly, she heard a rustling noise behind her.
Snick.
She tensed from head to toe—it was a good bet she wasn’t the only thing stalking something else in the woods. Her hand slowly slid to the handle of her gun—the gun her father had taught her to use decades ago, the gun that she always kept with her.
As she slowly turned, a bat zipped past her, just inches from her face. Fear shot like lightning up her spine, and she released a muffled yelp, biting back a scream.
Damn you, little devil bird.
She swallowed the knot in her throat and took a deep breath. Her eyes darted around the dense woods that surrounded her. Dark shadows from the full moon danced along the forest floor, creepily swaying back and forth, playing tricks on her—The Great Shadow Mountains were certainly living up to their name tonight.
To some people, the light of the moon washing over the trees might look enchanting, magical, safe. But Dixie knew better than that. She knew that the Great Shadow Mountains were home to thousands of creatures, including bears, mountain lions, snakes, coyotes and more bats than Dixie cared to think about. The miles and miles of woods were speckled with deep valleys and caves, which provided shelter to all the things living in the mountains, and plenty of places to hide. According to the legends, the mountains were haunted—full of ghosts and evil spirits. But perhaps most notably, was the legend of Krestel, a witch who lived deep in the mountains, casting spells on anyone who was unfortunate enough to cross her path.
Like most small, Southern towns, Devil’s Den had its fair share of folktales, but Dixie didn’t believe in Krestel, or the stories that the old cowboys told after too many whiskey drinks at the local watering hole. No, Dixie wasn’t scared of ghosts or witches—just bats.
She released the grip on her gun, turned back around, and focused again on Emmett, still standing motionless behind a tree.
What the hell was he planning to do? Just stand there and watch the house all night?
She blew out a breath and glanced at her watch—just after midnight.
Minutes ticked by.
An owl hooted in the distance.
Suddenly Emmett reached into his pocket, and a flash caught her eye—a glint of moonlight sparkling off the tip of a blade.
Her heart skipped a beat, her back straightened like a rod. “Whoa buddy, what’re you planning to do with that…”, she whispered.
He began to move through the woods, toward the house.
Her senses piqued.
She took off after him, silently stepping through the brush. A thick cloud floated over the moon, hampering visibility.
She picked up her pace, her eyes locked on her target.
As Emmett stepped into the yard, her gaze shifted to movement inside the house. A silhouette passed by the window, holding a large bag. A trash bag maybe?
“Oh, God, no, Beverly, don’t go outside.”
Her heart began to pound.
She quickly looked back to where Emmett was standing only a second earlier—shit!—he was gone.<
br />
Shit, shit, shit!
She pulled the gun from her belt, jogged through the woods and into the yard. Frantic, she looked from left to right.
Where did you go, where did you go…
Suddenly, a spine-tingling scream vibrated through the air. Dixie spun on her heel and sprinted toward the back of the house.
Another scream—this one had the hair on the back of her neck standing up. As she rounded the corner, she saw Beverly kicking and screaming, being dragged by her hair through the back door.
“Let her go!”
Startled, Emmett dropped Beverly, took one look at the gun in Dixie’s hand and bolted toward the woods.
Dixie leapt onto the back porch. “Are you okay?”
With eyes the size of golf balls, Beverly nodded, her brown, disheveled hair sticking out from her head. “Yes, yes, oh my God.”
“Go inside, lock the doors, and call the police. And, do not answer the door for anyone. Do you understand?”
A frantic nod.
“Go!”
As Beverly scrambled inside, Dixie took off like a rocket across the yard. She gripped her gun and pushed into a sprint, leaping over a rotted log and into the woods. Up ahead, she spotted him. Adrenaline surged through her veins, the ice-cold air burning her lungs.
She was gaining on him.
She thought of Beverly, and how if she hadn’t been there, it was very possible that Beverly would be tucked into body bag this evening, instead of her bed.
She gritted her teeth.
Son of a bitch.
She pushed harder—she was only a few feet behind him now.
He stumbled on the uneven terrain, and she lunged forward, throwing herself onto him. As they tumbled to the ground, the gun flew from her hand.
Fists flying, legs kicking, she caught an elbow to the jaw, sending a fresh rush of adrenaline through her. She answered back with right hook, connecting with his cheek.
“Ow! Get off me, bitch!” He threw her off of him and as she hit the ground, her hand swept past a cold piece of steel—her trusty friend. She gripped, and as Emmett scrambled to get away, she jumped up, grabbed his sweatshirt, and shoved the barrel of the gun into his neck.
“Don’t even think about it.”
He froze. “Who the fuck are you?”
“Dixie Knight, PI.”
CHAPTER 2
Dixie muttered a curse as her beat-up red Chevy slid on a patch of ice—narrowly missing the ditch—as she turned onto the driveway.
She slammed the brakes, leaned over the steering wheel and peered at the wooden sign lying on its side. Apparently, someone else had slid off the road, right into their sign—and didn’t have the damn decency to pick it up.
She paused for a moment, and then with a groan, shoved the truck into park and got out. The freezing-cold wind stung her skin as she yanked a hammer and box of nails from the bed of the truck.
She stomped across the driveway, kneeled down, and wiped the snow from the sign.
Black Rose Investigations
The sign was broken at the base, and it wasn’t like she was going to be able to hammer it into the frozen ground anyway. So she picked it up, turned on her heel, and immediately slipped on another patch of ice—sending her feet flying into the air. The breath whooshed out of her lungs as she slammed into the ground.
She blinked, squeezed her face in pain. “Son of a bitch.”
With a grunt, she rolled to her side, face-to-face with the metal hammer that had flown out of her hand. She raised her eyebrows—she missed a bullet with that one.
She pushed herself up, plucked the hammer and nails from the snow and walked—carefully this time—to the mailbox, and nailed the sign into the base.
Extra irritated now, she sent a menacing glare down the road—as if the driver who hit the sign could feel her disdain—before jumping back into her truck. She cranked the heater and began to make her way down the long, rock driveway.
It was a dark, bleak morning. The light of dawn took refuge from the icy temperatures by hiding behind the dense clouds that had been spitting snow since the evening before. She glanced up at the leafless trees that had grown like a tunnel above the driveway—like witch’s fingers, connected at the tips. Ice clung to the bare branches, and the flakes of snow that found their way through the snarl of branches slowly flittered down onto her truck.
Through the haze, the dark house came into view at the end of the tunnel of trees, looking creepier than ever in the gloomy morning.
Their office was a two-story, old stone mansion with massive stone pillars and a large balcony that overlooked the grounds. Creeping fig vines clung to the stone walls, stretching up to the roof. Gargoyles—yes, gargoyles—glared down from the peaks. The house had been purchased and completely renovated by Dixie’s parents, decades ago.
Although it wasn’t the most professional looking office building, it was perfect for the kind of work they did. Death and darkness were the norm at Black Rose Investigations.
She glanced at the cars out front and muttered another curse—yep, as suspected, her vehicle was the only one missing.
She was late. Again.
She pulled around the house, parked by the back door and glanced at her watch—eight twenty-one.
“Dammit.”
She turned off the engine, grabbed her briefcase, folders, cell phone and purse, and pushed out of the truck.
Her assistant, Raven Cane, met her at the back door. Wearing a form-fitted grey sweater, tight black jeans and heels, Raven looked like she’d just stepped out of a high fashion magazine. Her long, straight brown hair was pulled back into a slick bun, accentuating her high cheekbones and big, blue eyes, framed by impossibly long lashes.
“Morning, boss.” Raven handed her a mug of steaming coffee.
“Morning, and thanks.” She kicked the door closed and took a sip, hoping that a little Baileys had made its way into the cup. Nope—luck was not on her side this morning. “Did you see the damn sign?”
“Yes, I already made a note to get it replaced.”
“ASAP. And go with some sort of indestructible metal or something.”
“You got it.”
Dixie pretended that she didn’t see Raven quickly wipe up the ice and mud that she’d dragged in from outside.
Always prepared for everything, Raven’s incessant need for organization and structure were two of Dixie’s favorite things about her assistant. While Dixie was a constant tornado, Raven was the calm after the storm, a perfectionist, keeping everything together. Sure, her assistant was a little high-strung—okay, a lot high-strung—but she was a workhorse, a patient workhorse, and she was a perfect match for Dixie.
“The meeting has already started.”
“Figured.” Dixie walked through the massive kitchen, with dark hardwood floors and grey stone walls.
“By the way, hell of a job on the Clemens case. Another case successfully closed, boss.”
“And a million more to go.”
“How long had the ex been stalking her?”
“For weeks, apparently. But she didn’t call me until a few days ago.”
“And not a minute too soon. Were you able to get any sleep last night?”
Dixie shook her head. After handcuffing her client’s crazy ex-boyfriend, waiting for the police to arrive, and then giving her statement at the station, she was on less than three hours of sleep. But it was worth it—it always was.
She rounded the corner into the dining room, which they’d turned into the main conference room.
Her older sister, Roxy—impeccably dressed as always—sat at the head of the table, with a stack of papers in her hand. Her hair was pulled tightly in a long ponytail that ran down the back of her designer suit.
“Thanks for showing up.”
Dixie cocked an eyebrow. “Sorry, I was picking up the sign that none of you jerks had the courtesy to do.”
“No, none of us jerks had the time—we all make it a priority
to be on time for our weekly Tuesday morning meeting… at the exact same time, every single week.”
Without missing a beat, Dixie quipped, “Or was it the fact that you didn’t want to get mud on your brand new, eight-hundred dollar boots, dear sister?”
A few snickers sounded from the back of the room.
Roxy raised her eyebrows, a twinkle in her eye. “They’re Italian leather, something you wouldn’t know much about.” She grinned. “Drink your coffee, I’m assuming you haven’t replaced the broken maker in your house. Now, back to business…”
Her older sister was right on both counts—Dixie didn’t care for designer labels, and she also hadn’t replaced the ancient coffee maker that had finally broken a week earlier. And yes, she was a total bitch in the mornings without her coffee.
She took a deep sip and pulled off her beanie, slinging ice and snow all over the table.
Her younger sister, Scar—short for Scarlett—grinned and tossed her a napkin.
Dixie winked and mopped up the mess.
Seated around a long, wooden table were the motley crew that made up Black Rose Investigations. Across from Dixie were Scar and her assistant, Harley, and at the end of the table sat Fiona, Roxy’s assistant, and Raven. And sitting beside Dixie was their office manager and super genius, Ace Zedler, who lived on the second level of the office, free of rent in return for keeping an eye on the place while they weren’t there.
As Dixie scribbled notes, Roxy continued with the meeting, which was a touch-base to review the current cases of the week, and discuss travel plans, if any. It was a recurring meeting that their father had started decades ago.
Born and raised in the small town of Devil’s Den, the three sisters grew up traveling the world, with silver spoons in their mouths. Their father, Clive Knight, was a highly decorated CIA agent who came from a political family, rich in both legacy and wealth—lots of wealth. Their mother, Star Knight, was a small-screen actress, who met their father while researching one of her roles. After Clive and Star got married, they immediately started a family and relocated to the south, to get out of the limelight and lay down roots. Star walked away from her career so she could stay home with the girls, while Clive traveled constantly for work.