by Deirdre Dore
Tavey had been busy; she’d prepared three funerals and taken Atohi’s shepherd to the vet. He’d been lucky. Most of the blood had been from a graze. He hadn’t been hit directly, and she helped the FBI locate the caretaker’s cabin in the woods. None of which excused her absence from Tyler’s bedside.
She took a deep breath and shoved open the door to the Range Rover, stepping down carefully. She’d worn a dress, a deep blue one, and Italian heels. She had something to say to Tyler Downs, and she wanted him to pay attention.
She reached back in the car for her purse and the vase filled with fresh-cut roses from her garden. They reminded her of the night they’d kissed, of the feel of his hands on her.
The automatic doors to the hospital opened with a whoosh, and a chilly blast of air-conditioning made her shiver in her thin dress.
She knew Tyler’s room number; she’d been calling every day to check on him, and she made her way there without stopping to bother any of the nursing staff. They wouldn’t have tried to keep her out anyway—they knew who she was.
His hospital room door was open, she could hear the sound of baseball in between the click of her heels as she approached.
When she stepped inside, Tyler was already looking in her direction. He shut off the TV with the remote in his hand.
“Tavey. I didn’t think you were coming.”
Tavey swallowed and walked over to his bedside table, setting the vase down gently. “I’ve wanted to, I’ve been—”
“Busy,” he finished for her. “Yeah, everyone’s mentioned it.”
She nodded, about to go into a detailed explanation of everything she’d done so far that week, but he waved her to come closer.
When she was standing next to his bed, he took her hand and she felt tears sting her eyes.
“None of that.” Tyler sounded alarmed, but his blue eyes were amused.
Tavey sniffed. “I can’t tell you how sorry I am. It’s my fault you were shot. I was just so mad. I thought he was going to get away. I thought he was going to get away with it and I couldn’t let him. I’m sorry.”
Tyler squeezed her fingers. “That’s probably more ‘I’m sorrys’ than you’ve ever delivered in your life.”
Tavey smiled wryly. “I’m sure you’re right.”
His blond hair was tousled and a light stubble covered his chin. She removed her hand from his grip and gently smoothed the soft strands.
“I think I owe you an apology,” he told her, closing his eyes at her touch. “I’m sorry about how I acted at Abraham’s.”
“It’s okay.” Tavey shook off his apology. “You were grieving.” She chuckled a little sadly. “I, of all people, should understand how people behave when they’ve lost someone they love.”
He opened his eyes. “Do you love me, Octavia Collins?”
Tavey swallowed and nodded. Ridiculous or not, she had always loved him, and considering her stubborn nature, probably always would.
“That’s good,” he said, and closed his eyes again.
Tavey punched him lightly in the shoulder and he grunted, grinning and opening his eyes. He looked at her with so much heat and love that she began to babble a little nervously, and Tavey never babbled.
“I had Abraham cremated, as you asked. We can spread his ashes over his land when you’re better.”
“Thank you.” He picked up her hand again and laid a kiss on it.
Tavey sighed. “I suppose they told you about Jane’s story. Unless we find out what happened to Belle, we may never know what happened to my father, or to Summer.”
Tyler frowned. “Atohi said something that makes me think your father might be dead, Tavey.”
“Really.” Tavey gripped his fingers. “What did he say?”
Tyler frowned and scratched his head. “I asked him if he knew where Charlie was and he said, ‘He’s where he belongs,’ or something like that.”
For some reason Tavey thought of Summer in her dream, sitting on her father’s grave and saying, “In a story, which is a kind of dreaming, the dead sometimes smile and sit up and return to the world.”
Tavey straightened, her eyes widening.
“I know where he is.”
Epilogue
TAVEY WATCHED THE BULLDOZER remove the dirt covering her father’s grave. Raquel and Chris were with her again, as was Brent. He’d asked if he could film the removal. Tavey had agreed; their contract stated that he could record, but she had to approve anything that ended up in the final version.
Once the dirt was removed, four big men secured the casket with straps and used a winch to pull it up out of the ground.
It was clearly heavy, heavier than the empty casket they were supposed to have buried.
Fifteen minutes later, they’d removed the casket and were using pry bars to open it up.
A man’s body, badly decomposed and wearing a suit, was resting beneath a suitcase that was liberally covered in dirt.
The men stepped away, and Tavey walked over to the casket. She looked for a long moment but didn’t recognize anything about the man lying in her father’s grave. She supposed there was no reason she should.
She didn’t want to touch anything, knowing the FBI would want to check for evidence, but something was sticking out of the crease in the suitcase, something that looked like cloth or paper. She leaned closer and just barely made out half of Benjamin Franklin’s face. A hundred-dollar bill.
Tavey closed her eyes. She’d been hoping—expecting—to find Summer as well. She’d thought maybe that if she found one, there would be the other. She hadn’t even cared whether there was an explanation; she’d just wanted to find her.
Instead she had what she believed were her father’s bones, and yet another mystery to solve.
The wind kicked up, carrying the scent of fresh flowers from the recent graves and blowing away the stench of rot that had burst out when they’d opened her father’s casket. A ribbon tore free from an arrangement, a blue ribbon with yellow stars. Both Raquel and Chris stepped forward at the same time, taking Tavey’s hands in shared astonishment.
Tavey blinked, disbelieving, as the ribbon stuck to her father’s grave for a moment, pinned there by the wind, and then was carried off on the summer breeze. It was as if they had Summer back, just for a moment, and she had whispered to them all.
“Come and find me.”
Don’t Miss
kiss
of
Fate
The Final Installment in the
MISTRESSES OF FATE Trilogy
By Deirdre Dore
September 2014 from Pocket Star Books
Raquel Weaver is a member of Atlanta PD’s Sex Crimes Task Force and a dedicated hunter of child abusers. As the daughter of a famous blues singer with a history of scandal, Raquel tries to avoid the limelight, partially because of Brent Burns, an award-winning documentary filmmaker who made her private pain public knowledge. But when his latest film uncovers new information about the disappearance of her friend Summer Haven, Raquel puts aside her resentment and begins hunting a predator from the past, a predator who has returned to the small town of Fate.
We hope you enjoyed reading this Pocket Star Books eBook.
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Pocket Star Books
A Division of Simon & Schuster, Inc.
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New York, NY 10020
www.SimonandSchuster.com
This book is a work of fiction. Any references to historical events, real people, or real places are us
ed fictitiously. Other names, characters, places, and events are products of the author’s imagination, and any resemblance to actual events or places or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
Copyright © 2014 by Deirdre Dore
All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this book or portions thereof in any form whatsoever. For information address Pocket Books Subsidiary Rights Department, 1230 Avenue of the Americas, New York, NY 10020.
First Pocket Star Books ebook edition May 2014
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Interior design by Leydiana Rodríguez-Ovalles
Cover design by David Stevenson
ISBN 978-1-4767-2771-4
Contents
Prologue
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
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Epilogue
