by Stone, Kyla
With a growl of outrage, she spun and seized an antique china plate from the stack piled on the counter, waiting to be put away.
She hurled it as hard as she could. It struck the wall on the opposite side of the kitchen and crashed to the floor in several pieces. She grabbed the next plate and threw it.
The china shattered. The crash reverberated in her ears.
She flung every plate, bowl, and saucer she had, until hundreds of ceramic shards glinted across the wood floor. Her manicured hands curled into shaking fists, her whole body quivering with black rage.
“Are you done?” Mattias Sutter asked.
She’d nearly forgotten him.
She turned to face him, chest heaving, heat flushing her face and neck. The adrenaline drained from her veins.
Darkness tugged at her. A great howling emptiness.
Her carefully calibrated control was cracking, fissures appearing in the façade she’d worked so hard to maintain. All she could see was red. Grief and rage mingling into a toxic, radioactive soup eating away at her insides. She was losing it.
Mattias sat quietly on the other side of the island, his back straight, a glass of cabernet sauvignon wine in one hand. “What do you want to do?”
“I want to burn this whole town to the ground,” Rosamond spat.
Mattias cocked his brows. “That may be a bit…premature.”
“I’ve given these people everything! Everything I have! And still, they’ve betrayed me.”
She had dedicated her life to Fall Creek. All the stress, sleepless nights, the politics and games—she’d taken it all on. She wasn’t being paid for this. Hell, who knew if she’d ever get paid again.
Still, she was willing to shoulder the burden. She was willing to make the necessary sacrifices to protect the town.
Fall Creek had been spared the ravages of disaster because of her. Because of her, this town was safe and whole.
Every citizen had food on the table to satisfy their needs and firewood to keep their children warm—every obedient citizen, anyway. She knew what they needed even before they did. She knew what was required and had the guts and fortitude to ensure it happened.
What other town or city could say that? Certainly none in Michigan. Maybe none in the entire country.
She had accomplished that. No one else.
How had the town repaid her for her unfailing generosity? With ingratitude, whining, and disrespect. With backbiting and betrayal. With the death of her sons.
She’d never expected to lose her precious Gavin. Or Julian. Her sons had been everything to her.
What did she have without them?
Only the town. Only Winter Haven. Only her legacy.
Fury slashed through her, severing her grief like a knife. A righteous outrage. “My sons have been taken from me. They’ve been murdered by…by dissidents. By terrorists. I will not rest until we weed them out. Until we destroy this threat to Fall Creek once and for all!”
Mattias nodded. “Don’t let your emotions get in the way. They’ll only hamper your ability to see clearly, to get the job done.”
He was right. She took a deep, steadying breath. Willed her fractured emotions under control.
She was Rosamond Sinclair. She did not bend under pressure, no matter how immense, no matter how formidable the enemies arrayed against her.
She would not crack. She would not break.
She would maintain the strength and power she’d so meticulously amassed. She would not be defeated.
Rosamond flicked a ceramic shard from her charcoal pencil skirt. She straightened her shoulders and smoothed her blonde hair behind her ears. She did not speak until she had regained control of herself and buried her grief somewhere down deep.
“You’re right, Mattias,” she said evenly. “Thank you for the reminder.”
“What do you want to do?”
“I want them dead.” She counted them off on her manicured fingers. “Liam Coleman. Atticus Bishop. And anyone else who aided and abetted them. Anyone who has anything to do with them—they’re dead.”
“We will need to be more careful this time. They are trained operators. I’m unwilling to lose more men unnecessarily.”
“Just don’t take too long. I will not sleep until my sons are avenged.”
“It’ll be done.” Mattias took a sip of wine. He set the crystal wine glass on the marble island. “And what about Chief Sheridan?”
She stiffened. She cared for Noah. And for Milo.
Hadn’t she taken Noah and Milo under her wing after the wife’s disappearance? She’d treated them like family. Better than family.
She had groomed Noah for years to serve as one of her most loyal and dutiful confidants. Julian had been too much of a hothead to deal with certain politically delicate matters.
Gavin had been absolutely dependable in dealing with the undesirables she’d needed taken care of. However, he’d been too…extreme…in his proclivities.
Noah was steady, levelheaded, the peacemaker. Easy to direct, to manipulate. Not to mention morally weak, though he liked to consider himself otherwise.
But Noah continually chose to surround himself with malcontents, instigators, and troublemakers. His friendship with that rabble-rousing pastor, Atticus Bishop. With that churlish old woman, Molly Dũng, and her mouthy granddaughter, who always seemed to pop up in the wrong places at the wrong times.
Everyone had their flaws, even Noah. Rosamond could almost overlook it. She had overlooked it, until now.
Until Hannah. Hannah Sheridan and her loose cannon of a soldier.
Just the thought of the man who had killed Gavin filled Rosamond with a seething hatred. A black rage that threatened her careful control.
And Hannah. The weak, vile woman spreading vicious lies about her precious son, when he was dead in the ground with no way to defend himself. Who the hell did she think she was?
Rosamond took a deep breath and reigned in her emotions. Mattias was correct; she could not afford to act rashly.
She prided herself on her practicality. Handicaps like morality and ethics didn’t cripple her ability to lead. She was willing to do what was necessary.
Rosamond had no qualms about ordering Hannah’s death. She longed to turn to Mattias right now and say the words. She’d enjoy watching them all die, truth be told. The soldier. The pastor. The girl.
Yet Hannah meant something to Noah. And Noah was an integral piece of Rosamond’s strategy. With Gavin and Julian gone, she needed him more than ever.
If Hannah died now, even by some grotesque, unfortunate accident, Noah’s response would be unpredictable at best. Hannah’s demise would have to wait. For now.
Rosamond wasn’t stupid. She knew her allies were shrinking. Noah’s support was not optional. He was necessary.
As long as she still had Noah as her police chief and Mattias with his militia behind her, she would be fine.
“I know how to handle Noah,” she said. “I know exactly what strings to pull. He’s under our complete control and will remain that way.”
Mattias nodded. “I see the wisdom in that. He’ll keep the other cops in line. And the police chief’s approval provides that shiny veneer of respectability you seem to care so much about.”
She shot him a sharp look. “Don’t underestimate it. Most people are just looking for a reason to capitulate. They’re as meek as sheep. Authority is the oldest and most useful tool in the book.”
“Noted.” Mattias swirled the wine in his glass. Beneath the pendant lighting, the dark liquid looked red as blood. “And the rest of the town?”
Rosamond stepped carefully across the floor, avoiding the shattered china. She reached for her own wine glass. It was nearly empty. No matter. She had plenty more in the basement.
She had everything she needed. This place was a fortress, stuffed with supplies to last her years. And with her own personal army, she could defend it.
She had lost much in the last few weeks, but she ha
d not lost everything. She still had this town. She still had her legacy. And she would fight for that with her last breath.
“We need to send a message. Loud and clear. Noncompliance will not be tolerated. Anyone who dissents doesn’t get fed. No more freeloaders.”
“Consider it already done.” Mattias swirled his wine without drinking. “And maybe it’s time to be done with that council of yours. All they do is complain and hold back progress.”
“I’ll consider it.”
Rosamond studied Mattias. Though they had been separated by distance for several years, she and her cousin had always been close. They’d been raised together; their fathers were brothers who maintained absolute control over their families and ruled with iron fists.
They understood each other in ways that others never would.
Mattias wasn’t invested in the town like Rosamond. He wasn’t driven by anger and resentment like Julian had been. He did not desire to rule or lead or usurp her role.
He was cunning, and he was brutal. Like Rosamond, morals played no part in his decision-making. If he had any flaw, it was greed. He liked nice things.
He was family, but it was still wise to keep him well-satisfied. And close.
Rosamond raised her glass to Mattias. “Your loyalty does not go unnoticed, cousin. Nor unrewarded.”
“To loyalty.” Mattias smiled broadly. “And to Winter Haven.”
She took a long, deep swig, careful not to smear her ruby-red lipstick. She did not smile back. “To Winter Haven.”
“I have another idea,” Mattias said. “To send a message. To punish the guilty.”
“As long as they pay for what they’ve done.”
His dark eyes glinted. “Oh, they will.”
Rosamond tightened her grip on the stem of her empty glass. She would still succeed. She would rule. And she would utterly destroy anyone who got in her way.
52
Noah
Day Thirty-Six
“I made some coffee,” Hannah said.
Noah looked up with a strained smile.
Hannah stood on the front porch without a coat on, a blue mug in her hands. She wore a thick gray sweater and black leggings. Her shiny dark brown hair brushed against her shoulders.
Noah’s chest tightened. He wiped his hands on a dirty rag and closed the F150’s hood. The truck had stalled a few times, and he was trying to fix it on his own without asking for help.
After banging around for a couple of hours, he was just about to give up. Molly had given him a spray bottle filled with three parts vinegar to one-part water to spray on his windshield the night before snow to de-ice it—at least the truck windows were nice and clear.
It was Sunday, and he was taking a rare afternoon off. He desperately needed the mental and physical break after the wreck of the last few days.
Liam Coleman had finally moved out. Noah didn’t even care that it was to move into their old house. He’d rather have him gone for good, but at least he was out of their hair.
It was a relief for Noah, and it was safer for Hannah. That man brought trouble wherever he went.
Liam still couldn’t seem to stay away from Hannah. He’d stopped by earlier on the pretense of taking Ghost for one of his long walks. Hannah had been happy to see him. It had made Noah sick.
At least he was out of the house. At least there was that.
Noah, Hannah, and Milo had used the precious family time to play a few games of Monopoly Deal. After lunch, Hannah had gone into the guestroom to feed the baby, and Noah took Milo outside to get a little work done.
Milo was busy building a snowman in the front yard. He trotted around the house and ventured into the woods a bit to gather pine boughs for his Christmas tree forest.
For a couple of hours, life had seemed almost normal.
Noah strode across the yard to the porch steps. He took the hot coffee mug from Hannah, his fingers barely brushing hers. It was her healthy, good hand. A jolt went through him.
With an apologetic look, Hannah pulled away.
Disappointment roiled in his gut. He tried not to show it. “Thank you. Isn’t it a blessing that we still have coffee?”
Hannah’s brow wrinkled. “Something like that.”
“Where’s yours?”
She flushed. “Oh, I already had mine. It’s difficult to carry both mugs at once.”
She meant her crippled hand. He looked away, embarrassed. He hadn’t meant to bring attention to it. When he looked at her injury, it filled him with a helpless anger—like he was personally responsible.
Whenever he thought of Gavin Pike hurting Hannah, what monstrous things he’d done to her, his mind swerved away. It felt like he was skating along the edges of a bottomless pit; it would be the end of him if he fell in.
“I’m sorry,” he mumbled.
“It’s okay. It takes a bit of getting used to.”
For a long moment, they didn’t speak. Mentally, he scrambled for something to say, something to bring them together instead of pushing them further apart.
They’d barely had a moment to speak in private since that first night. There were always other people around—namely Liam—or things to do. He had a million things on his to-do list, both at home and at work, to keep things running without the power grid.
At home, there was always Milo, the dog, or the baby between them. The baby that was Hannah’s, but not his. The baby that Gavin Pike had created, that represented every awful thing that had been done to his wife.
He swallowed bile. It was just a child, innocent in all of this, but he could barely look at her. He hated himself for it, but it was true.
He told himself it would just take time, like everything else. He told himself everything would be okay.
As long as he had Hannah and Milo, that was all that mattered.
“Do you remember that last day we had together?” he asked. “How we went skiing with Milo? How happy we were for him?”
“I remember.” Her expression softened. “How could I forget? We got those giant peanut butter cookies for Milo. They were as big as his head.”
“I thought about that day all the time, you know. Every year on Christmas Eve, Milo and I went back to Bittersweet. To remember you. To make more happy memories. The day of the EMP, we were there.”
She glanced at him. Her eyes were so deep and green in the wintry light. “I didn’t know that.”
“Milo talked me into riding their biggest sky lift to the top.”
She raised her brows. “You? Willingly riding ski lifts?”
“I know, right? I was nervous the whole time. Then the EMP took out the power right before the top. It took out the generators, too.”
“What happened?”
“In the chaos, we were overlooked. We got stuck up there in the middle of a snowstorm. I had to climb the cable to the nearest tower to get down. Quinn Riley was there, too. Her grandfather died of a heart attack when his pacemaker went out. I had to climb the cable. It was the only way.”
He recalled that day. He’d taken charge and saved them. Everything had been so black and white—do what was necessary, or people died. Things weren’t so black and white anymore.
Every decision came with costs. Every choice had repercussions, not all of which he could anticipate or mitigate. The immense burden was overwhelming.
Hannah paled. “I had no idea. What an ordeal. Milo has been through so much. You both have.”
“We have,” Noah said. His throat tightened. “Everyone has. I’m just so glad you’re here. I’m so glad we got you back.”
She gave him a soft smile. It lit up her whole face. “Me, too.”
He wanted to hold her. To kiss her. After that first night when she’d pulled away from him, he’d been reluctant to try again.
She needed time. He knew that.
He hoped that was all it was. He hoped with all his heart that Liam Coleman had nothing to do with it.
He was too afraid to ask. The answer migh
t break him.
He wanted things to go back to the way they were before. When they were first married, young and happy and blissfully unaware of how incredibly difficult life would become.
“We’re going to be okay,” he said. “We’re going to be fine.”
“Are we?”
“Of course.”
She half-turned toward him and leaned against the porch railing. She wrapped her arms around her ribs and hugged herself. “Noah, we need to talk about what happened.”
Noah’s chest constricted. “What do you mean?”
She flashed him a look. “About Julian.”
Sorrow thickened his throat. He’d been trying his best not to think about it at all. His grief over his friend’s sudden death. His shock at the accusations Bishop had made when he’d returned from the river—alone.
What had happened on the ice. How Julian had died. His confessions before the black water took him. And lastly, the body that Bishop had found stored in the ice chest in Julian’s fishing shack.
Noah, Reynoso, and Hayes had gone to the cabin to investigate and confirm Bishop’s testimony. It was true. Briggs’ had been shot in the back of the head.
Now Chief Briggs’ frozen body was wrapped in industrial garbage bags and stored with all the other victims of the collapse in Paul Eastley’s large metal pole barn outside of town.
As much as he wanted to, Noah could not justify his friend’s actions in this. Julian had done this horrible thing. He’d murdered Chief Briggs for getting in the way. There was no other explanation.
He took a sip of coffee to steady his nerves. “It’s hard to believe he could’ve had a hand in that—in what happened.” He couldn’t bring himself to say the words.
“I’m sorry. I know he was your friend.”
He’d barely slept the last few nights, tossing and turning alone in his bed, his mind a jumbled blur. He didn’t want to believe that Julian was capable of such things, even with the evidence of Chief Briggs’ corpse staring him in the face.
You know it’s true, a voice whispered inside his head. Julian had shot Billy Carter in cold blood. He had killed Nickel Carter at Crossway Church before the man could out him. Julian had claimed self-defense, but Nickel had recognized Julian—Noah realized that, now.
