by Beverly Long
You go, girl had been Charity’s response.
All of them getting away successfully was a long shot, JC knew, but she wasn’t going to make it easy for Sadie and her hired thugs. The girls had agreed that if any one of them could get away, they should take the chance and not worry about the others.
The vehicle crested the hill and slowed. “We’re here,” Shane said.
JC looked out the window. Here was the middle of the desert. The only thing besides sand and scraggly desert plants was a yellow tractor-like thing with a big bucket on the front next to a five-foot-high pile of dirt.
“Damn. A skid loader,” she heard Lou whisper.
Striker, she assumed, was the man inside the cab. He was just waiting, with the bucket of his skid loader poised to push the pile of dirt and sand back into the hole.
The hole where they were going to be buried.
* * *
“They’ve stopped,” Trey said. “Oh, holy hell,” he said.
“What?” Royce yelled.
“There’s a hole, man. A big hole.”
“How far are we out?” Royce asked.
“I see them and I see you. You’re a minute back. Tops.”
He was not going to be sixty seconds too late. “Buzz them,” he said.
He heard Trey say something in the background to Billy-Bob before he came back on the line. “Happy to oblige.”
* * *
Shane opened the door on Charity’s side; Sadie opened the one on Lou’s side. JC had more confidence in Lou’s ability to take care of Sadie than Charity’s ability to take care of Shane. She slid out after her sister, who, God bless her, had put one foot on the ground while bringing her other knee up, headed in the direction of Shane’s crotch.
She connected with a satisfying crunch. JC used the thirty pounds she had on Charity to propel her body out of the way. Then she brought her bound hands up, catching the stunned Shane, who was holding himself with one hand, in the nose with her clenched fist.
He let out a howl that almost drowned out the scuffle she heard on the other side of the vehicle. But then he swung the gun that he’d managed to keep hold of and pointed it in her face.
“Damn you,” he yelled.
And she was sure he was going to shoot. “Run, Charity,” she yelled.
The words were no more out of her mouth when the plane that had been in the air swooped down, coming dangerously low. It was enough to distract Shane for the second she needed. She bent low and tackled him, her shoulder into his middle. And then they were rolling in the rocky sand.
And she realized that she wasn’t in the fight alone. Charity was there, kicking at Shane’s head and face. She’d had the chance to run but she’d come back to help.
Energy roared through JC’s body, giving her strength.
And then a gunshot, so close that it hurt her ears, boomed across the desert. But she didn’t stop. She kept twisting and kicking and doing everything she could to keep Shane from containing her.
Until suddenly, it was over. And he was no longer there.
“Jules, honey. I’ve got you. It’s okay.”
She flopped onto her back. Royce was kneeling in the sand, pulling her into his arms, holding her tight.
“I’ve got you,” he said again, crushing her against his chest. “It’s over. You’re okay.”
She wasn’t sure whether he was assuring her or himself. She blinked, trying to clear the sand and grit from her eyes.
Sadie was on the ground, blood pouring from her broken nose. Lou stood over her, a big grin on her face. Shane was standing, his hands on the roof of the SUV. Detective Mannis had his gun pointed at him.
There had to be at least six other cops, all of them with guns. One was on his phone, requesting medical assistance.
“I knew you would come,” she said, her voice close to Royce’s ear. “I knew you would find me.”
He pulled back just a hair. “Honey, you probably didn’t need me. Remind me never to make you mad. You fight like a grizzly bear.”
She saw Striker on the ground. His shirt was dark with blood. “What happened?” she asked.
Royce barely looked in the man’s direction. “We arrived just as he was getting out of the skid loader cab with his rifle. So I shot him.”
“From a moving vehicle?” she said, feeling very inappropriate laughter starting to build.
He stared at her, his hazel eyes intense. “I told you once. I’ll do what I need to do.”
She heard a noise and realized the plane that had buzzed them earlier was flying overhead. Quite deliberately, it dipped a wing.
“I need you to do one more thing, Royce Morgan,” she said.
“What’s that, Juliana Cambridge?” he asked.
“Marry me.”
Epilogue
They were married a week later. It was a lopsided wedding party but nobody cared. Royce had three best men—Trey Riker, Rico Metez and Seth Pike. Her two attendants were Charity and Eileen Wood.
She wore her mother’s wedding dress and Royce wore a black tux. The wedding and reception were both occurring at the Periwinkle, and Sonya Tribee was personally seeing to it that every detail was perfect. Charity was watching closely because she’d be starting in the Periwinkle kitchen the following week.
Barry Wood walked her down the aisle and before he handed her off to Royce, he shook Royce’s hand and said, “Thank you.”
“My pleasure,” was Royce’s response before he gently took her hand and drew her close.
Sadie Isman was in jail, likely never to be released. Wayne had his own set of legal troubles but was currently free on bond. Same for Shane and Striker Cary.
Her father had withdrawn from the Senate race. She’d invited him to the wedding but he’d declined, saying that he didn’t want to intrude upon her happy day. In time, the relationship with his daughters might be healed. She and Charity were both willing to try.
She’d started the ball rolling on getting her office moved from New York to Vegas. Not everybody, just she and her assistant would work out of this location and travel to New York as necessary.
But first, there was a wedding to be had! She smiled at Royce.
“I love you,” he said.
“I know,” she whispered. “I love you, too.”
Then they turned to face the minister.
* * * * *
Look for more books in Beverly Long’s miniseries
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“I know your secret. I’m going to tell.”
As Sarah Taylor-Cox stares at the anonymous letter, her body starts to shake with dread. She has everything to lose—a gorgeous husband, a beautiful baby, and a picture-perfect house in the Hamptons. And now, the lies she’s built her life on are starting to crumble, one by deadly one...
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TAKE IT TO THE GRAVE (Part 1 of 6)
by Zoe Carter
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Don’t miss TAKE IT TO THE GRAVE!
A 6-part psychological thriller that will have you guessing till the very end!
“I know your secret. I’m going to tell.”
As Sarah Taylor-Cox stares at the anonymous letter, her body starts to shake with dread. She has everything to lose—a gorgeous husband, a beautiful baby, and a picture-perfect house in the Hamptons. And now, the lies she’s built her life on are starting to crumble, one by deadly one...
Collect all 6!
Take It to the Grave (Part 1 of 6)
by Zoe Carter
Take It to the Grave (Part 2 of 6)
by Zoe Carter
Take It to the Grave (Part 3 of 6)
by Zoe Carter
Take It to the Grave (Part 4 of 6)
by Zoe Carter
Take It to the Grave (Part 5 of 6)
by Zoe Carter
Take It to the Grave (Part 6 of 6)
by Zoe Carter
Take It to the Grave (Part 1 of 6)
by Zoe Carter
Prologue
The clouds gather thick and furious, shutting out the sun.
The smell of ozone is intense, warning me more effectively than the grumbling thunder. A storm is coming—a big one, perhaps the worst we’ve had in years.
The thought of Elliot gets me moving.
Elliot, with his soft skin and plump cheeks, the darling dimples at his elbows. Just four months old.
An image of another baby, another time, creeps into my mind, but I push it away, stumbling on the damp sand. The nightgown my husband is enamored with twists and turns in the growing wind, tangling between my thighs. I long to tear off the slick fabric, but I don’t dare take the time. I have to find my child.
“Elliot!” I scream his name even though he is too young to answer.
The thunder makes a mockery of my cries, stealing my breath before I can try again.
It’s no use, anyway.
The beach is empty.
Waves throw themselves at the shore again and again, churning themselves into foam.
The ocean fizzes around my ankles and I climb farther up the shore to keep from getting dragged into the angry water. My foot comes down on a broken shell, but I ignore the pain as it cuts through the skin. The agony that swells in my chest at the thought of losing my son is far worse than the throb of my wounded heel.
I can’t lose him—he’s everything.
Please don’t hurt him. Not Elliot. He’s so innocent...
But all babies are innocent, aren’t they?
The rain, when it comes, is as enraged as the ocean, and I’m soaked through in an instant. I can’t bear the thought of my sweet little boy in this downpour. He doesn’t have his jacket. The image of Elliot, shivering and turning blue in his little sleeper, drives me forward. My eyes strain to see in the dim light, every breath I take ending in a cry for my missing child.
I can’t leave him out here; I can’t.
Then I realize the beach isn’t empty.
There is someone standing by the rocks, watching me.
Waiting for me...
“Elliot!”
My scream travels farther this time, echoing through the storm. Strength I didn’t know I had floods my legs, and I run faster.
As I picture my missing son and how wonderful it will feel to wrap my arms around him again, I give no thought to my own safety.
I run toward the dark figure on the beach.
Sarah
I tilt my head and let the sun caress my face, resisting the urge to close my eyes. Elliot burbles on my chest, and I stroke the soft blond down on his head.
“Lucky baby,” I whisper. “Look what a handsome man your father is.”
Sometimes it’s difficult to believe how lucky we both are. Warwick is the most beautiful man I’ve ever seen—it’s still hard to believe he’s my husband. He grins at me now, flashing the kind of teeth most people will never achieve without hours in a dentist’s chair. His father catches Warwick smiling at me and gives him a friendly nudge.
“Pay attention, son. We don’t want to burn the steaks.” My husband returns his attention to the grill. It’s a gorgeous day, perfect for relaxing on the veranda of our East Hamptons home.
Edward Taylor-Cox winks at me and the good-natured jostling between father and son continues. Though Edward’s hair is silver and the skin around his eyes crinkles when he smiles, he is still movie-star handsome. Warwick is destined to age well. I am a lucky woman indeed.
Lucky, lucky, lucky...
One of our maids breaks my reverie. “More iced tea, miss?”
I hadn’t noticed my glass was empty. This is the first truly nice weather we’ve had in weeks. Too bad House Beautiful couldn’t have come today, instead of last Thursday when it was raining. “Yes, please.” I hand Emily my sweating glass.
“She’ll have plain water,” Warwick’s mother says with a frown. “Too much caffeine is bad for the baby.”
“But I’m not—”
I was about to admit I’m not nursing, but close my mouth with a snap, nearly biting my tongue. Eleanor would remind me that breastfeeding is the best gift I could give my child, and while that may be true, she isn’t the one who has to fight with Elliot. I’m still trying, but if he prefers a bottle, what’s the harm?
Emily hesitates, holding my glass steady on her tray, as her eyes flick from Eleanor’s to mine. Feeling sorry for her, I decide to end the impasse. “Water would be lovely. Thank you.”
“And not too much ice, either. Cold water is bad for the system,” my mother-in-law adds, tucking her pristine platinum bob behind an ear.
Emily nods, anxious to leave the patio. “Yes, ma’am.” She performs an awkward little bow-curtsy combo before scurrying away, something she only does in deference to my mother-in-law.
The annoyance must have shown on my face, for Eleanor widens her eyes, the picture of innocence. “What? I’m only trying to help. You have to take care of yourself, Sarah. You’re a mother now.” She touches my baby’s head. “What a darling boy. He’s beginning to resemble Warwick more every day, don’t you think?”
“Yes, he is.” Privately, I think Elliot resembles me, especially around the lips and eyes. His coloring could have come from either of us. I’m blonde, as well, though my hair is a shade darker than my husband’s. Only time will tell whom Elliot takes after.
Be nice. She’s trying, and she’s been good to you—and your son.
“So we’ve agreed. Elliot’s christening party will be included as part of our summer gathering this year.” Eleanor plucks invisible lint from her white linen suit. She’s the only person I know who wears a suit in this heat, but I’ve never seen her perspire. My son has more visible pores than she does. “The guest lists should be c
ompatible, so I don’t foresee any difficulties.”
The Taylor-Coxes are American royalty. Their East Hamptons home is even more luxurious than ours, and it’s close enough that it will be easy to shuttle Elliot back and forth during the party. Eleanor’s offer is meant to be generous, and certainly our friends will be impressed.
“If you’re sure...it’s a lot of trouble for you.” I hope my tone conveys the proper gratitude.
It could have been left at that. We could have enjoyed the gorgeous day, eating the glorious food Edward and Warwick grilled for us, and then stretched out for a nice long nap.
But of course Eleanor has to go too far.
“Your family must attend this time, Sarah—I insist.” Her lips purse into a moue of displeasure. Seeing her expression, Emily hurriedly hands me a glass of tepid water before vanishing into the house again. “It’s getting ridiculous. Why do they have such an aversion to us? People will talk.”
I shoot a pleading look at Warwick and his father, but they’re studiously ignoring us, piling steaming steaks on a platter. Once again, I’m left to fight my own battle.
“It’s not that. They’d love to meet you.” Taking a deep breath, I remind myself to be patient. It’s not Eleanor’s fault—my family situation must seem strange to outsiders. “They’re just very busy. I don’t even know where my sister is half the time. She’s always out of the country.”
“It’s not right we haven’t gotten a chance to meet them,” Eleanor says, her brow furrowing with a disapproving expression I am all too familiar with. “They weren’t even at the wedding, for God’s sake. What kind of people miss their own daughter’s wedding? If I didn’t know better, I’d think you were hiding something.”
I choke on a mouthful of water, soaking the collar of my sundress and narrowly missing my son, who gurgles in his sleep. “Hiding something? What on earth would I be hiding?”
