WALKING ON HER GRAVE
Rogue River Novella No. 4
THE ROGUE RIVER NOVELLAS
On Her Father’s Grave by Kendra Elliot
Gone to Her Grave by Melinda Leigh
Her Grave Secrets by Kendra Elliot
Walking on Her Grave by Melinda Leigh
WALKING ON HER GRAVE
Rogue River Novella No. 4
MELINDA LEIGH
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, organizations, places, events, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.
Text copyright © 2014 Melinda Leigh
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced, or stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without express written permission of the publisher.
Published by Montlake Romance, Seattle
www.apub.com
Amazon, the Amazon logo, and Montlake Romance are trademarks of Amazon.com, Inc., or its affiliates.
e-ISBN: 9781477871263
Cover design by Marc Cohen
CONTENTS
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
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
CHAPTER ONE
It’s not going to happen again.
Carly stared at the Rollins house. Dead petunias and weeds choked the flower beds. Despite the early hour, the temperature had already reached uncomfortable. Southwestern Oregon had been trapped in a bizarre heat wave for the entire summer. Everything about this summer had been unnatural.
Unsettled, she tucked her case file under her arm and closed the door of her Jeep. The first time she’d visited this home the landscaping had been tended. But that had been before drugs destroyed the Rollins family.
The one-story house sat a dozen blocks off Main Street in a solid blue-collar neighborhood. Folks edged their lawns and trimmed their shrubs. Lawn-mower engines started at eight a.m. on Saturday mornings. Residents raked and weeded between soccer games and dance practice. The Rollins house had been one of those proud, tidy lots. Now it looked like the house neighborhood kids dared each other to touch.
She stared at the neglected bungalow. Nerves skittered along the exposed skin of her arms. Her early-morning surprise visit was bound to spark discontent. The last time she’d visited an angry parent, she’d nearly been killed. A twinge passed through her shoulder, phantom pain from the dislocation she’d suffered in the assault.
She forced herself to walk toward the house. The heels of her flats clicked on the concrete as she made her way to the front stoop and rang the bell. Her stomach curled into an instinctive ball. She willed her body to relax. This was a totally different situation. Plus, she couldn’t lose her nerve. Her job as a social worker for Child Protective Services was vital. While police backup was sometimes a valid option, she couldn’t bring an armed escort on every call, though that’s exactly what her estranged husband, Seth, wanted her to do.
Seth, with whom she’d agreed to spend the evening. Alone. Without their seven-year-old daughter as a buffer. As if her nerves weren’t already on high alert, she’d agreed to go on a date. With the man she’d left last winter.
Damn it, no matter how hard she tried, she couldn’t stop loving him.
The door opened, and a red-eyed Alex Rollins stood in the doorway. The events of the last few months had sapped his vitality. A carpenter by trade, he’d lost his job. His wife had nearly died from taking a drug she’d confiscated from their son, and the teenager had been arrested for possession.
He glared down at her. Resentment dragged his mouth into a frown. But he had to let Carly in, and he knew it. Peter had been assigned to Carly over the summer when another CPS case manager had quit after being attacked by one of her charges. When a child was released from juvenile detention with a host of conditions attached to his freedom and future, unannounced home visits from Child Protective Services were part of the deal.
Without a word Alex turned and walked to the kitchen. Carly followed. A box of doughnuts graced the counter. The scent of coffee lingered, but Alex didn’t offer her a cup. Attempting to foster a working-together relationship, she set her paperwork on the table and sank into a chair.
Alex backed into the kitchen counter, widened his stance, and crossed his thick arms over his chest. “Do you want me to get Peter?”
“In a few minutes.” Carly rested her interlaced hands on top of her closed file. “How are you?”
Alex studied the vinyl-tiled floor. Despite his burly and muscular frame, he looked ragged. Did the bags and circles under his eyes attest to exhaustion or alcohol abuse? Carly’s gaze swept the kitchen. Alex kept the inside tidy. If he was drinking, he’d concealed the evidence.
Alex was the main pillar of the family, and his well-being concerned her just as much as his son’s. After an extensive hospital stay, his wife had recovered from her coma, but she had several more weeks of rehab before she’d be permitted to come home. Having both two family members in treatment for drug addiction burdened even Alex’s broad shoulders. “We talked about what happened on Founder’s Day. Public drunkenness won’t help you keep Peter, and alcohol won’t help you fix your family. They need you, Alex.”
He flushed. “It won’t happen again.”
“No one’s perfect,” Carly said. “But you need to find better ways to deal with your stress.”
He nodded stiffly. “I’ve split enough logs for all of next winter.”
Carly smiled. “When does family counseling start?”
“This morning.” He rubbed his chin. The heavy calluses on his hands showed his years on the job. “I talked with the counselor a couple of times solo.”
“Did it help?”
“I’d rather chop wood.” He looked away, his jaw sawing back and forth as if he were grinding his molars to bonemeal. “I’m not used to all this emotional bullshit.”
“Have you found any work?”
“I turned down a job in Portland,” he said. “I can’t be away right now. Peter’s home. Bev has three more weeks of rehab, and then she’ll be released too. They need me here.”
“They do,” Carly agreed. “No signs of local jobs?”
Alex dropped his arms to his sides. His fingers curled into meaty, frustrated fists. “Not after the O’Rourkes fired me and claimed my work was subpar. I still can’t believe it. They wiped out a twenty-year reputation and my good name in one day.”
“Last time we talked, you were hiring a lawyer.” Lack of work and income was going to be a serious hindrance to the family’s recovery.
“I didn’t have much of a choice. I’m suing them for breach of contract and slander.” Anger blazed from his brown eyes. “I have never done subpar work in my life. I can’t let them ruin my family’s future. Even people who don’t believe I’d do shoddy work are shunning me. The O’Rourke resort is the biggest job in town. No one wants to jeopardize his income by pissing them off.”
Carly opened her file. She scanned her last report. The family’s savings were likely wiped out. “What are you going to do?”
“I don’t know.” Al
ex’s gaze turned bleak. “I don’t want to lose my house.”
“Did you fill out those papers I gave you for public assistance?”
“I sent them in.” Distaste radiated from his frown. “I can’t believe I’m applying for food stamps and welfare. I’ve never been late paying a bill in my whole life, but if I can’t bring in some money, that’s going to change fast.”
“Food stamps don’t exist anymore. You’ll get a debit card—”
Alex slammed a fist on the countertop beside him. Carly startled. Dishes jumped behind the glass-doored cabinets.
“You can call it whatever you want. It’s still a fucking handout.” He recrossed his arms, his posture stiff and unyielding.
Carly’s heart rapped against her sternum as she sought calming words. “You’ve been paying the taxes that support these programs your entire adult life. You need to think of this as collecting on an insurance policy. You wouldn’t feel guilty accepting a payment from your auto insurance provider if you were in an accident. Don’t let pride stop you from accepting help.”
“Don’t worry. I’m well aware that I can’t afford to have any pride these days.” Alex’s eyes hardened.
Carly’s vulnerability felt acute. She shouldn’t have come here alone. But Alex had never been hostile, just frustrated. Damn. She hated second-guessing her instincts. “Where is Peter?”
Alex uncoiled his arms and stalked to the archway. He called up the stairway for his son. Wood treads creaked, and fifteen-year-old Peter appeared at his father’s side.
His basketball shorts and T-shirt were loose on his lanky adolescent frame. Two weeks in juvenile detention and two in the residential juvenile drug treatment facility had taken their toll on the boy.
Alex’s stiff posture softened in an instant as he focused on his son. He might be resentful and difficult and stressed, but he loved his family. Unfortunately, powerful emotions could fuel dangerous behavior.
“Hi, Peter.” Carly smiled. “Come sit down. We have a few things to discuss.”
Alex put a hand on his son’s shoulder and steered him into the room. Peter rounded the table and took a wary seat. While she wasn’t thrilled with Peter’s lack of trust in her, she was satisfied to see him leaning on his dad. The whole family was in this mess together, and they’d need each other to work their way out. Alex squeezed his son’s shoulder and dropped into a chair.
Carly reviewed Peter’s long-term treatment plan. Peter was a first-time offender, and exceptions had been made in his case. Authorities had more leeway in dealing with juvenile offenders than with adults. Peter had done his stint in residential rehab and was receiving outpatient counseling. “When are you scheduled to begin community service?”
“This afternoon.” Peter picked at his thumbnail, and his gaze skittered around the room like a trapped field mouse. When she’d first met him, he’d been cocky, almost belligerent. His foray into the juvenile justice system had siphoned the arrogance out of the teen. Hopefully, more therapy would bolster his confidence. Carly reviewed the rest of Peter’s legal requirements. The teen slumped in his chair as she detailed the solid year of close supervision ahead of him.
Alex’s jaw stiffened as he watched his son. He glanced at his watch. “We have to leave. The counselor is over in Hannon.” The Rogue County seat was a forty-five-minute drive from Solitude.
She gathered her papers. “All right. I think I’ve covered everything on my agenda.”
“Next time, it’d be best if you called first.” Alex escorted her to the door. “It’s easier on Peter if he can prepare himself for these meetings.”
“I’ll try.” Carly stepped out onto the stoop. The door slammed behind her, and she flinched. Then she took her first deep breath since she’d arrived. The next time she came to visit Alex and Peter, she’d ask her sister, Stevie, a Solitude cop, to go with her. In the car, Carly turned the air conditioner vents to her face and steered toward the highway that would take her to her office in Hannon. After this morning’s encounter, she was more than happy to spend the rest of the day catching up on paperwork.
The assault in July had left a permanent imprint on her confidence. She knew she needed to get over her fear, to listen to her well-developed gut. The only way to do that was to do her job.
If only she could tell whether Alex Rollins was simply frustrated or dangerous.
CHAPTER TWO
The forest loomed, the air thick and silent. Normally teeming with life, the woods were eerily devoid of sound. A robin shot out of an evergreen. Closing the door of the SUV, Carly startled. She pressed a hand to the base of her throat. Under her palms, her heartbeat thudded, the short burst of adrenaline quickening her pulse. Just a bird.
“Everything all right?” Seth asked over the silver hood of the vehicle.
“Awfully quiet out here.” Carly surveyed the dirt beach and rocky shoreline of the Rogue River. Two hundred and fifteen miles long from Crater Lake to the Pacific Ocean, the Rogue flowed right past their little town of Solitude. Other than the rush of water over rock and the whisper of the hot breeze through the foliage, the forest was unusually hushed. Carly usually felt at peace in the woods, but today she was wired tighter than a zip line through the canopy. Something felt off. Lord, she was as bad as her mother, having random feelings of doom. Carly was intentionally spending an evening alone with her estranged husband for the first time since they’d separated six months before. That was more than enough to set her nerves on edge. Plus, her nerves were still rattled after her visit with Alex Rollins this morning. Premonitions were not required.
“That’s the point.” Seth rounded the vehicle. “I want trout, and this is the best spot on the river for rainbow.”
Carly didn’t believe for a second that he’d chosen this particular place because of the fishing. This was also their spot. This peaceful dogleg of the waterway, where the current slowed and pooled in the elbow of the bend, was the place Carly and Seth had spent many afternoons early in their courtship and marriage. Rainbow and steelhead trout lingered in the pockets of calm water. Trees on both sides offered a bit of privacy. The pitch of the riverbed eliminated the need to wade out beyond ankle-deep. The memories attached to this small section of bank would be harder to navigate.
She leveled him a pointed look. “Nothing is going to happen today other than fishing.”
“I didn’t suggest anything would.” He turned his palms up. Clad in cargo shorts and a snug gray T-shirt, his blond, buff California-surfer look belied his serious personality. “You’re the one with the dirty mind.”
She rolled her eyes. “I know what you’re up to.”
“I just want to spend an afternoon with you. That’s all.” But the wicked glint in Seth’s eyes showed that he remembered what they used to do during their gone fishing afternoons.
Carly’s face heated. There would be no outdoor nookie today. She couldn’t risk letting him that far back into her life—or heart—just yet. Kicking him out again would be too painful. But how could a man she’d been married to for more than eight years still make her blood run as hot as an outboard motor? Brought together by one of Carly’s cases back in July, they’d spent the summer circling each other in a wary truce. At some point the impasse had to end. Their relationship would either go forward or end. There could be no middle ground.
Hope and fear clogged her throat. She turned away from him and watched the river. Sunlight shimmered on the rippling water. Mimicking the state of their relationship, the Rogue flowed by in an endless stream. On the surface, the river appeared calm, swirling around rocks and eddying in lazy circles. But Carly knew the gentleness of the current was deceptive. The power and force in large bodies of water was easy to underestimate. Those eddies could suck a person to the bottom and hold her there until she drowned. Their marriage had been loud and turbulent like the rapids a quarter mile upstream. With a strong undercurrent, this lull was just as frightening, with just enough hope to destroy her if
reconciliation proved impossible.
“Damn it, Carly.” Seth’s fist rapped his thigh. “You have to give me a chance. I love you.”
Love was never our problem. She could feel Seth’s gaze on her face, but she didn’t meet his intense green eyes. Just as she didn’t respond to his statement. She wasn’t ready. Leaving him had been the hardest decision she’d ever made. Winter had been sheer misery. She and Brianna were just getting on their feet again. Jumping back into a relationship with Seth would be foolish when she’d barely tested the waters with a toe. “You promised just fishing this evening. No pressure.”
He looked away and nodded, frustration tightening his mouth as if he regretted his offer. “I did.”
“Then let’s fish.” She changed her sneakers for wader boots. Seth, with an internal furnace that ran hot year-round, liked to wade wet in a pair of rubber sandals, but Carly’s feet would go numb in sixty-eight-degree water for any length of time. Her boots were also cleated. The Rogue was notorious for its slick riverbed, but Carly knew that wasn’t the slipperiest slope she’d encounter on this outing. She would need to tread with caution.
Dry weeds crunched underfoot as she crossed twenty feet of dusty ground to the rocky riverbank. Normally the foliage was green and lush, but the freakishly hot summer had left the surrounding forest brittle and brown. These last few days of August were just as brutal. The extended weather forecast showed cooler temperatures and rain on the way, but first they had to get through the weekend.
“All right.” Seth brought their rods and tackle box from the SUV and set them on the rocky shoreline. “There’ll be fresh trout for dinner.” He wiped his sweating brow with a bandanna from his pocket. “It had better cool off soon. I’ve had enough of this heat.”
“Once Labor Day passes, the weather should improve.” She wondered if the same was true about their marriage.
She assembled her rod and tied a fly on the line. Water sloshed around her boots as she stepped into the shallows and brought the rod overhead. A few back-and-forth whisks sent the line soaring out over the water. She played the fake insect across the rippled surface, letting the fly lie and jump like a real bug. Seth had been right about one thing—being at the river was therapeutic. She inhaled, the scents of moss and wet rock relaxing her. The river held good memories. She and Seth had spent many days on its banks back when they’d had free time, before their marriage had been strained by parenthood, dual careers, and his overprotective nature.
Walking on Her Grave (Rogue River Novella, Book 4) Page 1
