by Loyd, Sandy
Table of Contents
Title Page
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
Chapter 41
Chapter 42
Chapter 43
Chapter 44
Chapter 45
Chapter 46
Chapter 47
Chapter 48
Chapter 49
Chapter 50
Chapter 51
Chapter 52
Chapter 53
Chapter 54
Chapter 55
Chapter 56
Chapter 56
Chapter 57
Chapter 58
Chapter 59
Chapter 60
Chapter 61
Chapter 62
Chapter 63
Chapter 64
Chapter 65
Chapter 66
About the Author
Excerpt from The Sin Factor
Other Books by Sandy Loyd
Shattered Dreams
Sandy Loyd
Shattered Dreams
Copyright © 2016 Sandy Loyd
ISBN: 978-1-941267-22-6
Published by Sandy Loyd
Edited and Formatted by
Pam Berehulke, Bulletproof Editing
Cover design by
Kelli Ann Morgan
Inspire Creative Services
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems—except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews—without permission in writing from the author at [email protected]. This book is a work of fiction. The characters, events, and places portrayed in this book are products of the author’s imagination and are either fictitious or are used fictitiously. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental and not intended by the author.
For more information on the author and her works, please see www.SandyLoyd.com.
This book is also available in print from some online retailers.
Prologue
“It’s so peaceful here.” She sighed and angled her head to eye the lights off Key Largo, the first Florida Key once you left the mainland. Barely visible in the distance, the twinkling added romance to the balmy June air. “I love how the moonlight shimmers off the water.”
The sailboat’s soft pitching, gently tossing back and forth in the light breeze, lulled her into swaying along with both the movement and the soft music drifting from below.
“Isn’t it a gorgeous night?” she asked when his gaze followed hers.
“Gorgeous.” His whispered word tickled the back of her neck. Heat spread as he kissed his way to her ear. His tongue circled the outside before his teeth found her lobe and tugged. “And I’m not talking about the scenery.”
“That tickles.” She giggled, purposefully ignoring the sensations, and took another sip of champagne.
“What? You aren’t laughing at my romantic efforts, are you?”
“Sorry.” Her smile turned rueful.
He was really trying, having gone to much effort for this special evening, which had an unexpected and disturbing effect. The warmth from his breath melted more of her resolve to keep him at a distance. And Lord help her, but she couldn’t stop herself from softening toward him.
His strong arms wrapped around her and pulled her against him. She rested her head in that perfect crook between shoulder and arm as his full arousal nestled against her bottom.
They stood on the deck, looking out over the moonlit horizon, and swayed a little more when the beat picked up as a new song played. Time stood still while they rocked back and forth in some kind of backward dance. A dance she had no will to stop.
“It is a perfect night,” she said. “And I do appreciate your attempts at romance.”
Somehow, he could always make her forget his faults. Past grievances evaporated, dissipating in the hidden recesses of her mind. She prayed he had changed. But at this moment, she just didn’t care. She set her champagne flute in one of the cup holders before she intertwined her fingers around his neck and brought him closer.
“So you think making love on a sailboat is romantic?” she asked.
“I’ll let you decide,” he whispered.
Once the soft words were out, their lips met. When they broke apart, she could swear she was floating.
“I’ve had too much to drink.” A burst of laughter rose up. “I’m dizzy.”
“That’s because I’m sweeping you off your feet.”
“Maybe. But kiss me again so I can be sure.”
As commanded, his mouth covered hers, definitely making her dizzier.
Chapter 1
Claire Grayson Carter felt the warm sun on her face long before she dared open her eyes. When she finally did squint, brightness invaded and pain shot through her brain. Her eyelids snapped shut.
It took a while before she risked another attempt. This time she used a hand to block out the early morning light and opened her eyes hesitantly while she slowly sat up.
Moaning, she gripped the seat to still the subtle sway of the anchored sailboat. To fend off the offensive rays and to ease her queasy stomach, she bent over with her face in her lap.
“Oh God.” Would the pounding in her head ever stop?
Why did I drink so much? That and the question about where her husband might be were her two most pressing thoughts.
“I should’ve never had that last glass of champagne,” she muttered as another wave of queasiness passed. Please, Lord, Claire prayed, get me through this and I’ll never drink so much again.
With shaky hands, she grabbed hold of the railing until a flush of perspiration passed. Then she pulled herself to her feet, taking deep breaths. Once she felt confident to move again, she raked trembling fingers through her matted hair. Resting her hand on the back of her neck, she scanned the calm seas.
A fish jumped. Its plop distorted the clear water for seconds. Eventually, the ripples fanned out and left the blue-green mirror intact.
Though her nausea had receded, little grenades inside her head hadn’t. One right after the other exploded. She lifted her hand to rub the pain away, and saw red streaks along her arm.
Startled, she glanced down. Dark stains saturated her white silk shirt that hung unbuttoned. When she caught a coppery whiff, the distinct scent of blood, her scalp tingled.
Her heartbeat quickened as she took in the teakwood deck, where a couple of drained champagne bottles and two flutes were strewn about, along with the remnants of a gourmet meal.
She then focused on a red trail that led below. Another cold sensation washed over her despite the heat of the harsh sun. Her lun
gs seized, and dread rose up instead of air.
“Carl?” She tentatively followed the dark spots that increased in size down the stairs, to the galley and open salon below, where they just stopped in a small dried puddle in front of the stove. “Carl?”
She unlatched the door to the back berth. The bed was undisturbed, and the stowed nylon bags on the teakwood floor were exactly as she’d left them the evening before.
She pivoted and stumbled toward the V-berth as the forty-foot sloop lurched unexpectedly in the water. Gripping the door frame for support, Claire climbed on top of the bed’s rumpled sheets in the center of the tiny room, pushed open the front hatch, and poked her head out.
“Carl?” she yelled at empty space. The quiet stillness of the morning was amplified as her heartbeat pounded in her ears.
Hysteria set in as another wave of nausea rolled over her, lapping at her gut like the sea hitting the beach. She dropped the hatch and had to sit a moment on the edge of the bed until the feeling passed.
The jackhammers in her head weren’t helping matters any. Neither was the fact that she felt weak. The desire to exert any effort had completely deserted her. Through sheer willpower, she mustered forth every bit of energy she possessed and continued her search.
At the door of the head, she halted with her hand on the latch. “Stop! Get a grip.” The sharp verbal reprimand worked like a crutch, and gave her the courage to open the door. Yet when she did, her fear expanded at the sight of a bloody hunting knife on the sink in the small bathroom.
She staggered two steps back, far enough to grab the galley stove, and sank onto the settee cushions next to it. Her gaze landed on the table a few feet away. The chart she’d used the day before still lay open where she’d left it.
Breathe. First one breath, and then another. Breathe.
“Okay . . . okay. Think.” Claire peered unseeing out the window at the water beyond. Why couldn’t she remember?
A few tears escaped and trekked down the sides of her face. Her memory was a blank slate after she and Carl had made love last night. Worse, the events leading up to that moment were blurry.
“Did I drink so much that I blacked out?” After whispering the words, she glanced around the open room. Nothing seemed out of place. Except dried blood.
There had to be a plausible explanation. Maybe Carl had a nosebleed and then took the inflatable to shore for a newspaper, and he just hadn’t returned yet. He probably left her a message on her cell phone.
She jumped up from the coral-colored cushions, and avoiding the blood on the teak floor, rushed up the steps to the deck outside. Seconds later, she lurched toward the stern where her cell phone was stashed. Clutching the lifelines to keep from falling, she reached for her phone and brought it to life. No new messages were on the phone, either via text or on voice mail.
When her gaze flew to the stern, hope deflated as rapidly as an inner tube with holes when she spied their dinghy bobbing in the water. Her attention then moved to the port side. Their diving gear was situated in a straight line, exactly where they’d left it the day before.
She glanced out at the crystal-clear water and spent several minutes thoroughly searching the horizon and the area surrounding the boat. The sun beat on her neck. Birds screeched and fish jumped, disturbing the quiet and indicating a morning coming to life. But no Carl.
“Carl,” she yelled.
Nothing! Claire worked to stop a fresh flow of tears and to push past her immobilizing fear as questions consumed her.
She needed help. Someone had to help her find Carl. She wiped away tears with her blood-soaked shirt, ignoring the implications, and slumped down onto the padded bench to call the police.
Spying the dried blood on her arm, she halted with the phone in midair. What would she say? That she’d woken up alone, all covered in blood, and couldn’t remember?
With no other choice, she punched in 911, closed her eyes, and hoped for the best. “I’d like to report a missing person,” she said to the operator.
After giving the woman specifics and being told someone would be there shortly, she ended the call, praying they would hurry. She’d never dealt with the police before. Considering the circumstances, the thought terrified her.
The quiet pervaded, adding to her isolation and her sense of impending doom.
Unable to simply sit still, she swiped the phone screen and hit a preset number.
“Hello?”
“Gwen?” Just hearing her best friend’s voice calmed some of her fears. “Something’s happened. Carl’s not here.”
“What do you mean, he’s not there? Aren’t you on a boat for a romantic weekend?”
“He’s gone. What’s more, there’s blood all over. I can’t remember what happened.”
“Blood? Are you sure?”
“Of course I’m sure,” she hissed, losing some of her hard-won control.
After blubbering for a drawn-out moment, she wiped her face and pulled herself together. She ran a hand through matted hair and felt what could only be dried blood. After a deep shudder, she inhaled and filled her lungs to capacity.
In a calmer voice, Claire relayed what had had happened since she woke, and finished with, “Gwen, I’m scared. There’s a bloody knife in the head. I’ve called 911. But what if they think I did something? Or worse, what if I did? It’s horrible not remembering anything. What do I tell them when they get here?”
Gwen Anderson remained silent. Claire could almost hear her efficient brain churning. The act brought a small turn to the edges of her lips as the stiffness in her shoulders relaxed. Calling Gwen had been the right thing to do.
Those thoughts stayed in place until Gwen’s next words shot through the phone.
“You should call Crystal.”
“No way. I can’t.” How could Gwen even suggest calling her sister? “I haven’t talked to her in months, and I don’t plan on doing it now.”
“You sound desperate, and desperate times call for desperate measures.”
“Not that desperate. Think of another solution.”
Claire gazed out the bow of the boat. Sunlight glistened off the azure water as billowy white clouds floated aimlessly on the horizon. None drifted close enough to the sun to darken the morning.
The day looked to be another glorious one in paradise, except she felt as if she’d dropped into hell. Her head still hurt and she could barely think, but she hadn’t lost all her wits. She was in no condition to deal with Crystal right then.
“Claire, she’s an attorney. She can advise you.”
“She’s a divorce attorney, so I don’t see what solutions she’d have in this situation.” She’d rather have a root canal without drugs than talk to her sister, especially if the conversation involved Carl. For as long as Claire could remember, Crystal Grayson had always made Claire feel inadequate, and Crystal’s mocking I told you so invaded her brain now.
“I’m betting she’d know what to do once the police get there.” Gwen was quiet for a moment. “How about if I call her for you?”
“You’d do that?” The anvil of worry on Claire’s shoulders disintegrated. Thank God. She knew she was taking the coward’s way out, but she didn’t care.
“I don’t like her either, but I’ll do it. Sit tight. I’ll call you right back.”
“Thanks, Gwen. I owe you.”
While she waited, Claire paced, holding her hands to keep from fidgeting. Every now and then she’d stop to look out over the water, hoping for . . . what? She snorted. It wasn’t as if Carl was going to rise out of the water after a long swim.
Where in the hell is he?
That sick, coppery scent rose up again, and she gagged.
Seconds later, her cell phone blared. Claire picked up on the second ring after noting Gwen’s number on the caller ID.
“What did she say?”
“She’s calling a friend.”
“She’s really helping me?” The incredulity in her voice rang out loud and clear.
“Yes, Claire. Crystal may be a bitch, but she’s still your sister, for God’s sake.”
Delving into the dynamics of her demented relationship with Crystal wouldn’t help matters, so Claire ignored the comment. “Who’s this friend?”
“Says he’s a good criminal lawyer and will know what to do.”
“Can’t say I’m not relieved.”
“So am I. Listen, I can drive down and be there in an hour or so.”
“No.” Claire sighed and focused on a couple of dolphins frolicking off Solitude’s bow. Every morning about this time, they swam past the sailboat. Her gaze fastened on the pair for a moment. As she watched, her breathing and heartbeat slowed, despite the stench and icky feeling of wearing blood.
“I don’t know what good you’d do,” Claire finally said. “But stick around. Let me talk to this lawyer. If I need moral support, you’ll be the first to know.”
“Okay.”
Claire tried to smile at the bit of humor in the one word, but the slight curl of her lips fell far short of an actual smile as she punched the OFF button and resumed her pacing.
• • •
“Roberts here,” he said in a groggy voice.
“It’s Crystal Grayson.”
Jason Roberts wiped his face and worked to clear his sleep-fogged mind. Maybe he hadn’t heard correctly. He sat up and leaned against the wooden headboard.
“Crystal?”
“Yes, and don’t hang up.”
Since their last conversation over a month ago had ended heatedly, he was taken aback with the call and wanted to hang up, but didn’t because he owed her. And one thing he knew about Crystal Grayson. She always collected her debts.
“Okay. You got my attention. So, why’s the famous go-for-the-jugular divorce attorney calling me this early and at home? We don’t go to court till the end of the month. My bill’s paid, and as I recall, I made myself quite clear during our last discussion.”
“Jason, I can’t believe you’re still pouting.”
The exasperation in her voice made Jason sigh and shake his head. The woman on the other end was the most brazen person he’d ever dealt with. Her ballsy approach reached new highs, even when compared with some true dregs of society he’d encountered as a defense attorney over the years.
