Evil Secrets Trilogy Boxed Set

by Vickie McKeehan

  CHAPTER 16 Book 1

  She heard the loud rock music blaring from inside the car first before she watched the Mercedes make the sharp turn onto that familiar gravel driveway and drive past a sign with faded orange lettering that read, The Sundown Ranch. Even in the dark, she saw the car pull up to the weathered farmhouse—and knew what was about to happen to the old couple sleeping inside.

  There was something familiar about the two people who got out of the car, something in the way they swaggered along the path, past blooming coreopsis heavy with blossoms, past fragrant lilacs, and brilliant red hyacinth that lined the foot path up to the front porch. She watched as they walked past two rocking chairs that sat empty, gently swaying in the hot night breeze.

  One of them took out a key to the front door. The old couple had trusted them enough to give them a key to their house.

  Inside the living room, family pictures lined the walls. She moved with the killers along the wall, looking at the old wedding photographs first, then at the baby pictures of a young boy with doting parents. As the boy grew, there were pictures of him smiling, sitting on top of a horse.

  There were school photographs; more photos of the same boy, gapped-tooth, holding a bat in his baseball uniform, and then finally, one of a solemn young man in his soldier’s uniform. In slow motion the scene moved into a neat, tidy, and old-fashioned kitchen. But they were messing up the order of the place, going through drawers, pulling everything out, leaving clutter behind in their wake.

  The killers wore gloves and dark clothing. She could see that clearly now as she watched one of them pick up a knife, exchange words with her cohort before moving out of the scene while the other one stayed back, started shoving bullets into a handgun.

  But then the scene shifted to the bedroom. She tried to warn the people what was about to happen. She shouted at them to wake up, to move, to get out of the house before it was too late.

  But soon the shadow fell across the bed. And no matter how loud she screamed, the sleeping couple didn’t wake up, didn’t move.

  She heard a string of obscenities, shouting, and an ugly argument. There was something familiar about that, too, as she listened, and she knew the commotion would wake up the woman.

  She tried to scream they were coming, to get out but they didn’t hear her.

  Sure enough, when the gunman saw the woman start to sit up, the gunman took aim and fired, hitting the woman solidly in the chest. She watched as the gunman fired again, this time hitting the man in the middle of his tanned, weathered forehead, just like before.

  The couple was dead. And nothing would ever change that.

  Kit woke clutching her throat, trying to breathe. She had to fight for every breath, had to have air. She tried to scream.

  Her squirming woke Jake, who only saw that Kit was having difficulty catching her breath. He quickly tried to calm her down by rubbing her back and shoulders, trying to get her to relax her muscles long enough to slow down her need for air. As he did so, he caught the time on the digital clock beside the bed. Three minutes after three. “I’ll be damned.” When he met Kit’s eyes, he said simply, “You had another dream.”

  Jake cradled her in his arms, gently rocked her, and started rhythmically rubbing her chest, talking to her. “Relax, just relax; there you go. Calm down. Catch your breath, nice and easy. Nice and easy; breathe, calmer, calmer; come on, breathe out. Breathe in, slowly.”

  He started massaging her neck and shoulders. When her breathing returned to normal, he helped her sit up. But she was still shaking as if cold. The room felt warm to Jake, not chilly enough for a blanket, but Kit acted as if it were twenty degrees below and colder than a night in Alaska. He got up and grabbed a blanket from inside the box at the foot of the bed. He threw the blanket around her, wrapping her up in his arms. Her body shook with little spasms, and she made little hiccupping noises in her throat.

  “How about some water?” he asked.

  She shook her head and squeaked out, “Don’t. Leave. Me. Alone.”

  He climbed back in bed, crawling over her legs and Pepper. She rested her head on his shoulder, and they both leaned back against the headboard. They stayed like that until Kit closed her eyes, and he laid her back down on her pillow.

  Jake finally drifted off.

  But Kit never really got back into a sound sleep. Even with Jake there, she tossed and turned. Her mind raced with a dozen questions. That couple...who were they? It had happened a long time ago. But now, she knew without doubt why the killers seemed so familiar.

  And how did she feel about the fact that both her parents had lied to her, lied about a fake marriage, a fake divorce. Why would they do that? What had brought the two of them together in the first place? She wondered if Gloria might be able to offer up any clue as to why.

  After some time, she looked at the clock on the nightstand; it was four-fifteen. She might as well get up and do the baking. But when she turned over, Jake was sleeping on his back. Her breath caught in her throat just realizing she had him in her bed.

  The longing hit her.

  She weighed her options. She could crawl out of bed, start her day, let him sleep in peace, or she could play. For a woman used to sleeping alone, Kit decided to take advantage of the situation.

  With the tips of her fingers she followed the outline of his mouth. He didn’t so much as stir. She put her lips to his and gave him a tugging kiss. Other than moving his lips in and out in a kind of sucking motion, he kept right on sleeping. She nuzzled his neck, placed tender little kisses in strategic places on his chest, and then moved down to his belly hoping he’d wake up enough to take her in his arms. But all he did was utter a half-hearted little moan. She lightly traced around his lips with her tongue, slowly working her way into his mouth little by little.

  Suddenly, he reversed their positions. More awake, he covered her mouth. “You’re killing me, woman. You know that, don’t you?”

  She wrapped her arms around his body. “Killing you is counterproductive. Let me show you what I had in mind.”

  As it got lighter outside, Kit stayed curled up next to him with her rear end snuggled up against his stomach. They’d had one incredible night after one incredible afternoon, and he still wanted more. He wouldn’t mind waking up like this for the rest of his life.

  Beside him, Kit stirred. Strands of hair fell across her face. With his fingertips, he pushed them back before running a hand down the length of her body, coming full circle to rest his hand on her breast, rubbing a thumb against her nipple.

  Without turning over to face him, Kit responded to his touch by nestling into his body. “Why do you suppose they call it sleeping together when that’s the last thing you get to do?”

  “We spent the night together.”

  “There you go.”

  “I didn’t hear you complaining at four o’clock.”

  She shook her head. “No; as I recall, that was you.”

  “I came through, didn’t I?”

  “But I did all the work.”

  “It was your turn to do all the work.”

  “Really? We take turns?” She asked, as she burrowed her bottom into his stomach, still facing the opposite way.

  “Oh yeah, we take turns. That must mean...” As he drew back her hair to nuzzle her neck, Jake noticed a small rounded scar on the upper portion of her left shoulder where the shoulder ends, just before the arm begins. He hadn’t noticed it until now, but he’d been exploring more interesting aspects of her body. The moment he touched the indentation, he felt her tense. It was smaller than the size of a dime, but he could feel the mark it had left on her otherwise perfect skin. He gently rubbed the surrounding area, feeling the round groove with the tips of his fingers and wanted to know, “Where’d you get this scar on your shoulder?”

  She could lie to him, make something up about falling out of a tree when she was little, or say that she’d had some kind of nasty accident. But she hated the idea of outright lying. And what
if Gloria had already told him? But then if he already knew, why would he have to ask?

  To Jake, the scar looked like a punched-out, exit wound from a bullet. Then to satisfy his curiosity, he turned her slightly to see if there was a matching one on the front. Sure enough, there was a much smaller indented mark on her upper arm. “I don’t know much about bullet wounds, Kit, but I’d say if I didn’t know better this looks like a gunshot wound. How’d you get that?”

  Without explanation, she broke from his arms, flopped over on her stomach, rolled her pillow up in a ball, and hid her hands underneath. “It’s just a scar from a long time ago. It isn’t important.”

  Rolling almost on top of her, he draped his arm over her back, rubbed it before stroking her hair. Her reaction told him there was more to it. He gently prodded, “Tell me about the scar, Kit. How’d you get it?”

  She didn’t answer right away. With her eyes closed, she pretended to drift back to sleep. But then barely audible, she said into her pillow in a soft voice, “It’s a bullet wound.”

  Stunned, he felt his own body tense, felt his anger rise, so much so that he was grateful she wasn’t looking at him. Why had he asked if he hadn’t been prepared for the answer?

  “Honey, who shot you?” But even as he asked, he felt the raw knowledge close up around him.

  He moved her hair out of the way, looked at the scar again, and felt the damage. From its size, he guessed it came from a small handgun, maybe a .22 caliber.

  “Alana. It happened when I was twelve. She paid a doctor to come to the house to treat me so that she wouldn’t have to take me to the hospital. Hospitals ask questions about gunshot wounds, especially when you bring in your twelve-year-old daughter. I thought Gloria might have mentioned it.” Push the memory away. Don’t let it ruin this perfect morning after such a great night.

  Jake swore. Gloria knew? Of course she did. Mention it? Once again anger rose within him. No, Gloria had conveniently left out the fact that Alana had shot her own twelve-year-old daughter. There had been no mention of it; even that day in his office when he had pointblank asked Gloria about Kit’s abuse. Why hadn’t she come clean about it then?

  With his fingers, he pulled back strands of hair from her face. He got her to turn over and took her into his arms, cradling her to his chest. “Come here honey; let me hold you. Just let me hold you. I can’t believe she hurt you like that.” He leaned his back up against the headboard and held her in his arms, as much for himself as for her.

  His mind raced with questions, but for the moment he kept them to himself. He tried to imagine what sort of circumstance might produce that kind of violent outburst even from Alana. He knew firsthand the woman had a vicious temper, had seen it in action on more than one occasion, but how could a mother shoot her own twelve-year-old child?

  She’d been left in that environment too long. Knowing what she must have endured tore something apart inside him. What else had she gone through? And the sudden thought that there might’ve been more, broke his heart as he remembered that she’d wanted his attention as a kid, that he’d done everything he could to ignore her on every level. Suddenly, it hit him that Gloria and Morty’s move from Maine had come soon after the shooting.

  No wonder Kit hadn’t cried at the woman’s funeral; why would she? Remembering how the two detectives had used that to their advantage, and might still use it, burned him.

  It felt so good to have Jake’s arms wrapped around her, holding her, keeping the memory at bay. She felt at peace. But she noticed he’d grown silent. The silence was more than she could take. Finally, she said flatly, “Jake, don’t pity me. It isn’t necessary to feel sorry for me. That’s the last thing I want. It was a long time ago and I’ve put it behind me.” Even though it wasn’t completely true, she wanted him to believe she’d done just that.

  “Was it an accident?”

  Kit shook her head, but stayed quiet.

  “You aren’t going to tell me what happened, are you?”

  “I just can’t talk about it, okay? I don’t want to go over the morbid details. I’ve tried to put that night out of my mind. And this is nice. The last thing I want to talk about right now is that night. I don’t want to ruin this.”

  He stroked her cheek with his fingertips. “Okay. I’ll leave it for now. But I’m not going anywhere; when you want to talk about it, tell me what happened, I’ll be right here. And just so you know, I don’t pity you, honey. I care about you. I want to help. How can I make it better?”

  All he could do now was hold her or listen to her when she wanted or needed to talk. He stared into her eyes and saw that distant sad look form there in the liquid pools. How would he ever get that sad look out of those beautiful green eyes?

  He bent his head down, moved her hair out of the way, kissed the scar and promised, “I won’t let anyone hurt you like that again...ever.”

  What was he saying? Didn’t he want to bolt, run the opposite way, and get as far away from her as he could? What would he do when he found out all of it?

  “What are you thinking?” he asked.

  She pushed the memories to the back of her brain. “That it was a great night last night.”

  “And the morning will be even better.”

  To prove it, he started working his way down her body with his mouth.

  CHAPTER 17 Book 1

  Several hours later, Ginger knocked on the door of the conference room in the middle of Jake’s Friday morning staff meeting, telling him, “I’ve got a Baylee Scott on the phone; she says it’s urgent, insists that I tell you it’s about Kit.” Jake was up out of the chair in a burst of movement, surprising everyone sitting around the conference table, except maybe Dylan.

  Dylan watched Jake head out the door like a shot, heard him tell Ginger that he’d take the call in his office, and wondered just how deep his friend’s feelings for Kit Griffin ran. After their heated exchange the other day, it was apparent he couldn’t talk any sense into him.

  Dylan didn’t want to see his friend suffer again at the hands of another greedy viper. So he’d keep an eye out for his friend. No woman was going to get her hooks in Jake for his money again if he could help it.

  In his office, Jake picked up the phone, noting Baylee didn’t mince words. “Couple of minutes ago Kit headed out of here after getting a call from Connor Boyd. It seems someone broke into Alana’s house, messed it up pretty badly, from what I gather, and Boyd convinced her she should go in and check the place out. Even got the all-clear from Holloway to go back inside and look around.”

  Baylee took a deep breath. “Before you say anything, I tried to talk her out of going. When I couldn’t, I offered to go with her if she’d just wait until Sarah woke up. But she decided to go alone. I didn’t speak to Connor myself, but whatever he said convinced her to head over there by herself. I know she told you about her childhood, but I don’t think you know—everything about her past. I just don’t... I...don’t think she should go back in there alone. God, I’m not even sure she can, Jake. But she told me it was time she faced her demons. And I guess, she’s trying to do that by going back. I think it’s a mistake. I’m not sure she’s strong enough to face that house, let alone face her demons.”

  Jake agreed. “How long’s she been gone?”

  “Five minutes, tops. I thought...maybe...you’d want to know. But frankly, if you don’t go after her, I’ll have to.”

  “I’m glad you called, Baylee. I need an address.”

  Kit gunned her Jeep through the yellow caution light and made a fast right onto Shannon Way, leaving behind the traffic on the busier Stone Canyon for the more peaceful, less-traveled streets of exclusive Bel-Air. Going much faster than the posted speed limit, she reminded herself what an idiot she was for coming over here by herself.

  Hadn’t Baylee offered to come with her? Why had she thought she could face her past now, alone? She might not even be able to unlock the front door, and if she did manage that much, could she take that step ins
ide, step back into the house that held not just bad memories, but so much pain, so many nightmares?

  As she pulled her car into the familiar circular driveway on Bel Green Drive and came to a stop, her hands began to shake in spite of the fact that Alana Stevens wasn’t waiting on the other side of the front door. Even knowing Alana couldn’t hurt her anymore, she still broke out in a cold sweat. Her hands even turned clammy.

  She knew Alana was dead. She’d gone to the funeral, seen the casket. Alana Stevens could no longer hurt her. Remembering that didn’t seem to help. The shaking didn’t stop. And she could feel the sweat pool on her face.

  Why wasn’t the car’s air conditioner working? She absently adjusted the vents and stared at the house, shuddering at the memory of living here. She shut her eyes against the images of things that went on inside.

  She sat in the security of the car, afraid to open the door. As if Pepper understood, instead of chomping at the bit to get out, he remained at her side.

  Today she came here trying to overcome—what? Her fear of this house? Why should she fear a house? The house hadn’t been cruel, but rather a blond bombshell of a woman who could change in and out of moods on a dime, sweet one moment, offering her little girl refuge on her lap, cruel the next, knocking her to the floor and laughing about it. All at once, Kit heard Alana’s laughter as if it was coming from inside the car. Alana’s laugh bellowed at her and only grew louder...

  Kit’s change of heart happened in an instant. She grabbed at the gear shift to put the car into Drive and jumped when Jake tapped on the driver’s side window.

  All the fight went out of Kit as she slumped her head on the steering wheel and without looking, she felt for the button that lowered the glass. Her hands were shaking so much it took several tries before she found the right button to work the driver’s side window.