by Mary Stone
She could only assume they were for her, for the person she might have been if he hadn’t taken away her family.
Her mom. Her dad. Her baby brother.
More tears fell as she thought of him.
“Where are you, Justin?” she whispered.
In the distance, thunder rumbled.
She thought that was answer enough.
Noah opened his eyes a slit at the first buzz from his phone, and when it sounded out a second time, he groped at the surface of the coffee table until he found the device. Shit. He hadn’t meant to fall asleep.
Blinking to clear the film from his eyes, he swiped at the screen to open the messages. They were both from Winter, and as he read the first sentence, he pushed himself to sit upright.
“Shit,” he spat. She was at the cemetery where Douglas Kilroy’s ashes had been buried, and according to the second message, she was about to lose her mind. “Shit,” he repeated, shoving away a plaid microfiber blanket.
I’ll be right there, he replied.
Rather than focus on the reason for her sudden breakdown, he focused on how many traffic laws he could break without putting other drivers at risk. For a normal person, the drive to the cemetery at the edge of town took close to twenty minutes. For Noah today, the trip took twelve.
He didn’t know where Douglas Kilroy’s remains had been put, but the mass of gray clouds overhead meant there were few other visitors. To his relief, he spotted the little Civic after he turned around the second bend past the entrance. The roar of his truck’s engine had barely stopped by the time he hopped down to the ground and shoved the door closed.
“Winter,” he called as he neared the patch of grass.
With a faint sniffle, she pulled her stare away from the gravestone. The muddy daylight glinted off the glassiness in her eyes as she swiped at her cheeks.
“Oh my god.” He was surprised he managed to speak through the sudden tightness in his throat. “Winter, sweetheart, what’s wrong?” Before she could respond, he closed the distance between them and pulled her into his arms.
“I don’t know.” Her quiet voice was muffled as she rested her face against his shoulder. “I don’t know what I’m doing here. I don’t just mean at the cemetery, I mean, I don’t know. Everything. Why am I even in the FBI? Did I really do all this for Kilroy? Because of Kilroy?”
He stroked her long hair, just letting her talk, say whatever she needed to say.
“Noah…I based my entire life around finding that asshole, and I never bothered to stop and think what I’d do once he was dead. Maybe I just thought everything would magically fall into place like some Hallmark movie, I don’t know. I just, I don’t know what the hell I’m doing anymore.”
“Darlin’, just because Kilroy’s dead doesn’t mean the shit he did just goes away. That’s the fucked up thing about all of this, honestly. He’s gone, but all the people he hurt, they’re all still here trying to find their way.”
He paused, checking to see if she was even able to hear him through her sobs. When she looked up at him with those blue eyes rimmed in red, it nearly broke his heart.
“What do I do?”
He pressed his lips to her forehead. “You refuse to give him power over you, and you give yourself some time to adjust to this new normal. Be kind to yourself. It’s all right to be a mess.”
She barked out a laugh that was mostly a sob. “I’ve got that one down.”
Vulnerable like this, he didn’t think he’d ever seen anyone so beautiful. He had to look away.
“We’ve all got to figure out the reason we do what we do, darlin’, and sometimes, it just sucks. I’ve been there, sweetheart. When I got back to the States after being in the military so long, I didn’t know what the hell to do.”
“But,” she sniffed, “you figured it out.”
“Yeah,” he replied, brushing his fingers through the soft strands of her hair. “And so will you.”
She tightened her grasp on the front of his shirt. “I don’t want you to leave.”
“Leave?” He made a snorting sound. “Who said I’m leaving?”
In a split-second of panic, he wondered if she was privy to a piece of information he hadn’t yet heard. Was he about to be transferred? With his luck, he’d wind up in Florida, someplace where even the landscape was hostile.
“What if you find someone?” she managed around a swallow.
“Oh,” he said, relaxing a little, “that kind of leave. Trust me, darlin’, that ain’t about to happen any time soon, either. I can’t even remember the last time I went on a real date, and right now, I’m not even remotely interested in tying myself down.”
“Isn’t that usually when you find someone,” she murmured in response, “when you aren’t searching?”
“Not if you don’t want to.”
Her sniffle sounded a little like a laugh, and he took the moment of reprieve to pull away from the despondent embrace. As he tipped up her chin to meet her bloodshot eyes, his grasp was gentle, almost reverent.
“I’m not going anywhere. You’ll get through this, and I’ll still be here while you work on it.”
The seconds ticked away as she held his gaze, and even though he thought an eternity might have passed, he didn’t break his eyes away until a fat raindrop landed on the bridge of his nose. On cue, a clap of thunder rumbled in the distance.
“Come on,” he said, circling an arm around her shoulders as he turned to face their parked vehicles. “It’s supposed to pour today. Seems like a good time to catch up on some TV. We can go to my place and order some pizza. My couch is way better than yours.”
With a half-laugh, half-snort, she nodded. “You’re not wrong.”
As much as he was sure he had stumbled upon an opportunity to turn their friendship into something more, Noah had vowed months ago not to make the first move. The ball was in Winter’s court now, and he had sworn he wouldn’t renege on his conviction. But when she fell asleep with her face tucked into the crook of his neck and an arm around his waist, he wondered how wise the decision was in the first place.
She had just as much a reason to be scared of a change in their relationship as he. Neither of them wanted to jeopardize their friendship, but at what point did they take the risk?
Now?
Never?
The whirlwind of thoughts had finally died down enough for him to drift toward the start of sleep. In his mind, he walked along a sidewalk. The concrete was smooth and unbroken, but as soon as he glanced up, his foot smacked into an unseen barrier, and he started to fall.
Before he could finish his graceless descent to the imaginary sidewalk, he took in a sharp breath and snapped open his eyes. Winter issued a tired groan and shifted in place, but before he could close his eyes, he heard the buzz of his phone atop the coffee table.
He knew the device was his—Winter had set hers on the carpet.
“Dammit,” he breathed after the second buzz. It was a phone call, and at one in the morning, he could only assume it was important.
With as little movement as he could manage, he reached out to scoop up the device. He didn’t recognize the number, nor did he recognize the area code.
If this is a wrong number, I swear to god…
“This is Agent Dalton,” he answered, keeping his voice low.
“Noah?” a man’s panicked voice asked.
Though he hadn’t heard the man speak in years, he knew that voice. That voice belonged to Eric Dalton, his biological father.
“Eric…” he said sharply. After all this time, this man didn’t deserve the label of dad. Because he had no idea what else to say, he went with the inane. “Do you know what time it is? What the—”
Winter stirred, and Noah closed his eyes, willing his temper to recede.
“Noah, I-I need your help.”
He sat up straighter, frowned when Winter murmured in her sleep.
“You what?”
Winter snapped awake, even though he hadn
’t raised his voice. At least he thought he hadn’t, anyway. She rested her hand on his arm, giving him a worried look. He shook his head and mouthed, my father.
Her eyes widened, and she shifted positions as he went to stand up, needing to pace off the manic energy that now seemed to clog his every pore. From the corner of his eye, he watched her pick up her own phone, praying to all that was holy that she wasn’t about to leave. He needed her, he realized. Needed her here.
“I messed up, Noah,” Eric said.
Noah snorted. “I’m shocked.” Sarcasm was his most powerful tool in this moment.
“Son…”
Noah gritted his teeth, opened his mouth to tell the sperm donor he was talking to that he wasn’t his son. To never call him that again. To…
“I messed up bad,” Eric went on, his voice cracking now. The man was truly scared.
Noah turned in his pacing and looked at Winter. She was staring at her own phone. She was pale. She looked stricken, almost like she’d seen a ghost.
But he could do nothing because his own ghost from his past was saying, “Noah, if you don’t help me, they’re going to kill me for it.”
It had been a nice dream.
A nice, normal dream of a nice, normal run through a field of sunflowers, the warmth of the day shining on her face. Noah had been behind her, running too, a picnic basket in his hands.
That was what normal couples did. At least she thought so.
They went on dates. Went on picnics. Held hands. Kissed. Made love.
But Winter was awake now, and there was nothing normal going on inside Noah’s apartment.
He looked like he’d seen a ghost when he mouthed, my father.
In the time they’d known each other, she was ashamed that it had taken her more than a few moments to call up a name. Eric Dalton.
The man who had abandoned his son was now calling in the middle of the night. For what? Winter couldn’t tell.
What time was it anyway?
Reaching for her phone, she noted the time and something else. A missed text message from her friend in the IT department.
As Noah paced, Winter slid her thumb across the screen. Seconds later, the text appeared. She felt herself pale as she read the words.
Email location confirmed. Origination: Harrisonburg, Virginia
Her hometown.
Her heart knocked in her chest, and her breathing went shallow.
The email she’d received from someone saying he was her brother—Hey, sis. Heard you’ve been looking for me—had come from her hometown.
The place where her parents had been slaughtered, and her baby brother went missing.
The End
To be continued…
Description
Some secrets hurt; others can kill...
The Preacher is dead, the case solved, but now Special Agent Winter Black’s missing brother seems to be taunting her, leaving a trail that leads back to their old house in Harrisonburg. As she learns more, Winter must fight the urge to revert back to that primal part of herself that was set on secrecy and vengeance during the investigation of her parents’ murder. Especially now that her best friend and partner, Noah Dalton’s, own past has come back to play.
Noah’s father, Eric, has borrowed money from the Russian mob, but won’t give the FBI the whole story, even though his daughter and son-in-law have been kidnapped and the clock is ticking on their lives. What is he hiding? And who will pay the price?
A dirty cop, a RICO case, and more lies than truth. Can Winter and Noah sort out the pieces and put the puzzle together before the hostages’ expiration date? Or has it been too late from the beginning?
Book six of Mary Stone’s page-turning Winter Black Series, Winter's Secret is a twisty, roller-coaster of a ride that doesn't let up until the very last page.
1
Horror movies always made Natalie nervous, especially if she watched them late at night. Though she assured herself that the unease wouldn’t follow her home from the theater, a chill flitted down her back as she pushed open the front door to her house.
She paused to turn around and wave to her friend, but when the quiet engine hummed to life, she remembered she was on her own.
Rather than focus on the supernatural scenes that had made the film they’d just seen so unnerving, she tried to mentally take stock of the cinematography and the acting. Sometimes, if she examined a scary movie to admire all its separate parts, she could alleviate the creep of anxiety.
In fact, the friends she’d accompanied to the theater that night had given her the suggestion. They were both horror aficionados, and about once a month, they would pile on her couch to watch movies and eat popcorn and other snacks. Their comments on the plot and characters tended to keep Natalie’s fright at bay while in the comfort of her home. But they’d gone out this time.
And she, nearly thirty years old or not, was now officially spooked.
She rubbed at the goose bumps rising on her arms as the red taillights of the car faded away.
“Stop it,” she scolded herself, firmly shutting the door. She was a married woman, after all. Nearly thirty years old. She no longer believed that monsters hid in her closet.
She didn’t, dammit.
But the thoughts wouldn’t stop. It was probably because they had been in a public theater, and both friends had, rightfully so, remained silent as they ate their popcorn. Natalie could only assume the lack of commentary was the reason for the overwhelming rush of nervousness as she flicked the silver deadbolt into place.
Stepping out of her flats, she retrieved the phone from her back pocket to check for a new message from her husband. Jon’s normal shift extended into the mid to late evening hours, but he was often roped into staying to help the late-night shift supervisor fill out paperwork, take inventory, or any number of responsibilities.
Sure enough, the last message had been received a half-hour before the movie. The message advised her he wouldn’t be home until late that night, but he hadn’t sent a follow-up to estimate a time.
With a sigh, Natalie turned on each light as she made her way out of the foyer and into the kitchen. The fact that her husband, a retail manager, worked longer and more erratic hours than Natalie did as a flight attendant never ceased to amaze her. Chances were good that, by the time Jon returned home from a twelve-hour shift, she would be asleep on the couch, a half-eaten bowl of chips on the coffee table in front of her.
As she reached to open the cabinet where they kept the snacks, she paused. Then she smiled.
No, tonight she didn’t have to eat chips for dinner. Jon had made enough chicken parmesan to feed an army, and they had leftovers that would last well into the apocalypse.
The smile remained as she stepped over to the next cabinet. But as soon as she opened the door and retrieved a plate, the smallest of sounds caught her attention.
It was the sound of someone breathing.
Close.
Right behind her.
Her heart all but leaped into her throat as the icy rush of adrenaline surged through her body, but before she could move or even shout, a sharp sting bloomed at the base of her neck.
It’s just a bee, she thought. But only for a second.
Even as she raised a hand to slap at the source of the pain, darkness enveloped her vision. All the muscles in her body went slack, and she felt the plate slip from her grasp. Just as soon as the ceramic shattered against the floor, she felt herself falling, though she couldn’t be sure she was actually falling. The sensation was dreamlike, almost as if she were suspended in an unfeeling void.
The next thing she felt was her head hitting the floor, then merciful nothingness.
With a sharp breath, Natalie jerked back to consciousness. Her sleep had been deep and dreamless, and at first, she assumed she had just woken from a nightmare.
She had fallen asleep, at least she thought that must be what happened.
But if she’d only fallen asleep, then where was
she now?
The faint scent of must and mildew in the air mingled with another smell she couldn’t place. Iron? Maybe copper? Why would the air in her house smell so musty, and why would it smell like metal?
As she squeezed her eyes closed in an effort to clear her vision, to think, she reached to rub her temples…or tried to, at least. The binding around her wrist clinked as something sharp and cold dug into her skin.
“What…?” she breathed, pulling harder, then harder still. She didn’t stop until the bite of the metal into her wrist was too much to bear.
Panic clawed its way in to overtake her rational thoughts as she tried to make out the few details of the surrounding area. With her free hand, she touched the cool metal that still cut into her flesh.
A pair of handcuffs, one closed around her arm, and the other around a pipe or a pole—she couldn’t tell. She thought she could see the shape of her arm, but for all she knew, the sight might have been a figment of her imagination.
Unless the house she shared with Jon held a secret room that the realtor hadn’t mentioned, Natalie was certain she was no longer at home. The basement of their split-level residence was finished, and even the cement floor of the laundry room was more refined than the rough surface where she now lay.
Biting her tongue to stifle a surprised cry at the realization, she pushed herself to sit. Each motion was more arduous than the last, her limbs feeling as if they were trapped in a vat of molasses.
The fingers of her bound hand were cold and tingled from the lack of circulation. Strands of her shoulder-length hair were matted to the side of her face with sweat, and her head pounded with every beat of her heart.
This must be a dream. Any second, she would wake up to the drone of the television as another rerun of a cooking show came to an end.
Teeth clamped together, she pulled her knees up to her chest and closed her eyes.
Was she in hell? Had she died in her sleep? Had she ever really bought a house or married Jonathan Falkner, or was this where she had been the entire time? Had their uneventful, albeit peaceful life in Baltimore been an illusion?
