Afraid

by Lisa Jackson, Alexandra Ivy, Lisa Childs

Genres: Crime Fiction; Suspense

Synopsis

St. Cecilia's School for Girls in Salzburg, Austria, is a haven for the daughters of the rich and famous. Here, scandals are buried and secrets hidden. But for three former students, evil is about to resurface . . .
 
LUCY
Lucy Champagne was sent to St. Cecilia's after her movie-star mother was brutally attacked by her sleazy boyfriend, Ray Watkins. Lucy's damning testimony landed Ray a twenty-five-year sentence. But now, Ray is free. And he's going to find Lucy and make her pay, no matter how far and how fast she runs . . .
 
RAYNE
Rayne Taylor found unexpected happiness at St. Cecilia's, until her roommate, Natalie, committed suicide. Only when Rayne finds a box of mementoes from that time does she realize how wrong she may have been about Natalie's death—and how far someone will go to keep the truth hidden . . .

ERIN
Erin MacDonald remembers little about the long-ago night she and her sister, Anna Beth, were kidnapped. While Erin was found safe, Anna Beth vanished forever. Now Erin has reluctantly come back to the family estate, where Detective Rafe Montego hopes to finally crack the case. But as flashes of Erin's memory reemerge, she learns how deep the danger goes . . .

Release date: February 22, 2022

Publisher: Zebra Books

Print pages: 416

Sample

Zac Evans pulled the square plastic tray out of the microwave and headed to his desk. Once seated, he removed the clouded film to reveal the limp noodles covered in a weird red sauce and splotches of white that was supposed to be cheese. He grimaced. Was there anything sadder than spending a Saturday night at his desk, eating mystery lasagna?

Not that his evening would have been much different if he’d been home. He was just thirty, but his days of crazy party weekends had ended when he was eighteen.

The cost of marrying his high school sweetheart just days after graduation. And divorcing her just four years later.

Working up his courage to take a bite, Zac was thankfully distracted by the sound of a buzzer that shattered the silence. Shoving himself to his feet, he crossed the planked floor to the monitors that were mounted on the wall over the old wooden filing cabinets. Technology mixed with history. It was a deliberate choice he’d made when he’d taken over the position as interim sheriff in Pike, Wisconsin.

A quick glance at the monitor revealed a tall, slender man who was looking directly into the camera to reveal his golden blond hair and blue eyes. He was wearing a heavy leather jacket to combat the early November chill and black slacks.

Kir Jansen.

Surprised by the unexpected visit, Zac glanced at the old-fashioned clock on the wood-paneled wall. Seven thirty. Odd time for a social call.

Pressing the locking device that he’d had installed on the front door, he spoke into the intercom. “Come in.”

Kir disappeared from view, and Zac moved to pull open the door to his office. The sheriff ’s department took up most of the old courthouse, but he was located at the front of the building. Within a few seconds his friend was strolling through the reception area and into his private space.

Coming to a halt in the center of the floor, Kir lifted his brows as his gaze swept the recently remodeled space. Kir’s father, Rudolf, had been sheriff in Pike until a shooting had forced him into an early retirement. Kathy Hancock had taken over and done everything in her power to wipe away any trace of Rudolf. And the temporary sheriff who’d briefly taken over after Kathy’s abrupt departure had left it, no doubt realizing there was no point in making any changes when he was going to return to Madison in a matter of weeks.

“Wow. You’ve made some changes.”

Zac shrugged, moving to lean on the corner of his desk. Over the past six months he’d donated the plastic and rubber furniture to the local school and removed the carpeting along with the heavy curtains that blocked the windows that offered a beautiful view of the town square. He’d also raided the storage rooms to find the previous handcrafted wood furniture that had been there since the courthouse was built a hundred years ago.

He didn’t ask himself why he’d been determined to create a style that suited his taste when he was just the interim sheriff, especially when he hadn’t done a damned thing at his parents’ farmhouse in the eight years he’d lived there, but he was glad that he’d gone to the effort. There was a sense of comfort each time he walked into this room.

“I wasn’t really into the whole Ikea vibe,” he told his friend.

A wistful smile touched Kir’s mouth. “It looks like it did when my father was sheriff.”

“Is that good or bad?”

“Perfect.” Kir turned to face Zac, his brows arching at the sight of the steaming container on the desk. “Am I interrupting dinner?”

“If you wanna call it dinner.” Zac smiled wryly. As tall as Kir, he had thicker muscles from his years of working on his father’s farm. Even after he’d sold off the dairy cattle and rented out the fields to his neighbor, there was an endless number of chores that demanded physical labor. His hair was also a darker shade of blond and his eyes were green with flecks of gold. His mother claimed the gold was the result of being blessed by a fairy when he was a baby. Of course, his mother also said that God had given her only one child because he was so special, so her belief system was suspect. “My father would have called it hog slop.”

“He wouldn’t be wrong. That’s . . .” Kir shuddered. “Disgusting.”

“Not all of us have the Kir Jansen’s magical skills in the kitchen,” Zac pointed out. The older man had made a fortune in Boston by creating a company that would take care of any tedious task. Washing a car, picking up laundry, cleaning gutters, or cooking dinner. Which meant he had a wide variety of talents, including the ability to create a cordon bleu meal.

He’d recently sold his multimillion-dollar corporation to marry the local vet, Lynne Gale, and settle down in marital bliss.

“My skills aren’t just in the kitchen.” Kir wiggled his brows. “Just ask Lynne.”

Zac held up his hand. “Hard pass.”

“You know, if you want to learn a few basic skills I’ll be happy to stop by and give you a cooking lesson,” Kir offered.

“A true friend would invite me for dinner.”

Kir smiled. “You can feed a man a fish or you can teach him to fish . . . something like that. Anyway, you can have a fish for a night or fish for a lifetime.”

Zac folded his arms over his chest, the heavy utility belt that went with his uniform rattling at the movement. “Yeah I can fish, I just can’t cook it.”

“You don’t want to cook it.”

“That too.”

Kir glanced back at the lasagna. “Does your mother know you’re eating cardboard dinners at your office?”

Zac’s mother had moved into a small house in Pike after his father had died five years ago, but she still stopped by the farm to keep his freezer filled with home-cooked dinners.

“My aunt Val in Omaha broke her leg, so Mom is there taking care of her for the next few weeks.”

“Ah.” Kir dipped his head in a wise nod. “That explains it.”

Zac grimaced, realizing that Kir assumed he was helpless without his mom. And worse, he couldn’t argue. He’d been so busy over the past six months that he’d come to rely on his mother taking care of his day-to-day needs.

“Christ,” he muttered. “I thought I felt awful eating crap at my desk. It’s worse knowing I’m one of those guys who depends on his mother to survive.”

Kir shook his head. “There’s nothing wrong with being a good son.”

“It’s pathetic.”

“No.” There was a harsh edge in Kir’s voice. “Count each day with her as a blessing. I wish I had.”

Zac understood Kir’s fierce reaction. He’d recently lost his father, and he still blamed himself for the years he’d spent away from Pike.

“You’re right,” he agreed, although he silently assured himself that he was going to spend fewer hours at the office and more hours taking care of his home.

The smile returned to Kir’s face. “And you know there is another solution.”

“Don’t say takeout,” Zac warned. “There’s nothing in town that delivers and I’m not driving to Grange.” He mentioned the town fifteen miles away. It was the nearest place with fast food.

“I was going to say you should find a wife who loves to cook,” Kir said dryly.

“I have a wife.”

The words left Zac’s lips before he realized they were even there. As if they’d been formed in the depths of his primitive brain.

Kir blinked, as if puzzled by Zac’s response, then hastily cleared his throat. “Okay.”

Embarrassed, and uncertain why he’d claimed a wife he’d divorced eight years ago, Zac pushed away from the desk. “Is there a reason you stopped by?”

Kir nodded, trying to hide his relief at the change in conversation. “I came into town to meet with a potential buyer for Dad’s old house,” he told Zac. Kir and Lynne had recently built a house on his father’s land a few miles outside Pike. “I was headed home when I noticed a truck parked on the side of the road near the entrance to the cemetery.”

“Was someone inside it?”

“Nope.”

Zac wasn’t sure what had alarmed Kir. Pike was small enough that people parked wherever they wanted. Hell, sometimes they stopped in the middle of the street to chat with a friend. If he gave out tickets to everyone who violated the parking rules, he’d never get anything else done.

“Are they blocking traffic?” Zac asked. “Or broke down?”

“I’m not sure what’s going on,” Kir admitted. “The engine was running with the headlights on bright and the driver-side door was open. I stopped to see if they needed help, but there was no one around.”

Zac frowned, searching his brain for an explanation. “They could be looking for a lost dog.”

“Could be.” Kir held up his hands. “It just seemed odd and . . .”

“What?”

Kir hesitated, as if not sure he wanted to reveal what was on his mind. “That spot has a dark history,” he finally forced himself to say. “That probably made it seem a bigger deal than what it really is.”

Zac nodded. Last year, Pike had gone through some troubled times, and Kir had been at the heart of the evil. It was no wonder he was a little antsy.

“No problem. I’ll run over and check it out.” Zac nodded toward his dinner, which had congealed into a red, gooey mess. “It gives me an excuse to avoid that.”

Kir frowned. “Don’t you have a deputy to deal with it?”

“It’s Lindsay and Greg’s weekend off. And Anthony called in sick,” Zac told him, referring to his deputies. “Again.” Zac rolled his eyes. At some point he was going to have to deal with Anthony. Unfortunately, the younger man had served as deputy the longest of the three, and he was a second or third cousin to Zac. Firing him was going to take an effort he wasn’t willing to put in. Yet. “It’s just me.”

“I’ll go with you,” Kir instantly offered.

“There’s no need,” Zac assured him, moving to grab the brown jacket that matched his uniform. Being sheriff wasn’t about being stylish. Actually, he was a walking fashion disaster. But hey, he had his weapon strapped to his hip and his official ID clipped on his shirt. That was all that was important. “Go home to your beautiful wife.”

Kir wrinkled his nose. “She called just before I arrived. We were supposed to meet for dinner but she has an emergency farm visit.”

“You’ve been stood up for a goat?” Zac teased, leading his companion out of the office and to the front door. Once they were standing outside, he locked the door and set the alarms.

“Nope, for a bloated cow,” Kir corrected him, walking down the shallow cement steps to the sidewalk.

“That makes it so much better.”

“The hazards of marrying a vet.” Kir shook his head. “They have worse hours than cops.”

“Hard to believe.” Zac glanced around the town square and nearby city park. The stores were dark and Main Street was nearly empty. The good citizens of Pike were home with their families or out of town enjoying a movie or nightclub.

Zac headed to his black truck with a sheriff’s star painted on the side, while Kir climbed into a shiny SUV that no doubt cost more than Zac’s yearly salary.

Together they pulled away from the courthouse and headed toward the cemetery on the edge of town. There wasn’t much in the way of traffic, and they were soon turning the corner onto the street. Instantly, Zac caught sight of the pickup and pulled behind it.

Climbing out of his truck, he waited for Kir to join him and together they circled the abandoned vehicle. It was just as Kir had described. The engine was still running, although there was a distinct sputter that warned it was running on fumes. The headlights were blazing. And the driver-side door was wide open.

Zac paused at the back of the beige truck, examining the rust and grime that coated every inch of it. Not the usual layer of dust that came from living in an area with gravel roads. No, this had taken years, maybe decades to accumulate.

“Do you recognize it?” he asked Kir.

“No.”

“Neither do I.” Zac would have noticed this vehicle if it’d been driving around town. He glanced down at the dented bumper. “No license plates. It might be stolen.”

Kir moved to stand next to him. “Who would steal it? It’s a piece of junk.”

Kir wasn’t wrong. If a thief was going to steal a vehicle this would be last on the list. Zac leaned into the cab to shut off the engine along with the lights. Then he reached across the dash.

“There might be something in the glove box.” He pulled out a stack of papers that were brittle and yellowed with age. Laying them flat on the driver’s seat, Zac pulled his flashlight from his belt and studied the forms. “Registration and insurance,” he murmured, leaning forward. In this area of town the streetlights were few and far between, creating a blanket of darkness that was somehow fitting for a graveyard. “The ink is faded, but it looks like the pickup is registered to a Jude Henley.”

Kir furrowed his brow. “Why is that name familiar?”

Zac returned the papers to the glove compartment and shut the door before turning toward his friend.

“The only Henleys I know used to own the local funeral parlor,” he said. “It shut down five or six years ago.”

“Is there any family left in town?” Kir asked.

“I don’t know.” Zac tilted his head back, glancing at the night sky that was splattered with dazzling stars. It was one of the reasons he stayed in Pike. Nowhere else had a sky like that. Tonight, however, he barely noticed. There could be a dozen different reasons the truck had been left there. Some kids could have stolen it to take for a joyride. Jude could have been drunk and wandered off. There could be something wrong with the vehicle and he had hitched a ride home, intending to return. But Zac had a bad feeling in the pit of his stomach. He never ignored his bad feelings. “I’m going to have a look around,” he abruptly announced.

With a nod, Kir walked beside him as he headed toward the line of cedar trees that marked the entrance to the cemetery. They stepped through the open gate and Kir paused to pull out his phone and hit the flashlight app.

“I’ll go this way,” the older man announced, pointing toward the east side of the graveyard.

Zac watched his friend disappear into the darkness before he headed up the other side. It wasn’t a large space. In the more rural areas people preferred to have family plots on their land, but it was big enough to take some time to do a thorough search. And the sharp chill in the air was going to make it seem even longer.

Swinging his flashlight in a zigzag pattern, Zac walked through the lines of headstones. He was no doubt wasting his time, but he wasn’t going to be able to concentrate on anything until he solved the mystery. And that was what made him a good sheriff, he acknowledged without boasting. He wasn’t flashy, he didn’t have a photographic memory or psychic abilities like the detectives on television. But he was ruthlessly stubborn, and once he set his mind on a task, he was like a bulldog with a bone.

The tortoise won the race, not the hare, right?

He was nearing the center of the graveyard when his light flashed over a lump of darkness lying on top of a grave. Hurrying forward, he was able to make out the shape of a human body.

Placing his fingers in his mouth, he released a sharp whistle to attract Kir’s attention. Then, halting next to the unmoving form, he crouched down. He was guessing this was Jude Henley. No doubt the man had decided he was too drunk to drive so he’d wandered into the graveyard, either in confusion or because it was a shortcut to his house, and had passed out. Lucky for him, he’d left the truck running so Kir would notice it when he drove past.

A good, solid theory. At least until Zac aimed his flashlight at the man’s face. His eyes were wide-open, staring at the sky above, and his lips were parted, as if he was about to speak. That wasn’t what caught and held Zac’s attention. It was the dark blood that coated the pasty white skin. And the perfect hole in the center of his forehead.

Shaken by the unexpected sight, Zac surged upright, the light from his flashlight jerking toward the headstone. The glow illuminated the name etched in the dark granite.

“Christ,” he muttered, just as Kir jogged up to join him.

“What is it?”

“The question is who is it,” Zac said in grim tones, returning his light to the man’s face.

Kir hissed. “Dead?”

“Yep, he’s dead.”

Zac didn’t have to check for a pulse to know the man was well and truly past saving. And he didn’t want to touch anything before he could properly set up his crime scene. He might never have had reason to use his four-year criminal justice degree until recently, but he’d been well trained.

Kir sucked in a deep breath, as if trying to steady his nerves, then he leaned over the body to study the wound.

“A suicide?”

“Possible,” Zac said. He’d already noticed the Glock G19 that was lying next to the body. He’d have it tested once he’d collected all the evidence. He swung the light toward the headstone. “But check this out.”

Kir turned his head, clearly confused. Then Zac could see him stiffen in surprise.

“Jude Henley. Beloved son and brother. Born April 21, 1966. Died November 12, 1994.” Kir glanced back at Zac. “That can’t be a coincidence.”

“No.” The fact that the truck was registered to a Jude Henley, and this body was found on the grave of a Jude Henley had to mean something. He was guessing they were related. Reaching up, he grabbed the walkie-talkie attached to his jacket. “Time to call in the calvary.”

Los Angeles, California

Then

Lucy froze.

Hiding in Mama’s bathroom.

Holding Mama’s special scissors, unable to escape.

How many times had she heard, “Don’t touch Mama’s things” from her mother, and now she was going to be caught.

She bit her lip. She wasn’t supposed to be in Mama’s suite, and she especially wasn’t supposed to be stealing the scissors, but she needed them to trim her own hair, which Mama insisted couldn’t be cut.

She was used to sneaking into Mama’s room and going through her things, playing dress-up, pretending to be a big-time movie star like Mama, who had changed her name from Christy Smith to Tina Champagne the day she’d landed in Hollywood—or so Lucy’s older sister, Marilyn, had confided. When no one was looking, Lucy had slipped into Mama’s superhigh heels, donned her sparkly sunglasses, put on her lipstick, and tried on her hats. Lucy was familiar with everything in Mama’s wardrobe and had lots of time alone to explore and touch, especially the items she was forbidden to, warned against. Even when Mama said, “That’s expensive, don’t touch Mama’s Fabergé egg pendant, oh, no, no, no,” or “That bracelet is diamonds, dear, a gift from your father who gave it to me so I wouldn’t divorce him, well, it didn’t work, now did it? But please, Lucille, leave it be,” or “You know you shouldn’t be going through Mama’s drawers, not even this nightstand. That gun is loaded, so hands off, missy. It’s very, very dangerous, but Mama needs it for protection. Dear Lord, Lucy, am I going to have to put a lock on my door?”

But she never had.

And now, if Mama were to come into her bathroom . . . Lucy would be in big, big trouble. Slowly, silently, she backed away from the door that was only open a crack and into the shower room. Heart pounding, she sent up a prayer to God that Mama would go right to sleep.

Then Lucy could sneak down the hallway to her own room.

Mama was rustling in the bedroom, the frame creaking slightly as she settled into her canopied bed with its twinkling fairy lights, the radio playing softly, a tall glass of her clear drink, Mama’s “nightcap” or vodka, as Marilyn had told her. Now the glass was nearly drained, a few ice cubes melting.

Good!

If Mama would just fall asleep, then—

She heard footsteps in the hallway and silently cursed her older brother and sister. It would be just like Clark and Marilyn to come bursting into Mama’s bedroom and ruin everything.

The door banged open.

“What the—?” Mama said, obviously surprised. “What’re you doing here?”

“I live here,” a gruff male voice said, and Lucy’s heart sank. Ray. Mama’s boyfriend, her “boy toy,” as Marilyn called him.

“Not anymore.” Mama’s voice was firm. Harsh. Even now, it made Lucy cringe. “Get out.”

He was big and muscly, his teeth a slash of white in a jaw that always looked like he needed to shave, and he didn’t walk so much as swagger.

Lucy didn’t like him, didn’t like the way he looked at her.

“I’m not goin’ anywhere,” he said, slurring his words. “We need ta talk. We got problems, we both . . . we both know it.”

“Our ‘problems’ are because you can’t keep your hands off other women. Younger women. Much younger women.”

“Thaaas what I wanna talk about—”

“Leave now, Ray. Or I’ll call the police.”

“C’mon, babe, you don’t mean it.”

“Try me.”

Lucy’s throat went dry, and though she knew it was crazy, she inched forward in the darkened bathroom to the doorway where she could peer with one eye into the bedroom, lit only by the fairy lights vining over the crossbeams of the canopy. Mama was lying in her usual spot, her silky sleep mask pushed over her forehead, her red hair poking out at all angles.

Ray stood next to the bed, that knowing smile pinned to his face, a drink in one hand.

But Mama wasn’t buying it. Lucy saw the fury in her mother’s face. Tina Champagne didn’t like to be bothered when she’d gotten ready for bed, her face slathered in some kind of miracle antiaging cream. Mama never allowed anyone to see her less than “camera ready.” Lucy knew it, and her sister and brother knew it, and stupid Ray should know it, too.

But Ray was pushy, and crude, thinking he could sweet talk or bully his way into Mama’s good graces. He couldn’t. Not anymore than Tina’s other three husbands had been able to when Tina had decided to divorce each of them.

Ray swirled his drink, ice cubes clinking. With the other hand, he reached for Mama’s head, snapped off her mask, and tangled his fingers in her thick red curls, drawing her face closer to him, to his waist, where his T-shirt pulled from the waistband of his Levi’s.

“Don’t,” she warned.

Lucy’s fingers tightened over the shears.

“Come on, baby. Relax.” He started rubbing his hand over the back of Mama’s neck, drawing her closer. “You know you want it—”

Mama spat through clenched teeth, “I said, ‘Get out, Ray,’ and I meant it.” She pushed him backward. Hard. Then opened the drawer to her nightstand and riffled through it frantically.

“Wha–?” He stumbled, slipping on the thick, faux fur of the white carpet. His shoulder hit the wall with a loud crash and the house shuddered. Someone down the hallway yelled. Ray tried to stand, got tangled in the cord for the fairy lights. The room was suddenly pitch black.

“Mom?” Marilyn yelled over the sound of running feet.

“Are you okay?” Clark yelled from the corridor.

“Get the hell out! Now!” Mama said into the darkened room.

“You fucking bitch,” Ray growled, and Lucy, her eyes trying to adjust to the darkness, sensed him climbing to his feet, heading toward the bed.

She opened the door and slipped through, her fingers holding the shears, point side down in a death grip.

“Stay away from me!” Mama warned. “Ray, I’ve got a gun and I’ll use it. You know I will!”

“I thought you were going to call the police,” he taunted, his voice a snarl.

Mama ordered, “Don’t!”

Lucy rushed forward.

Mama screamed as the door to the bedroom flew open, allowing in a sliver of weak illumination from the night-light in the hallway.

“Oh, Jesus!” Marilyn gasped, running inside. “Stop. Oh God, stop!”

Clark was a step behind. “What the fuck?”

Lucy saw Mama pinned to the mattress in a tangle of bedclothes, Ray atop her. Mama was struggling. He had his hands on her throat. Lucy cried out and, raising the scissors high, flung herself at the bed. Airborne, she steeled herself, then, as she landed, plunged the scissors deep.

Cascade Mountains, Oregon

Now

“Let’s go! Come on! Hurry, hurry, hurry!” Breathing hard, Lucy glanced over her shoulder. Her seven-year-old daughter was lagging again, caught in the wonder of the forest in the snow, oblivious to the fact that a blizzard was on its way and, worse than that, he was coming. “Come on, honey,” she said, trying to hide the urgency in her voice as she pulled on the rope attached to the sled carrying what was left of her life. “It’s not that much farther.”

That was a bit of a lie. They still had half a mile or so to trudge uphill on this steep trail to the cabin, hidden deep in the woods. Even so, it wasn’t far enough. No place on this earth could ever be far enough. But it would have to do. For now. Until she could figure out something else.

The cold fear that had propelled her here kept her going, forced her to keep t. . .