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“I need to teach you a lesson.” Bill’s harsh laugh vibrated through the trees and birds scattered into the night.
Tears stung her eyes, and she glanced toward the light—toward the freedom she would never know. Darkness moved into the center of the beacon of hope she once had, light still seeping around the image taking shape. She blinked, trying to bring the shadow into focus, but it was no use.
Bang!
A gunshot cut through the air, and she flinched, hurrying to cover Nora’s ears. The pressure around her ankle released, and she scurried forward.
She didn’t look back, just focused on the light and whatever angel had been sent to help her. She neared the top of the hill and slowed her pace. Her heart beat an erratic rhythm in her chest. Nora woke and a piercing cry erupted from her tiny lungs. “Shhh, baby girl. It’s okay. We’re going to be okay.”
Standing above her at the top of the hill was an old man weathered by time. Deep wrinkles rippled across his forehead and strands of what was left of his wiry white hair whipped along with the subtle breeze. His firm stance and piercing blue eyes told her not to underestimate his small stature.
“Come on, girl. Get on up here. We need to take care of that little bundle.” He lowered his rifle to his side and started back toward his house.
She darted her gaze around the backyard, but nothing lingered except a black cat sleeping on the railing of the porch. The old man stepped through the back door of his small brick house and left the door wide open. She glanced behind her, but darkness swallowed whatever laid hidden in the trees.
Is Bill dead?
She couldn’t waste time finding out. She filled her lungs with air, summoned all of her strength, and ran for the house. She didn’t know who this old man was, but one thing was certain, he’d just saved her life.
Owen Wells stood outside his grandfather’s house and took in the splintered old wood of the front porch. Pulled-down shades covered the windows, obscuring the inside of the house from anyone lurking outside. The warm morning sun had yet to dry the drops of dew from on top of the splintered railing of the porch, but no doubt the pleasant beams of light beating down on him would soon bring the blistering May heat before noon.
Sweat already clung to the small of his back, and mud splattered up his pant legs. Starting his day on the banks of the river at the crack of dawn hadn’t been fun, especially when the reason for dragging him there was murder.
A shudder ripped through him. He’d been a sheriff’s deputy for the last seven years, and he’d never witnessed the bloated face of death like he had today. Hell, he’d lived in Water’s Edge, Tennessee, his entire life and could only recall three murders. But none had washed up on the shores of the river when he was the one in charge of finding the killer.
Loose pebbles crunched beneath his boots as he closed the distance between his truck and the house. The familiar pang of guilt sliced through him. He hadn’t been here in months, but that’s the way his grandpa liked it—isolated and alone with only his constant need for answers to keep him company.
But he couldn’t respect the walls his grandpa had put up now. He had answers of his own to find, and if he were lucky, his grandpa’s neurotic habits might give him some of the insight he needed.
The ancient wood groaned beneath him as he stood in front of the dirty white storm door. He pulled the black handle, and snorted when the locked door didn’t budge.
Most people in these parts didn’t lock their doors, but his grandpa was the exception to the rule. Fisting his hand, he knocked on the door and waited. Seconds ticked by, and the whoosh of cars on the main road leading outside of town sounded behind him.
“Come on, Old Man. I know you’re awake. Answer the door.” He rapped his knuckles again. No one stood on Lewis Sinclair’s porch without him knowing about it, no matter what time of day.
The door swung open, forcing Owen to take a step back.
“What are you doing here?” Lewis pulled down his thin lips in a frown, but he couldn’t hide the twinkle in his blue eyes whenever Owen came around.
No matter how much Pappy grumbled about not wanting any company, he could never hide his secret pleasure at spending time with his grandkids. “I need to talk to you. Can I come in?”
“Fine. But don’t expect me to offer you breakfast.” Lewis turned his back and walked into the shadows of the house.
Owen snorted out a laugh and followed him inside, closing the door behind him. The stilted air inside the house engulfed him. “Want me to open a window for you, Pappy? It’s hot as Hades in here.”
Lewis waved his hand as he passed through the threshold to the kitchen, disappearing from view.
Owen sighed. He should have known better than offer a suggestion. Best to get this over with. He had too much work to waste time. He crossed the woven oval rug in the living room, following his grandpa’s path into the next room. “Do you still have the cameras in your backyard? The ones you use to watch the woods? There was an incident?—”
A young woman with her eyes cast toward her lap at the oak table halted his train of thought, a baby nestled in her arms. His grandpa sat beside her, a cup of coffee with wisps of steam spiraling into the air in front of him.
Owen tore his gaze from the dark-haired woman with long matted hair falling down her back and small scrapes dashed across her cheeks. His grandpa having any company at his home was odd, but especially a beautiful woman and a baby. “I didn’t know you had company.”
Lewis took a sip of coffee then stared at Owen. “You never asked. Now what brings you by so early?”
Pulling out a chair, Owen fought not to dart his gaze to the stranger in the corner.
He sat and scratched his whiskered chin, needing to weigh his words carefully in front of the unexpected visitor. “I need to look at the video feed of the cameras you have in the backyard.”
