Fatal Inheritance (18 page)
Dear Reader,
Writing this story turned into an unforeseen challenge as the characters veered into uncharted detours and threw roadblocks in my path. I hope you enjoyed a few surprises yourself. I had a lot of fun researching antique cars and car clubs for this story, but, regrettably, could include only a few of the many fascinating details I learned. “Horseless carriage” tours sound like wonderful adventures—worth exploring if you ever have the chance.
I’d love to hear about your own exploits. You can reach me via email at
[email protected]
or on Facebook at
http://www.facebook.com/SandraOrchard
. To learn about upcoming books and read interesting bonus features, please visit me online at
www.SandraOrchard.com
and sign up for my newsletter for exclusive subscriber giveaways.
Sincerely,
Sandra Orchard
Questions for Discussion
- Josh gave up his dream of becoming a farmer, but he wasn’t willing to give
up making his home on the family farm, even for the love of a woman. What
dreams would you give up for love? - After losing her grandparents, Becki grows to realize that she’d never owned
her grandparents’ faith for herself. Are you living on borrowed faith? - Josh believes that not chasing after a woman who leaves shows respect for
her choice, whereas his sister suggests that the woman might really want him
to come after her. Have you ever kept to yourself what you’d like a loved
one to do to show his or her love? Did you hope he or she would just figure
it out? - Becki begins to feel that God is asking her to give up her grandparents’
home so she can help her sister. Have you ever felt God nudging you to give
something up for another? What did you do? - Josh’s faith is strong, yet he struggles to trust God in his relationships.
Instead he’s established a mental checklist of criteria a woman must meet, a
checklist that keeps him from risking his heart. Is there an area of your
life that you’re resistant to surrender to God? - Becki’s sister didn’t want Becki to know that her husband was abusive. Do
you think she was prompted by shame, embarrassment, pride or a desire to
protect Becki? What might prompt you to keep something from a loved
one? - To Josh’s dismay, his friend Hunter has a
tendency to speak before thinking. Does this happen to you? How might you
curb the problem? - When Becki first arrives at her
grandparents’ house, happy memories flood her mind. What kind of memories
are you creating with your loved ones? - Seeing Becki in Josh’s arms fuels Neil’s
jealousy. He resists accepting her decision to leave him, the city, her job.
Becki blames his controlling nature on his being bullied as a youth. Do you
unconsciously try to overcome a deep-rooted wound in ways that might have
unwelcome consequences? - Sunsets reminded Becki’s grandmother that
God is working behind the scenes even when we can’t always see how.
Similarly, when Becki asks Josh how he can keep believing God cares when
things go bad, he responds that he looks for the good in his circumstances.
Are you facing difficult circumstances? What good might come from them? - As welcoming as Joshua’s protective arms
feel, it’s important to Becki that Josh see her as a woman who can take care
of herself. Are you the kind of person who prefers to look out for yourself,
or do you appreciate someone looking out for you? - Scents are powerful memory triggers for
Becki. Are there any scents that stir strong memories in you?
We hope you enjoyed this Harlequin Love Inspired Suspense story.
You enjoy a dash of danger.
Love Inspired Suspense
stories feature strong heroes and heroines whose faith is central in solving mysteries and saving lives.
Enjoy four new stories from Love Inspired Suspense every month!
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ONE
S
earching for a crack house had not been in
Erica James's plans for the evening. However, Detective Katie Randall had
uttered the one sentence that could send her into one of the worst neighborhoods
in the city.
“We've found new evidence in Molly's disappearance.”
Erica let the words ring through her mind as she drove, looking
for the address of the crack house that had been raided two days ago.
New evidence.
New evidence.
“It's been three years,” Erica exclaimed. “What possibly could
have come to light now?” she'd asked, hating the shakiness in her voice, the
desperate hope that she knew was carved on her face.
Detective Katie Randall had shown her a photograph of a crime
scene. Even now, Erica's fingers curled around the steering wheel as she
remembered the little outfit clearly pictured amidst the trash and rubble.
The outfit three-year-old Molly had been wearing when she'd
disappeared from the day-care field trip to the zoo. Erica touched the picture
with a shaking finger.
“That's her hair bow.”
“We got a fingerprint from it. A girl by the name of Lydia
Powell. Her prints are in the system for a shoplifting charge two years
ago.”
“So what does she say? Did you ask her about Molly?”
“We haven't been able to find her,” Katie admitted.
“Then I will.”
Now, two days later, on a cold Tuesday evening, Erica glanced
at the sky. The sun would set in about ten minutes and she still hadn't found
the address.
In this dark, dank part of town.
Drug deals on one corner, the selling of bodies and souls on
the other. Her heart shuddered at the thought of her child being in the middle
of all of this. And yet at the same time, her heart ached for the innocents
trapped in this cycle of crime and abuse. For those who wanted out, but didn't
know how to accomplish that. Or were too young to try.
Narrowed, suspicious eyes followed her progress down the
trash-strewn street. The sun crept lower and her pulse picked up a notch.
As daylight disappeared so did the people on the street. One by
one, everyone in a yard or on a porch made their way behind a closed, locked
door.
She hadn't counted on it being dark by the time she got here.
Then again, she hadn't counted on the place being so hard to find, either. Her
GPS had led her down one street and up another until she was so twisted around
she'd never find her way back out.
For the first time since Katie had told her the news, fear
started to replace the hope she'd allowed herself to feel. She'd taken the
information and run with it. Straight into one of the most dangerous parts of
town.
What was she doing? Was she crazy?
After another hesitant second, she picked up the phone and
dialed her brother, Brandon. Nerves on edge, she watched the street as she
waited for him to answer. Finally, she heard, “Hello?”
“I think I've gone and done something stupid.”
“Who, you? You're kidding.” He didn't sound concernedâor
surprised.
With good reason, she had to silently admit. She bit her lip.
“No, Brandon, this time I'm serious.”
That got his attention. “What is it? What's wrong?”
The mechanical voice from the GPS told her, “Turn left and your
destination will be on the right.” Erica rolled to a stop and looked to her
left.
Brandon said, “Where are you?”
“Five sixty-seven Patton Street.”
“Patton Street! Are you crazy?”
Now she heard the concern. “Yes, I think so. If I stay in my
car and wait, will you meet me here?” Uneasy and on alert, she glanced around,
felt unseen eyes watching her every movement. “Because while I'm not comfortable
here, I'm not leaving yet, either.”
She heard him muttering and thought she heard the words “crazy
woman” in there somewhere. “I'm getting you home and then you're going into a
safe occupation like accounting orâ”
As Brandon continued his tirade, Erica chewed her bottom lip
and tuned him out. Brandon worked with her at Finding the Lost, an organization
dedicated to finding missing children she'd started after Molly disappeared.
Erica, Brandon and JordanâBrandon's best friend who'd needed a job and came
highly recommendedâworked together to find children who disappeared either
through criminal activity such as kidnapping, or because they ran away.
Erica glanced in the rearview mirror and saw two rough-looking
characters headed her way. Her stomach flipped. She whispered, “Oh, yeah, bad
idea. Bad, bad idea.” She had her self-defense training and her weapon, butâ
“Bad idea is right. What made you decide to go there?” he
demanded.
“New information about Molly's disappearance,” she said with
her eyes still on the rearview mirror.
Brandon paused then sighed, a small breath of understanding.
“Ah.”
Erica had to admit having a good working relationship with
several police officers afforded her information she'd otherwise have trouble
getting. Katie was her friend and Erica had proved herself trustworthy over the
past couple of years. Which was why she now found herself in a possibly very bad
situation.
A police cruiser rolled past on the street perpendicular to
hers and the two figures behind her took off. She blew out a relieved breath,
looked at her GPS one more time and turned left. And there it was.
“Give me about fifteen minutes,” Brandon said. “Stay put.”
The house she wanted loomed ahead on her right. She pulled to
the curb two houses down and cut her engine, then her lights. The street lay
empty, quiet as a tomb. She had a perfect view of the front of the house.
Night approached, sneaking in as though even it was reluctant
to be found in this area of town.
“Erica? Did you hear me?”
“I heard you. I'll be waiting. A cop drove by and scared away
the riffraff.”
“If you're determined to stay, stay in the car with the doors
locked. I mean it.”
“Okay.”
She had every intention of staying hunkered down in the front
seat and waiting for Brandon to get there.
Until she caught a glimpse of a slim figure in a hoodie,
hunched over and slinking down the street toward the deserted house.
Erica's stomach twisted. She reached for the weapon she'd
earned the right to carry in a concealed holster, but on second glance, the
person didn't look to be a threat. Male or female? She couldn't tell.
Erica glanced at the clock, then back. The figure shot a look
over a thin shoulder every so often. Finally, under one of the few working
streetlights, Erica caught a glimpse of a pale face and scared eyes that flicked
in every direction, watchful and jumpy. She looked to be about fifteen or
sixteen and walked with quick jerky steps, shoulders bowed, arms crossed
protectively across her stomach as though she wanted to make herself as small as
possible.
Excitement spun inside Erica. This girl looked familiar. Could
it be Lydia?
Did she need help? She kept looking over her shoulder.
Was someone behind her? Following her?
Erica watched for a few minutes until the girl disappeared
around the side of the house. She put her hand on the door handle. If that was
Lydia, she couldn't let her get away. She started to get out of the vehicle and
stopped when she caught sight of another figure who had emerged from the
shadows. He trailed the young girl, his steps quick and hurried.
Dread centered itself in the middle of her stomach. This didn't
look good. Her fingers tightened on the handle, everything in her wanting to
leap from the car. But she'd promised Brandon she'd wait.
When a shrill scream rent the night air, she could wait no
longer. Erica threw open the door and raced toward the dark house.
* * *
Private investigator Max Powell shifted his eyes toward
the older-model Ford Taurus parked on the street and leaned forward over the
steering wheel as though that would give him a better view.
The car's open door and empty driver's seat set his nerves on
edge. That didn't bode well. His gut tensed. Was his sister in that house? He'd
gotten word from one of his street sources that she'd been here last night and
would probably be back tonight. Max had rushed over to see if he could intercept
her.
Max got out of his truck and peered inside the empty Ford.
Relieved to see no evidence of foul play, he walked toward the house, his head
swiveling in all directions, trying to discern whether there was a threat nearby
or just someone who'd broken down and went looking for help.
Neither was a good option for the owner in this
neighborhood.
Two feet away from the front porch steps, he stopped and
checked the area one more time. The hair on the back of his neck stood at
attention and adrenaline shot through his veins. He didn't have a good feeling
about thisâat all.
The brief thought that he should call one of his cop buddies
flashed through his mind. But he wanted to find Lydia first, have a chance to
talk to her before they found her.
He'd take his chances on going in alone.
He pulled his weapon and headed toward the front door.
* * *
Erica turned the corner around the back of the house and
stopped. The door hung on one hinge, the darkness yawning beyond it now silent.
In fact, it was so quiet, Erica wondered if it was possible she'd imagined the
scream.
No. That had been real enough. Erica pictured the young girl
she'd seen walking down the street. Her destination had been this house. Had
that been her scream?
Her heart kicked into overdrive, pounding hard enough to make
her gasp.
She swallowed hard and looked around. She couldn't just stand
here waiting for Brandon. Where was he? What if the girl needed help?
Nausea swirled in the pit of her stomach as she looked back at
the house and thought about her precious baby being held in such a place.
A crack house.
One that kept its secrets hidden, maybe forever lost, her
daughter's whereabouts never to be revealed. Had Molly cried for her, expecting
her mama to come rushing in to save her?
The girl in the hoodie was someone's baby. And she might need
help.
Tears clogged her throat even as she put one foot in front of
the other to enter the black hole of a doorway. She hadn't been able to save
Molly, but maybe she could help someone else's child.
She slipped just inside and moved to the left. The kitchen. The
rancid smell of unwashed bodies, rotten food and...other odors she couldn't
identify assaulted her.
Doing her best to ignore the offense to her nose, she listened.
And heard nothing but her own ragged breathing. Erica moved farther inside. The
moonlight sliced through the kitchen window to her left, casting shadows on the
walls. Shadows that danced and mocked her. Should she call out?
Just as she opened her mouth, a creaking sound reached her
ears. A thump sounded from down the hall, a scuffle. A muffled curse.
“Help!” a high scared voice called.
Erica dashed through the kitchen and into the hall. She tripped
over the debris on the floor and managed to catch herself before she fell. Glass
crunched beneath her feet, but she didn't stop. Light pierced the darkness
behind her, illuminating the filth surrounding her.
“Hey! Who's in here?”
The deep male voice coming from behind her penetrated Erica's
fear even as she rounded the corner into the nearest bedroom only to come to a
screeching halt.
A male in his midthirties had the girl by the throat with his
left hand, a knife in his right. The girl's fingers clawed at his hand.
“Stop it!” Erica yelled. “Get away from her!”
Running footsteps sounded behind her. Erica moved and placed
her back to the wall so she could see who entered the room, but she didn't want
to take her eyes off the scene in front of her.
The attacker froze then shoved the crying young woman away from
him and stepped toward Erica, knife raised, his eyes darting toward the door
then back to her.
Adrenaline flowed, fear pulsed and she swallowed hard as she
felt for the weapon in the holster just under her left arm.
In all the situations she'd found herself over the past three
years, never once had she been forced to pull her gun.
It looked like tonight might be the night.
In the moonlight, she could make out the man's harsh features:
glittering dark eyes and a scar that curved from the corner of his right eye to
his jaw.
She shivered, notched her chin and demanded, “Leave her
alone!”
“Stay outta this, lady, or you'll be sorry,” he snarled.
“Drop the knife! Now!”
Erica whirled to see a man, weapon drawn and aimed at the young
man in the torn jeans and black sweatshirt.
Blue lights flickered and flashed against the walls as backup
arrived. The attacker licked his lips, shifted his feet.
“Drop it!” the man yelled again. The knife clattered to the
floor. Erica nearly wilted with relief. “Up against the wall!” he shouted.
More footsteps sounded in the hallway as the man spoke into his
cell phone. Erica's head spun as she watched the young girl's terrified eyes
snap to the man then to the window.
Before Erica could call out, the young teen ran to the window
and climbed out.
“No! Lydia! Come back.”
The man's shout hung on the empty air. Erica raced for the
window, the breeze blowing back her blazer.
“Police! Hands in the air!”
She spun, shocked to see an officer's weapon trained on
her.
