House of Steel (36 page)

“He worked for your father?”

“Yeah, I met him on one of the construction
sites. He was nineteen. Gunnar - the man with the white hair -
killed him in front of me the day after Elizabeth died. They hunted
him down and shot him. My father never told me what he had done to
Elizabeth. He just said that Henry was going to hurt me,” Evie
said. “Whatever that meant.”

“Your father. Who is he?”

“I don’t know.”

“And Gunnar told you about Elizabeth before
you killed him?”

“Yes, he told me that Henry murdered
Elizabeth and raped her.”

“And you believe this Gunnar guy?”

“Yes. It has to be true. There is no other
explanation.”

“And then you killed him? Does my dad know
any of this?” Ryan asked.

“Your dad knows,” she added, hesitating at
the mention of his dad. She had played this moment out on the
airplane a hundred times over. How she would be able to tell him
that his father was gone?

“I haven’t heard from him in a few
months.”

“You kept in contact with him?” she asked,
her voice hesitant. She had known this. This is how she had tracked
him down, finding the incoming calls to Joe’s shop. It had taken
her months and treks across three countries to find him.

“Just a call, two or three times a year,
when I travel out of Norway, but you said ‘kept,’” he replied,
questioning her.

“I’m sorry?”

“You said you ‘kept’ in contact with him.
Not keep in contact with him.” He watched her, waiting for her to
respond.

“He’s gone. I’m so sorry,” she
whispered.

“Was it your father? Was it Holston?”

“No,” she started, “Well, yes. It wasn’t him
directly, but it was one of his employees.”

“God, no,” he said, shooting his body off
the bench. “You have to go.” He pointed toward the town of houses.
“You can’t be here. You’re poison. Your whole family is poison. If
it wasn’t for you hanging around that murderer, Elizabeth and my
dad would be alive. I wouldn’t be here.”

“I know,” she said, unable to argue. He was
right.

“I came here to get away from Holston. From
your family. I left my dad because I knew he would never leave. He
would never believe that Elizabeth had been murdered and for
whatever reason, Holston Parker was covering up the murder. No one
would have believed me. Damn,” he yelled as he paced along the
bench. “I thought if I left, my dad could live the rest of his life
in peace. That we both could, but I left him to die.”

“No, you didn’t,” Evie rushed. “It’s not
your fault. Your dad was catching on and that’s what got him into
trouble. He was there when Gunnar told us what happened with
Elizabeth, so at least he knew what happened. He could stop
questioning himself,” she said, trying to reassure not only him,
but herself, of what had happened to Joe. She hadn’t meant for Joe
to get mixed up in her plan for revenge.

“Don’t, Evie,” Ryan warned. Evie exhaled,
moving to stand next to him again. She knew it wouldn’t be easy,
but she couldn’t run for the rest of her life. She needed to stand
up and fight, just like Ethan had taught her.

“I came to you for help. For revenge.” The
words rolled sweetly from her tongue before her lips curled up into
a smile as he locked his eyes on hers, the waves of the Norwegian
Sea crashing in behind them.

40

The Same Day ~ Day 79: March 15

He knelt down, letting the wetness of the
muddy grass seep into his gray pants. He scanned the area, letting
his eyes fall on the green-brown strands littering the ground.
Spring would be coming soon and a renewed surge of repentance was
needed. It was a sign of new life and fresh beginnings. However,
the lines of headstones and dark graves interrupted the fresh
growth. The cemetery at St. Luke’s Parish was at capacity.

The engine of his gray sedan idled twenty
feet behind him. He wouldn’t be here long. He bowed his head and
grasped the fold of the fedora into his hand to expose his silver
speckled hair. Bringing his hat to his chest, he closed his eyes.
He opened his mouth as the quiet, daily ritual left his lips,
“Romans Chapter 10, verses 9-10. That if thou shalt confess with
thy mouth the Lord Jesus, and shalt believe in thine heart that God
hath raised him from the dead, thou shalt be saved. For with the
heart man believeth unto righteousness; and with the mouth
confession is made unto salvation. Lord Jesus, I am a sinner.
Please forgive me. Wash me clean of all sin and give me strength to
endure with your power. I ask this, in your name, Jesus. Amen.”

As he opened his eyes, he brought the white
roses to his nostrils to inhale the sweet fragrance one last time.
He laid them down in front of the black granite monument before he
stood. He pulled out the book of matches, flipping them over
repeatedly until he finally stopped at the embossed letter – V. His
finger traced over the raised letter before he tucked it back into
his jacket and brought the fedora to his head. He was a week early.
He had visited March 22 every year for the last fourteen years
since the headstone with a large cross affixed to the top had been
erected to his orders, but he couldn’t come next week. There were
too many preparations that needed his attention. It was his deepest
and only regret in life. Holston Parker would spend the rest of his
life repenting his sin and begging God for forgiveness. No date or
name adorned the headstone. Instead, one large word sprawled across
the four foot wide stone. The word met his eyes, burning into his
irises.
LIVE.

SNEAK
PEEK

UNRAVELED #2:

HOUSE OF FIRE

Prologue

“
And do not fear those who kill the body
but cannot kill the soul. Rather fear him who can destroy both soul
and body in hell.” Matthew 10:28.

The thumping in his trunk persisted.

He tapped the volume control on his wheel
until the rich soul of Frank Sinatra’s croons drowned out the
sound. The thumping ceased in Holston Parker’s trunk.

He stared at the oncoming lights, the flash
glaring in his eyes before blackness surrounded him again. He
adjusted his headlights, allowing the high beams to illuminate the
aged pavement that stretched out before him. The residual light
made the familiarity of the passing fields and patches of trees
into a glowing, comforting scene. He had driven the road many times
before, but never with a man in his trunk. At least not one that
was alive.

The Mercedes glided along the road at a
smooth forty-five miles per hour, exactly on the small tick line of
his odometer. His tires had rolled diligently at this pace along
the country roads for almost two hours. The sleek gray sedan shone
in the full moon - the epitome of luxury and success. Power. The
humming of the road soothed him, coaxed him to finish what he had
started. God had given him the strength, the will, to continue His
plan. Taking Kurt Dodd’s life was the beginning of the end.

Holston breathed the scent of polished
leather from his seats as he turned off his headlights. His
gleaming Oxfords eased off the gas while the steering wheel shifted
to the right in his hand, sliding against his palm as the gravel
crunched beneath the wheels. He begrudgingly silenced Frank
Sinatra, the echo of his serenade replaced with the thumping and
muffled yells. He entered the driveway as silent as he could; he
didn’t want her to stir, not yet anyway. She was a restless
sleeper, a result of a fateful night more than fifty years ago. It
hadn’t stopped her husband from sleeping like the dead, though. His
snores would exude from the bed and into the rest of the small,
run-down home – if it could be considered a structure fit for
dwelling.

He pulled along the dilapidated out building
behind the house, crumbling from the decades-old mortar that barely
held the bricks together. It would serve as Kurt Dodd’s resting
place, just like all of the scathing devils before him. But unlike
Kurt Dodd, the countless other men had already been dead before
they had gotten here. Gunnar had taken care of them. But now that
Gunnar was gone, Holston would have to finish the work himself.
Holston reached in the glove compartment and pulled out the eight
inch blade wrapped in white cloth. He rolled it in his hand,
letting his finger graze the tip. It was only fitting that he used
Gunnar’s weapon of choice.

The gravel crushed beneath the sole of his
shoe as he stepped out of the car, shutting the door with the
slightest of thud behind him. The black consumed him, heightening
the sounds of crickets and the rustle of leaves from the light
breeze that graced the warm summer night. The trunk opened with a
light push of his finger, the muffled screams lingering in the
air.

Kurt Dodd thrashed in the trunk, desperate
to reach the edge of the opening, but he was bound in plastic wrap
from shoulder to knee, preventing his body from moving to his own
commands. He jerked instead, like a fish out of water as it flapped
before its final breath. The duct tape secured over his mouth
puffed back and forth with his breath. Blood spilled down his face
from a wound that had rendered him unconscious after he had given
Holston Parker his boss’s name. He had thought it was his pass to
freedom, to life. But Kurt was wrong. He knew that now. Kurt Dodd
knew he was going to die.

Holston stood over him, gripping the handle
of the blade as he emulated Gunnar’s stance – the same stance he
had watched so many times before. Killing had looked effortless,
almost peaceful to Gunnar. But for Holston, it was a necessary
means to an end. The peace would come later in the stillness of the
body. The realization that he was one step closer to his final
kill. One kill closer to her. He slipped his hand into his jacket
to retrieve a small, pink ball of fabric. The mask dangled beneath
his fingertips before he tucked it inside the plastic wrap near
Kurt Dodd’s chest. The panicked eyes of Kurt Dodd questioned
Holston before he let out one last muffled scream. It was Kurt
Dodd’s last audible sound to the world.

It was time for the mask to go, for
Delaney’s sins to be buried deep with Kurt Dodd. Holston slipped
his hand inside his jacket again, this time pulling out a small
vial with a blood stained cotton swab. He hesitated for a moment,
hovering over the plastic before tucking it back into his jacket.
He couldn’t part with it yet; he may need it. Holston Parker raised
the blade above his head, holding it high and steady – the silver
glinting in the moonlight. Dodd deserved it. He wasn’t worthy of
walking the same ground Holston walked on, drinking the same water
he drank. Dodd closed his eyes.

“Lord Jesus, I am a sinner. Please forgive
me. Wash me clean of all sin and give me strength to endure with
your power. I ask this in your name, Jesus. Amen.”

Holston lifted the knife, ready to strike,
but he wasn’t Gunnar. Dodd’s eyes flashed open in one last
desperate hope of salvation. Holston slipped his hand inside his
jacket and emptied a single shot from his 9mm into Kurt Dodd’s
waiting forehead.

ABOUT THE
AUTHOR

House of Steel
is Raen Smith’s debut
novel. When she isn’t writing novels, she spends her time wrangling
two small sons, teaching at a technical college, and blogging for a
VP of a Fortune 500 company. She lives in Wisconsin with her
husband and two sons.

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ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

I have many people to thank on my arduous
journey of fulfilling my life-long dream of completing my first
novel.

A special thank you to my husband, Brandon,
for being incredibly supportive and for pushing me to pursue my
dreams. I couldn’t have done this – or much else – without you.

Another thank you goes to my two sons, Cole
and Holden, who have made me laugh, cry, and above all, made me
realize that life is short, and we all grow up way too fast.
Without your laughter and simple take on life, I don’t think I
could have brushed myself off and finished the challenge.

To my siblings (Jenny, Matt, Stephanie,
Eric, Heidi, and Chalyce), thank you for reading drafts and
offering suggestions. I know you were tired of it all – I was
too.

Thank you to my parents, Ralph and Sue, and
mother-in-law, Lydia, for watching the boys while I worked. Your
relentless work ethic has given me something to shoot for;
although, I highly doubt I will ever achieve your status.

Thank you to my editors, Alizon and Kris of
C&D Editing, for providing sound advice and to Mike Olson for
providing information on firearms. Any mistakes are my own.

Last, thank you to all the beta readers.
Your advice and keen eyes were extraordinarily helpful with this
process. Reba, your cheerleading skills pushed me forward, and
Lydia, I removed *most* of the Drews.