Sinister Secrets
Copyright © 2018 Amanda McKinney
Names, characters and incidents depicted in this book are products of the author’s imagination or are used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental and beyond the intent of the author or the publisher.
No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher.
eBook ISBN 978-1-7324635-2-3
Contents
Also by Amanda McKinney
Prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
About The Author
Also by Amanda McKinney
Lethal Legacy
The Woods (A Berry Springs Novel)
The Lake (A Berry Springs Novel)
The Storm (A Berry Springs Novel)
The Fog (A Berry Springs Novel)
Devil’s Gold (A Black Rose Mystery, Book 1)
Hatchet Hollow (A Black Rose Mystery, Book 2)
Tomb’s Tale (A Black Rose Mystery, Book 3)
Evil Eye (A Black Rose Mystery, Book 4)
Dragon’s Breath (A Black Rose Mystery, Book 6)
Skull Shore (A Black Rose Mystery, Book 7)
And many more to come…
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For Mama
PROLOGUE
Lightning pierced the dark sky as Misti slid into a parking spot between a rusted Volkswagen and a dented blue pickup truck.
What the hell?
She frowned at the cheap motel in front of her. A cheap motel.
This is where he wanted to meet? She’d been to some sleazy hotels, but this was just plain dirty. She was better than this, for Christ’s sake… Wasn’t she?
What a crappy way to cap off a wonderful evening.
She’d just left the most fabulous party, in the dress he’d bought for her… sent in the mail, but that didn’t really matter. She’d gotten an invite to one of the most glamorous galas in town, courtesy of him, and that was all that mattered. During the event, they never spoke, only a few stolen glances as she attempted small talk with some of the wealthiest people in the area. The relationship was usually their fun, dirty little secret, except the look in his eyes tonight had been different. Haunting, almost. Damning. And, for some odd reason, she’d felt like she had eyes on her all evening. Someone else’s eyes—hiding in the shadows watching her.
And now, he’d asked her to meet him at the dirtiest motel. Of all places.
It didn’t add up, and despite the two—okay, three—glasses of champagne she’d guzzled, a small warning bell was going off in her head.
Did he know?
Had she been caught?
She knew she was pushing it. Although her attempt to video them during their last rendezvous had been a success—if a tad blurry in spots—she’d had this sick feeling that he’d known. Over the last few days, she’d replayed her covert operation over and over in her head. She’d been very careful and had positioned the camera perfectly behind the tiny cutout in her knock-off designer bag.
There was no way he could have seen it.
Right?
When he’d sent her the text to meet him at the Towering Pines Inn after the party, she almost turned him down. But greed had taken over—as it did so many times—and she thought if she could get one more recording. One more, crystal clear, not blurry. One more to really seal the deal.
Greed had decided for her once again, and here she was.
She bit her lip as her fingers nervously tapped the steering wheel, and as if being pulled like a magnet, her hand slid down to the gear shift.
Reverse.
Reverse, Misti. You got what you needed last time. Go home.
A low rumble of thunder sounded in the distance. She glanced up at the pitch-black sky, then shifted her gaze to the dense woods that surrounded the motel—the dark, mysterious, rumored-to-be-haunted Great Shadow Mountains, looking creepier than ever against the stormy night.
She looked back at the decrepit motel where a grisly murder had taken place no more than a few weeks ago.
A grisly murder.
Her pulse picked up. She contemplated leaving, but then her thoughts drifted to the last time she’d been with him. How wild it was—not to mention the best sex she’d ever had in her life. He was selfish, no doubt about that, and a bit lacking where it mattered, but he made up for it by making sure she was pleased at the end of their time together. It was a pride thing, she assumed. He couldn’t fail, at anything, and that was just fine with her. Better than all that, the man was rich. Born into money, and it was no secret. He was a man that got what he wanted, a charismatic, conniving, little snake that always got his way, which was perfect for his day job. Yes, he was spoiled in every way.
Rich, rich, rich.
And important, by most people’s standards, anyway.
Ever since their first hook-up, he’d made her promise not to tell anyone. The press would have a field day, after all. She obliged, of course, and had kept up her end of the deal.
But that deal didn’t specify no video cameras.
Or, no blackmail.
A wicked grin cracked her overly made up face. She could practically smell the hundred dollar bills coming her way. She knew he’d do anything to keep their little affair a secret, including paying her handsomely.
God, she wanted to be rich. She wanted a life where she didn’t have to worry about money every damn day. No stress, carefree. No drama. Over the last forty-eight hours she’d daydreamed about what she was going to do when she got his money. First, she’d throw away the horrible knock-off she’d been carrying on her shoulder and buy herself a real designer bag.
A real one.
Black… no… red. Bright red. Bright red to match the shade of lipstick she was known for. Bright red to match the fiery attitude that drove her to live life on the edge. Bright red to match his fancy little sports car.
A subtle screw you.
She let go of the gear shift.
She pulled down the mirror and checked her reflection, smirking at the red gloss that sparkled on her lips. Her dark eyes were lined heavily black, her cheeks lightly dusted pink. She wore her long, blonde hair down—he liked to pull it, which she wasn’t really a fan of, but whatever.
Okay, she looked good.
Money and sex. The words chanted through her head like a pep talk. Money and sex.
The nerves began to fade, replaced with excitement for his touch. His money. If nothing else, she knew she’d have a hell of an hour. As she always did with him.
She turned off the engine, popped in her favorite little blue pill and grabbed her stupid fake purse.
The cool wind whipped around her as she stepped out of the car onto the wet pavement. Dead leaves spun around her red high-heels.
More spring storms on their way.
She closed the door, and a chill ran up her spine, causing her to pause.
Why the hell was she hesitating so much? She’d been with him three times already… What was so different about this
time?
She shook her head, waving away the warning bells, and stepped onto the sidewalk, glancing at the room numbers.
Three-thirteen, three-thirteen…
She paused at the end of the building where the sidewalk wrapped around and peered into the darkness. The light above the walkway was out, of course, and just a few feet beyond the edge were the woods.
Thunder boomed. Closer this time.
She shivered.
Gripping her purse straps, she rounded the corner and descended into the darkness.
Three-eleven, three-twelve, and on the very end, three-thirteen.
A dim light shone through the edges of the window. She paused at the doorway. Her stomach clenched with nerves—again.
Maybe she shouldn’t…
The door opened.
“Hi.” His silhouette filled the doorway.
She forced a smile. “Hey.”
“Come in. It’s about to hit.” He’d taken off his suit coat and loosened his tie, and in his eyes were the same dubious spark—like he saw right through her.
She shouldn’t have come.
“Let me take your coat.” He said, with a touch of urgency in his voice.
As she shook out of her fake cashmere, she looked around the dingy motel room. A king-sized bed with an obnoxious multi-colored comforter filled most of the tiny room. Two nightstands—one with a bible on it—a television, small desk, and a bathroom. She wrinkled her nose, imagining what the bathroom looked like. Dear God, she prayed their sexcapade didn’t end up anywhere close to that room. Her gaze shifted to the desk directly in front of the bed—perfect for her camera.
“Man, you really went all out with this motel.” She walked to the desk, and with her back to him, slid her hand inside her bag and clicked on the camera.
“Everywhere else was booked.”
She turned quickly, cocked her head. “Seriously?”
“Yes.” He avoided eye contact.
She narrowed her eyes and looked him over. There was definitely something off with him. It wasn’t just that he was abnormally rushed, or the tone of his voice… It was that look in his eyes—something dark.
He turned to her, locking onto her gaze.
Goosebumps ran over her arms. She shouldn’t have come. She’d pushed it too far.
She needed to get the hell out.
She cleared her throat. “Um, you know… actually, they said the storm might be pretty bad… So maybe…”
Before she could finish, he quickly closed the inches between them and stared down at her.
Her heart started to race.
“Not yet,” he said. “We’ve got some things to do, first.”
Without preamble, he leaned down and kissed her. Not a soft, sensual kiss, but a greedy, forceful, ravenous kiss, his mouth devouring hers.
He swept his hands under her sweater and onto her plump breast. He popped her bra, ran his fingers over her nipple and squeezed—hard—sending a sexual shockwave through her body.
She kissed him back, wildly.
She ripped off her shirt, and he took off his. He gripped her at the waist and tossed her onto the bed.
He pulled off her heels, yanked her jeans and panties down, and crawled on top of her naked body.
He hovered over her, his eyes locked on hers as he licked his fingers, a trail of spit hanging from his mouth as he pulled them away. He leaned into her neck, caressing her skin with his tongue, and swept his hand down her ribcage, down her stomach, and finally between her legs. She released a low groan as his fingers slid over her, slowly at first and then faster and faster.
She felt his breath heavy on her throat as his fingers worked her below, fast, hard strokes until she released.
“Oh my God.”
She felt him move off the bed and when she opened her eyes, he was standing over her, his gaze shifting from her to the desk—where her purse sat.
Panic momentarily stopped her heart.
Her eyes rounded as she looked back at him.
Be cool, Misti, be cool.
She pushed up on her elbows, noticing the bulge in his pants. She cocked her head and flashed a playful grin. “Your pants are still on.”
“Come take them off me.” His voice was low and deep. “That’s what you want, right?”
She swallowed the knot in her throat and pushed off the bed. “Alright.”
He stood rigid as a stone as she undid his designer belt and tugged down his jeans.
“What do you want,” she asked, although she already knew.
“For you to return the favor.”
Her heart pounded as she slid down his briefs and slowly got onto her knees.
With his hand firmly on the top of her head, she returned the favor, pleasuring him in his favorite way.
Twenty minutes later, Misti pulled into her driveway, cut the engine and blew out a breath.
That was close. But, it was done.
Done.
A small smile crossed her red, smeared lips.
Sex and money. Two of life’s greatest gifts.
She grabbed her crappy purse and pushed out of the car. The rain was coming down in sheets, and it had been a hell of a drive home, especially in the dark.
She darted across the driveway and jumped onto the porch.
The reflection of headlights behind her bounced off the front window. She looked over her shoulder and frowned as she inserted the key into the door. Someone had been behind her the entire drive home. Was she being followed?
Surely not.
The lights took a curve in the road and slowly faded into the darkness.
Humph.
She opened the door and immediately squeezed her face, cringing at the sour scent of spilled wine.
Damn her roommate!
The first thing she’d do when she got the bastard’s money was get a designer bag. The second, her own damn place. She didn’t care if it was a trash can. She was sick of living with people.
She quietly closed the door and locked it. She didn’t want to wake her roommate—not that she could, the drunk was probably passed out, like most evenings. She silently padded across the dark living room and stepped into her bedroom, closing the door behind her.
As she reached for the light, a heavy hand wrapped around her mouth.
CHAPTER 1
A faint sound of thunder rumbled in the distance as Fiona carefully stepped over a jagged rock, her body numb with pain.
Rain. Just freaking great.
The bottom of her feet were ripped to shreds from walking barefoot through the rough terrain all night. Her clothes were torn, her exposed skin including her face, was scratched to hell. More than anything, though, was the splitting headache, like daggers piercing her brain, that had only gotten worse since she’d awoken alone in the middle of the woods.
In the middle of nowhere.
And now—now—she was going to have to deal with a damn thunderstorm.
She crawled up a massive boulder and looked at the angry, ominous clouds above her, then at the steep cliffs enclosing around her.
She was in the bottom of a ravine.
How the hell was she going to get out?
At least it was morning, she thought. A dreary, overcast morning, but morning nonetheless. Anything was better than the inky blackness she’d been walking blindly through all night.
But, what day was it?
How long had she been out?
What the hell had happened?
The last thing she remembered was finding the Great Shadow Book of Secrets, then turning around to see Krestel, the evil witch who’d penned the legendary spell-book, standing behind her.
That was it.
A bright light, then her world went black.
She had no memory from that moment to when she woke up with the worst headache she’d ever had in her life… and a torn scrap of paper stuffed in her pocket.
A torn piece of paper that was finally going to end the pain and torment she and
her Black Rose sisters had endured over the last few weeks at the hand of the witch. It was the silver lining to a night that was the thing of nightmares.
After her brain had cleared of the fog and her eyes adjusted to the darkness, Fiona had dusted herself off and began hiking through the woods, praying to find someone, or something, that would tell her where she was. She’d hiked, and hiked, and hiked, alone, with no food, water, and only one Manolo Blahnik. No cell phone, no gun—which was less than ideal when she came across the sparkling, beady eyes of a mountain lion watching her from the bushes. She was sure that was it. Her life was going to end with her head between the lion’s jaws. Instead, though, the massive beast watched her, idly, as she slowly tiptoed away, thanking the good Lord above for not only sparing her but also for the fact that she’d somehow managed not to pee her pants. She could handle the embarrassment of being stupid enough to venture into a secret room in a haunted library alone and being caught off-guard by a witch… but pee pants? No, way. Above all else, a woman needed her dignity.
It had been the longest night of her life, and now, finally, daybreak was coming.
Sprinkles of rain dotted the sharp rocks around her. Not a single tree, bush, or plant. Nothing but huge, gray boulders and random sticks.
And… A shoe?
She frowned and squinted. Either she was going crazy—which under the circumstance was something to consider—or not six feet from her was a loafer sticking out from behind a boulder.
What the hell?
She grabbed the edge of the rock, slid down, and maneuvered between the rocks. Her pulse picked up as she neared the shoe, becoming more and more certain a foot was attached to it.
The sprinkles turned into a steady rainfall as she stepped up to the boulder hiding the rest of whatever was behind the shoe. She carefully placed her foot alongside the brown loafer and peered over.
A chill shot up her spine as she looked down at a man, sitting with his back against the gray rock, his legs straight out in front of him and his arms limp against his sides, with his palms facing up as if he were asking for something. He wore khakis, a blue button-up under a brown blazer, and a red, oozing dot between his eyes.