Evil Eye
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.
Paperback ISBN
978-0-9995553-9-2
eBook ISBN
978-0-9995553-8-5
Contents
ALSO BY AMANDA MCKINNEY
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
CHAPTER 20
CHAPTER 21
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)
Sinister Secrets (A Black Rose Mystery, Book 5)
Dragon’s Breath (A Black Rose Mystery, Book 6)
Skull Shore (A Black Rose Mystery, Book 7)
For Mama
CHAPTER 1
8:30 p.m.
“You’re sure she said she was going to the library?” Scar clicked on her high beams as she turned onto the dirt road.
“Yeah, returning some books she’d checked out to help with the creepy corpse case. Scar, you're worrying for nothing. She’s probably home, dancing around in her pajamas, making a five-course meal for herself with the music blaring. You know Fi.”
“She’s not home. I went by there. It’s just… Fi never turns down an invite to the Black Crow Tavern, or hell, anywhere with booze. It’s just odd she’s not returning my texts.” Or, calls.
“Humph. Well, she’s probably still at the library, then, with her cell on silent. You know what a hag Ms. Thorne can be.”
The library’s been closed thirty minutes, Scar thought but didn’t want to alarm Roxy, who was at home on the receiving end of TLC from the sizzling hot fire chief for her sprained ankle. Just the latest injury in another week filled with dead bodies and evil spirits in Devil’s Den—a small, country town that seemed to have more than its fair share of homicides.
Lately, anyway.
She glanced up at the cloud creeping over the almost-full moon, then back at the clock. “All the same, Rox, I think I’ll just swing by the library anyway on my way home. Go relax. Stay off that ankle.” She heard faint giggling through the phone. She shook her head and rolled her eyes. “Good Lord, can you please wait until we hang up?”
Another giggle. “Sorry… Weston’s just…”
“I know. We’ll talk tomorrow.”
“Time to get a boyfriend, Scar.”
“Time to hang up, Rox.”
“Love you, Scar.”
“Love you, too, Sis.”
Scar glanced at her texts one last time, then tossed the phone on the passenger seat. Roxy was probably right—Fiona had her phone on silent, or off… or something.
Her Jeep hit a pothole, startling her and bouncing her out of her seat, which did nothing to help the anxiety that had crept up over the last thirty minutes. The library—a Devil’s Den historic landmark—was located just on the outskirts of town, down a dirt road surrounded by woods. And a lonely dirt road after nightfall was the last place she wanted to be at that moment.
She blew out a breath and straightened the woven peace-sign that hung from the rearview mirror—a gift from the local psychic, Opal, who’d hired Scar to track down the cause of her dwindling savings account, which Scar did after discovering Opal’s jaded ex-husband forging her signature on checks he’d stolen after the divorce.
The psychic should’ve seen that coming, right? Regardless, she’d thanked Scar with a trinket to ward off evil spirits and a free reading that hinted at a difficult time in the coming weeks.
A difficult time.
It was the understatement of the century. Over the last few weeks, the women of Black Rose had been beaten, bruised and tested, perhaps more than ever before, and it was no coincidence that their trials and tribulations started the day after they’d stumbled upon Krestel, the evil witch of the Great Shadow Mountains, revealing her for all to see. For the first time, the rumors and legends were proven to be true. Krestel really did exist and walk among them—that is until she mysteriously escaped her jail cell and went into hiding. Devil's Den had been in a constant state of fear since that day. The gossip was rampant and the side-long glances Scar and her sisters had been getting had become unnerving.
But that was okay. She and her sisters, Dixie and Roxy, and their assistants, Fiona, Raven, and Harley, were six of the toughest, smartest, badass women around. Glances and whispers were nothing compared to what they encountered day to day as six of the top private investigators in the country. No one challenged them—only whispers behind their backs. The only man that could come close to giving them a run for their money was their office manager, Ace. His hacking skills were in a league of their own, along with his IQ, and his ability to juggle multiple women at the same time. They were an extremely close-knit group—a family—and nothing could take that away. She just wished the damn warning bells telling her something was wrong would go away.
She bounced over another rock and heard the ping of glass in the backseat.
Dammit.
She slowed and glanced back at the bouquet of spring flowers secured tightly on the floorboard behind the passenger seat.
She sighed.
Paul Schmidt.
The man was not giving up. She had to admit, it was charming and flattering, but no matter how many flowers, how many boxes of deluxe chocolates, and how many I hope you have a great day texts he sent, she couldn’t bring herself to look at the assistant district attorney in any way other than a friend. She wished he’d just let go of the prospect of a relationship between them. Stop sending her gifts... except for the chocolates, which she'd discovered had some sort of hypnotic power over her. She couldn't resist them—she knew this because she'd officially gained three pounds since meeting Paul months ago while working a case about voter fraud. The ADA was handsome enough, with salt-and-pepper hair, bright blue eyes and confidence for days, but no matter how hard she'd tried, she felt no chemistry between them. And for Scar, chemistry was a must—the kind of make-your-knees-weak chemistry. The kind of chemistry that was like a force, a magnet, pulling two people together. The kind of chemistry she hadn't felt in years. Years. Her sisters would tell her it was because she worked too much, not allowing any time for dating. When she wasn't working, Scar spent every spare second with her head buried in one of the thousand books she owned... when she wasn't playing with her dogs, of course—her one and only true love. Dixie had her guns, Roxy her shoes, and Scar, her precious dogs. Yes, she definitely felt more chemistry with her pooches than with the ADA. His latest show of affection came just days after their office of Black Rose Inve
stigations had been targeted by Krestel, sending a message of revenge with a massive explosion. The card read I hope these flowers bring you light during these dark days.
Difficult times and dark days.
She took a deep breath, inhaling the evening air, thankful she'd taken the top off her Jeep. Spring had officially found the Great Shadow Mountains and although the sixty-degree breeze whipping through her hair was a little cooler than anticipated, she was glad she had the fresh air swirling around her, reminding her to breath deeply, be in the moment, and not allow her thoughts to run away.
Of course, Fiona was fine.
But she just wanted to be sure.
She pumped the brakes as she rounded a tight corner and her attention was drawn to the sky where the light of the moon was suddenly dimmed by grey puffs of color, snaking over the bright circle in waves, faster and faster.
She frowned. What the hell? Those definitely weren’t clouds.
A chill ran up her spine, then, the smell hit her nose.
Oh, no.
She pressed the gas, speeding up the steep hill that led to the library. As she topped the road, her mouth dropped open. Bright orange and red flames roared through the library windows, illuminating the trees surrounding it. Black smoke barreled out of the roof, floating to the dark sky above.
The left side of the building had already caved-in.
Oh, my God.
She slammed the brakes, her stomach clenching as she spotted Fiona’s truck, the only vehicle in the parking lot.
“Oh, shit,” she barely breathed out, skidding to a stop just inches from Fiona’s bumper.
She shoved the Jeep into park, grabbed her cell phone and pushed out the door, not bothering to close it. Millions of small, grey particles floated down from the sky, speckling her black hair. The books—the thousands of books that had once lined the library walls were burning to dust, carrying through the wind like snow.
Her heart raced as she ran up to the truck window and peered inside, praying to see Fiona’s beautiful little face.
No one.
Shit, shit, shit.
She tried the door—locked. Her eyes darted around the cab noting Fiona’s designer purse and cell phone sitting on the front seat. She turned and sprinted across the parking lot fighting the panic that was beginning to bubble inside her.
“Fiona?”
She ran up to the building, looking for any point of entry that wasn’t crumbling to the ground.
“Fi! Fiona?!”
Her heart hammered as she frantically looked around.
One more time, “Fiona!” Her throat stung as she screamed her name.
She shielded her eyes from the relentless heat as she jogged up the stone steps that led to the front door. The raging fire popped and hissed in front of her. Tears welled in her eyes, and she wasn’t sure if it was because of the smoke or panic.
She took one more inhale and screamed, “Fiona?”
The breeze shifted, blowing smoke into her face. She coughed and slowly backed down the steps.
“Oh, my God,” she whispered as she clicked on her cell phone.
“Well, hi again…”
“Rox.” Her voice strong and steady, “I need Weston and the entire fire department at the library now; it’s on fire.”
“What?!”
“Fiona’s truck is out front.”
“What?!” The panic in Roxy’s voice only lasted a split-second. “We’ll be right there.”
She clicked off the phone and began jogging to the far side of the building, looking for any sign of her beloved Black Rose sister.
Suddenly, a flash from the side.
She stopped on a dime, whipping her head around.
The orange glow of the fire reflected off a tall silhouette darting past her, into the woods.
“Hey! Hey, stop!” She spun on her heel and took off, spinning damp grass up from the ground as she pressed into a sprint. She burst into the woods, slapping the tree branches away from her face.
“Stop!”
Darkness engulfed her.
She slowed—not because she wanted to, because she had to. There was no way in hell she could sprint through the thick underbrush without light. But there was no way the mysterious figure could, either.
She jumped over a rotted log, stumbled, but caught herself on a tree trunk. She paused to listen, blinking a few times, giving her eyes a moment to adjust. A cloud drifted from the moon, allowing a dim light to shine through the tops of the trees.
She looked around.
A large rock just ahead of her with freshly smeared mud told her she was on the right path, but the crack of a branch a few feet away told her she was closer than she realized.
She slowly turned in the direction of the noise.
Bingo—an outline of the runner, pausing to listen, just as she was, a few feet in front of her.
She narrowed her eyes and sucked in a breath. One, two... she silently leapt over the rock, nimbly bouncing off the next two on her tiptoes, then jumped down onto the ground, inches from the dark silhouette.
The figured turned at the sound of her feet hitting the earth, and she lunged forward, reaching for the black sweatshirt, her fingertips grazing the thick cotton material just before an arm swung around at lightning-fast speed.
She ducked, dodging the blow by a mere inch, then crouched and lurched forward like a cat pouncing for its prey, but it was too late.
Heavy footsteps disappeared into the darkness.
Shit!
Chest heaving, she straightened and looked toward the direction the runner had taken. To the left and right were miles and miles of dense woods, with plenty of places to hide, but the mystery person ran straight ahead, taking a steeper path that led to the cliff that marked Hell's Cove, soaring high above Devil's Lake—with only one way down.
She blew out a breath.
Who the hell was that?
CHAPTER 2
Scar took a deep breath to ease her racing heart. Her legs were tingling, not just from the sprint through the woods, but from the adrenaline that was now coursing through her veins.
Again, who the hell was that?
She reached into her back pocket, soaked with sweat, and pulled out her phone. She turned it on, using it as a flashlight, which unfortunately only illuminated a two-foot beam in front of her. She scanned the ground, hoping to see a solid footprint that she could pull a cast of, but only saw smears of mud.
Dammit.
Whoever that was, they were fast as hell.
Why did they run from her?
Did they start the fire?
Was it possible they’d seen Fiona?
She turned back toward the library. The fire had doubled, the bright light flickering through the cracks between the trees. Her stomach dropped.
What the hell was happening?
She shone the light on the ground and began jogging back to the building. With tunnel vision, she searched for footprints, anything the mystery runner might have dropped, or any sign of Fiona.
She swept the light across the ground, replaying every interaction she’d had with Fiona that day—no comments about plans for the evening, no arguments with anyone, no deranged boyfriend to consider. No, nothing about Fiona’s day raised any red flags.
Roxy said Fiona went to the library right before eight o’clock to return books…
Her mind was reeling and she didn’t even notice the sirens wailing in the distance or the trucks barreling down the dirt road. The loud honking, shouting men, and noise from the fire hose buzzed in her ear like an annoying little bug. She stopped, lifted the flashlight and shone it into the tall trees that surrounded her.
She scanned down the trunks to the thick roots curving up like snakes through the ground. She slowly swept the light along the dead leaves and stopped on something black wedged beneath a root.
Was that…?
She leaned closer.
A black Manolo Blahnik high heel.
H
er heart skipped a beat. She lunged forward, squatted down, and picked it up. Her heart raced as she turned the leather six-inch heel over in her hand.
Size six-and-a-half.
Fiona’s shoe.
Her gaze shot up, focusing on the library. Relief flooded her. Fiona was not burning to death in the building. Fiona was still alive, and somewhere in the woods.
She pushed off the ground. Okay, now they just had to find her.
Think. Get a grip and think, Scar.
She took a deep breath, another, and another. She felt her heartbeat start to steady. She felt the calmness that she’d spent years refining, begin to take hold as her mind switched from panic—of the unknown—to the cool-headed investigator she was known for.
She stared down at the shoe, trying to ignore the pit in her stomach.
Fiona was alive but in trouble.
CHAPTER 3
“Get your hands up.”
She jumped at the deep, menacing voice behind her and raised her eyes from the shoe in her hand. She was suddenly aware that she had no clue how long she’d been in the woods, or who the hell had just stealthily crept up behind her.
“I said,” the voice sneered, “get your hands up and turn around.”
She slowly raised her hands—one hand holding her cell phone, the other the pricey black heel—and turned, angling the light from the phone so she could see the face that belonged to the intimidating voice.
Dressed in a black DDPD T-shirt and khaki tactical pants, Officer Luke West stood like a statue in front of her—with a gun pointed directly at her forehead. Recognition flickered in his eyes, and for a split-second, he actually grimaced.
Grimaced. At her.
She gritted her teeth and fought an eye roll. Officer West. Fucking great.
He lowered his gun, his gaze as icy as the tone of his voice. “What the hell are you doing out here, Miss Knight?”
Knowing that her relationship with the officer was shaky, at best, she bit back one of the hundred smartass comments rolling around in her head. She lowered her arms, the light from the phone leaving his face. Ahead of her now stood the dark silhouette of a massive man, with a burning building at his back, and a flashlight in his hand. He looked terrifying. But terrifying isn’t the word she’d use to describe Officer West. No, the word she’d use would be asshole.