Lethal Legacy Read online

  LETHAL LEGACY

  by

  Amanda McKinney

  TORRID BOOKS

  www.torridbooks.com

  Published by

  TORRID BOOKS

  www.torridbooks.com

  An Imprint of Whiskey Creek Press LLC

  Copyright © 2017 by 2016 by AMANDA MCKINNEY

  Warning: The unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work is illegal. Criminal copyright infringement, including infringement without monetary gain, is investigated by the FBI and is punishable by up to 5 (five) years in federal prison and a fine of $250,000.

  Names, characters and incidents depicted in this book are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. 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.

  ISBN: 978-1-68299-217-3

  Credits

  Cover Artist: Kelly Martin

  Editor: Fern Valentine

  Printed in the United States of America

  Table of Contents

  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

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  About the Author

  Dedication

  To the strongest woman I know, my best friend, my mom, who taught me that anything is possible, as long as we believe.

  Chapter 1

  “You’re there?”

  “Yes, waiting.”

  “And you’ve got the back-up in case this goes sideways?”

  “Of course.”

  “Good.”

  Pause. “I’ve got to go.”

  Click.

  The rain sounded like softballs pounding against the windshield. He glanced at his watch. Fifteen minutes past the arranged meeting time.

  He wiped the sweat from his forehead and ran his fingers through his dark hair. Peering out the rain streaked window, he could see nothing but an occasional flash of lightning.

  During the daytime, the park was a place of innocence and laughter, filled with giggling children and gossiping mothers. Tonight, it was desolate and pitch black.

  His heartbeat turned into a steady pounding, his palms sweaty. He closed his eyes, took a deep breath and patted the brown manila envelope on his lap.

  “Come on, come on,” he said to himself, tapping the envelope.

  He thought of her. Her innocence. She was all he had left. Guilt fluttered his stomach. This would be it, the last time. He’d be done after this one. Yes, yes, this is the last one.

  Suddenly, in his rearview mirror he saw two headlights cut through the darkness. His pulse spiked. The skin on the back of his neck tingled.

  Here we go.

  The car rolled to a stop behind him. The veins pulsated in his neck as the headlights turned off.

  Gripping the envelope, he rolled down the window. Rain poured in, but that was the least of his worries.

  A tall, dark figure in a hooded trench coat emerged from the vehicle and as if on cue, lightning struck, followed by a bellow of thunder.

  The man walked up to the car and without preamble, he opened his jacket, revealing a wicked looking revolver, then lifted a small briefcase. But before handing it over, he reached out his arm, opening his hand. Rain pooled in the large palm.

  Without words, the brown manila envelope was exchanged for the briefcase.

  He watched the man tuck the envelope in his jacket and return to the black car.

  Adrenaline pumped through his body as he looked at the briefcase sitting on the passenger seat.

  It’s done.

  Before starting the engine, he glanced in the rearview mirror and watched the car reverse out of park and drive off into the dark night.

  He released an exhale and pulled out his cell phone. His hands were still shaking as he dialed the number.

  No answer.

  * * * *

  “Daddy, Daddy, look!”

  Charles Henry knelt down and took the picture into his hands. A smile crossed his face. “It’s beautiful, sweetheart.” He stroked her long, dark hair.

  “Is that what she looked like?”

  “It is, honey.” He ran his finger over the painting. In colors of yellow, blue, brown and red, there was his wife—her mother—sitting in a beautiful dress against a tree. “Yes, she looked just like that.”

  Little Victoria beamed with pride. Jumping up and down she said, “Yay! Can I go put it on the fridge with the others?”

  “Of course. And then it’s time to get ready for bed.”

  She groaned. “Okay.”

  He watched her run down the hall in her purple floral dress, her messy hair flowing behind her. “Vee?”

  She stopped in her tracks and turned around, “Yeah, Dad?”

  Tears filled his eyes. “I love you.”

  She smiled the sweetest smile. “I love you too, Dad.”

  He slowly stood, took a deep breath and walked to the parlor.

  It was an elegant room that oozed wealth. Positioned on the far side of the house, the room boasted floor to ceiling windows with a view of the garden. The side walls were lined with shelves that held thousands of books. Most of which had been passed down from generation to generation. In the center of the room was a large sitting area accompanied by an antique coffee table. A red china rug covered the floor beneath. It was a lavish room, and he’d worked damn hard for it.

  Charles had grown up dirt poor and was ridiculed by his school mates on a daily basis. He resented and blamed his parents for his harsh upbringing. It didn’t take him long to decide he was going to be rich one day, no matter what the cost. It took half his lifetime, but eventually hard work, ambition and the keen sense to recognize opportunity had paid out well for Charles Henry.

  With the briefcase safely tucked away, he walked to the bar and poured himself a brandy on the rocks. A celebratory drink.

  Savoring the taste, he sipped and felt the burn of the liquor run down his throat. Releasing an exhale, he leaned up against the bar and glanced at his reflection in the window. He looked tired, run down. His puffy eyes were accompanied with deep, dark circles. His pale face looked pasty and thin. Living a double life will do that to a man.

  He walked across the room and sank into his oversized brown leather chair. Closing his eyes, he thought of the new life ahead of him. He would start over. He would leave the past in the past. It was over now, and he and his beautiful daughter would begin a new life. Maybe somewhere along the coast.

  He took another sip and thought of his wife. He could still remember how she smelled, the softness of her pale skin, the wetness of her lush lips. He could still remember every curve of her body, as if she were standing naked in front of him. Not even death could fade those memories. He hadn’t been intimate with another woman since she’d passed.

  Looking back, that’s when everything had changed for him. When she died, his hea
rt hardened and turned black. His vision became murky. He’d held it together for Vee, but felt dead inside. To this day, he still felt dead.

  He gazed out the windows. The sun had just set and dusk was on the horizon. Bright colors of red and orange rested on the mountains, the sky was dark blue, filled with twinkling stars. The days were growing shorter.

  He leaned his head back and closed his eyes.

  * * * *

  Charles’ eyes shot open as a fabric gag wrapped around his mouth. First confusion, then ice cold terror spiked through his veins. He frantically looked around, noticing the parlor was dark, and it was dark outside. Night had fallen; he must have drifted to sleep. The room was quiet except for the swift shuffling and heavy breath of the intruders behind him. He was pulled to his feet and thrown face first onto the red china rug.

  Vee. Oh God, Vee.

  Charles screamed through his throat until his tonsils felt like they were about to burst. He twisted and bucked but was momentarily paralyzed by a swift kick to the face, then to the ribs. He felt a pop in his side. Bright dots sparked his vision as he withered in pain. Tears involuntarily streamed down his face.

  Disoriented, he tried to see his captor’s faces but before he could focus, he was flipped on his side. One began tying his feet while the other secured his hands behind his back. His teeth gnashed the fabric gag as bile rose in his throat. Unable to move, he forced himself to open his eyes.

  The intruders were dressed in head to toe black, wearing black masks with only slits for eyes. He inhaled through his nose and screamed again, as loud as he could.

  * * * *

  Upstairs, Victoria opened her eyes. A feeling of uneasiness swept over her. She blinked a few times trying to clear her head.

  Thud. Thud.

  Her eyes widened at the strange sounds coming from downstairs. She pulled the covers back and got out of bed. After stepping into her princess slippers, she quietly tiptoed to her bedroom door and peered out into the dark hall but saw nothing suspicious.

  She walked down the hall and looked over the catwalk railing. She saw no one.

  Where was her dad?

  Holding her breath, she descended the stairs, her pink nightgown flowing behind her. One step at a time as her heart started to beat faster and instinct began to tell her something was wrong.

  She stepped off the staircase and onto the cold hardwood floor, her feet slick and clammy.

  A muffled scream cut through the silence.

  The parlor.

  She tiptoed, quiet as a mouse, across the dark house and paused at the foyer. She needed to cross the large, open space to reach the parlor. She took a deep breath and counted one, two, three, then darted across the floor and jumped against the wall to the parlor.

  Inhale, exhale. Steady breathing.

  The noises were louder now. She peered around the corner and fear swept over her as she recognized her father, gagged and tied to his favorite leather chair. She swallowed a scream, covering her mouth.

  Daddy.

  A man dressed in black stood behind him, another to his side, speaking in a low voice. She strained to listen but could hear only the sound of her thudding heart.

  From across the room, her father’s eyes met hers. Her knee bent in preparation to run to him but his eyes grew wide and panicked, telling her not to come in the room. Reluctantly, she nodded and crouched down on her knees.

  She watched the two men whisper something in her father’s ear and then rip the gag out of his mouth. A string of blood rolled down his chin. Their voices were quick and agitated, but her father didn’t speak or respond. Instead, his eyes drifted away from her and glazed over, expressionless. They asked him another round of questions, and when he didn’t respond, he was sucker punched in the jaw. Victoria heard her father release a low groan as he dipped his head. More blood streamed down his face.

  She gasped as one of the intruders pulled out a knife. Whispering something, he slowly waved it in front of her father’s face as the moonlight sparkled off the tip.

  More questions from the intruders. No response from her father. The knife was raised. Her heart stopped.

  SLASH!

  Victoria froze as she watched her father’s eyes close, his head bow and blood pour down his chest.

  Throwing her hand over her mouth she let out a squeak. She wanted to run but she was frozen, her legs wouldn’t move.

  Run, Vee, Run!

  She gripped the wall and pulled herself up. Whipping her head around, she ran on her tip toes across the foyer, up the stairs, across the catwalk and into her bedroom. She closed the door and darted into the closet. With tears streaming down her face, she crawled underneath her dresses, curled into a ball and cried as she listened to the men search the house.

  * * * *

  “Victoria Henry to see Dr. Ford.”

  The receptionist slid her glasses down to the tip of her nose and glanced at her computer screen. “Ah, yes, she’ll be right with you, Mrs. Henry.”

  “Thank you.”

  Victoria chose the end seat in the corner of the waiting room. The same seat she chose every time they came to this cold, grey doctor’s office.

  Her grandmother rubbed her back. “Are you excited to see Dr. Ford again, Vee?”

  Victoria looked down at her shoes. She hated these shoes. They were solid white, from the rubber soles to the shoe laces. Her grandmother bought them for her weeks ago and unbeknownst to her, they were a size too small. She tried so hard to please her.

  A young, brown-haired woman opened the door, “Miss Victoria Henry.”

  “Okay, let’s go, sweetheart.”

  Victoria was led through the same door she’d walked through for months. Down the same grey hall and into the same cold office. She didn’t need anyone to guide her, she could walk this office with her eyes closed.

  Dr. Ford stood up and walked around to the front of her desk. Her long auburn hair was pulled back in a slick knot. Today she wore a white silk blouse, tucked into navy blue slacks.

  “Good morning, Vee!” She kneeled down in front of Victoria. In a cheery tone she asked, “How are you today?”

  Victoria looked down.

  Dr. Ford frowned and glanced up at Mrs. Henry. “Okay, please sit where you’d like.”

  Victoria chose the same brown leather chair that she always sat in.

  Dr. Ford addressed Victoria’s grandmother, Betsy. “How has she been?”

  With sullen eyes, Betsy looked over at Victoria and stroked her hair. “The same.”

  “Okay.” Pause. “Betsy, would you mind if Vee and I do one on one today?”

  “Of course not, doctor, whatever you need.” She looked at Victoria. “I’ll be right outside, dear.” She gave an exhausted, desperate look at the doctor before leaving the room. A minute of silence ticked by while Victoria twisted her necklace in between her fingers.

  “Vee?”

  Nothing.

  “Vee?”

  Silence.

  “Vee, will you look at me please?”

  Victoria looked up.

  “Thank you. That’s a pretty dress you have on. Did your grandmother give it to you?”

  The only sound in the room was the tick, tick, tick of the clock.

  “Can you tell me how you’ve been doing?”

  Silence.

  Dr. Ford took a deep breath. “Okay, I understand.” She reached under her desk, pulled out a large pink bag and walked to the front of her desk. “Hey, I got you something.” She smiled as Victoria eyed the gift. Seeing the interest in her eyes, she took the seat next to her.

  “Vee, would you like to open this?” She held out the bag.

  A slight smile curved the corners of Victoria’s pink lips.

  “Good! Here you go, sweetheart.”

  Victoria delicately opened the bag, like a member of the SWAT team would disarm a ticking time bomb. Removing the rainbow colored tissue paper, she pulled out a large pad of white paper.

  Dr. Fords smil
e grew wider. “There’s more.”

  Victoria reached down deep in the bag and pulled out a large tin box of multi colored water paint. Underneath the box were five paint brushes, all different sizes. She paused for a moment, then traced her finger across the dry paint.

  “I know you’ve been drawing and coloring a lot lately. Now you can paint.”

  Victoria looked into Dr. Ford’s eyes. No words were spoken, but appreciation shined from her eyes. Then, she smiled. She smiled a big, teeth showing grin.

  Deeply touched by her expression of emotion, Dr. Ford fought the tears filling in her eyes. “You’re welcome, sweetheart.”

  A few moments ticked by.

  “Vee.” Dr. Ford placed her hand on Victoria’s back. “I want you to know that it’s okay you’re not speaking. I want you to know that it’s okay to take your time.” She rubbed her back. “Your grandmother loves you very much and only wants the best for you. I love you, too.” Dr. Ford swallowed a knot in her throat. “I know you don’t like coming here. And, you know what? You don’t have to again unless you really want to. But, I’d love to still see you.” She smiled, “I’d miss that smile too much.” She stroked her hair.

  “Vee, you’re a very, very special little girl. You’ve been through a lot, I know. I’m here for you whenever you’re ready to talk.” She fought tears. “I’m here for you even if you don’t ever want to talk again.”

  Victoria continued to trace her fingers over the paint.

  “Okay sweetheart, I’m going to step in the hall and talk to your grandmother for a second. I’ll be right back.”

  She stood up, walked to the door and took another look a little Victoria. Please help her, Lord.

  Dr. Ford met Betsy in the waiting room and guided her into a side room. Betsy looked hopeful. “Anything?”

  She shook her head. “No. But, Betsy, it’s been six months since her father, your son, passed.” She took Betsy’s hand. “I think it’s time to try something else. Or, at least give her a break. She’s only seven years old and it’s evident she does not like coming here. It’s also evident she has no desire to speak, yet.”

  Victoria’s grandmother shook her head.

  “Betsy, we need to stop pressing her. What she went through was extremely traumatic. This is her way of grieving. I hope it’s okay, but I just gave her a paint set as a gift. She’s expressing herself through drawing…let her explore painting, too. Instead of her coming to the office, I’d like to do home visits, if that’s alright with you.”