Dying for Love
Dying For Love
ANGEL NICHOLAS
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First published in Great Britain by HarperImpulse 2016
Copyright © Angel Nicholas 2016
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Cover layout design © HarperCollinsPublishers 2016
Cover design by Michelle Andrews
Angel Nicholas asserts the moral right to
be identified as the author of this work
A catalogue record for this book
is available from the British Library
This novel is entirely a work of fiction.
The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are
the work of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to
actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is
entirely coincidental.
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Ebook Edition © March 2016 ISBN: 9780008126261
Version 2016-03-01
To Grace
Table of Contents
Cover
Title Page
Copyright
Dedication
Prologue
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Epilogue
About the Author
Also by Angel Nicholas
About the Publisher
About HarperImpulse
PROLOGUE
April 19, 1986
Cassandra’s knuckles whitened on the steering wheel. A wild hare hopped across the rusty train tracks and a gentle breeze blew through the open windows, mixing freshly bloomed jasmine with the smell of poverty.
She turned. Sober gazes met hers over the worn bench seat, her children’s little faces pale in the unusual spring heat. Her sweet babies had learned early in life to be very, very quiet. If they managed to blend into the woodwork, Daddy might not notice them. Being noticed was never a good thing. Not in their home.
Sandra swallowed the sob threatening her tenuous calm and tore her gaze away.
Where was the train? Closing her eyes, she pictured the train schedule—and easy feat, thanks to her photographic memory—then glanced at the dusty clock set in the dashboard. Pointless, since it had stopped working two years ago on October 9. The night her youngest, Gracie, was born.
Hoss had flown into a rage when her water broke and soaked the car seat on the way home from a high-school football game. He insisted on going to every game even though their children weren’t old enough to play and they didn’t know anyone on the team. Reliving his long-gone glory days always put him in a foul mood.
“Don’t you have any self-control, you pathetic cow?”
Spittle flew from his mouth and his big fist slammed into the dashboard clock. She shrank against her door and wrapped her arms protectively around her swollen belly.
“I’m sorry,” she whispered. “I knew the baby was comin’. I just didn’t want to interrupt the game for you.”
Mollified, he swung the big boat of a car around. The county hospital was on the opposite side of the small, downtrodden town, a full thirty minutes from where their sagging trailer sat in the woods outside the town limits.
Hoss said they lived so far out because he liked his privacy, but Sandra knew better. He didn’t want anyone to know what went on in their home. Like it was any secret. She’d seen the way folks looked at her and her ever-increasing brood of children, curious gazes lingering on shabby clothes and the dark bruises peeking from long sleeves before sliding away.
She knew better than to expect any help. People she’d grown up with, known since she was a baby, turned their backs on the obvious signs of abuse and neglect. They still thought of the man she’d married as a hero. They saw him or heard his name and got that look in their eyes.
The quarterback who’d put their small town on the map. Took the team all the way to the state championship and brought home the big trophy. Even with the evidence right in front of them, they didn’t want to believe the good ol’ Sathers boy would beat his pretty little wife and sweet babies. Or worse.
“Momma, I have to pee.”
The soft whisper startled Sandra.
She stared down the tracks again, then sighed. “All right, Suzy.”
Putting her shoulder into it, she shoved open the car door and stood. Her five-year-old scrambled over the front seat and out of the car. It had to be urgent or Suzy wouldn’t have said a word.
“Hurry, baby.” She glanced down the tracks again.
Suzy rushed to the side of the road and slipped behind a bush to take care of business. She’d been going to pee a lot lately. Sandra rubbed her arms, worried there might be a problem.
Suffocating guilt rose. Guilt was her constant companion. What kind of mother couldn’t take care of her children? Take them to the doctor. Protect them. She tried to intervene. She always tried. Even if he beat her unconscious, it was worth it if he left her babies alone. She never succeeded, though.
The first time, their oldest was just two years old and on a crying jag from the pain of cutting a handful of teeth all at once. Sandra had seen the rage in his eyes and stepped in front of him when he reached for the baby. Hoss threw her across the room, bruising her entire backside black and blue and knocking her unconscious. But the worst had come after. When she’d opened her eyes again, hell had risen from the bowels of the earth and taken over her living room. The sight of him hurting their little girl was seared into her brain.
She wouldn’t have to worry about her babies much longer. She glanced again at the tracks. From a long way off, a piercing whistle blew. Her nerves trembled—almost broke.
Squaring her shoulders and firming her chin, she took a deep breath.
Panic crawled up her throat, so she took another breath. She smiled through the open window at her little ones, sitting so quiet in the backseat. Gracie, her precious blue-eyed girl, sat on the farthest side of the car in her high-backed infant seat. There weren’t enough seat belts, so as the littlest, she was the only one securely buckled in.
The train whistle blew again.
“Time to go, Suzy.”
“Comin’, Momma.”
Suzy appeared a few seconds later, her dingy white shirt tucked neatly into her worn plaid skirt. She smoothed her neat braids as she climbed the side of the road. On impulse, Sandra knelt on the hard-packed dirt road and gathered Suzy into her arms. Tears she refused to shed burned her eyes.
“I love you so much. You know that, right?”
“Yes, Mama.”
Sandra reluctantly released her and rose. “Go on, baby.”
Suzy climbed across the seat and into the back. Legs trembling, Sandra stepped into the car and settled behind the big steering wheel. Driving had come back as easy as pie, despite not having done it for years. Her husband insisted on taking her and the children into town whenever they needed anything.
“Can’t have my family wandering ’round without my protection now, can I?” An ugly grin twisted his lips, his dark-blue eyes hard.
They never went anywhere without him. Not since she’d made the painful mistake of talking to the sheriff about her husband’s violent outbursts. The sheriff had heard her out with polite deference, then sent her home and gone straight to his old football buddy. The broken leg she suffered as a result had never seen medical attention. She’d walked with a limp ever since.
One last time, Sandra turned around. A smile trembled. She met the gaze of each of her babies, her heart overflowing with love.
They looked so pretty. She’d dressed them in their Sunday best, hand-me-downs and thrift-store finds, before leaving the house an hour ago. They were early, but she didn’t want to risk missing the train. Besides, she couldn’t stand being in the house another minute.
Her gaze lingered on the baby, still so tiny and fragile. Gracie’s little arm was swollen and bruised, her face splotchy from the silent tears still trailing down her pale cheeks. Sandra recognized the signs of a broken bone. Her belly clenched and her hands fisted. The animal she’d married had finally gone too far.
The brilliant slash of blood on the baseball bat she’d used on his head flashed in her mind’s eye. Nausea rose, but she choked it down. He was still breathing when she’d left.
How long before someone discovered what she’d done? People would be horrified, but they hadn’t lived with her husband all these years. They hadn’t seen what he’d done. How he’d stolen her babies’ childhoods.
No, she was doing what was best. For all of them.
The car began to vibrate. A whimper sounded behind her. She looked out the window. The fast-moving freight train came around the curve in the tracks.
Finally. Her shoulders sagged and tears she’d held back for years stung her eyes.
Finally.
Dusk settled around them. The lead engine completed the turn and the blinding headlight lit the interior of the car. The whistle blew, long and hard. Metal brakes shrieked. Gracie began to cry, but Sandra shut out the sound. The train wouldn’t be able to stop or slow down in time.
She’d planned their location well. With a 4.0 grade-point average throughout high school, her teachers had predicted a bright future for her. Such a shame she’d waited until now to apply her sharp intelligence. She’d had a beautiful life back then. Supportive home environment, loving parents…she missed them so much.
“I’ll see you soon, Mom and Dad,” she whispered. “You’ll finally get to meet your grandbabies.”
Sparks flew beneath the train as it roared toward them. The engineer pulled on the whistle; the high-pitched wail ear-piercing. Behind her, stifled sobs joined Gracie’s and the handles clicked uselessly on doors rusted shut years ago. The car rocked with the force of the oncoming train. The lines of an old lullaby ran through her mind.
Rock a bye, baby, in the treetop.
When the bough breaks, the cradle will fall.
Down will come baby, cradle and all.
She resisted the urge for one more look at her babies. Not the time to be weak. She had to do this one thing for her girls. Be strong. There was no other choice. No other option.
Dear God, I’ve been a miserable failure my whole life. I don’t deserve any favors, but please … Please, take care of my babies.
The brilliant white light grew in strength until it blocked out everything else.
“Momma?” a little voice whimpered.
CHAPTER ONE
Twenty-five years later
“Sweet angels in heaven, I need coffee.”
Grace Debry walked into her kitchen, hand outstretched for salvation in a coffeepot, and tripped. Her hip smacked into the granite counter and tears of pain blinded her. She righted herself, rubbing her hip, blinked her gaze clear and screamed.
Her kitchen had been ransacked. A sea of kitchen gadgets covered the pristine black counters. Kitchen towels were everywhere. Spatulas, a meat tenderizer, large spoons, and a collection of other utensils spilled from drawers. The oven door was wide open. Her entire collection of cookware covered the stovetop and sink.
“Purple dandelion blood.”
She covered her mouth, her hand trembling. If only she hadn’t given up swearing. Her foster mother had hated swearing with a passion. Always said it showed a severe lack of vocabulary. Pulse thundering in her ears, she stepped back and took in the rest of her condo at a glance. A well-executed swear word would make her feel so much better right now.
The peaceful serenity of her neat living room and cozy furniture arrangement made the carnage of her kitchen all the more bizarre. She wrapped her arms around her ribcage, trying to still her trembling. The front door and balcony slider were securely dead-bolted.
Maybe she’d woken in the middle of the night and trashed her kitchen? She shook her head. Sleepwalking wasn’t part of her repertoire. She nibbled on her lip. No, not possible. She’d shared numerous bedrooms growing up—not to mention the occasional bed. She would know. Foster kids were not merciful creatures. Neither were jealous co-workers, come to think of it. She’d kept so much to herself since moving to the area, she didn’t know anyone outside of work. Except the little elderly lady downstairs. She couldn’t imagine her or anyone else she knew indulging in a little B&E for kicks and giggles. Or screams.
Swallowing to moisten her dry mouth, she braved the kitchen again. Her heavy marble rolling pin rested against the carpet edge at the entrance. So that was what she’d tripped over.
Grace focused on the pantry door.
A kernel of caution nudged her. The intruder could be behind that door. She snatched the marble rolling pin off the floor and faced off with her frosted-glass pantry door. Reaching for the gleaming silver handle, her tongue glued itself to the roof of her mouth.
Banging against her front door ripped another scream from her.
“Grace? Are you alright, cher?”
Hand pressed against her racing heart, Grace spun and leapt over the mess covering her floor. She glanced at the wall-mounted clock in her living room. They weren’t carpooling today, which meant Lisette had heard her scream from across the hallway. Grace would be mortified about screaming later. Right now, she was grateful for a friend.
Grace looked through the peephole. Her petite Cajun neighbor from New Orleans bounced on the other side, anxiously twining her long hair around her fingertip. Grace unlocked and opened the door with hands that trembled.
Lisette burst through the opening. “Mon amie! What happened?”
Grace took her time shutting and locking the door. They’d become instant friends when Grace had moved in six months ago, but a lifetime of keeping her own council gave her pause.
A hiss of breath sounded from across the room. Grace turned. Her neighbor stood in the arched entrance to her kitchen. She should have known the warm bundle of energy, otherwise known as Lisette de LaCroix, aka Lisie, wouldn’t wait for an invitation.
“Soc au’ lait! What happened?”
Grace sighed, some of her fear draining now that she wasn’t alone. “I don’t know. I found it like this when I walked in for my coffee.”
Lisette’s impossibly big brown eyes widened. “Surely you heard something?”
This had happened while she’d slept. Grace paused in the middle of the living room, light-headed at the realization that an intruder had ransacked her kitchen while she slept just a room away. Her knees trembled. She snapped her spine straight and sucked in a deep breath.
Joining her friend, she shook her head. “I wear noise-cancelling earbuds at night.”
“Maybe it was done while you were at work yesterday?”
“No …”
Grace stared at the pantry door. She hadn’t checked inside yet. Hefting the rolling pin she hadn’t even thought to put down—latent terror, no doubt—she carefully maneuvered through the maze of kitchen gadgets. Her pulse skipped a beat.
“What’re you doing, cher?”
With a shaky exhale and shakier smile, she glanced at Lisette. “I was just getting ready to check the pantry when you arrived.”
“Check for…Oh!” Lisette’s eyes narrowed. She quickly selected a copper-bottomed skillet, then nodded. “Ready.”
Grace considered asking her to leave for half a beat. She’d feel awful if anything happened to the first real friend she’d made since high school. No way Lisette would go without a fight, though. Stomach clenched tighter than her hand around the marble rolling pin, Grace faced the pantry, yanked open the door and flipped on the light, ready to brain anything that moved.
Empty.
She sagged against the door frame. The floor was piled high with foodstuffs, miscellaneous kitchen tools and dishes, leaving the shelves bare. Her pantry hadn’t escaped her uninvited visitor, but at least the culprit was gone.
Thumbnail caught between her teeth, she turned. “Why would someone break into my place only to mess up my kitchen?”
Lisette tapped the saucepan against her thigh, arched brows drawn together in a frown. “I don’t know, but I don’t like it.”
The buzzer on the coffeepot went off. Grace jumped and slapped her hand over her mouth to smother a shriek. Just the coffeepot, Grace. Get it together. She glanced at her watch.
“Oh, crap. I’m gonna be late for work.” Leaping over a saucepot, spatula and potato masher, she ran to the bedroom. “Crap, crap, crap.”
At least her makeup and hair were done. Throwing on the outfit she laid out last night would take two minutes, racing down the three flights of stairs and along the sidewalk to her car two and a half, and the drive to the office ten—fifteen if traffic was snarled.
“You can’t go to work. You have to call the police and report this.”
Grace tugged her skirt over her hips and zipped it, frowning. “Why?”
Lisette blinked. “Because your home was broken into, cher. The police are here to protect you. Let them do their job.”
She snorted and pulled her blouse over her head, muttering, “They wouldn’t know how to do their job with a flashlight, map and CliffsNotes.”
“Pardon?”
“I don’t see the point.”
Lips tightening, Lisette planted her hands on the generous curves of her hips. “What’s wrong with you? You act like it don’ madda’! I’m a fixin’ to do it myself.”
Grace winced. Whenever Lisette’s Louisiana drawl thickened, the poo was about to hit the fan. If she started spewing French, it was time to hit the deck. Grace slipped on her shoes and jewelry, stalling. The amount of faith she had in the police could be measured in a thimble, thanks to her childhood experiences.
“Lisie, you know how my boss is. I have a presentation this morning and I absolutely cannot be late. I’ll call the police,” she tried not to gag on the lie, “the moment I get home.”
“Promise me.”
“Cross my heart.”
Lisette stepped out of the doorway and Grace flew past her. Flipped off the coffeepot, snatched up her purse and briefcase, and yanked the door open.
Lisette zapped her with a gimlet-eyed stare as she walked out. “I’m gonna be checking on you tonight.”
Grace smiled. “Thank you.”
Her friend disappeared into her own condo. Grace quickly locked her door, turned and froze. Back pressed to the door, she flicked her gaze up and down the open-air hallway. A stranger had likely stood in the very same spot before stealing inside her condo while she slept. Oblivious.
Tears stung her eyes. Her nails dug into her palm. She took a deep breath and blinked the moisture away. Life wouldn’t wait while she had a meltdown.
Forcefully shoving away from the door, she jogged down the hall. She almost tripped on the stairs in her low heels and forced herself to slow down. A goose egg on her forehead would not be a good look in the board meeting scheduled for…a quick glance at her watch nearly made her trip again. Holy rosebuds. Twenty minutes to get her butt in her office and go over the monthly report on construction progress and actual cost versus estimates before her presentation to Matthew Duncan.
Having her boss’s steely-eyed gaze focused solely on her for the space of ten minutes tried her nerves every time.
She refused to think about what it did to other parts of her body.
“Oh, Gracie. There you are.”
Oh, no. Not now. She didn’t have time. Not to mention her hands were still shaking.
Grace squeezed her eyes closed, reminded herself that she adored her neighbor, plastered on a smile and swung around. Mrs. Freeman’s massive Great Dane strolled beside her, matching his regal walk to the old lady’s shuffling gait.
“Mrs. Freeman.” Grace scanned the area for strangers. No one else was in sight. Grace relaxed a little. “How are you?”
“Just fine, dear. Off to work?”
Apollo pranced, his tongue lolling and eager black eyes focused on Grace. He never once tugged on the leash anchoring him to Mrs. Freeman.
“Yes.”
Grace sighed softly and surrendered, scratching Apollo’s head. He heaved a big doggie sigh of pleasure and leaned into her.
“What are you up to today? Breakfast with your boyfriend?”
Mrs. Freeman glowed with pleasure. “Gracie, you know Roger isn’t my boyfriend.”
“Mr. Gray adores you, and you know it. He takes you out to breakfast as often as you let him, and he’d probably take you to lunch and dinner too. Last week he even took Apollo to his vet appointment when you weren’t feeling well. If that isn’t a sure sign of devotion, I don’t know what is.”
“Roger and I are just friends. He loved his wife, and he still grieves her passing. We fill a space in one another’s life, that’s all.”
“If you say so.” She rubbed Apollo’s back. “We know better, don’t we, Apollo?”
Mrs. Freeman chuckled. “You’d better skedaddle on to work, dear. You don’t want that ferocious boss of yours getting on your case first thing.”
Grace pretended a shiver. “Heavens, no.”
“Some men hide a big heart behind a tough demeanor. My George was that way.” Mrs. Freeman’s eyes went misty. “Tough as a pit bull on the outside, soft and affectionate as an old tabby cat on the inside. Your Mr. Duncan might just need a good woman to tame him.”
“Maybe, but that good woman won’t be me.” Grace glanced at the parking lot then did a double-take. Her car wasn’t in its usual spot. The pit of her stomach fell. “Where’s my car?”