Page 2 of Sinister Secrets

“What’s this about?” Jake asks.

I can hear the worry in his voice, the concern that this man I have such a checkered past with is here to complicate things. The sheriff ignores him as he spots me. Our eyes lock.

“There’s a kid missing. A four-year-old boy. And the footprints we found in his backyard lead straight into yours.”

A different kind of fear ices through me as I understand what it means, why the sheriff is standing here now.

“You tried calling for him?” I ask.

“Of course we did.” He gives me an indignant look. One that sags as he adds, “There was no answer.”

The neighborhood that backs the sanctuary my grandfather left me is just starting to repopulate after the former property owners were bought out by a conglomerate—for a purpose I foiled. The new homeowners are a good thing. It means the plan to destroy my home has officially been shelved.

But this unexpected turn of events erases any shred of relief I’ve felt. The woods along the back of my property line are thick. Impenetrable in places. While a four-year-old boy might manage to slip through, a full-grown man, especially one with the sheriff’s girth, would not.

They couldn’t follow his trail, which means the child is alone in the dark facing all the hazards of the Florida Everglades on his own. I’ve seen a panther on the almost fifty acres Butch left me several times. Countless poisonous snakes. Then there’s the pond…

I say a silent prayer as I jam a foot into one of the tennis shoes by the door. “Jake, check the barn,” I say as I put on the other.

He gives me a nod of understanding and sets off. I’m right behind him, ignoring the pointed look of disgust the sheriff gives the ancient couch that we moved out front last night after we replaced it with the sofa set from my apartment as I brush by him. I had hoped to take it to the dump today, but now, as I hurry toward the back property line, I suspect it will have to wait.

I rush past the barn, the hulking building suddenly illuminated as Jake switches on the lights. I hear one of the deputies yelling, “Jeffery? Are you in there?”

“His name’s Jeffery?” I ask.

“Yeah,” the sheriff puffs from behind me.

“Which house was he coming from?”

“The salmon-colored one.”

My feet lock, bringing me to a stop. I take a deep breath. Then I break into a run.

CHAPTER 2

Out here, far away from the sounds of the city, the darkness is almost deafening as frogs and crickets shout their songs. The shrill buzz of mosquitoes carries on a humid breeze beneath a sky so big and wide and full of stars that it makes you feel lost in space, a part of something bigger. Civilization feels like a world away.

Sheriff Kingston’s labored wheezing stays surprisingly close behind me as I race toward the property’s far fence line. I know the house the little boy came from. I know that the previous owner was murdered in it.

I can only hope that tragedy hasn’t come to the new occupants as well, because that’s the spot where the woods are thinnest. Where the remnants of a path carved decades ago still exists. The little boy should have been able to hear the sheriff and his men calling for him if he were still nearby. Yet he didn’t answer.

The house is also the closest to the large pond out back. Though a fence surrounds the water that Chomp, the Sanctuary’s thirteen-foot alligator, has called home for the last thirty years, it wouldn’t keep out anyone who wanted in—not even a four-year-old boy.

I push an extra burst of speed into my legs as the water appears ahead, its presence revealed only by the pale reflection of the moon sinking low in the early-morning sky. Fumbling my cell from my pocket, I turn the flashlight on. Draw in a breath so sharp I feel it stab my heart as the glow lands on the gate—the one that’s standing wide open. My pace slows as I approach, trying to steel myself against what I might see.

“Holy—”

I glance over my shoulder just in time to catch the sheriff pulling his service weapon from its holster. Throwing my arms out wide, I jump in front of him as he raises the barrel of the pistol, taking aim. It’s a dumb move, especially considering the history between us.

“What are you doing?” he barks. “Dang it, girl. There’s no time for any of your games.”

Games. A coal of anger ignites inside my stomach. Was it a game when he threatened to have me removed from my grandfather’s custody after I tried to break up with his son back in high school? Or when he promised to find a way to make Butch lose the Sanctuary if I didn’t stay in the relationship until Matt was done with me? Because I don’t remember playing.

Just like I doubt Jake found it very fun all the times Sheriff Kingston harassed him as a teen, trumping up petty charges like jaywalking—in a town with no crosswalks—just to prove he could. The truth is, I don’t just dislike the man in front of me. I detest him. Would like nothing more than to snatch the gun he’s failed to lower even though it’s aimed at my chest from his hand and make him choke on it.

It takes every ounce of willpower I have to keep my voice calm and low. “Drop your weapon, Lyle.”

“Have you lost your daggum mind? Or did you not see the giant gator over there?”