Back Never Die Alone
Chapters (39)
  1. NEVER DIE ALONE
  2. Books by Lisa Jackson
  3. Title Page
  4. Table of Contents
  5. CHAPTER 1
  6. CHAPTER 2
  7. CHAPTER 3
  8. CHAPTER 4
  9. CHAPTER 5
  10. CHAPTER 6
  11. CHAPTER 7
  12. CHAPTER 8
  13. CHAPTER 9
  14. CHAPTER 10
  15. CHAPTER 11
  16. CHAPTER 12
  17. CHAPTER 13
  18. CHAPTER 14
  19. CHAPTER 15
  20. CHAPTER 16
  21. CHAPTER 17
  22. CHAPTER 18
  23. CHAPTER 19
  24. CHAPTER 20
  25. CHAPTER 21
  26. CHAPTER 22
  27. CHAPTER 23
  28. CHAPTER 24
  29. CHAPTER 25
  30. CHAPTER 26
  31. CHAPTER 27
  32. CHAPTER 28
  33. CHAPTER 29
  34. CHAPTER 30
  35. CHAPTER 31
  36. CHAPTER 32
  37. EPILOGUE
  38. Teaser chapter
  39. Copyright Page

You couldn’t be too careful, he decided as he cut the engine. There were always hunters and poachers in these woods, nosy types who might catch a glimpse of something out of the ordinary. Then there were the squatters, people who came in and made old shacks and cabins their homes until they were rousted out. All the warning signs in the world wouldn’t keep the squatters at bay. He’d posted NO TRESPASSING, PRIVATE PROPERTY, KEEP OUT, and even BEWARE OF DOG signs all along the perimeter of this scrap of land, but did everyone abide by them? No fuckin’ way. There was always someone willing to break the damned rules.

And that was the problem.

No order.

“Fuckers,” he growled under his breath. Hopefully now, with the dog, people would stay away.

In life, there were rules.

You had to play by them, he thought as he reached into the glove box and grabbed his flashlight.

That’s why he couldn’t kill that whimpering, whiny Chloe first.

Angry, he climbed out of the cab, kicked at a clod of dirt, took two steps toward the building, then stopped. He returned to his vehicle, reached inside, and yanked the keys from the van’s ignition. That’s where he’d made his mistake yesterday. Well, one of his mistakes. Leaving the keys in the damned van. Yesterday’s plan had turned into a major clusterfuck of errors.

Today would be different. He slid the automotive keys into a front pocket of his jeans, then whistled loudly just as he opened the gate to the dog run and spied Red bounding from his shed. Smiling, he stopped to pet the bloodhound with his notched ear, the result of a tussle with a raccoon or worse, then followed the dog back inside. “Ya hungry?” He took down a plastic tub of dog food, measured out two cups, and checked to see that the water was fresh. It wasn’t, so he pumped a bucket from the long sink on the back porch, then returned to fill several bowls, not that the dog couldn’t make his way down to the river if he really had to.

“There ya go,” he said, once Red had buried his nose into the dry food. A stray, Red had landed here and stayed.

It had worked out.