TITLE PAGE

COPYRIGHT PAGE

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, organizations, places, events, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

Text copyright © 2019 by Lisa Gray

No part of this book may be reproduced, or stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without express written permission of the publisher.

Published by Thomas & Mercer, Seattle

Amazon, the Amazon logo, and Thomas & Mercer are trademarks of Amazon.com, Inc., or its affiliates.

ISBN-13: 9781542093644 (hardcover)

ISBN-10: 1542093643 (hardcover)

ISBN-13: 9781477818305 (paperback)

ISBN-10: 1477818308 (paperback)

Cover design by Ghost Design

DEDICATION

To my mum, for always believing in me

CONTENTS

CONTENTS

PROLOGUE

1 JESSICA

2 AMY

3 JESSICA

4 PRYCE

5 JESSICA

6 ELEANOR

7 PRYCE

8 JESSICA

9 JESSICA

10 AMY

11 JESSICA

12 PRYCE

13 JESSICA

14 JESSICA

15 PRYCE

16 JESSICA

17 JESSICA

18 ELEANOR

19 JESSICA

20 JESSICA

21 PRYCE

22 JESSICA

23 JESSICA

24 PRYCE

25 JESSICA

26 JESSICA

27 AMY

28 JESSICA

29 JESSICA

30 JESSICA

31 PRYCE

32 PRYCE

33 JESSICA

34 PRYCE

35 ELEANOR

36 JESSICA

37 JESSICA

38 PRYCE

39 JESSICA

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

PROLOGUE

PROLOGUE

I park the car four streets away and walk the rest of the way. The house is conveniently situated at the end of the block, hidden in shadows, out of sight of prying eyes.

It’s dark now, but I know in daylight the wood siding is the color of dried mud, and the paint hasn’t been refreshed in years. At least, not since she moved in. I’m surprised to see the porch has been swept clean of fallen leaves and is empty save for a metal bucket with two pairs of outdoor boots—one adult size, one toddler size—next to the front door.

I pass the sign hammered into the front yard’s overgrown lawn, warning the house is protected by Smith & Wesson, and I laugh quietly to myself in the darkness.

I know a gun isn’t going to save her tonight.

I walk silently up the porch steps and see the curtains are drawn across the big front window, a flickering yellow glow escaping from a tiny gap where the material doesn’t quite meet in the middle. As I approach the front door, I hear music playing softly inside. It’s late, but I know she won’t be asleep. I raise a gloved hand and knock on the door, the sound muffled under the soft leather.

She opens the door, and I have to admit she looks beautiful, backlit by the candles burning in the room behind her. The music is louder now, one of those depressing Seattle bands everyone listens to these days. Her eyes are glassy, as though she’s drunk or high, and she looks at me, confused for a second.

Then she says, “I wondered when you’d show up. I guess you’d better come in.”