Spencer is home.
CHAPTER TWO
Breathing heavily, Spencer LaForge jogged up his driveway and let himself in through the garage door using his PIN pad. In the kitchen, he glanced at the clock on the microwave. Less than an hour until his date was due to arrive. He could hardly wait. He grabbed a bottle of mineral water from the fridge, twisted off the cap, and drank deeply.
Opening the dating app on his phone, he stared at her picture again. Avery was hot with a capital H, with long legs and boobs to die for. In person, she looked like a model. He wanted to wrap that long hair around his hand and hold on tight. The photos didn’t do her justice.
Water bottle in hand, he sauntered up to the granite island and turned the filets in the marinade. They’d be ready for the grill by the time he finished his shower. He glanced through the glass doors at the romantic scene he’d set.
A snow flurry drifted in the air, and Spencer smiled.
Cue the snow.
An outdoor dinner with a roaring fire and snow flurries was about as romantic as it could get.
He sipped his drink. He needed to be adequately hydrated, he thought with a grin. He’d fueled up with a lunch of raw oysters on the half shell. The night was going to be spectacular. He’d primed Avery with two romantic evenings and a fuckton of flattery. On their second date, she’d practically melted. She was a sure thing.
Now for his shower. He turned toward the stairwell. A click stopped him. He looked down the hall. Empty. He stood still, listening hard. The noise had sounded like it had come from inside.
Nah. Couldn’t be. He lived alone. No one had the code to his door or a key to his house except his biweekly cleaning woman, and she wasn’t due until the following day. Had an animal followed him into the garage and gotten trapped? He headed for the hallway to investigate.
At the entrance to the hall, the closet door sprang open, and a figure leaped out.
Startled, Spencer had no time to assess the intruder. He pulled back an arm to deliver a punch. Something crackled. A burning pain seared Spencer’s hip and shot through his body. His muscles stiffened, and then his nerves seemed to short out. He pitched forward, his limbs limp and useless, and fell over like a bird electrocuted on a live wire. He wanted to throw out an arm to catch himself, but he had no control over his body. He crumpled to the floor. Pain knocked through his elbow and shoulder. He lay on his back, his muscles still not responding.
“Hello, Spencer,” the intruder said.
Spencer wanted to speak, but his jaws were clamped tight, and his lips wouldn’t work.
“Are you all right? You don’t look well at all.”
Spencer blinked hard, but the figure remained featureless. He tried to roll over to his hands and knees, but his muscles were still on strike. He managed to get two words through his gritted teeth. “Help me.” A plea.
The intruder rolled Spencer onto his side, tied his hands behind his back, and bound his ankles. Spencer wanted to struggle, but he couldn’t control his arms. By the time his muscles started to obey his commands, it was too late. He was fully restrained.
Two hands grabbed him by the ankles. The intruder dragged him out the french doors. Spencer thumped over the door tracks. The patio pavers burned against the side of his face. Nausea stirred and swirled in his belly. But the fresh air helped clear his head, at least for a few seconds. A flake of snow drifted across his vision.
“It’s snowing.” The voice sounded impressed but also condescending. “You’ve outdone yourself tonight. This would have been the perfect date.”
Spencer gained control of his tongue and managed to spit out a weak, “Fuck you.”
“Fuck me? No, I think you’re the one who’s fucked.” The intruder jammed a small device at him. It crackled as it made contact with his skin, and the flash of electricity was like liquid fire roaring through his nervous system.
As he convulsed on the ground, his body useless, his brain screamed, Stun gun!
The figure leaned over him. Spencer’s eyes were not cooperating. Outside sounds echoed as if he were in a tunnel. But his own heartbeat raced in his ears. That he heard loud and clear.
The intruder struck at him again. Another wave of current rushed through him. Aftershock or fresh shock? He looked up at the dark sky. A snowflake landed on his face. “Please,” he rasped.
A shadow loomed over him. “Shut up.” The voice faded. Blackness swirled at the edges of Spencer’s vision. He squeezed his eyelids tightly closed. When he reopened them, nothing had changed. It wasn’t a dream. It was a nightmare—except Spencer was wide awake.
A hand slapped his cheek. “Stay with me. I want you to know what’s happening. I want you to experience every single second of terror and pain. I want you to suffer. You’re a user, Spencer. You need to pay. You’ve never suffered any consequences for your actions before, have you? Guess what? Today is full of firsts—mostly for me. For you, it will be full of lasts.”
Even if he wanted to, Spencer couldn’t respond. He was helpless, and deep inside him, he knew this was the day he was going to die.
CHAPTER THREE
Sheriff Bree Taggert adjusted the latch on the stall door with a screwdriver. The barn was cold, and her breath fogged in the early December evening air.
Her sixteen-year-old nephew, Luke, raked the dirt floor, leveling the surface. The stall hadn’t been used in years, and horses had the uncanny ability to hurt themselves. When he finished with the rake, Luke used his pocketknife to cut the twine wrapped around a bale of straw.
“There’s no guarantee that I’ll find the right horse at the sale tomorrow.” Bree tested the door. The latch worked smoothly. She shoved the screwdriver into the pocket of her jacket and helped her nephew spread the straw.
“You have to find Uncle Adam a horse.” Eight-year-old Kayla stood in the aisle, holding a lead rope attached to her sturdy little horse, Pumpkin. “His birthday is Sunday! He needs to be surprised.”
Since Adam had specifically asked for a rescue horse, Bree doubted surprise was on the table. But she hoped he’d be pleased.
“I’ll do my best.” Bree had inherited a farm and three horses when her younger sister was murdered. She had also been granted guardianship of her niece and nephew. It hadn’t even been a year since she’d moved from Philadelphia to upstate New York, but Bree felt like she’d become a whole new person. She’d shed her old life and left it behind like a snakeskin. She didn’t miss it at all.
“How old will Uncle Adam be?” Kayla asked.
“Twenty-nine,” Bree answered. She couldn’t believe this would be her baby brother’s last year in his twenties. Sometimes, it seemed barely any time had passed since he was an infant. Since she’d held him on a bitter winter night as they and their sister hid under the porch of their farmhouse while their father murdered their mother.
“Wow. That’s old,” Kayla said.
Bree laughed. “It is.”
“Can we name the new horse?” Kayla dropped the rope, picked up a soft brush, and began brushing dried mud from Pumpkin’s legs. Pumpkin, who never exerted energy unless it was absolutely necessary, cocked one hind leg and shifted instantly into nap mode. His head and eyelids sagged.
“Don’t you think Uncle Adam should name his own horse?” Bree emerged from the stall, brushing straw dust from her jeans. From her napping spot next to the tack room door, Ladybug, the rescue dog, opened one eye. Satisfied her people were still there, she resumed sleeping.