Never Die Alone

“And not the best?”

“Hell, no,” Ed admitted. “The last thing I needed was another mouth to feed.”

So angry he could spit nails, Jase leaned in close. Despite the old man’s recent shower, Jase could still smell the scent of old cigarette smoke and stale liquor seeping through his father’s pores. “This is where it ends, Dad. All of it. The lies. The secrets. No more.”

Ed snorted and raised an unruly, disbelieving eyebrow. “Yours, too, boy? You go

“All of us are, old man.” Jase didn’t hesitate. “You. Me. Prescott. A clean slate.”

“All of it?”

“Every last lie.”

Their eyes met. Clashed. Silently accused.

“I don’t know about Pres,” said Ed. “He might not agree.”

“He might not have a choice.”

“You’re up on a pretty high horse, son. Careful now. That’s how the mighty fall.”

“Fuck you, Dad.”

Jase’s cell phone pinged again. Another text. He yanked the phone from his pocket and read the news, from Ke

Assume you saw this about Donovan Caldwell. Guess the guilt finally got to him.

A link was included with the message. Jase clicked it open and quickly skimmed a breaking story about the death of the 21 Killer whose life had ended early this morning in his jail cell. “Son of a bitch,” he whispered, and for a second his father and all their family drama was forgotten as he searched for more information about Caldwell’s death. Did Bria

“Look, Ed,” he said, unwilling to give the lying bastard the title of father. “I have to go to the office. But we’re not done here. Just wait. Don’t go anywhere.”

His father found another cigarette in his pack and jabbed it between his lips. “That in there,” he said, nodding toward the kitchen where Jase had left the envelope with the check that he hadn’t mailed. The old man actually smiled and a light of interest flared in his eyes. “That for me?”

Jase didn’t answer. Couldn’t. The old bastard pissed him off too much. He made his way out the door and put thoughts of Edward Bridges and their sorry past behind him as he headed to the stairwell. He had enough time to go to the office, get more information about Donovan Caldwell’s death, and check in with Bentz at the station before he returned and dealt with Bria

His guts twisted a little at the thought.

But his anxiety wasn’t due to Caldwell’s death. No, he thought as he climbed into the cab and fired up the engine of his truck. His worries were from a far deeper and more intimate source. He rammed the truck’s gears into Reverse, backed out with a squeal of tires, and threw the truck into Drive.

How was he going to tell her the truth about her sister?

Squinting against the glare of the lowering sun, he slid his aviator sunglasses over his eyes and wondered how the hell he would ever admit that he’d been there the night Aria

CHAPTER 29

Chloe knew she was going to die.

Here, in this hellhole of a basement, all alone.

No one would ever know. Not for years.

The freak had left her for hours, maybe a day, maybe even two, she didn’t know. It was dark and dank in the basement. Water dripped in a rhythmic tapping noise, and the smell of water seeping through the walls was ever present.

And she was alone.

No phone.

No water.

Her hands were tied behind her back and somehow co

She’d nodded off from time to time, but her fear and anxiety kept her on edge and awake. That and the overpowering sense of thirst. She was hungry, yes, but more intense than the emptiness in her stomach was the scorched bitterness in her dry throat and parched lips. How she wished for a single drop of water. For anything wet. One moment’s relief.

But it wasn’t happening.

At first she’d plotted her revenge and ultimate escape. There were tools on the table and resting on holders in the wall. A knife, she thought, maybe a saw, certainly a screwdriver, any number of weapons to take the freak’s life. And she’d do it, too. If she ever got the chance again. But as the seconds and minutes and hours ticked by in her head, and the pain, discomfort, and despair took over, she thought less about revenge and murder and an eye for an eye, and more about the solace of death, the peace of giving up.

There was her family to consider, but her dad had more children and a new wife, her cousin of all people. Mom would be devastated and heartbroken, but she would have Zoe. If Zoe survived. Oh, God, please. Let Zoe be free of this. If Zoe did escape, she would return for her twin, Chloe was certain, but when? And how? Would she still be alive?

She tried not to think of what might happen, to keep up her flagging spirits, to sing, at least in her mind as her throat was dry as a desert. But in the end she quit trying and just prayed that it would end soon, that her pain would be over, her battle finished.

The people she’d wronged came to mind, and she remembered thinking she loved Tommy. How long ago it all seemed. As if it had happened to another person, in another lifetime.

She closed her eyes and turned her thoughts to Zoe, the twin she loved and sometimes hated. “Be safe,” she whispered, then let out a long breath. Maybe it would be her last.

As she drove, Bria

“Ridiculous,” she said. But she kept checking her mirror and, sure enough, no matter which direction she turned, a few cars back, or sometimes right behind her, a light-colored pickup, no, maybe a beat-up van, was following her. Sometimes the vehicle hung back, but she figured that was the driver’s attempt to remain undetected. “You son of a bitch.” She recalled the other times she’d thought she was being followed: the night she’d sensed someone looking at her through the bathroom window, the crushed shrubs near that same window, the footsteps behind her on a staircase. So she wasn’t going crazy.

No, it’s worse. Some anonymous jerk is following you.

“Why?” she asked aloud, and checked her mirror again. She turned into a narrow alley where shadows from the surrounding buildings fell over the street. Sure enough, just as she was exiting the alley, the van entered. It seemed familiar, but she couldn’t quite place it.

Hadn’t she seen Elise get into a similar van, when Ashton was picking her up from one of the support group meetings? Or had it been Desmond, the quiet one, whom she didn’t quite trust, his eyes always flat, as if guarding his feelings, his face often without expression? The few remarks he’d made had been slightly misogynistic and had really gotten Tanisha’s back up. She’d made sure to put him in his place on more than one occasion, saying flat out that she didn’t like him. But that was no surprise. Tanisha liked only a few women and even fewer men.

Had Desmond ever married? Had he once mentioned a wife or fiancée or girlfriend? Not that she remembered, though his lack of a relationship would not explain why he might be stalking her. She looked in her mirror again, noticed the van two cars back, and felt her stomach grind. Who was this guy to follow her? Invade her life? Make her uncomfortable?