Safe With Him Read online

  SAFE WITH HIM

  Copyright

  Dedication

  Prologue

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Other Books

  About the Author

  Safe With Him

  Copyright © 2018 by Rita Herron

  All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions.

  No part of this book may be reproduced, scanned, transmitted, or distributed in any form by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without specific written permission from the publisher. The scanning, uploading, and distribution of this book via the Internet or via any other means without the permission of the publisher are illegal and punishable by law. Please purchase only authorized electronic editions, and do not participate in or encourage electronic piracy of copyrighted materials.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events or locales is entirely coincidental.

  Beachside Reads

  Norcross, GA 30092

  Cover Design: Jeffery Olsen

  Cover Photo: The Illustrated Romance, https://illustratedromance.com

  Print Design: Dayna Linton, Day Agency

  eBook Interior Design: Dayna Linton, Day Agency

  ISBN: 978-1-949178-04-3 (Paperbook)

  ISBN: 978-1-949178-05-0 (eBook)

  Third Edition: 2018

  10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3

  Printed in the USA

  To friend and fellow writer

  Jennifer St. Giles for always plotting murder with me!

  “Kaylie, someone’s in the house.”

  Kaylie Whittaker snapped her eyes open at her husband’s husky whisper, the darkness nearly blinding her.

  Joe gripped her hand. “I’m going to check it out. Go into CeCe’s room and lock the door.”

  Fear shot through Kaylie. Their five-year-old daughter was sound asleep across the hall. Joe was right. She had to get to CeCe. If someone had broken in, she had to protect her.

  Joe slid from bed, unlocked the drawer of his nightstand, and removed his .38. Kaylie took a deep breath, pushed the covers aside and reached for her cell phone to call 911.

  But she’d left the phone downstairs.

  Joe’s gun flashed silver in the dark as he loaded it and tiptoed toward the door.

  A noise downstairs made them both freeze. Footsteps. The wood floor squeaked.

  Joe eased open their bedroom door, and Kaylie slid into the hallway past him, then darted across the hall to her daughter’s room. She inched inside and crossed the room, padding quietly on the carpet.

  She heard Joe starting down the steps, and she lowered herself onto the bed beside CeCe, not wanting to startle her, but knowing she had to hurry.

  “Honey, wake up,” she whispered as she gently shook CeCe. “We have to hide.”

  CeCe mumbled something in her sleep, and Kaylie lifted her from bed and cradled her against her. They couldn’t crawl out the window; they were on the second floor.

  It sounded as if the intruder had entered through the front door.

  If she could reach the back staircase leading from the bonus room to the kitchen, she could sneak Kaylie outside through the back. Then she could run to the next-door neighbor’s house and call for help.

  Her chest tight with fear, she opened the door a fraction of an inch, but suddenly a man shoved it open and pushed her husband inside the room.

  The man wore a dark mask, and black clothes and held a gun to Joe’s temple.

  A scream caught in Kaylie’s throat.

  “Get down on your knees,” the man ordered her husband.

  Joe looked at her with panicked eyes. “Kaylie . . .”

  “Do it.” The man pushed Joe to the floor. CeCe stirred, her eyes widening in terror.

  “If you want money, there’s cash in the safe,” Joe said. “Take it. Take my car, whatever. Just don’t hurt my family.”

  CeCe clutched at Kaylie’s neck, her tiny body vibrating with fear.

  “I have jewelry,” Kaylie said. “You can have it all.”

  “Shut up.” His crooked teeth gleamed in the faint light spilling through the window as he aimed the gun at Joe. “I want you to watch your family die.”

  Joe’s gaze flew to hers, shock and fear glittering in his brown eyes.

  “On your knees, lady.”

  “Please, she’s just a little girl,” Kaylie begged. “Don’t hurt her.”

  The man’s hand dug into Kaylie’s shoulder with such force she winced and fell to her knees, clutching CeCe to her and trying to shield her.

  With a menacing growl, the intruder turned his gun toward her.

  Joe suddenly lunged up from the floor and rammed his body into the man. “Run, Kaylie, save CeCe.”

  A shot fired. Blood splattered onto the carpet.

  Adrenaline surged through Kaylie, and she jumped up, raced into the hall and flew down the steps. CeCe clung to her, tears soaking Kaylie’s pajama top as she ran toward the front door.

  Behind her, another gunshot blasted the air. The sound of a man’s grunt, then falling.

  A second later, footsteps pounded behind her.

  Oh, God, Joe was shot, and the man was coming after her.

  She had to escape.

  She threw open the door and darted to the right toward the neighbor’s house. When she and Joe had chosen this area to settle, they’d thought it was a safe neighborhood.

  Their dream come true—a cute little house with a white picket fence.

  Now Joe might be dead.

  Nothing else mattered except saving her daughter.

  Texas Ranger Sergeant Mitchell Manning hammered the For Sale sign by the mailbox of his ranch, anxious to get rid of the place.

  At one time this ranch had been his life.

  His dreams all wrapped up in horses and land and wide-open spaces. A place for his son to run and play, to climb trees and fences, and bond with the Texas land just as he had as a kid.

  But now his son and wife were dead, there was nothing left here but memories.

  Memories of good times and bad. Memories that haunted him at night and tormented him during the day with the fact that he’d failed them.

  They had died because of his damn job.

  No more.

  He was done with being a Ranger. Done with relationships.

  Done with wanting anything but the next bottle of whiskey.

  Desperate to bury the pain, he forced himself to block out the image of his six-year-old nailing the finishing touches on the tree house they’d built together around the big oak tree.

  Instead, he scrutinized the house and his property with a buyer’s eye. The rotting boards on the porch needed repairing, the overgrown bushes and weeds tending. As much as he didn’t want to be here, he needed to spruce the place up to entice some other sucker to sink their money into it and relieve him of ownership.

  But not tonight.

  Tonight his best friend Jack Daniels was calling.

  Yanking his Stetson
down to block the sunlight as it dipped below the horizon, he strode toward his pickup truck. He climbed in, shifted into gear and drove toward the cabin on the creek side.

  The rustic log cabin had been built for the foreman of the ranch when his grandparents owned the property, but he’d moved into it now, unable to stand the sounds of the empty farmhouse and Todd’s voice echoing through the lonely rooms.

  “Daddy, Daddy, Daddy . . .”

  Tears burned the backs of his eyelids. He knuckled them away with a curse. Had Todd called out his name when he’d been dying?

  Probably. But he’d been unconscious and hadn’t heard him. Hadn’t saved him.

  Christmas music blared from the speakers of the radio, making him even more surly. Dammit to hell, he didn’t want to hear about reindeer and holiday wishes and Santa Claus.

  They reminded him too much of his son.

  Todd had asked for a new fishing rod and reel this year.

  But Todd wouldn’t be here to get it, and he would never go fishing again.

  Mitch flipped off the radio, but the silence was just as bad, so he focused on the rumbling of his truck as he bounced over the rutted dirt road leading to the cabin. A dark cloud rolled across the sky, adding a gloomy gray to the horizon as he climbed out, grabbed his brown bag and strode to the front porch.

  His stomach growled, reminding him he should eat, but he dropped into the chair on the porch, opened the fifth of whiskey, turned it up and downed a hefty swallow.

  Maybe his luck would turn around, and he’d end up in the ground beside his son soon.

  Kaylie stared out into the night, the Christmas lights glittering along the street bringing a pang to her chest.

  It had been almost a year since she’d lost Joe.

  Her husband had died trying to protect her and CeCe.

  Unable to return to the house after the shooting and during the months afterward, she’d moved to a temporary rental house.

  But a few weeks ago, the man who’d killed her husband had escaped prison, and now she and her daughter were in their third safe house in weeks.

  With Christmas around the corner, they both wanted to be decorating, shopping and trimming the tree.

  But who knew if they would still be here on Christmas?

  Besides, they’d been given strict orders to lay low, not to be seen in public or attract attention.

  Poor CeCe should be in kindergarten, making friends, finger painting, and singing songs.

  Instead, she was immersed in protective custody and struggling with the nightmares of her father’s murder.

  Damn Larry Buckham for ruining their lives. Kaylie had testified against him, cementing his life sentence in prison.

  The district attorney had also made the case that Buckham had terrorized and killed three other families in the same manner. They’d dubbed the serial killer the Family Man. When the jury realized that connection, they hadn’t hesitated to convict.

  Kaylie and CeCe were the only ones who’d survived his attack.

  Unfortunately, Buckham had broken out of prison with two other inmates, and now he was most likely looking to finish her off.

  Kaylie glanced at the calendar. One more week until Christmas. Hopefully, Buckham would be back in jail where he belonged by then, and she and CeCe could go home.

  Home? Where was that?

  Not the little house with the white picket fence where they’d once felt safe. Not with Joe’s blood and the stench of his death still permeating the walls and carpet.

  The cleaners had assured her they’d gotten out the stains, but the blood would always be there in Kaylie’s mind, tainting the house.

  In a few days, Christmas would have come and gone. She would have missed the chance to give CeCe a bright spot in the dismal existence that had become their life.

  CeCe looked up from the floor where she lay drawing a picture, her freckles dancing across her pug nose. Kaylie’s heart squeezed when she noticed the Christmas tree CeCe had drawn. Only it was bare of decorations and lights, and there were no presents beneath it.

  The policeman guarding them, a chuffy guy named Arnold, frowned as his phone buzzed. He snatched it up and paced while he took the call.

  As if it wasn’t nerve-wracking enough to be locked up for days, he was notorious for pacing, making noises beneath his breath and chewing his nails which only added to her agitation.

  Suddenly something blasted through the front window. CeCe jumped up and screamed.

  Smoke sizzled from a pipe bomb on the floor.

  “Out the back!” the guard yelled.

  Kaylie snatched her purse then dragged CeCe through the hall to the kitchen. Smoke began filling the house as they ran for the back door. Behind her, a loud noise sounded, then an explosion shook the walls and floor.

  Arnold shouldered his way past her and opened the back door, but a gunshot blasted the air, and he collapsed.

  Dear God, it had been a setup.

  Terrified, she clutched CeCe behind her. Arnold managed to lift his hand and fired a round into the man waiting to ambush them. The man cursed and fell backward. Kaylie didn’t wait to see if anyone was still moving.

  She scooped CeCe into her arms and ran for the car Arnold had stashed out back.

  “Mommy!” CeCe cried.

  “Shh, baby, it’s okay. Just buckle up!” Kaylie’s hand trembled as she fumbled for the keys in her purse.

  CeCe crawled into the back seat, her cries shattering the night as Kaylie jammed the key into the ignition and roared away.

  CeCe was tired of running. And she was scared.

  Just like her mommy was, although her mommy pretended everything was going to be okay. But her mommy’s voice rattled when she talked sometimes, and at night when CeCe was supposed to be asleep, she heard her mommy crying.

  CeCe curled herself into a ball in the back of the car and buried her head into her hands. Tears soaked her fingers and dripped down her cheeks.

  How could it be okay when her daddy was dead, and someone wanted to kill her and her mommy?

  She squeezed her eyes shut, wishing she could forget the way her daddy looked that night. The way the red blood splattered everywhere, and how his face looked white as milk, and how much her mommy had been shaking when they’d runned away.

  Her mommy was shaking now and so was she.

  And that man, Mr. Arnold, he was dead, too. He had to be. That was what bullets did to people. Even big men like her daddy and Mr. Arnold.

  Tires squealed as her mommy took a turn too fast. CeCe jammed her fist to her mouth to keep from screaming as the car bounced and jolted. If they crashed, she might go to Heaven and see her daddy again.

  But she didn’t want to go to Heaven, not just yet anyway.

  Christmas was almost here.

  Not that she was going to get any presents. She and Mommy hadn’t even gotten a tree.

  Mommy said maybe later. They had to be ready to run in a minute, just like tonight.

  A tree would be something else they’d leave behind just like they left all her toys and friends and that nice fat cat Lackey that lived next door. He used to sleep by the fence and crawl up on her windowsill and meow at her through the window.

  She rubbed her eyes and looked at the front seat, half thinking she’d see the boogeyman that shot her daddy in the car. But all she saw was the dark and the city lights as they drove out of town.

  Where was Mommy going?

  Would they get another Mr. Arnold to watch them? Would they change their names again?

  She didn’t want to change her name. She wanted to be CeCe Whittaker and live in a real house and hang lights on a tree and put stockings on the mantle and make cookies with sprinkles on them.

  She wanted to send Santa a letter and tell him what she wanted for Christmas. Not much. Not dozens of toys
like she’d asked for last year when she was just a kid. Just four.

  All she wanted this year was a real home. Her mommy and daddy together and to get hugs and kisses when she went to bed at night.

  Oh, yeah. She wanted a kitty, too. A baby kitten with soft fur and orange hair like fat Lackey.

  A kitty to keep her warm and curl up on her pillow and meow, and chase away the boogeyman at night.

  But she wouldn’t get a kitty this year cause even if Santa got her letter, he wouldn’t know where to leave it.

  The damn police were everywhere looking for him.

  Of course, some of them were his friends.

  And they had helped him find where little miss Kaylie and her kid were hiding out. But that fat idiot cop had gotten in the way.

  So, he’d had to kill him. And now the woman had escaped.

  Not for long though.

  He steered the car his buddy had left for him through the suburbs, maintaining a low speed to keep from drawing attention to himself as two police cars barreled down the street and whirled into the driveway of the safe house.

  Laughter gurgled in his throat.

  Safehouse—what a farce.

  Kaylie Whittaker and her little girl were anything but safe.

  The cheap motel lights blinked neon green against the dark as Kaylie parked. Her poor little girl had cried for miles and miles until she’d finally fallen asleep from exhaustion.

  Kaylie had kept driving until she felt herself starting to nod off, then decided she had to stop for both their sakes. Thankfully, Arnold had stowed some cash in the car along with emergency supplies and insisted she keep an overnight bag for her and CeCe inside, too, in case they had to leave in a hurry.

  She’d hoped that wouldn’t happen, but here they were on the run again.

  She pulled the car around to the back of the motel to prevent it from being seen from the road. Weary from the drive and the night’s ordeal, she carried CeCe inside, then eased her down onto the double bed, slipped her shoes off and pulled the covers up over her.