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e bestselling RILEY PAGE mystery series, which includes eleven books (and counting). Blake Pierce is also the author of the MACKENZIE WHITE mystery series, comprising six books (and counting); of the AVERY BLACK mystery series, comprising five books; and of the new KERI LOCKE mystery series, comprising four books (and counting).
An avid reader and lifelong fan of the mystery and thriller genres, Blake loves to hear from you, so please feel free to visit www.blakepierceauthor.com to learn more and stay in touch.
PROLOGUE
Katy Philbin was giggling as she stepped carefully down the stairs,
Stop it! she told herself.
What was so funny, anyway?
What was she doing, giggling like a little girl – not like the seventeen-year-old she actually was?
She wanted more than anything in the world to act like a serious adult.
After all, he was treating her like an adult. He’d been talking to her like an adult all evening long, making her feel special and respected.
He’d even been calling her Katherine instead of Katy.
She really liked it when he called her Katherine.
She also liked the adult drinks he’d been making for her all evening – “Mai Tais,” he called them, and they were so sweet that she could barely taste the alcohol.
And now she couldn’t even remember how many she’d had.
Was she drunk?
Oh, that would be awful! she thought.
What would he think of her if she couldn’t even handle a few icy, sweet-tasting drinks?
And now she was feeling extremely light-headed.
What if she fell down these stairs?
She looked down at her feet, wondering why they weren’t moving as they should be. And why was the light so dim here?
To her embarrassment, she couldn’t even remember exactly why she was here on this flight of wooden steps that seemed to get longer by the moment.
“Where’re we going?” she asked.
Her words came out all fuzzy and sloppy but at least she’d managed to stop giggling.
“I told you,” he said in reply. “I want to show you something.”
She looked around for him. He was somewhere at the bottom of the stairs, but she couldn’t see him. Just one lamp spilled a small pool of light in a corner far away.
But that light was enough to remind her where she was.
“Oh, yeah,” she murmured. “Down’n your basement.”
“Are you all right?”
“Yeah,” she said, trying to convince herself that it was true. “I’ll be right down.”
She forced one foot to reach for the next step.
She heard him say, “C’mon, Katy. The thing I promised to show you is over here.”
Dimly she realized …
He called me Katy.
She felt oddly disappointed, after a whole evening of being called Katherine.
“Be there in jus’ a minnit,” she said.
The slur in her words was getting worse.
And for some reason, she found that extremely funny.
She heard him chuckle.
“Are you having a good time, Katy?” he asked in a pleasant voice – a voice that she’d liked and trusted for many years.
“The besht,” she said, giggling again.
“I’m glad.”
But now the world seemed to be swimming around her. Hanging onto the railing, she sat down on the stairs.
He spoke again in a less patient voice.
“Hurry up, girl. I’m not going to stand here all day.”
Katy pulled herself back to her feet, struggling to clear her head. She didn’t like the tone of his voice now. But could she blame him for getting impatient? What was the matter with her, anyway? Why couldn’t she get down these stupid stairs?
She was finding it harder and harder to focus on where she was and what she was doing.
She lost her grip on the railing and dropped down to sit on the step.
She wondered again – how many drinks had she had, anyway?
Then she remembered.
Two.
Only two!
Of course, she hadn’t been drinking at all since that horrible night …
Not until now. But just two drinks.
For a moment she couldn’t breathe.
Is it happening again?
She told herself sternly that she was being silly.
She was safe and sound here with a man she’d trusted all her life.
And she was making a fool of herself, and the last thing she wanted to do was make a fool of herself, especially around him, when he’d treated her so nicely and served her all those drinks and …
And now everything was foggy, blurred, and dark.
And she felt a strange nausea churning inside her.
“I’m not feeling sho good,” she said.
He didn’t reply, and she couldn’t see him.
She couldn’t see anything.
“I think I’d besht – better go home now,” she said.
He still didn’t say anything.
She reached out blindly, groping around in the air.
“Help me – me get up – off the shtairs. Help me go up the shtairs.”
She heard his footsteps coming toward her.
He’s going to help me, she thought.
So why was that churning, sick feeling getting worse by the second?
“D-d-rive me home,” she said. “Could shyoo do that for me? Please?”
His footsteps stopped.
She could feel his presence right in front of her, even if she couldn’t see him.
But why wasn’t he saying anything?
Why wasn’t he doing anything to help her?
Then she realized what that nauseous feeling actually was.
Fear.
She summoned up her last ounce of will, reached up and took hold of the railing, and