Secrets Never Die (Morgan Dane #5)

Secrets Never Die (Morgan Dane #5)

Melinda Leigh



Chapter One

Why was the house dark?

Sitting in the passenger seat of his friend’s Honda Accord, Evan checked the time on his watch. Twelve thirty a.m. His mom’s car wasn’t in the driveway. She must still be at the urgent care where she worked as a nurse. Evan’s stepfather, Paul, always left a light on for her.

But there weren’t any lights on tonight.

Every window was black. Even the lamppost at the end of the front walk was out.

Unease crept up the back of Evan’s neck. His pulse kicked up a notch. A small punch of adrenaline countered his current overall state of exhaustion like a can of Red Bull. He hadn’t slept in days, not since the last court-ordered visitation with his real—no, biological—father. A real father would care about Evan, and Kirk never had.

“Are you getting out?” Jake blew smoke out the driver’s side window.

“Yeah.” Evan opened the car door. A gust of wind almost ripped it out of his hand. He caught it and held on as he climbed out. “Thanks for the ride.”

Jake waved his cigarette. “See ya.”

Evan shut the door. Jake backed his car out of the driveway, leaving Evan alone.

He glanced up and down the suburban street. Past midnight, light from streetlamps pooled in shiny yellow circles on the blacktop. Overhead, thick clouds obscured the night sky. A storm system was on its way across upstate New York, and the air seemed charged with electricity. The weather report had warned of high winds and heavy rains, maybe even hail and tornadoes. He hoped his mom’s shift had ended so she could get home before the storm started.

A hot, humid wind lifted the hair on the back of his neck. He suddenly felt as if he were being watched. Despite the heat of the June night, a shiver shot through his bones. His gaze fell on the windshield of a dark-blue sedan parked across the street, but he saw no one behind the wheel.

Now he was being paranoid. Lack of sleep must be making him stupid. Maybe a fuse had blown. That would explain the lack of lights.

Using his flashlight app to navigate the walkway and front steps, he slid his key into the dead bolt, but there was no resistance when he turned it. Had the door been unlocked? Nah. He must have imagined it. Paul would never leave the house open.

Evan was making excuses. He just didn’t want to go inside the house and face his stepfather. Evan was two and a half hours past his curfew, he’d been a complete asshole to Paul that afternoon, and he’d ignored Paul’s concerned texts about his being late.

Not that Paul would yell or anything. Paul was cool. But he’d want to talk about Evan’s shitty behavior and the root cause. Getting grounded wasn’t a big deal, but Paul’s disapproval hurt.

Evan might as well get it over with. Better to do it now, before his mom got home. Unlike Paul, she would lose her shit, and Evan didn’t want to deal with her freak-out. He opened the front door and went inside.

He heard voices that sounded like the TV coming from the back of the house. Definitely a fuse. The den, aka the man cave, was on a different electrical circuit from the front lights. A couple of weeks ago, Paul had shown Evan how to reset the switches in the electrical box in the garage.

Evan walked down the hall, his steps slowed by dread. Paul had waited up for him even though Evan had been a complete dick. Now Evan felt twice as bad.

Why did he let Kirk get to him?

Why was some fucking judge forcing Evan to spend his Sunday nights with the asshole?

Anger curled Evan’s hands into fists.

His father didn’t just bring out the worst in him. Kirk also cultivated anger and resentment. His father played him to get even with his mom. Kirk was a pro. He found a way to get to Evan every time.

Evan was an idiot.

“I bet moving out to the sticks was his idea,” Kirk had said. “He was the one who made you move away from your friends. He probably had his eye on your mom while she was still married to me. She’s his meal ticket. He quit his job as soon as they were married, right? He’s set now.”

But Kirk had twisted the facts. Paul had retired from his job as a sheriff’s deputy months before, and he did all the stuff around the house, even cleaning, something Kirk would never do. But Kirk had gone on and on, picking at all of Evan’s scabs until he’d found one that bled. Then Evan turned around and took out his anger on Paul, just like Kirk had planned all along. Evan couldn’t wait until he turned eighteen, when he would be able to tell Kirk—and that asshole judge—to fuck off.

“Everyone makes dumbass mistakes,” Paul had said last time. “But you have to own up and apologize.”

Evan was going to make it right. He was not going to turn into his father.

He walked toward the den and stopped just short of the doorway, bracing himself for the talk his apology would initiate. But a loud pop brought him up short. What was that? His instincts said gunshot, but at the same time, his brain told him that was crazy.

Still in the corridor, he peered through the doorway. Paul lay on the floor. Blood saturated his T-shirt and spread to the carpet around his body.

So much blood.

Evan couldn’t even register the horror. What he was seeing was beyond comprehension. He couldn’t move, and he couldn’t look away. His eyes were locked on Paul, the pain and fear on his stepfather’s face.

Move! Do something! Help him!