Faceless (Sinister Secrets Book 2) Read online

  Faceless

  Candle Sutton

  Text copyright © 2021 Candle Sutton

  All Rights Reserved

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, dialogue, incidents, and locations are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously and should not be construed as real. Any resemblance to events, places, or people, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means – electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, scanning, or other – without written permission from the author.

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  Table of Contents

  Free ebook giveaway!

  Table of Contents

  Prologue

  One

  Two

  Three

  Four

  Five

  Six

  Seven

  Eight

  Nine

  Ten

  Eleven

  Twelve

  Thirteen

  Fourteen

  Fifteen

  Sixteen

  Seventeen

  Eighteen

  Nineteen

  Twenty

  Twenty-One

  Twenty-Two

  Twenty-Three

  Twenty-Four

  Free ebook giveaway!

  Dedication & Acknowledgments

  A note from the author

  Excerpt from Relentless

  Prologue

  One

  Also Available by Candle Sutton

  Prologue

  Oh man, it was his lucky day!

  The sun warmed the late June afternoon, drying Jason Boggess’ short hair. Usually he didn’t bother showering at the gym post-workout, but tonight was different. Tonight he was meeting that smokin’ hot nurse for dinner.

  Weeks of flirting had finally paid off.

  Jason hurried across the parking garage to where he’d parked his black Camaro and hit the button on his key fob.

  Slight fatigue settled in his muscles, as it always did when he pushed himself with the weights, but the definition in his arms, core, and legs made it worth the effort.

  No wonder that nurse was diggin’ him.

  Something under his wiper blade caught his eye.

  Probably an advertisement of some sort. Someone targeting him because he drove a nice ride.

  He snagged the edge of the flyer and tugged.

  The whole wiper blade moved.

  What the heck?

  He leaned in.

  Some idiot had taken the time to wrap the end of the paper around the blade! He worked the paper loose.

  Too bad he hadn’t caught the jerk who did this.

  A sharp poke hit his shoulder.

  What…?

  Rushing, like the sound of the monorail running outside his office, flooded his head. The world tilted.

  He whirled toward the source. Or tried to. His knees shook and his movements were about as steady as his baby nephew, who’d taken his first steps last week.

  Through the blackening fog clouding his vision, he saw a shape. Two shapes. Three? More?

  He swung toward one of the shapes, his fist sailing through empty air.

  The punch threw him off balance and he pitched forward. The ground rushed toward him.

  Pain shot through his shoulder as he hit the asphalt, then the world faded away.

  One

  Kevyn put the last of the leftovers in the fridge, her eyes drifting to the clock as she did. Almost eight p.m.

  While the birthday party she’d hosted for Dak had been fun, she was sure glad none of her coworkers were late night partiers. She was beat.

  It had been worth the effort, though. And a much needed break from the stress of their current case.

  Jason Boggess, the mayor’s son, had been missing for six days. With no leads and the amount of pressure coming down from upstairs, the last few workdays had been exceptionally long and frustrating.

  Tomorrow they’d attack the case again, but tonight they’d all needed to take a step back.

  Chimes from the doorbell echoed through the house.

  Who would be ringing her doorbell at eight at night? Had someone forgotten something?

  A quick survey of the kitchen didn’t turn up anything obvious.

  Stepping into the living room she saw it. A wallet. On the floor beside the sofa.

  The doorbell rang again.

  Sheesh. What did they think she’d do? Steal it?

  Leaving the wallet where it was, she crossed the living room and looked through the peephole.

  The distorted image of a man, probably in his fifties or sixties with more salt than pepper in his hair, shifted. He glanced behind him, as though expecting someone to appear there.

  She didn’t know this guy.

  Her fingers turned to ice.

  Who was he? Why was he here?

  Most importantly, was he friendly or hostile?

  He rang the bell again.

  Hurrying through the living room, she retrieved her Glock from the kitchen cabinet in which she’d stashed it and tucked it into her waistband at the small of her back.

  He was probably nothing more than a neighbor wanting to complain about the yard she still hadn’t taken time to address.

  If so, he was awfully persistent.

  She reached the door, slid the deadbolt, and unlocked the knob, simultaneously flipping the switch for the lights framing either side of the door. It wasn’t particularly dark yet, but the lights were bright enough to somewhat impair his vision for a second.

  Swinging the door open a few feet, she braced one foot behind the door in case he tried to force his way in.

  Although, realistically, her foot wouldn’t stop someone determined to get inside.

  That’s what her gun was for.

  He blinked in the harsh light, but seemed to quickly focus in on her.

  His mouth parted and his eyes widened.

  “Can I help you?” She kept her words brusque and short, leaving no doubt that she did not welcome his intrusion.

  “You look just like her.” His gaze drank her in, not in a creepy stalker sort of way, but in the fond way of an old friend.

  But he was not her friend. In fact, she was reasonably confident they’d never met.

  He stood several inches taller than she did, probably five-nine or five-ten, and carried a few extra pounds around his midsection. His thin goatee matched his silver hair. Crow’s feet crinkled around both eyes and the skin in his tan cheeks had a little too much sag.

  His words, the only ones he’d spoken so far, echoed in her mind. You look just like her.

  The chill raced from her fingers up her arms, settling around her heart.

  Her. Who was he talking about?

  Be polite. End this fast.

  She shook her head slowly. “I’m sorry. Who?”

  At best, this guy was lost or confused. At worst, he was a creep.

  Either way, she needed to end this and get him off her porch.

  “My Charlie. Kevyn, there’s…” He blew out a long breath and raked his fingers through his short hair.

  He knew her name! And her mother’s nickname!

  Well, there went her lost and confused option.

  Which left creep. Maybe even creepy stalker. After all, he knew her name and where she lived.

  “Look. I don’t know who you are, but you need to leave. Now. If this is important, you can find me at the Federal Building with the rest of the FBI agents any day of the week.”

  She stepped back and started to close the door.

  “Wait!” His hand shot out, palm landing flat against the door’s surface. “I’m really botching this. I’ve rehearsed it so many times and now…” He focused direct eyes on her.

  The bright porch lights reflected off the moisture lingering in his eyes.

  Eyes that were an unusual shade of green. Mostly evergreen, with hints of sage around the edges.

  A color she’d only ever seen in one place.

  The mirror.

  A brick dropped into her stomach. Air escaped from lungs which had forgotten how to function.

  “My name’s Mitch Taylor.” A smile filled with fake confidence wobbled onto his face. “I’m your father.”

  Father.

  The word echoed in her mind as her body froze.

  All the words she’d ever wanted to say, things she’d hashed out in her mind countless times over the years, fled.

  Her father. On her doorstep. After a thirty-five year absence.

  His smile, whether genuin
e or not, gained traction. “Yeah, I guess this would be a surprise. I mean, it’s been so long and all.”

  “Thirty-five years!” The words burst from her as she charged through the door, forcing him to stumble back several steps. “And you have the gall to show up on my doorstep now?”

  The smile faltered. He rolled his shoulders and tugged slightly at his collar. “Well, see, it’s uh, yeah. A long story. But I wanted–”

  “I don’t give a rip what you want!” She could hardly hear anything over the pounding in her ears. Narrowed vision blacked out everything but him. The man who had the nerve to call himself her father. “You weren’t there! Not when we needed you. Not when Mum worked two jobs to provide for us. Not at holidays or birthdays. Not when Mum battled cancer for two years. Two years!”

  His face took on an ashen hue in the dusk. “I – I didn’t know.”

  “Of course you didn’t! You walked away and never looked back!”

  A flush crept up his neck. “You don’t know–”

  “I don’t need to know anything else! You left. A father doesn’t do that.” Calm down. The words raced through her mind in repetition.

  She was losing it. Giving him a power over her that he didn’t deserve.

  Inhaling a sharp breath, she glared at the man who dared to return. “You weren’t there when we needed you and I sure as heck don’t need you now. Get off my property.”

  He held out his hands in a placating fashion. “Look. Kevyn, you’re upset. I get that. But couldn’t you at least hear me out?”

  A short laugh burst from her. “You’re at least thirty years too late for that. Leave. Now. Before I arrest you for trespassing.”

  She didn’t wait for a reply. Whirling, she stomped into the house and slammed the door behind her.

  ₪ ₪ ₪

  His wallet. Where was his wallet?

  Dak blew out a frustrated breath as he stood at the gas tank and felt his pockets. Not here.

  And he knew he hadn’t set it inside his Jeep.

  Still, he searched the interior for good measure.

  Nope, not there. He must’ve left it at Kevyn’s.

  Looked like he wouldn’t be fueling up right now. Or heading home like he’d hoped.

  He’d be turning around and retracing his steps.

  Better let Kevyn know he was coming.

  Tapping out a quick text, he set his phone aside and pulled away from the pump.

  At least he hadn’t gotten too far away. Shouldn’t take more than a few minutes to make the drive.

  A shiny red sportscar parked across the street from Kevyn’s house caught his attention. Looked like a Porsche. A fairly new one. He’d never seen it around before. Not that he was over here daily or anything, but a car like that attracted attention.

  As he approached her house, he spotted a man standing on Kevyn’s porch.

  His pulse spiked. Kevyn stood a few feet away from the man, her body rigid, her finger pointing toward the street.

  Unless he missed his guess, she was ordering the man away.

  He pulled into her driveway in time to see her go inside her house and slam the door.

  The man didn’t move, but continued staring at the door.

  Resting his hand on his Glock, Dak stepped from the vehicle. If Kevyn had told the man to leave, the man would leave. Dak would see to it personally, if needed.

  He didn’t know who the man was or why he was here, but no one harassed his agents.

  The man glanced up.

  He was older than Dak expected. Probably sixties. Not exactly who he expected to be hanging around outside one of his agents’ houses.

  An envelope hung from his fingers.

  The man descended the steps, pausing briefly beside Dak. Lines creased his forehead and his bloodshot eyes looked sad. “When she cools down, she’ll want to see this.”

  Dak glanced down at the proffered envelope for a moment before taking it.

  Without another word, the man walked away, crossing the street to the shiny Porsche.

  He looked down at the envelope.

  Nothing was written on the outside.

  Maybe he shouldn’t have taken the envelope. Clearly Kevyn hadn’t wanted it. Who was he to suggest she take it?

  Well, it was too late now.

  If she didn’t want it, she could throw it away. No harm in that.

  He climbed the stairs and rang her doorbell.

  No sound came from inside.

  After several seconds passed, he rang again.

  Still no sound.

  Maybe she thought it was that guy. “Kev? It’s Dak.”

  A few seconds later, the door swung open. Kevyn barely glanced at him before scanning the area behind him. “He’s gone, right?”

  Dak nodded. “Yep. Got into that fancy Porsche and drove away.”

  She jerked. “A Porsche?”

  “Relatively new, too.” He followed her into the house and pushed the door closed behind him. Everything in him was dying to ask who the man was, but it wasn’t really any of his business.

  However, the tension rolling off her, the agitation tightening her steps, was very much his concern. “You all right?”

  She whipped around to face him. “He thought he could walk right in like nothing had happened! What a jerk!”

  Man. He’d never seen her this worked up. “Who was that guy?”

  She crossed her arms over her chest and glowered at the door as if it were somehow to blame. “My father. Or he could have been, if he hadn’t walked out on us before I turned one.”

  Whoa, what? He hadn’t seen that one coming. He’d have to tread carefully. This was some shaky ground.

  The envelope in his hand suddenly felt heavy. “Do you know what he wanted?”

  She blinked. The question seemed to distract her from her anger. “I… He didn’t say.” She slowly shook her head. “Or, rather, I didn’t let him say.”

  Dak held up the envelope. “Well, he said you’d want to look at this. Maybe it will shed some light.”

  She didn’t move.

  What must it be like to have your father show up suddenly, after so many years of zero contact? He couldn’t imagine.

  A second ticked by before she slowly took the envelope.

  “I really want to rip it up and throw it away.” She laughed at her own confession, but the laugh had a brittle edge.

  “You could do that.” Although he suspected her curiosity would get the better of her.

  Silence descended.

  Maybe he should retrieve his wallet and leave her to deal with this in private. But would that be abandoning her when she needed support?

  Lord?

  He sensed he should stay.

  “You okay?” He’d asked her that before and she hadn’t answered. Maybe she wouldn’t this time either.

  She hesitated. “I’m confused. And mad as…” She bit her lip and turned her head, but not before he saw a tear slip down her cheek.

  Yeah, probably lots of conflicting emotions flowing right now.

  She cleared her throat. “So, uh, maybe we should see what’s inside this.”

  “You want me to clear out?” He inclined his head toward his wallet, resting on the floor beside the sofa. “I wasn’t trying to butt in, but I need my wallet.”

  “You’re welcome to hang out for a bit, if you’d like.”

  Unless he missed his guess, she wasn’t ready to face the contents of the envelope alone. “Sure. Gas stations are open twenty-four hours.”

  “Thanks.” She led the way into the kitchen, where she ripped open the envelope.

  A newspaper article fell out.

  Mayor’s son missing! Below the bold headline was a picture of Jason Boggess, his smile charming the camera and likely half the female population in Seattle.

  Handwritten in red across the article, obscuring the text he’d already skimmed, were four simple words: I know what happened.

  ₪ ₪ ₪

  That had gone well.

  Mitch Taylor slammed the driver’s door on his Porsche, the impact echoing through the well-lit, secure parking garage.

  The meeting with Kevyn replayed through his mind as it had ever since he’d left her house.

  She was emotional and completely unreasonable. Got that from her mother.

  Should he have been around more? Well, yeah. Sure. But what was done, was done. No changing the past.