Chapter 1
As I watched a speck of dust float in the air, a knock at the door made me jerk. The weight of existing pushed me down, but I forced myself to rise and see who’d come to interrupt my day of empty reflection.
Five years... gone. I scanned the framed pictures covering the back wall of my living room with unfocused eyes. Turning my listless head, I gazed at the black screen of the large, unused television. I was empty inside and had been for about a year. At one point in my life, personal time was lost in books, movies, and bad TV—anything to escape the enormity of my lonely future. Dry air scratched my throat as I sighed for the hundredth time. Empty seconds ticked by, void of emotion. Meaningless.
In previous years, on the anniversary of the beginning of my personal hell, my day was filled with tears and drama. I’d locked myself away to lament the hand life had dealt me. This year, for the first time, I was numb. The numbness was a boon—having no emotions sure beat the pain.
My revolver was in its hiding place near my front door, so I grabbed it and tucked it into the holster always at my back. I didn’t even dress in the morning without putting on my holsters. Nobody would snatch me out of my home without a fight. Not until I got answers, anyway. Once I knew the truth, I might not bother fighting. Maybe I’d be able to let go and have peace at last.
Through the peephole, a man—hot enough to melt gold—waited for me to answer the door in slacks, a nice shirt, and a striped tie. Salesman. I rolled my eyes. I didn’t have the patience for a sales pitch. Not today of all days.
Cracking the door open, I didn’t bother removing the chain while I kept one hand on the reassuring grip of my gun.
The crisp fall air tickled my cheeks as I peeked through the crack in the door. “Can I help you?” My voice was polite, fake.
My body gave a small surge of hormones as a sea foam gaze met my own. At that moment, I couldn’t see any of the other features on his face. I was too focused on the rarity of his eye color. Those eyes could’ve been on the face of a troll, and I wouldn’t have noticed. His irises, outlined by a thin ring of forest green, caused a small blush to warm my cheeks. I shook my head as if it would clear my thoughts. I’d begun to think my libido had disappeared with my husband years ago.
Huh. Maybe I wasn’t void of emotion after all.
With that thought, my husband’s face drifted through my mind, and guilt consumed me. Until life coughed up some answers for me, I would only be dead inside. How could I enjoy anything when my family was still missing?
“Ma’am, my name is Darrell Abbott.” He flipped up an FBI badge. His voice was a deep bass, and though his words were professional, his timbre said nothing but sex. “I was assigned your cold case and would like to speak to you about your husband, Michael Effler. Is it a good time for us to talk?”
The hair on my neck prickled as I studied his badge. It resembled the other FBI badges I’d seen over the years, but something about him set off warning bells in my mind. Oh, well. Maybe he’d be a distraction.
I double-checked to make sure my holster was unbuttoned, closed the door, and removed the chain. Re-opening the door, I wordlessly stepped aside so he could come in. I pointed to a recliner so Agent Abbott could sit.
I took a deep breath through the small sting in my chest. I was used to the pain, but no one had sat in that chair for five years. In the plethora of conversations with the police and FBI, I’d never allowed anyone there. Why did I motion for this man to sit in my husband’s favorite spot after all that time?
I perched on the end of my large sectional sofa, as far away as I could sit and still remain in the room. Staring past the agent, I showed him very little interest, even though I was finally feeling something besides numbness.
His wide shoulders strained the expensive material of his button-up shirt. He was built like my husband, which caused more pain to hit my heart as memories flashed before my eyes. Michael had been tall, towering over my own five-eight frame. Broad and muscular, he’d made me, then-plump, feel dainty and petite.
Agent Abbott cleared his throat and pulled at his tie as he studied my living room. His gaze rested on the various pictures my family had collected over the years. Art related to literary and pop culture icons covered the wall behind me.
The detective sat in front of a wall filled with family pictures. Sometime in my second year of hell, I’d printed every picture we ever took and framed them. Determined to never forget a single memory, I covered the house in pictures my son colored, fan posters and art, or treasured photos.
“Ms. Effler, can you start at the beginning and tell me what you remember from the day your family disappeared?” Agent Abbott cleared his throat again and stared at me expectantly as he held a small voice recorder with long, thick fingers.
Eventually, I moved my gaze from his hand to his face. I’d avoided looking directly at him and allowed myself to study his features. His eyes stood out from a tanned face with a strong jawline. Rich mahogany hair, a good month past time for a cut, fell to right above his ears. I noted a five o’clock shadow, which added to his rugged appeal.
“Agent Abbott, right?DarrellAbbott?” I narrowed my eyes at his mesmerizing face and my mind filled with rage. He’d exhausted my patience.
“Yes, ma’am.” He nodded, smiling, oblivious to my growing rage.
I adjusted my position so I could grab my gun, one hand behind me, against the couch. “If you’d cracked my case file, you’d know that my husband was an avid listener of metal music. I don’t know what kind of teenage demon-hunter show you think you’re in, coming here with a bogus FBI ID and a fake name, but Darrell Abbott was the real name of Dimebag Darrell, one of my husband’s favorite guitarists.” I swung my gun out from behind me and pointed it at his face. “Explain yourself,Agent Darrell Abbott.”
“Riley, please. I mean you no harm. I’m here to help.” His vivid eyes widened, pleading with me, and I was hit with an overwhelming desire to trust him. At the same time, a splitting headache formed. It started with a jolt between my eyebrows and then my entire head throbbed to the beat of my heart.
“Stand up slowly, whatever-your-name-is. If you make any sudden movements, Iwillshoot you.” I stood, my head pounding.
The faux agent rose, hands still in the air as the hair all over my body stood on end. I tried to watch every part of his body simultaneously.
He spoke with a low, even voice, trying to calm me. “I’m going to turn away from you and walk to the door. I'm sorry I’ve upset you, and I want you to know I came here today with the best of intentions.” I held the gun steady in my hand as he turned and moved toward the front door.
A shadow passed in front of my living room window, drawing my gaze. In an instant, somehow, the faux agent was in front of me, and my gun was in his hand. I gasped in surprise.
It was a fraction of a second! How'd he move so fast?
