Beverly Long - Deep Secrets

She remembered several of the hairpin turns from the previous night and realized that they were much scarier in the daytime. She hadn’t been able to see how narrow the shoulder on the road was.

Fifteen minutes later, when she was back at the cottage, she let Duke out to do his thing and grabbed the groceries. She held both plastic bags in one hand so that she had a free hand to enter the combination.

She got it on the first try this time. The door swung open.

And by habit, her eyes swept the room. Call her crazy but it seemed different than it had when she’d left two hours earlier. It smelled different. And the handle of the faucet on the kitchen sink was turned to a slightly different angle. And the rug on the floor had one corner flipped up, as if someone had caught it with a shoe.

Trust your instincts.

She could almost hear Rafe’s voice in her ear.

She dropped her groceries and ran for her car. Where the hell was Duke?

She was reaching for the Jeep door when someone caught her from behind. She turned, swinging her fist.

The stranger caught her arm. He was big and beefy and he smelled strongly of garlic. He was completely bald, maybe late fifties.

She opened her mouth to scream and he backhanded her. She fell to her knees.

“Shut up or we put a bullet in you,” he said. “Get the dog.”

She thought he was talking to her but realized that there was a second man. He was standing five feet away, holding a gun. He was much younger, with dark hair that touched his shoulders. But there was no doubt that the two were related, maybe father and son.

Her ears were ringing and she was pretty sure she had a bloody nose. She lifted her head, looking for Duke. He was fifty feet away, his fur raised, on full alert. He was going to charge the man with the gun.

“Oh, no, Duke,” she cried.

The man pulled the trigger, catching Duke as he leaped into the air. She heard his sharp yelp of pain and saw him fall.

Duke’s big body hit the hard ground and he lay there.

She pushed herself off the ground. She had to help him. “You bastard,” she screamed. “You killed him.”

And when the younger man laughed, Trish launched herself in his direction, kicking and screaming with everything she had.

It took both men to subdue her, and she only stopped when they had her on the ground with the gun pressed up against her temple. She turned her head to see her poor dog.

He lay absolutely still.

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