Rita Herron - Return To Falcon Ridge

Elsie’s blunt comment took him off guard. “I… At first that was the reason.”

“And now?”

Wariness darkened her eyes, but desire also flickered in the depths. Deke didn’t quite know how to answer.

“Now…” He hesitated, hating the churning in his stomach. “Now I want to protect you.”

Disappointment tightened her mouth. “Because you think I’m helpless? Well, I’m not, Deke. I know how to fight, how to take care of myself, how to shoot that gun. And I won’t hesitate to do it.”

“That doesn’t mean you have to face everything alone all the time, Elsie.”

Emotions clouded her eyes. “I don’t know any other way.”

He twined her fingers in his own, stroking her palm with his other hand as he pulled her into his lap. “Let me show you.”

To all those fans who read The Man from Falcon Ridge and asked for Elsie’s story—hope you enjoy!

And to Jenny Bent for loving the dark, creepy stuff!

Award-winning author Rita Herron wrote her first book when she was twelve, but didn’t think real people grew up to be writers. Now she writes so she doesn’t have to get a real job. A former kindergarten teacher and workshop leader, she traded her storytelling for kids for romance, and writes romantic comedies and romantic suspense. She lives in Georgia with her own romantic hero and three kids. She loves to hear from readers, so please write her at P.O. Box 921225, Norcross, GA 30092-1225, or visit her Web site at www.ritaherron.com.

Deke Falcon—A tough P.I. with a soft spot for wounded birds of prey—and women in trouble.

Elsie Timmons—She disappeared twenty years ago. But now that she’s returned to Wildcat, Tennessee, someone wants her dead.

Howard Hodges—Just the thought of the man gives Elsie nightmares. Will the vile acts he committed against the girls at Wildcat Manor be exposed?

Hattie Mae Hodges—Did she die of natural causes, or was she murdered to stop her from telling the truth about what happened at Wildcat Manor?

Sheriff Andy Bush—He vowed to protect the citizens of Wildcat—but he wants Elsie run out of town at any cost.

Dr. Morty Mires—He provided health care for the pregnant teens housed at Wildcat Manor. But what is he hiding?

Burt Thompson—How far will he go to keep Elsie from digging up the past?

Renee Leberman—The social worker who helped arrange the adoptions for the pregnant teens died suddenly. What secrets did she take to her grave?

Eleanor Cross & Donna Burgess—They both adopted babies from teens at the orphanage, and will do anything to stop Elsie from exposing the adoptions.

Prologue

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

She was going to die in Wildcat Manor.

Fourteen-year-old Elsie Timmons shivered as the lock turned on the door, sealing the girls into their dismal cavern. The orphanage was haunted.

At night, the cries and screams taunted her. But they were her punishment.

And this was where she belonged. In the town of the damned where wildcats as big as tigers roamed the woods. Where the unwanted were hidden away forever. Where children disappeared into the forest, possibly eaten by the monsters.

Because they were all evil.

Elsie had known she was ever since she was four. Ever since she’d told her mama that the man next door was hurting her friend Hailey. Then Hailey and her family had been butchered, and her daddy had dragged her off, claiming they’d come for her next. Either the killer or the law.

Because she had brought the evil upon Hailey and her family.

Tears filled her eyes and dribbled down her cheeks. She wanted to change, but then she’d failed, and Daddy had left her here, alone, trapped in the tangled lies of Wildcat Manor.

Her hand went to her stomach. The images of the dark basement where she’d been taken last week still tormented her dreams. The sounds of her own cries. The sounds of others. The gripping pain that she had barely survived.

The emptiness that now consumed her.

Trees rattled and shook their winter fury against the thin, fog-coated glass panes, shrouding any light from the outside. Heavy footsteps shuffled down the corridor outside her room, and she hunched over in the shadows of the wall behind her bed, hoping to be invisible.

Little Torrie huddled beneath the faded quilts covering her cot, a low whimper of fear drifting toward her. Elsie was big and could take care of herself. She had been doing it for ages.

Torrie was nothing but a child, only eleven, with long blond hair and the eyes of an angel. Surely, he wouldn’t hurt her….

Suddenly a key rattled in the door, and the ancient stone walls throbbed with the sound of the door screeching open. Elsie held her breath as he entered. The vile smell of whiskey floated into the musty space, and evil kissed her neck as he shuffled forward in the darkness. Every muscle in her body clenched with terror. He slanted her a sinister smile that made the hair on the back of her neck stand on end.

She braced herself for his nasty fingers to close around her, but he turned and snatched Torrie from beneath the covers. She kicked and screamed, a haunting sound that echoed off the walls and sent a spasm of nausea to Elsie’s stomach. Without a word, he dragged her through the darkness into the hall, then his husky voice thundered with anger, and a slap resounded through the air.

Elsie sobbed and stood on wobbling legs. She couldn’t let him hurt Torrie. She was too little, too sweet, too innocent.

Elsie had never been innocent.

She gathered her courage, then tiptoed down the hall, ducking into the corners when he paused. Surely she was wrong. Maybe they’d found a home for Torrie. Maybe someone had come to adopt her.

After all, Hattie Mae had promised them all hope when they’d been left on her doorstep.

Trying to pad softly, she continued to follow him until he reached the basement. There, her palms grew sweaty and her heart pounded. He flung open the door and threw Torrie over his shoulder. Torrie wasn’t moving now, and Elsie realized he had knocked her unconsciousness.

Dear God, what was he going to do to her?

Fear piercing her, she descended the stairs in his shadow, searching the dimly lit basement, and trying to banish the image of the night she had spent in the chamber of horrors. Seconds later, he knelt in front of Torrie. “We’re going to play a little game, Torrie. Do you like games?”

“She’s too young,” Elsie screamed. “Leave her alone, you monster!”

He pounced toward her, his eyes flashing with anger. Elsie grabbed the lantern and flung it toward him. The glass shattered, oil spilling onto the concrete floor, then it burst into flames. He bellowed with rage and sprinted toward her, but the fire shot into a mountainous blaze that caught his shirtsleeve and rippled upward. His loud horrified scream wrenched the air. Elsie jolted sideways, and ran for Torrie. She moaned, but Elsie shook her.