Don't Forget Me Read online

  Also by Stacy Claflin

  An Alex Mercer Thriller

  Girl in Trouble

  Turn Back Time

  Little Lies

  Against All Odds

  Don't Forget me

  Bayside Hunters

  Bayside Opposites

  Curse of the Moon

  Lost Wolf

  Chosen Wolf

  Hunted Wolf

  Broken Wolf

  Cursed Wolf

  Secret Jaguar

  Fall Into Romance

  Lost in Romance

  Gone

  Gone

  Held

  Over

  The Gone Trilogy

  Dean's List

  Indigo Bay Sweet Romance Series

  Sweet Dreams

  Sweet Reunion

  The Hunters

  Seaside Surprises

  Seaside Heartbeats

  Seaside Dances

  Seaside Kisses

  Seaside Christmas

  Bayside Wishes

  Bayside Evenings

  Bayside Promises

  Bayside Destinies

  The Hunters: A Collection

  The Transformed

  Deception

  Betrayal

  Forgotten

  Ascension

  Duplicity

  Sacrifice

  Destroyed

  Transcend

  Entangled

  Dauntless

  Obscured

  Partition

  Fallen (The Transformed Prequel)

  Silent Bite: A Transformed Christmas

  Hidden Intentions

  Saved by a Vampire

  Sweet Desire

  Valhalla's Curse

  Renegade Valkyrie

  Pursued Valkyrie

  Standalone

  The Transformed Series - Four Books

  The Transformed Box Set

  No Return

  Tiny Bites

  Haunted

  Dex

  When Tomorrow Starts Without me

  Contents

  Title Page

  Waiting

  Discovery

  Hope

  More

  News

  Target

  Unsettled

  Sighting

  Secrets

  Stalk

  Clue

  Missing

  Wavering

  Watching

  Suspect

  Unload

  Attempt

  Question

  Exhausted

  Texts

  Worry

  Party

  Discussion

  Truth

  Shock

  Cases

  Opportunity

  Doubts

  Comfort

  Talking

  Relive

  Connection

  Closer

  Concern

  Double

  Lunch

  Progress

  Hurry

  Decisions

  Flinch

  Wistful

  Patience

  Advise

  Spill

  Listen

  Almost

  Results

  Shock

  Lament

  Treasure

  Urgent

  Vindication

  Vigil

  Spiral

  Answers

  Location

  Mistake

  Fight

  Illusion

  Dex Preview

  Other Books

  Author's Note

  DON’T FORGET ME

  AN ALEX MERCER THRILLER #5

  by Stacy Claflin

  http://www.stacyclaflin.com

  Copyright ©2018 Stacy Claflin. All rights reserved.

  ©Cover Design: Didi Wahyudi

  Edited by Staci Troilo

  This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, businesses, events, or locales is purely coincidental or used fictitiously. The author has taken great liberties with locales including the creation of fictional towns.

  Reproduction in whole or part of this publication without express written consent is strictly prohibited. Do not upload or distribute anywhere.

  This e-book is for your personal enjoyment only. It may not be resold or given away to others. If you would like to share this book with others, please either purchase it for them or direct them to StacyClaflin.com for purchase links. Thank you for respecting the hard work of the author.

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  Waiting

  The man pressed close against a row of prickly bushes as a pickup truck drove by and then out of sight.

  He released a breath. Nobody had seen him. Once he was certain the road was clear, he rose just high enough to see over the plants.

  Lights still shone from inside the house.

  The man checked the time. Again. He swore.

  Something was wrong. The couple was off their schedule. They should’ve left by now.

  But they hadn’t.

  His heart raced, both with worry and irritation—which would soon turn to anger.

  He needed them to leave. Now.

  What was he supposed to do? Just keep waiting? Get them out of the house? Find a new location? No! This was the only place that would do. He would have to remain patient.

  The problem was that the couple was already late. That meant he had no way of knowing when they would be back, if they did finally leave.

  He couldn’t do what he needed without the assurance they’d be gone long enough.

  The man drew in a deep breath and held it.

  One way or another, something had to be done. He couldn’t hold onto his treasure for much longer.

  She needed to be disposed of.

  Now.

  This waiting wasn’t helping anyone. Least of all him.

  He would have to do something.

  Wouldn’t be the first time he’d had to take matters into his own hands. But it would be trickier. Riskier.

  He’d done it before, so he could do it again.

  The man pulled out a phone and double-checked it was the burner. Then he triple-checked.

  There was no room for errors.

  He pulled up the contact list. The few numbers on this phone all showed on the tiny screen. His thumb hovered over the one he needed, ready to tap it.

  Slam!

  The man jumped, then turned back toward the house.

  Two people stood on the front porch. The husband locked the door and turned to his wife. They spoke of a phone call that had made them late.

  They hurried to their little sedan and drove off faster than usual.

  It was time.

  The man breathed another sigh of relief and waited a minute to make sure the couple didn’t return.

  They didn’t.

  Frogs bellowed in the distance. Otherwise, everything was silent on the sleepy road.

  The other neighbors were either out or settled in for the night. Only the couple who just left were off their schedule.

  The man scanned the area, and once he was certain nobody watched, he jumped to his feet and sprinted one block to his car.

  He could smell it before he reached it.

  He’d waited too long. After this, he’d need to dump the car and get a new one. The smell was too much. There was no way to mask it.

  That would have to wait. First, he must bid farewell to his treasure.

  How he hated letting go of his sweet prizes. As much as he needed to, it was easier said than done. Each time got harder rathe
r than easier.

  Maybe he was getting too old for this.

  No! He wasn’t.

  His treasures were why he got up in the morning. What kept him going each day, whether he had a new one or not.

  Tomorrow was a new day. He could focus on a new one then.

  For now, he needed to bury his latest treasure.

  He held his breath as he climbed into the clunker he’d stolen years ago, and started it. Then he pulled onto the road and drove around the block, parking just out of sight of the back of the now-empty house.

  His pulse drummed with excitement. Burying the treasures was always just as thrilling as the rest of the process. A different but equal thrill—part fear of getting caught, part saying goodbye, and part anticipation of the next treasure.

  The man looked around the quiet street before climbing out of his car and hefting the oversized suitcase from the trunk. The stench made his eyes water. He gagged and blinked away the tears, then lugged the treasure down the unlit backstreet until he reached the fence.

  He easily found the latch on the other side and flipped it over, unlocking the gate. It creaked as it opened—just like it had for years. It was almost as though he were the only one to use it.

  Once inside, he quickly closed the gate and looked around the large yard that he had long ago memorized. Everything was the same, except now the garden was expanding. Taking up more of the yard.

  Ever since the couple’s granddaughter started visiting them, the garden had been getting bigger and bigger.

  What he wouldn’t do to get that little girl and add her to his treasure trove.

  He shook his head to clear it, then stared down at the spot he’d picked out just for this special prize.

  It was now or never.

  The man set down the suitcase and checked his thick gloves. Once he was ready, he found the shovel where it always rested against the house.

  He tightened the gloves and got to work digging close to the house, just off to the side of a small garden shed.

  The suitcase—his treasure trunk—wasn’t very big this time, but he would still need to go deep. The last thing he needed was for the wife or grandchild to decide they wanted to start a new garden here, then find his latest prize.

  It was always a risk, given how many of his precious treasures had been buried on the grounds. This newest one was already close to the first one. Maybe they could keep each other company.

  That thought offered him solace until he could get his next one.

  After a while, sweat broke out on his hairline. He paused and wiped it while catching his breath.

  The sound of a car engine made him freeze in place. He listened, waiting for it to drive away.

  It didn’t.

  Instead, it slowed, followed by the squeal of a vehicle’s brakes.

  It sounded like it was in the front of the house.

  They couldn’t be home already! This was the night they always left for a solid three hours. Sometimes almost four.

  The man leaned the shovel against the shed, crept over to the fence, and peeked over.

  He swore under his breath.

  They were home early. He knew performing the ritual was a bad idea when the schedule was off.

  His skin felt on fire. He ran back over to the suitcase and shoved it into the hole. Only about three inches remained between the top of it and the ground.

  There was no time to dig the hole deeper.

  A car door slammed, then another.

  Conversation.

  The man released a barely-audible string of profanities as he filled the hole. He cursed the couple for not giving him enough time to properly say goodbye to his treasure.

  Once the hole was filled and the sizable chunk of grass placed back on top, he stared at the leftover dirt. Usually, he took his time carrying it over to the garden.

  A light shone from inside. It lit up a good portion of the backyard.

  Then it dimmed systematically. Someone was closing the blinds on the sliding door on the back porch.

  He glanced back at the pile of dirt. If he took it over to the garden, he would risk being seen. The only thing he could do was to spread it near the shed and hope nobody noticed.

  So that was what he did. By the time he had finished, he managed to convince himself it looked just like it had before.

  Except that he’d covered grass with the dirt.

  It would have to do.

  He replaced the shovel as it had been, crept to the corner of the house, and checked the windows. Light shone from half a dozen of them, but they all had the blinds drawn.

  With any luck, he could make his escape unnoticed.

  But luck was already showing it was not on his side tonight.

  He pressed himself against the fence and crept along it toward the gate, managing to stay in the shadows. Then he unlatched the lock and pulled the door.

  Creak!

  He froze for just a moment before bolting out and closing the gate behind him, not taking the time to check the latch.

  Then he ran.

  Discovery

  Three months later.

  “Do you want to plant the rosebushes this morning?” Genevieve Foster took one more sip of her black coffee before setting the mug on the table.

  Tinsley only nodded.

  Genevieve’s chest tightened. She’d really hoped Tinsley would’ve opened up more by now. Her twelve-year-old foster daughter almost never spoke. Not after the horrors she’d witnessed before coming to Genevieve. The only reason Genevieve could tell the girl was excited was because her eyes were wider than normal as she nodded.

  “We’ll get to that in just a few minutes.” Genevieve smiled. “Want me to make you some more eggs first?”

  Tinsley shook her head.

  “It’s no problem.” She waited, hoping her foster daughter might say something, but the fact that she was communicating at all was a good thing. Tinsley communicated with Genevieve, her therapist, a handful of friends, and her foster grandparents—Genevieve’s parents.

  Although part of the responsibility now lay with Genevieve. Tinsley had started to open up a bit more, but then she’d moved the two of them away from their apartment and friends.

  But it was for the best, and Tinsley would start to open up more again. It was all a matter of having patience. And lots of it.

  Genevieve emptied her mug, then rose. “I might have another egg. Do you mind?”

  Tinsley shook her head.

  “Sure you don’t want more? I’ll already be making some.”

  The girl again shook her head.

  “Okay.” Genevieve flashed her a smile, though inwardly she held back a gigantic sigh.

  As she fixed herself another fried egg, Genevieve talked about the rosebushes they’d picked up the day before. Though Tinsley didn’t respond, she was fairly certain the girl was listening. And according to the therapist, that was important for her overall recovery.

  Genevieve continued talking about flowers and gardens until she was done with her breakfast.

  Tinsley mostly played with a hangnail.

  Having her own demons made it easy for Genevieve to empathize with the girl, although Tinsley had been terrorized from a much younger age. It must’ve made everything she went through that much harder to deal with. At least, that’s what Genevieve told herself to stay positive with her foster daughter.

  Before long, the duo was outside with spades and the two rosebushes. The sweet aroma of the buds filled Genevieve with hope that everything would be okay.

  It was a stretch, but she was happy to take it. Especially on this notably bright morning in the Evergreen State.

  “Do you think the last few days’ rain has helped to soften the dirt?”

  Tinsley shrugged.

  “Let’s find out.” Genevieve handed her a spade, then retrieved the shovel from the side of the house where her mom always left it. “The guy at the garden center said these have pretty deep roots. How far do you t
hink I should dig?”

  Tinsley didn’t respond.

  Genevieve nodded as though she had. “I think pretty deep, too.”

  The sun grew hotter with each clump of dirt she dug out. Sweat dripped down her face and stuck to her clothes by the time she was almost done.

  One last time.

  Clunk!

  She and Tinsley exchanged a curious glance.

  Tinsley opened her mouth.

  Genevieve nearly dropped the shovel in hopes that the girl would speak.

  She didn’t. Tinsley closed her mouth and stepped closer to the hole.

  It took Genevieve a moment to recover, then she struck the hole again.

  Clunk!

  “Probably just a rock.” She forced a smile, knelt, then peeked into the hole. The only rocks were tiny pebbles. Nothing unusual.

  She pushed dirt around with the shovel. It scraped along something just below the surface.

  Something buried in the garden.

  It was probably nothing important. Maybe something a previous resident had buried. When Genevieve was a kid, she’d buried a time capsule in the home she’d grown up in.

  Her parents had moved, so this wasn’t that house. Some other parent-child pair had probably found her silly box years ago. And perhaps now she and her foster child had found someone else’s.

  Tinsley nudged her.

  “Right. Sorry. Let’s see what it is. Maybe a buried treasure.”

  The girl actually smiled.

  Warmth ran through Genevieve. She went back to digging out dirt until she revealed what appeared to be the lid of a fairly large storage container.

  Faded writing was scrawled across the top, near the middle. She pushed aside dirt until it was legible.

  Halloween decorations.

  Why would someone bury those?

  She dug around the plastic box, trying to loosen it but grew tired.

  Tinsley threw her an impatient glance.

  Genevieve took a deep breath and wiped her forehead. “It’s going to take a long time to dig this out. Why don’t we pull off the lid and see what’s inside?”

  Tinsley nodded furiously. “Yes.”

  Genevieve dropped the shovel.

  She quickly recovered, then moved the shovel out of the way. With shaky hands, she loosened the two ends of the lid. They were stuck in place, but finally gave way.