Against All Odds Read online

  Zoey swallowed. It was so hard to keep anything from him. Alex had literally known her for his entire life. But she wanted to live in this fantasy of everything being perfect for as long as she could.

  “You and your overactive imagination.” She threw him a forced teasing glance. “Let’s pick up Ariana before she starts to think we aren’t coming.”

  Alex cupped her chin. “You know you can tell me anything, right? Nothing can change the way I feel about you, Zo. Nothing.”

  She spun around, unable to look him in the eye. “I know.”

  Zoey talked about some work drama as they headed to the car with Sparky in tow. She didn’t let Alex get a word in edgewise until they reached her parents’ house to pick up Ariana, who proceeded to talk nonstop about the play she was trying out for. Zoey relaxed as Alex’s attention moved to their daughter.

  Once they arrived at Nick’s house, all thoughts of Zoey’s problems faded into the background. The house was full. There were a handful of neighbor kids crowded around the dining room table, playing a game and laughing.

  Ariana raced to join them. Ava glanced up from the game and met Zoey’s gaze, then smiled at her. Zoey relaxed. At least Ava had managed to bounce back—she even held the hand of a cute boy with wavy hair falling in his eyes.

  Alex took her hand and squeezed, giving her a smile that could still melt her insides, despite everything she’d been through.

  Maybe Zoey could bounce back one day, too.

  DON'T FORGET ME

  PREVIEW OF DON’T Forget Me (Alex Mercer #5)

  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 rather 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.

  Links here.

  If you enjoy the Alex Mercer thrillers, you will like No Return, a standalone related to the series. Rusty is a friend of Alex’s mom, and when he looks into his estranged sister’s suicide, he discovers something far more sinister afoot…

  No Return Preview

  Rusty reached for the doorbell, but stopped when he heard a commotion across the street. He backed up and glanced down a couple houses. A lady stood with her arms folded, staring at two other ladies storming off.

  He went to the sidewalk. “Is everything okay?”

  The lady turned to him and shook her head. “Never cross the Calloways.”

  Rusty tilted his head. “Who?”

  She threw her arms in the air. “Be glad you don’t know.” She climbed into a car and sped off, peeling the tires.

  “Okay…” Rusty went back to his sister’s door.

  Yelling sounded from inside. It sounded like his brother-in-law. Rusty recognized his voice from the phone. His stomach twisted in knots. Maybe this trip was a bad idea. He rang the doorbell, anyway.

  “Coming,” called Chris, sounding far less angry than a moment earlier.

  The door opened, and a man with short, dark hair and dark eyes answered. He had a five o’clock shadow and dark circles underneath his deep brown eyes. “Rusty?”

  He nodded and held out his hand.

  Chris shook it. “Come on in. The police want me to come back down to the station. Do you mind staying with the kids?”

  “That’s why I’m here.”

  “You’re a lifesaver. This last week has been a nightmare.” Chris turned around and led Rusty up the stairs. He went left, and gestured toward a gray sectional couch with stuffing coming out of the armrests.

  A girl, about thirteen, with hair as dark as his sat with her eyes closed, dancing in her seat to music only she could hear in the earbuds. A boy, about eleven, with light brown hair hanging over his ears had his full attention on the television. They both had the same dark bands under their eyes as their dad—the very ones Rusty was so familiar with, too.

  “That’s Kaylie. And that’s Brady.”

  Neither glanced up.

  “Kids!”

  Kaylie pulled her earbuds out and Brady paused the show. They both turned to Chris, their eyes bloodshot.

  “This is your Uncle Rusty. He’s going to watch you guys while I’m out.”

  “I don’t need a babysitter,” Kaylie said.

  “Me, neither,” Brady said.

  “I’m not here to babysit,” Rusty assured them. “Just here in case you need something. Lunch, maybe?”

  “Grilled cheese,” Brady said and turned his show back on.

  “I apologize for their manners.” Chris turned to them. “Kids, be nice.”

  “Yeah, yeah.” Kaylie stuck her earbuds back in and closed her eyes.

  “Sorry to run,” Chris said. “But make yourself at home. Thanks again.”

  “No problem.” Rusty set his suitcase next to the couch on the brown shag carpet.

  Chris hurried down the stairs, and neither kid seemed to notice. He stopped near the front door and his phone sounded. Chris’s face clouded over as he glanced at the screen. He swore about a text.

  “Is everything all right?” Rusty asked.

  “What?” Chris looked at him, his face noticeably paler.

  “Are you okay?”

  “It’s the CEO of my work. He’s… I need to get the cops off my back so I can get back to work.”

  “Doesn’t your boss understand you’ve lost your wife? You need time to recover and—”

  “The only thing Travis Calloway cares about is the bottom line.”

  Calloway? Wasn’t that the same name the neighbor had said outside?

  Chris cracked his knuckles. “What I wouldn’t give for just one drink.”

  “You don’t want to do that. You’ve been clean for years, haven’t you?”

  His expression pinched. “Yes, I’m the one who helped Mandy get clean. I’m not going to drink. I just want one sometimes, you know? If my idiot boss and the cops would get a clue, I’d be fine.”

  Rusty leaned against the cracked banister. “Surely, your boss can understand the need to—”

  Chris’s phone rang. He swore and answered it. “I’m doing the best I can, Ricardo. The cops have it out for me. They won’t leave me alone.” He paused. “I can’t tell the police to wait! You’re going to have to tell Travis I’ll work nights or something. My wife just died.”

  Rusty turned toward the kids and watched them, trying not to eavesdrop on Chris.

  “Look, Ricardo, I can’t afford to lose this job, but I can’t tell the cops to take a hike, either. They want me down at the station now. The longer you keep me on the phone, the longer it’s going to be until I can get back to work… You can’t do that me! I have vacation days.” Chris let loose a string of profanities and put his phone away.

  Rusty turned back to him. “Can I help with anything?”

  Chris stared at him, his face reddening. “I hate that pompous jerk.” He picked up a potted flower and threw it against the wall. It shattered, sending soil in all directions.

  Links here.

  If you enjoy suspense and romance, you won’t be able to put this one down. Just read the preview and see what you think…

  When Tomorrow Starts Without Me Preview

  The railroad tracks rumble beneath my pink sneakers, vibrating my entire body along with them. My heart thunders in my chest.

  I’m not backing out.

  Sunshine beats down on me. It’s early summer, but it’s already proving to be an especially hot one. A rarity for a suburb of Seattle. It’s too bad I won’t be here to enjoy it.

  Off to the side, near the shade of the trees, movement distracts me. Something is nearby. I can’t tell what.

  And I don’t care.

  The rumble of the tracks grows stronger. It’s harder to balance.

  My pulse races as the deep-throated horn blares through the air.

  Though the driver clearly sees me, the green and yellow machine doesn’t appear to slow.

  Good. That’s exactly what I want.

  The horn wails again, this time rippling through me.

  My right foot slips from the track. I land in the middle of the two long pieces of metal. It’s
probably for the best. I’ll be hit by the center of the train. More force to end it all faster.

  Squeal! Tssh…

  The brakes.

  No!

  Don’t stop!

  Trains take forever to stop. Like half a mile or something. This can still happen.

  I do the only thing I can. I burst into a run toward the massive, now-slowing vehicle.

  The horn blares again, but I barely notice it. I can’t let the train stop before it reaches me. If I’m going to get anything right in my life, it has to be this.

  Now that I’m running, it’s coming toward me faster. My heart pounds harder.

  This is it. It’s really going to happen. I can almost count down, but it would be too disappointing to get to zero, only to find out that I’d miscalculated.

  The horn now sounds like a constant noise. That driver really wants me off the tracks.

  He doesn’t know who he’s dealing with.

  I’m ready for this.

  Something hits me. From the side.

  Wait, what?

  Now everything is a blur. I’m sailing through the air sideways. Away from the train! It’s leaving my line of sight.

  My shoulder hits the ground first. Then my hip and side. My head hits. Hard.

  I roll. Dirt and gravel get in my face.

  I’m a mess of soil and grass.

  The train barrels past.

  I missed my train!

  “What were you thinking?” demands a male voice from behind.

  I spin toward the voice and glare at its owner. The gorgeous face of the owner. His almost-shoulder-length wavy hair is mostly covered by a gray beanie which perfectly matches his plaid flannel shirt.

  “What were you thinking?” he repeats.

  I jump up and dust rocks and grass from my jeans and shirt. “Me? What about you? Why’d you do that?”

  He stands, but doesn’t dust himself off. “You mean why did I save your life?”

  “Yeah.” I glower at him. My heart continues racing, but now from anger instead of excitement. “I had it all planned perfectly. Then you show up. The one variable I didn’t take into account. Jerk.”