Fatal Mercy by Dan Padavona (hot novels to read .txt) 📕

when her head spun. He noticed the wobble and hurried to her side, hooking her elbow with his.

“This is lunacy. If you won’t return to the bedroom, I’ll call Doctor Singh.”

Cecilia chuckled.

“What will the doctor do? Place me under house arrest?” Finding her footing, Cecilia rested against the rail. “I just want to feel sunshine on my face and breathe fresh air.”

“We can do that here. Come with me. We’ll sit together in the yard.”

She touched his arm. The hurt coursing through his eyes tightened her throat.

“That’s all we’ve done since winter. Duncan, I’m not getting any better. I want to live while there’s time. Kidney disease hasn’t stolen my ability to walk. All I want is to see the river, hear birds, and smell flowers. Is that too much to ask?”

“And all I want is for you to get better so we have more days together.”

She reached into her pocket and dug out the keys, dangling them in front of his face.

“Last chance. Come with me. I’ll even let you drive.”

He folded his arms.

“You’re making irrational decisions. Doctor Singh said your mental faculty could degrade once the—”

“Oh, enough with Doctor Singh. I’m perfectly capable of making sound decisions, and right now I want to take a walk and live for a change. Are you coming with me?”

His eye twitched, a nervous tic he’d developed since spring.

“I won’t be party to your downfall. One of us has to care about your future, and that’s why I’m driving to the church to pray with Father Fowler.”

The cross around his neck glimmered, catching the light beaming through the dormer windows. Cecilia was angry enough to scream. Rather than fight Duncan, she rounded the hutch and whipped the door open. His shouts followed her outside and pulled Mrs. Gaverson’s attention while she weeded her flower garden.

Cecilia aimed the key fob at the car and pressed the button. The locks didn’t respond, a sign the fob’s battery was on its last life. She moved closer and tried again when the bushes rattled beside the house.

“Hello? Is someone there?”

She circled her car and stood upon the blacktop walkway. Shadows poured off the bushes guarding the house’s west side. When she came within a step of the shrubs, expecting a cat or squirrel to burst out of hiding, something moved in the dark. Cecilia’s heart pounded.

Pulling the branches aside, she glared at the white siding. Nothing lay hidden from view, though she noted the mulch had been disturbed and scattered across the walkway. The mess wasn’t her concern. Let Duncan take care of it for a change.

A horn blared at the end of the neighborhood as Mr. Hendrik’s pulled into his driveway. His daughter pedaled past on her bike, legs pumping in excitement as she raced to see her father. Somewhere down the block, a family grilled chicken. Everyone enjoyed the day except Cecilia.

As she unlocked the car and slid inside, the flora pulled her eyes again. The hairs on the back of her neck rose, and the sensation that someone was watching her set Cecilia on edge.

While she backed the car into the street and checked the mirrors, a shadow shifted behind the shrubbery.

CHAPTER EIGHT

Tuesday, July 14th

5:00 p.m.

 

Mortar fire appeared to have blown holes in the rutted blacktop outside Benson’s Barbells. Raven parked the black Nissan Rogue near the back of the lot between a delivery truck and a sports car. Raising binoculars to her eyes, she scanned the gymnasium. On the other side of the glass, Damian Ramos finished a set of overhead presses and wiped his forehead with a towel. At five o’clock on a Tuesday afternoon, half the city of Kane Grove packed Benson’s, the after-work crowd blowing off steam and burning calories.

When Damian moved to the leg press machine, Raven placed the binoculars on the passenger seat and sifted through the boy toy’s dossier. Twenty-five-years old, Damian held a degree in economics from the University of Buffalo. After working construction for eight months after graduation, Damian caught on with a trading firm in Syracuse, where he served as a market research analyst. Raven didn’t know much about finance careers, but assumed a market research analyst commanded a high salary. It made no sense. Why swindle a rich, older woman into marriage if he didn’t need the money?

Inside the gym, Damian cranked out a heavy set of leg presses. Raven preferred free weight squats. But she admitted Damian worked harder than the other gym rats. He had a teenager’s complexion, minus the acne. A guy like Damian wouldn’t have difficulty finding dates.

Raven hadn’t dated in two years, and she spent eight to twelve hours per day investigating for Wolf Lake Consulting. The rest of the time she took care of her mother.

She dug inside the greasy fast food bag and snatched two fries. Stuffing them into her mouth, she savored the salty goodness. Though she prided herself on eating healthy, she ate fast food when she felt depressed. Raven was adrift at sea, the waves pulling her in random directions. Is this what she wanted to do with her life? She loved Chelsey and enjoyed the challenge of investigative work. But private investigation seemed like a compromise.

Raven sipped her shake and pushed the bag away, forcing herself to stop binging. She raised the Canon camera and focused the zoom lens on the front windows. A quick pan found Damian beside the Smith machine and talking to a twenty-something blonde. The woman’s baby blue crop top showed off her rock-hard abdominals. Her shorts touched the tops of her thighs and left little to the imagination. The blonde’s ponytail bobbed and swayed as she laughed with Damian.

Raven snapped three photos of the chummy couple as Damian leaned one arm on the Smith machine, one leg casually folded in front of the other. When the blonde said something funny, Damian leaned his head back in laughter and touched her arm. A minute later, they scrolled through their smart phones, and Raven imagined them