A Bullet to the Heart by Kathy Wheeler (most read books of all time .TXT) 📕

of his neck, attempting to ease the tension there. The dismal black from the depths of the sea below reached for him, like the tentacles from more than just one octopus. He jerked his head up and stepped back from the edge of the bluff and pushed a hand through his hair. She may not realize it, but she was the only woman for him.

Jo was different. He knew she had serious issues. When the girls had come to live on the Island with Victor and Mary, Wyn had first believed Jo to be mute. He’d watched Lydia and Tevi run all over the place, screeching like miniature banshees, leaving destruction in their wake. But not Jo. No. Jo walked sedately behind, watching them like a mother hen, making sure they didn’t hurt themselves. When she wasn’t around, he pictured her holed up in her room surrounded by stacks of books, all the while, never saying a word. Just alert and watchful, or sunk in her own world of fiction. That’s how he envisioned her.

The night he and Jackson had found Penelope’s body, the island had split apart at its social seams, along with his and Jackson’s friendship. A group of the kids had gathered for a bonfire at Serpent’s Point. It had been a favorite spot for teenagers with its haunted history. The island had been safe enough—until that night.

He, Jackson, and Garrick had been quite the pack at the time. Occasionally, Simon Guthrie hung out, but his father was a stuffy lawyer and the Guthrie’s spent most of their time in the city. Simon was part of the annual summer crew.

The party had just broken up. Like most of the kids on the island, Wyn worked for his parents doing hard physical labor. Wyn’s mother handled the dry goods: flour, fabric, and such. His father dealt with building materials: concrete, granite from the quarry, flooring. Wyn spent the majority of his time in the building out back, organizing, stacking, and hauling the raw materials for customers. Sometimes he imagined he lived the life of a prisoner on a chain-gang, without the ‘gang.’

Wyn took a swig from the bottle of gin he’d hijacked. His pa would kill him if he caught him drinking. Wyn had just reached the path through the trees that would lead him to the store and the house behind, bound for his tiny loft bedroom when Penelope’s shrill scream wrenched the night and raised his skin into goosebumps from head to toe.

The leaves rustled violently. He dropped the bottle and dashed back the way he’d come. He’d found Penelope hanging half over the bluff, her ripped dress exposing her neck and breast. Wyn dragged her from the edge, stripped off his shirt and covered her.

Jackson was next to him in an instant. “What’d you do to her, you bastard?” He’d been drinking too, and his words were slurred. He took a swing at Wyn and caught him on the cheek, knocking him on his haunches. It had been a lucky shot.

“N-nothing.”

“Get away from her.”

“Calm down, Jack. We gotta go for help. She’s not moving.”

“I’ll do it. Just let her go.” Jackson went down on his knees and gathered her gently to his body.

“What was she doing here? Old Knox would never let her out at night.”

“I-I don’t know.”

But Wyn was afraid Jackson did know. The air stirred around him and he caught the scent of something sweet. The hair on his arms raised. He backed away from Jackson and surveyed the moonlit landscape. Wyn had the tracking instincts of a predatory cat; everyone knew it. He stood and honed in on the edge of the trees. The clouds moved over the moon, blocking the light, but he started down the path.

Huddled beneath the brush, he found Jo. He crouched down. “Jo?”

The clouds moved past. She blinked and the silver moonbeam turned her stricken blue eyes to an indiscriminate pearly sea-colored stone. “Wyn.” She threw her terrified tiny body against him, shaking violently.

“Come on. Let’s get you home. Victor will shoot someone and I’m the likely target.”

Wyn shook his head, attempting to free himself of the memories, but Penelope’s bloodied head visited his nightmares to this day. No one had ever been charged with her murder. That time, that incident had changed the course of Wyn’s life. That was the moment he’d decided to go into police work.

The fight had been brutal. Pa’s dreams conflicted completely with Wyn’s own—taking over the business after his father retired. Penelope’s death had changed him.

Oddly enough, it was Victor Montgomery who’d stepped in, convincing Wyndel Smith, Sr., handily so, that Wyn was destined for greater things. Wyn had been too young to understand what Victor meant. Rarely did anyone go up against the mighty Victor Montgomery.

By early June that year, newly graduated from high school, Wyn found himself in New York City working his own beat, wearing a police uniform. It was all about the politics and Victor Montgomery had the connections.

When Wyn had returned to the island four years ago, Jo was nowhere to be found. Neither was Lydia. They’d been shipped off to finishing school, and Tevi had taken to following Wyn around like a puppy.

Even seeing the girls all grown up didn’t stir him. No. It had always been Josephine. She’s the one who’d snared his heart.

Wyn was four years older than Jo. As teens, that was a lifetime. But now she was twenty-five and he was twenty-nine. Streaming fingers of gloom beckoned him to a whirling vortex of reality. He was nothing but a small-town lawman. He as good as worked for her family. One might even say she could be considered his boss. Now he had this damned Julius Styles to worry about. And who the hell was Bobby Kingsley? That guy bothered him, he—

Wyn stopped. A movement? He waited, observing from the corner of his eye, not moving his head. Conscious of his precarious position, looking out over the cliff, reminded how Victor had