Pretend You're Safe

  Copyright © 2017 Debbie Raleigh

  Cover photographs © Colleen Farrell/Arcangel Images (locket), Valentin Agapov/Shutterstock (floor) and Ratsadapong Rittinone/Shutterstock (blood)

  The right of Alexandra Ivy to be identified as the Author of the Work has been asserted by her in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.

  Published by arrangement with Zebra Books, an imprint of Kensington Publishing Corp.

  First published in this Ebook edition in 2017

  by HEADLINE ETERNAL

  An imprint of HEADLINE PUBLISHING GROUP

  Apart from any use permitted under UK copyright law, this publication may only be reproduced, stored, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means, with prior permission in writing of the publishers or, in the case of reprographic production, in accordance with the terms of licences issued by the Copyright Licensing Agency.

  All characters in this publication are fictitious and any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

  Cataloguing in Publication Data is available from the British Library

  eISBN 978 1 4722 5291 3

  HEADLINE PUBLISHING GROUP

  An Hachette UK Company

  Carmelite House

  50 Victoria Embankment

  London EC4Y 0DZ

  www.headlineeternal.com

  www.headline.co.uk

  www.hachette.co.uk

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright Page

  About the Author

  Also by Alexandra Ivy

  About the Book

  Dedication

  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

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Chapter Thirty

  Chapter Thirty-One

  An excerpt from What Are You Afraid Of?

  Find out more about Headline Eternal

  About the Author

  Alexandra Ivy is a New York Times bestselling author of romantic suspense, paranormal and erotic romance. She has also written Regency historicals under the name Deborah Raleigh. A five-time Romantic Times Book Award Finalist, Ivy has received much acclaim for her Guardians of Eternity, ARES Security, Immortal Rogues and Sentinels series. She lives with her family in Missouri.

  Find Alexandra online at www.AlexandraIvy.com, and connect with her on Facebook at www.facebook.com/alexandraivyfanpage and on Twitter @AlexandraIvy.

  By Alexandra Ivy

  Pretend You’re Safe

  About the Book

  He sees you . . . He knows you . . . And he’ll never let you go . . .

  First came the floods. Then came the bodies. The victims – strangled, then buried along the shores of the Mississippi – have finally been unearthed, years after they disappeared. He remembers every satisfying kill . . . each woman’s terror and agony. But there’s only one he truly wanted. And fate has brought her within reach again . . .

  Jaci Patterson was sixteen when she found the first golden locket on her porch. Inside were a few strands of hair wrapped around a scrap of bloodstained ribbon. Though the ‘gifts’ kept arriving, no one believed her hunch that a serial killer was at work. Now Jaci has returned home . . . and the nightmare is starting once more.

  Back then, Rylan Cooper was an arrogant deputy sheriff convinced that Jaci was just an attention-seeking teen. It was a fatal mistake. There’s a murderer in their midst, someone determined to settle old scores and keep playing a twisted game. And it won’t end until Jaci is his forever . . .

  Look for the next novel of page-turning suspense from Alexandra Ivy, What Are You Afraid Of?

  Dedicated to Sheriff David Parrish

  and the Lewis County Sheriff’s Office

  for their loyal dedication and their willingness

  to go above and beyond the call of duty.

  That includes their incredible patience

  in allowing me to hang out at the office,

  and answering my endless questions.

  Any mistakes can be attributed directly to this author.

  Prologue

  Frank Johnson had endured his fair share of floods. He’d been born and raised on the small farm that butted against the bank of the Mississippi River. Which meant he’d spent the past sixty years watching the muddy waters rise and fall. Sometimes sweeping away crops, cattle, and during one memorable year, the barn that had been built by his great-grandfather.

  The levee that’d been built by the Corps of Engineers over a decade ago had provided a measure of security. Not that he’d been happy when they’d come in and scooped up his fertile land to create the barrier. Frank was a typical midwestern farmer who didn’t need the government poking their noses, or bulldozers, into his business. But eventually he’d had to admit it was nice not to have the waters lapping at the back door every time it rained.

  But this was no typical rain.

  On the first of February the heavens had opened up, and six weeks later the torrential rains continued to pound the small community. The river had become an angry, churning, destructive force as it swept toward the south. Frank watched in concern as the water had inched closer and closer to the top of the levee. He knew it was only a matter of time before it spilled over the ridge and into his back field.

  But when he woke that morning, it wasn’t to find the levee had been topped. Nope. It had been busted wide open. As if someone had set off an explosion during the night.

  With the resignation of a man who’d lived his entire life dependent on the fickleness of nature, he’d pulled on his coveralls and boots before firing up his old tractor and heading down to see the damage.

  Dawn had arrived, but the thick clouds and persistent drizzle shrouded the farm in a strange gloom. Frank pulled the collar of his coveralls up to protect his neck from the chilled breeze, starting to feel like Noah. Had he missed the memo from God that he was supposed to build an ark?

  The inane thought had barely formed in his mind when he allowed the tractor to roll to a halt. As expected, his fields had become pools of brown, brackish water. In some places the nasty stuff was waist deep. There were also the usual leaves, branches, and pieces of flotsam that’d been caught in the swirling eddies.

  What he hadn’t expected was the long, dark object that he spotted floating in the middle of his pasture.

  His first thought had been that it was a log. Maybe a piece of lumber torn from a building. But a piece of wood wouldn’t make his stomach cramp with a sense of dread, would it?

  Climbing off his tractor, he’d reached into his pocket for his cell phone. His unconscious mind had already warned him that whatever the floodwaters had washed onto his land was going to be bad.

  And it was.

  Really, really bad.

  Chapter One

  First came the floods. And then the bodies . . .

  Jaci Patterson was running late.
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  It all started when she woke at her usual time of four a.m. Yes, she really and truly woke at that indecent hour, five days a week. On the weekends, she allowed herself to sleep in until six. But this morning, when she crawled out of bed, she discovered the electricity was out.

  Again.

  The lack of power had nothing to do with the sketchy electrical lines that ran to her remote farmhouse in the northeast corner of Missouri. At least not this time. Instead, it could be blamed on the rains that continued to hammer the entire Midwest day after day.

  When the lights grudgingly flickered on an hour later, she had to rush through her routine, grateful that she’d baked two dozen peach tarts and several loaves of bread the night before.

  As it was, she’d barely managed to finish her blueberry muffins and scones before she had to load them into the back of her Jeep. Then, locking her two black Labs, Riff and Raff, in the barn so they didn’t destroy her house while she was gone, she headed toward Heron, the small town just ten miles away.

  Predictably, she was barreling down the muddy lane that led to the small farm that’d once belonged to her grandparents, when she discovered the road was blocked before she could reach the intersection. Crap. Obviously the levee had broken during the night, releasing the swollen fury of the Mississippi River.

  It was no wonder her electricity had gone out.

  Grimacing at the knowledge that her bottom fields, along with most of her neighbors’, were probably flooded, she put the Jeep in reverse. Then, careful to stay in the center of the muddy road, she reversed her way back to the lane. Once she managed to get turned around, she headed in the opposite direction.

  The detour took an extra fifteen minutes, but at least she didn’t have to worry about traffic. With fewer than three hundred people, Heron wasn’t exactly a hub of activity. In fact, she ran into exactly zero cars as she swung along Main Street.

  She splashed through the center of town, which was lined with a small post office, the county courthouse that was built in the eighteen hundreds, with a newer jail that had been added onto the back, a bank, and a beauty parlor. On the opposite side was the Baptist church and next to it a two-story brick building that the local celebrity, Nelson Bradley, had converted into a gallery for his photographs. Farther down the block was a newly constructed tin shed that housed the fire truck and the water department. On the corner was a small diner that had originally been christened the Cozy Kitchen, but had slowly become known as the Bird’s Nest by the locals after it’d been taken over by Nancy Bird, or Birdie, as she was affectionately nicknamed.

  Pulling into the narrow alley behind the diner, Jaci hopped out of her vehicle to grab the top container of muffins, which were still warm from the oven. Instantly, she regretted not pulling on her jacket as the drizzling rain molded her short, honey-brown hair to her scalp and dampened her Mizzou sweatshirt and faded jeans to her generously curved body.

  With a shiver she hurried through the back door, careful to wipe the mud from her rubber boots before entering the kitchen.

  Heat smacked her in the face, the contrast from the chilled wind outside making the cramped space feel smothering.

  Grimacing, she walked to set the muffins on a narrow, stainless-steel table that was next to the griddle filled with scrambled eggs, hash browns, sausage, and sizzling bacon.

  The large woman with graying hair and a plump face efficiently flipped a row of pancakes before gesturing toward the woman who was standing at the sink washing dishes. Once the helper had hurried to her side, she handed off her spatula and made her way toward Jaci.

  Nancy Bird, better known as Birdie, was fifteen years older than Jaci. When the woman was just seventeen she’d married her high school sweetheart and dropped out of school. The sweetheart turned out to be a horse patootie who’d fled town, leaving Birdie with four young girls to raise on her own.

  With a determination that Jaci deeply admired, Birdie had bought the old diner and over the past ten years turned it into the best place to eat in the entire county.

  At this early hour her clients usually consisted of farmers, hunters, and school bus drivers who were up before dawn.

  “Morning, Birdie.” Jaci stepped aside as the older woman efficiently began to place the muffins on a large glass tray that would be set on the counter next to the cash register. Many of the diners liked to have a cup of coffee and muffin once they were done with breakfast.

  “Thank God you’re here.”

  “I’m sorry I’m late. The electricity didn’t come on until almost five.”

  Finishing, Birdie grabbed the tray and bustled across the kitchen to hand it to her assistant.

  “Take this to the counter,” Birdie commanded before turning back to Jaci with a roll of her eyes. “The natives have been threatening to revolt without their favorite muffins.”

  Jaci smiled, pleased by Birdie’s words. She’d learned to bake at her grandmother’s side, but it wasn’t until she’d inherited her grandparents’ farm that she’d considered using her skills to help her make ends meet.

  Leaning to the side, she glanced through the large, open space where the food was passed through to the waitresses.

  The place hadn’t changed in the past ten years. The walls were covered with faded paneling that was decorated with old license plates and a mounted fish caught from the nearby river. The floor was linoleum and the drop ceiling was lit with fluorescent lights.

  There were a half dozen tables arranged around the square room with one long table at the back where a group of farmers showed up daily to drink coffee and share the local gossip.

  At the moment, every seat was filled with patrons wearing buff coveralls, camo jackets, and Cardinal baseball hats.

  Jaci released a slow whistle. “Damn, woman. That’s quite a crowd,” she said, a rueful smile touching her lips. The rains meant that no one was able to get into the fields. “At least someone can benefit from this latest downpour.”

  “Benefit?” Birdie sucked in a sharp breath, her hands landing on her generous hips. “I hope you’re not suggesting that I’m the sort of person who enjoys benefiting from a tragedy, Jaci Patterson,” she chastised. “People want to get together to discuss what’s happened and I have the local spot for them to gather.”

  Jaci blinked, caught off guard by her friend’s sharp reprimand. Then, absorbing the older woman’s words, she stiffened in concern.

  “Tragedy?” she breathed.

  Birdie’s features softened. “You haven’t heard?”

  Jaci felt a tremor of unease. She’d already lost her father to a drunk driver before she was even born, and then her grandmother when she was seventeen. Her grandfather had passed just two years ago. She was still raw from their deaths.

  “No, I haven’t heard anything. Like I said, the electricity went out last night and as soon as it came back on I started baking. Has someone died?”

  “I’m afraid so.”

  “Who?”

  “No one knows for sure yet,” Birdie told her.

  Jaci blinked in confusion. “How could they not know?”

  “The levee broke in the middle of the night.”

  “Yeah, I figured that out when I discovered that the road was closed. . . . Oh hell.” She tensed as her unease became sharp-edged fear. The levee had broken before and flooded fields, but the neighbor to her south had recently built a new house much closer to the river. “It didn’t reach Frank’s home, did it?”

  Birdie shook her head. “Just the back pasture.”

  “Then what are you talking about?”

  “When Frank went to check on the breach, he saw something floating in the middle of his field.”

  Jaci cringed. Poor Frank. He must have been shocked out of his mind.

  “Oh my God. It was a dead person?”

  “Yep. A woman.”

  “He didn’t recognize her?”

  Birdie leaned forward and lowered her voice, as if anyone could hear over the noise from the customer
s, not to mention the usual kitchen clatter.

  “He said it was impossible to know if she was familiar or not.”

  “I don’t suppose he wanted to look too close,” Jaci said. If she’d spotted a body in her flooded field she would have jumped into her Jeep and driven away like a maniac.

  “It wasn’t that. He claimed the woman was too . . .” Birdie hesitated, as if she was searching for a more delicate way to express what Frank had said. “Decomposed to make out her features.”

  “Decomposed?” A strange chill inched down Jaci’s spine.

  “That’s what he’s saying.”

  Jaci absently glanced through the opening into the outer room where she could see Frank surrounded by a group of avid listeners.

  When Birdie had said a body, she’d assumed it had been someone who’d been caught in the flood. Maybe she’d fallen in when she was walking along the bank. Or her car might have been swept away when she tried to cross a road with high water.

  But she wouldn’t be decomposed, would she?

  “I’ve heard that water does strange things to a body,” Jaci at last said.

  Birdie tugged Jaci toward the back door as her assistant moved to open the fridge. Clearly there was more to the story.

  “The body wasn’t all that Frank discovered.”

  Jaci stilled. “There was more?”

  “Yep.” Birdie whispered, as if it was a big secret. Which was ridiculous. There were no such things as secrets in a town the size of Heron. “Frank called the sheriff, and while he was waiting for Mike to arrive he swears he caught sight of a human skull stuck in the mud at the edge of the road.” Birdie gave a horrified shudder. “Can you imagine? Two dead people virtually in his backyard? Gives me the creeps just thinking about it.”

  Jaci’s mouth went dry. “Did Frank say anything else?”

  Birdie shrugged. “Just that the sheriff told him to leave and not to talk about what he found.” Birdie snorted. “Like anyone wouldn’t feel the need to share the fact they found a dead body and a skull in their field.”

  A familiar dread curdled in the pit of Jaci’s stomach.