Down the Darkest Road Read online

  PRAISE FOR KYLIE BRANT

  “Kylie Brant is destined to become a star!”

  —Cindy Gerard, New York Times and USA TODAY bestselling author

  “A complex, page-turning mystery plus a heartfelt romance blend into a fast-paced story that kept me reading until the wee hours.”

  —Allison Brennan, New York Times bestselling author of Make Them Pay on Deadly Dreams

  “Dark and compelling suspense.”

  —Anne Frasier, author of The Body Reader

  “Pretty Girls Dancing is a complex and character-driven mystery that will keep you turning pages until late at night.”

  —Kendra Elliot, Daphne du Maurier Award–winning author of A Merciful Truth

  “Pretty Girls Dancing is Kylie Brant at her chilling best as she delivers a compelling thriller with a shocking twist.”

  —Loreth Anne White, author of A Dark Lure

  ALSO BY KYLIE BRANT

  The Cady Maddix Mysteries

  Cold Dark Places

  The Circle of Evil Trilogy

  Chasing Evil

  Touching Evil

  Facing Evil

  Other Works

  Pretty Girls Dancing

  Deep as the Dead

  What the Dead Know

  Secrets of the Dead

  11

  Waking Nightmare

  Waking Evil

  Waking the Dead

  Deadly Intent

  Deadly Dreams

  Deadly Sins

  Terms of Attraction

  Terms of Engagement

  Terms of Surrender

  The Last Warrior

  The Business of Strangers

  Close to the Edge

  In Sight of the Enemy

  Dangerous Deception

  Truth or Lies

  Entrapment

  Alias Smith and Jones

  Hard to Tame

  Hard to Resist

  Hard to Handle

  Born in Secret

  Undercover Bride

  Falling Hard and Fast

  Heartbreak Ranch

  Undercover Lover

  Friday’s Child

  Bringing Benjy Home

  Guarding Raine

  An Irresistible Man

  McLain’s Law

  Rancher’s Choice

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, organizations, places, events, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

  Text copyright © 2019 by Kim Bahnsen

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced, or stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without express written permission of the publisher.

  Published by Thomas & Mercer, Seattle

  www.apub.com

  Amazon, the Amazon logo, and Thomas & Mercer are trademarks of Amazon.com, Inc., or its affiliates.

  ISBN-13: 9781542006026

  ISBN-10: 1542006023

  Cover design by Rex Bonomelli

  For the simply irresistible Sloane

  CONTENTS

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  Chapter 38

  Chapter 39

  Chapter 40

  Chapter 41

  Chapter 42

  Chapter 43

  Chapter 44

  Chapter 45

  Chapter 46

  Chapter 47

  Chapter 48

  Chapter 49

  Chapter 50

  Chapter 51

  Chapter 52

  Chapter 53

  Chapter 54

  Chapter 55

  Chapter 56

  Chapter 57

  Chapter 58

  Chapter 59

  Chapter 60

  Chapter 61

  Chapter 62

  Chapter 63

  Chapter 64

  Chapter 65

  Chapter 66

  Chapter 67

  Chapter 68

  Chapter 69

  Chapter 70

  Chapter 71

  Chapter 72

  Chapter 73

  Chapter 74

  Chapter 75

  Chapter 76

  Chapter 77

  Chapter 78

  Chapter 79

  Chapter 80

  Chapter 81

  Chapter 82

  Chapter 83

  Chapter 84

  Chapter 85

  Chapter 86

  Chapter 87

  Chapter 88

  Chapter 89

  Chapter 90

  Chapter 91

  Chapter 92

  Chapter 93

  Chapter 94

  Chapter 95

  Chapter 96

  Chapter 97

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  Chapter 1

  The task force rolled up quietly, seven team members spilling from dark vehicles to unload the necessary equipment for the fugitive apprehension operation. Beneath the watery glow of the remaining unbroken streetlamps, they moved efficiently around the house, setting up the lights and perimeter guards, while one member attached a radar device to the peeling gray siding.

  Deputy US Marshal Cady Maddix directed the activity in near silence. They’d planned for this, down to the last detail. But she’d been on enough ops to know even with the most flawless preparation, something could go awry.

  The entry unit headed toward the house, splitting up to take spots on either side of the front entrance. According to their intel, Michael Simmons, prolific carjacker and chop shop owner, was in the Weaverville home.

  “Three people inside.” The low voice came through her headset. “One in front, within six feet of the door. Two in the southwest corner of the home.” The speaker was Buncombe County deputy sheriff investigator Andy Garrett. He was operating the Range-R device that detected human presences inside a structure. His words verified their earlier surveillance.

  She did a quick perimeter inspection. “Positions set?”

  “Position two confirmed.” Another low voice sounded in her headset.

  “Position three confirmed.”

  One by one, each of the team members checked in. Because she knew where to look, Cady could see the dark figures crouched in the patchy snow as she circled the house. She took up a station near the back door. If things went south, the bandit would try to escape through this exit or a window.

  When she’d heard from each of the team members, Cady spoke into her whisper mic. “Light ’em up.” The spotlights they’d placed on the patchy lawn lit the home like a tacky Christmas display. She brought up the megaphone she held in one hand. “M
ichael Simmons. You are surrounded. Walk out the front door with your hands behind your head.” She waited a minute before repeating herself, this time adding, “We don’t want anything to happen to the woman or child inside. Walk out that door, Michael, so no one gets hurt.”

  Cady lowered the megaphone, impervious to the biting February breeze. She’d feel the cold later, but right now adrenaline was running high.

  “Someone’s at the front window,” a voice murmured through the mic. “Looking around the shade.”

  Her muscles bunched. Whoever was there would be unable to see anything but the blinding glare of spotlights, regardless of the direction he looked. She brought up the megaphone and repeated her message, ending with, “You can do the right thing now, Michael. Come out peacefully.”

  Another minute ticked by. She was about to reengage when the back door cracked open. A moment later, a figure bolted through it, sailing over the three pitted concrete steps to land on all fours in the yard. “Stay down! Stay down! Hands behind your head!” Cady dropped the megaphone and drew her weapon, approaching the figure cautiously. The newest member on the Violent Offender Task Force, Watauga County deputy Lee Tompkins did the same. Her gaze was fixed on the figure already scrambling to his feet. Simmons. His hands seemed empty. “Arms up . . .” He darted to the side, heading for the shadows. She reholstered her weapon as she gave chase.

  The snow crunched beneath her feet, her boots giving her traction. Simmons was in shoes, slipping a bit as he ran but staying upright. She saw then where he was headed. An old pickup at the back of the neighboring lot, next to the alley. Cady put on a burst of speed. Launched herself.

  Simmons outweighed her by at least eighty pounds, but she caught him low in the back. Her tackle, coupled with the slick ground beneath his feet, took him down. She regained her balance first, and when he rolled, started to get up, she had her weapon trained on him. “Be best if you just stayed put,” she advised as Tompkins ran up to them. “On your belly. Arms behind your back.”

  “Fucking bitch. You got no right sneaking up on a guy’s family like that.”

  “Keep him covered,” she said to Tompkins as she reholstered her weapon and reached for her cuffs. When she had Simmons restrained, she and the deputy pulled him to his feet. “Suspect’s in custody,” she said into her mic. The other deputy marshal on the team, Miguel Rodriguez, would join her to take Simmons back to the federal courthouse for booking.

  “I got him if you want to deal with the team,” Deputy Tompkins said.

  “Wait for Rodriguez.”

  Tompkins grasped Simmons’s shoulder and began to guide him toward the front of the house. The man jerked away from him and whirled. Cady stepped forward to assist and took a headbutt to the side of her face before she swept his legs from beneath him. He went down, and this time he’d stay there.

  Tompkins shot her a shamed look. “Sorry, Cady.”

  The left side of her eye stung, right beneath the temple. She leveled a stare at the man. “Wait for Rodriguez.”

  “I’m here.” The spotlight caressed Deputy US Marshal Rodriguez’s too-handsome face like a lover as he strode across the yard to them. “He giving you problems?”

  “He’s got itchy feet. Help the deputy get him contained, will you?”

  Together, they hauled the man up and led him away. She went to retrieve the megaphone. “Mindy Gallup. Come out through the front door, hands in view.” The woman was known to them. Cady had spoken to her in the course of tracking down Simmons. Given her earlier cooperation, Cady didn’t expect trouble. But caution dictated that they ensure no one was able to fire on them as they departed.

  A moment later, one of the entry team members was heard over the mic. “Occupant is in custody. Claims no one else is inside except the child.” That matched their surveillance intel.

  “Search the house.” Cady waited for the entry team to complete the task. Once the house was clear, she said, “Allow Mindy back inside. Let’s pull out.”

  Cady went to help load up the equipment. She’d take a pain reliever for the dull throb that was beginning in her temple and oversee the withdrawal of her team. Maybe she’d get lucky enough to ward off a black eye and make it home before the sun came up.

  Chapter 2

  Cady was off on both of her earlier estimates. The red welt near her eye was showing no signs of dissipating, and it was nearly 8:00 a.m. before the paperwork was filed and Buncombe County had taken Simmons off their hands. Wearily, she headed for the office of Supervisory Deputy Marshal Allen Gant. He’d grant her and Miguel leave so they could grab some sleep before returning to the office.

  She rapped at his door and stepped inside at his greeting. Then wished she hadn’t when he glanced up and stared.

  “What happened to you?”

  Seeing no reason to reveal the deputy’s screwup, she said merely, “We had a runner. I chased him.”

  “With your face?”

  She dropped down in the chair he waved her to. “Doughnuts make you hilarious.” Remnants of his breakfast were still visible on his desktop. He swept the telltale crumbs into one hand and discarded them in the wastebasket.

  “Other than your injury, how’d it go this morning? Was Simmons able to offer any useful information on Forrester?”

  Stretching out her legs, she crossed her booted feet. “He wasn’t feeling especially cooperative.” She’d started looking into Michael Simmons because he’d been a cellmate to Bruce Forrester, who was wanted for the abduction of Cassie Zook from a Bryson City parking lot. It was just Simmons’s bad luck there had also been an outstanding warrant in his name. She’d tried questioning him before the Buncombe County deputies came for him but had gotten very little.

  “Maybe the lab will pull something from his phone or computer. In the meantime, I have more on those older charges against Bruce Forrester.” Allen got up and crossed the room to shut the door before returning to his desk.

  Her earlier exhaustion evaporating, she straightened. She’d gotten the Forrester kidnapping warrant only days ago. Cady knew she had a lot of catching up to do.

  He stood in front of his computer and tapped a few keys. Then he swiveled it so the monitor faced her. “It’s Cumberland County’s interview footage from five years ago.”

  Intrigued, she scooted her chair forward until her knees touched the front of the desk.

  “Press ‘Play.’”

  She obeyed, opening a black-and-white video clip that she immediately identified as CCTV footage from a witness interview, with accompanying sound. A small boy, nine or ten, was seated on one side of the table. A uniformed deputy on the other. “State your name for the record.”

  “Dylan.”

  “You’ll have to speak up, son. And give your full name.”

  “Dylan . . . Castle.” The boy reached for a can of Mountain Dew sitting on the table in front of him and gulped from it.

  “I know you’re tired, son. But I want you to tell me one more time everything that happened Tuesday night.”

  A voice was heard off camera. “He done told you a dozen times already. You oughta have it memorized by now. God knows I do.”

  “Ms. Bandy, I’m going to ask you to be patient a little longer.” The unseen woman made a rude noise. The deputy faced the boy again. “Go ahead, Dylan.” Cady leaned forward.

  “I snuck out two nights ago and went to Trev’s house.”

  “Trev being Trevor Boster.”

  “Yeah. He had this remote-controlled boat, and we’d been talking about taking it down to the creek to try it out.”

  “Which you oughta get your butt whipped for,” the woman inserted. “You know it ain’t safe after these heavy rains we been getting.”

  “Ms. Bandy.” The deputy’s voice held an edge. “Enough.”

  The boy ducked his head, his chin nearly touching the top of the can he still clutched. “I waited until Colton—my brother—was asleep. Musta been around midnight. Then I snuck out to the living room. The fron
t door squeaks, so I opened a window. Climbed out.” His shrug spoke of long ease with the act. “It was dark outside. And real sticky. It’d been raining all week. I was sweating by the time I got to Trev’s. I tapped at his window. Twice, I think. ’Cuz he didn’t come right away, so I did it louder, and then I thought, shi—” He glanced guiltily over the deputy’s shoulder. “I mean, shoot, maybe I got the wrong room. Bosters switch around bedrooms some. Once I accidentally woke up Miz Boster, and she cussed me out something fierce.”

  “Did you have the right bedroom?”

  “I guess. I mean, yeah, because a couple of minutes later, someone grabbed my shoulder.”

  “And it was Trevor.”

  Dylan nodded, then remembered to add, “Yeah. I jumped a mile.”

  “What happened then?”

  “I gave him a shove. Said he sure took his time. He said it took a while to find the boat. His little brother had used it in the bathtub or something. Then we headed to the road. Well,” he corrected himself, one thumb rubbing the side of the can, “we walked on the rocky area next to it. On account of the storms turning the road into muddy goop.”

  “The one leading toward the creek?”

  “Yeah.” Dylan’s head bobbed. “I mean, the road leads to Hanson Woods. It just sort of stops where the trees get thick.” His voice wobbled a bit on the last words.

  “It’s all right. Take your time.” The deputy’s tone was sympathetic.

  A full minute passed before the boy started again. “So it was even darker at the end of the road. Trevor started saying how maybe we should turn around because he was afraid we wouldn’t be able to see the boat in the creek, and then he’d lose it. But I had a flashlight I took from Amos Stedder’s shed. I was gonna bring it back,” he hastened to add, lifting his gaze. “But I lost it somewhere . . . I don’t know where.”

  “I’m sure Mr. Stedder will understand, under the circumstances. You got to the end of the road,” the deputy prompted him.

  “Yeah. The trees and bushes are thick all along there. Trevor was going on about losing his boat, and I said something like, ‘That’s what the light is for, dumb-ass,’ and then we started kind of horsing around, you know. Pushing each other and laughing. That’s when I heard something.”

  “What did you hear, Dylan?”

  “Voices. Real faded like. But when I turned to look into the woods next to me, I saw a light. Someone was there.”