Secrets & Lies: 2 Great Thrillers in 1 Book Read online

  Secrets & Lies

  Two Novels

  Debra Webb

  Contents

  SECRETS & LIES

  SECRETS

  Acknowledgments

  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

  LIES

  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

  About the Author

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

  Copyright © 2nd Edition 2019 Debra Webb

  Cover Design by Vicki Hinze

  All rights reserved. In accordance with the U.S. Copyright Act of 1976, the scanning, uploading, and electronic sharing of any part of this book without the permission of the publisher is unlawful piracy and theft of the author’s intellectual property. Thank you for your support of the author’s rights.

  PINK HOUSE PRESS

  WebbWorks, LLC, Madison, Alabama

  Second Editions October 2019

  First Edition Everywhere She Turns Debra Webb 2009

  First Edition Anywhere She Runs Debra Webb 2010

  SECRETS & LIES

  Two Novels

  Debra Webb

  SECRETS

  A Novel

  Debra Webb

  Acknowledgments

  Huntsville, Alabama, is my home. I love living here—loved visiting as a child when I lived on a farm outside Scottsboro. In my opinion, Huntsville is one of the best places to live in the entire South! When I considered making Huntsville the setting of this story, it was an easy decision to go for it. However, in any work of suspense there must be bad guys and sometimes those bad guys must be in positions of power—particularly law enforcement. So please know that all such characters in this story are absolutely fictional. The Huntsville Police Department and Madison County Sheriff’s Department serve this community in an outstanding manner. The men and women wearing those uniforms have my utmost respect as do those in political positions and those who are a part of our medical community.

  The mill village represented in this story was inspired by the very neighborhood where I once lived, but bear in mind that I have taken some creative liberties. This village was erected shortly after two of Huntsville’s first textile mills were built in 1898. The homes in the village housed the mill workers and their families. A school, medical clinic, general store, and community center were also built for this village.

  Unfortunately, the mill was torn down in the 1980s, and things didn’t go so well for the village after that. Many of the lovely old homes fell into disrepair. The medical clinic and school closed. Crime rose dramatically in the area, and things were just plain bad. But a decade or so ago, families started to purchase the homes and move into the village with the intent of revitalization. My family and I were proud to be a part of that renewal. We restored a one-hundred-and-ten-year-old home and did our part for the community. The work was hard but immensely satisfying.

  As always, I must acknowledge my truly awesome partner in crime, my husband, Nonie Webb. He is my rock, my heart...my world. He is the reason my dreams continue to come true.

  So, read on and enjoy! And don’t forget to follow me on Amazon. Visit my website, www.debrawebb.com.

  Chapter One

  Huntsville, Alabama

  Saturday, July 31, 3:30 a.m.

  Women.

  Bitches. Most every damned one of them.

  The world was about to be rid of one more stupid bitch.

  All he had to do was catch her.

  Mirth burst from his chest as she darted from the alley, plunging into the dark cover of the woods in a last ditch effort to save herself.

  Did she really think she could escape him that easily?

  Stupid, stupid bitch.

  Not in this life.

  In this life, he was the killer. And she...well, she was the victim.

  The only decision that remained was the manner of death.

  Slice open her silky white throat?

  No. Too cliched.

  The memorable mark of a truly magnificent killer was, at its core, quite simple: originality.

  He allowed her a few precious seconds. Just enough to provide a fleeting glimmer of hope. Then he charged into the dark, dense woods, using the trampled underbrush she’d left in her wake as his path.

  She should just face the one undeniable fact close enough for her to feel its hot brush on the nape of her fragile neck.

  She was dead.

  Within the hour her heart would slow to a complete stop. Heat would begin to seep from her flesh, and the final image captured on her retinas would fade to black.

  His face would be that last image.

  At that trauma-filled moment, when her brain released the massive dump of endorphins that gifted the dying with an eerie calm as their entire pathetic lives flashed like a bad movie trailer through their impotent minds, she would recognize her one fatal mistake.

  She shouldn’t have gotten in the way.
r />   Bravado, curiosity...whatever it was that had made her dare to step out of her place, it had been just another bad choice in a long line of bad choices littering an insignificant existence mere minutes from being over.

  Even now, as he grew nearer and nearer, so shockingly near he could hear the humid air raging in and out of her desperate lungs...could feel the sheer terror throttling through her veins...she still couldn’t help herself. She had to glance back. To see the truth that had been right in front of her for the duration of her short life.

  She didn’t have a chance.

  Chapter Two

  Johns Hopkins Hospital

  Baltimore, Maryland

  10:30 p.m.

  Dr. CJ Patterson fished in her purse for her keys as she neared her ancient Civic. In twenty-three minutes she would be home; five minutes after that she would be out of these scrubs and soaking in a tub full of hot, steamy water with an open bottle of chilled white wine uncorked and parked within reach.

  Forty-two patients in fourteen hours.

  A twelve-car pileup on Interstate 695 had kept the ER buzzing for the final three hours of her too long shift. Half a dozen cops were still attempting to interview the victims capable of answering questions.

  “Just another Saturday night in Charm City.” She reached for her car door, but something she saw out of the corner of her eye snagged her attention. “Oh, damn.”

  Flat tire.

  The second one this week. CJ heaved a disgusted breath. She had to get new tires.

  Another reality hit on the heels of that one. She slapped her forehead with her hand. “Double damn.”

  Who’d had time to get the other flat tire repaired? Certainly not a third-year resident who worked ten or more hours most days and who spent the rest of her time studying for boards.

  Damn. Damn. Damn. Plowing her fingers through her hair, she pulled her ponytail free, glanced around the gloomy parking garage, and considered her options. Getting someone here to repair one or both tires would take hours on a Saturday night.

  “Forget it.” She did an about-face and headed out of the parking garage. There was always a cab or two waiting within hailing distance of the ER entrance on East Monument Street. She’d get a ride home and deal with this in the morning when she’d had some sleep. Tomorrow was her first day off in two weeks. Too bad it was Sunday, because she had a million things to take care of and the business world of nine-to-fivers had no appreciation for her frenzied schedule.

  She pushed through the north exit of the staff parking garage into the muggy night air. Someday, when she had money, she might actually have a decent ride. One with good tires. And reliable air conditioning.

  Such was the life of a medical resident—every aspect of one’s personal life was about the future.

  Sweat had dampened her skin by the time she reached East Monument. At the ER’s street entrance, she stopped and stepped back from the curb before an arriving ambulance mowed her down. Lights and sirens, not good. Hard as she tried not to linger, her efforts were futile. Two of her colleagues rushed out to connect with the emerging paramedics and the patient strapped to the gurney.

  CJ forced her attention back to the taxi a block or so beyond the ER’s drop-off point. The arriving patient was in good hands. CJ’s shift was over.

  She had to learn that even the most committed physician needed boundaries. She couldn’t save the world alone. Especially without sleep.

  At the passenger side of the taxi, CJ opened the rear door and gave her home address to the driver. She collapsed into the seat, tossed her purse aside, and snapped her safety belt into place. Blessed relief hissed past her lips.

  Finally.

  “Tough night?” The driver lowered the volume of the jazz radiating from the taxi’s speakers as he rolled out onto the deserted street.

  “Long, long night,” CJ explained. But that was the reality of choosing a career in emergency medicine. The ER was not the place for those who preferred banking hours and neatly scheduled appointments. Strange. Maybe the reason she loved the adrenaline-charged life of an ER physician was related to her drama-filled childhood. Wasn’t all that one did connected in one way or another to the environment of the formative years?

  Obviously, she’d been lunching with the psych residents way too much.

  The driver had his own theories about tonight’s chaos. He offered a lengthy discourse of how the full moon always made the crazies come out. CJ didn’t bother telling him just how right he was.

  The full moon—

  Tires squealed. Metal crashed. CJ’s head jerked, then banged the window as the taxi absorbed the momentum of an oncoming car crossing the intersection against the light.

  For an endless, paralyzing moment there was no movement, no sound, other than the murmur of the jazz still whispering from the speakers.

  “Son of a bitch!” The driver whacked his fist against the dash.

  CJ shook off the shock, released the safety belt and rubbed at the dull ache in her right temple. The other car had broadsided the taxi. Both vehicles now sat in the middle of the intersection, steam rising from the hood of the offending vehicle.

  Swearing profusely, the driver scrambled across the seat and out the passenger side door.

  CJ shoved that hot bath out of her mind for the moment and flung her door open. She caught up with the furious taxi driver as he confronted the driver of the other car.

  “You didn’t see the light? What are you? Blind?”

  CJ looked from the dazed driver climbing from behind the steering wheel to the passenger emerging from the backseat. “You two okay?” she asked. Both occupants were male. Caucasian. Young, twenty, twenty-one.

  “We gotta get to the hospital,” the passenger shouted at no one in particular. He turned all the way around, staggering drunkenly, as if he needed to get his bearings.

  An instant mental inventory of causes for his imbalance, from illegal substances to head injuries, quickened CJ’s pulse. “Call nine-one-one,” she instructed the taxi driver, who was still cursing and stomping his feet.

  “Are either of you having difficulty breathing? In pain? Lightheaded? Nauseous?” Moving toward the passenger, CJ visually assessed the car’s driver, who looked a little dazed and confused himself, as if he wasn’t sure if this was real or just a bad dream. No apparent injuries. “Any head or neck pain?”

  The passenger wore a black Bob Marley T-shirt. Now that she was closer, CJ could see that the T-shirt and his hands were as bloody as hell. Her pulse accelerated. His inability to regain his equilibrium persisted.

  “Is he calling the cops?”

  CJ ignored the driver’s question. “Where’d the blood come from?” she asked the Bob Marley fan, who appeared focused on her blue scrubs. The guy had no visible signs of injury. Eyes were glassy. His long dark hair was stringy but not wet or sticky. Where the hell had the blood come from?

  “My brother.” He grabbed her arm, tugged her around the open passenger door. “He needs help.”

  There was another passenger?

  CJ pushed the guy aside and maneuvered her way into the backseat.

  Damn.

  Blood. Lots of blood.

  The third passenger was a kid, not more than nine or ten. His pajama top was saturated in crimson. She tugged the top up and out of the way to get a look at his torso. He didn’t flinch. Didn’t moan.

  Penetrating chest wound.

  Shit.

  She needed more light. Bracing her hand on the seat, she leaned closer. Something wet oozed up between her fingers. Blood. Shit. Shit. Shit. The seat...She checked the knees of her scrubs, the damned floorboard—blood was everywhere.

  Instinct kicked in and training overrode emotion.

  Patient had no other visible injuries.

  Not breathing.

  Oh, hell.

  No pulse.

  Adrenaline detonated in CJ’s veins, sharpening her senses. “Help me get him out of here!”

  The older brot
her stuck his upper body into the car. “What?”

  “You and your friend,” CJ commanded, “help me get him out of the car and on the ground. Hurry!”

  The two men scrambled into unsteady action. CJ cradled the boy’s head and neck as the brother and his friend lifted him out of the backseat.

  “Put him down over there.” She jerked her head toward the front of the taxi. The headlights would help her see what she was doing. Streetlights weren’t enough.

  “You! Taxi guy!” CJ shouted at the man still on his cell phone. He stopped explaining their circumstances and stared at her in question. “Tell them I need an ALS unit. We have full trauma arrest.” She turned back to the boy. The battle was very nearly over. “Tell them to hurry!”