Lost Promises

Wet snow clung to Claire’s boots as she skid-clomped aimlessly through the heavy snow. All she could see were Danny’s hands touching Jessica. All she could hear were his soft moans mixing with her gleeful laughter.

At first, she thought she’d walked in on two strangers and went to excuse herself. But then the fire-breathing face of his dragon peeked out at her, and Jessica looked over her shoulder and laughed. “Told you you wouldn’t keep him.”

Claire collided with a tree, gasping for breath.

He hadn’t even had the decency to look at her when she yelled for him—begged him. Only mocked her name while he devoured another woman.

Her throat swelled, and she choked on a sob. They’d been together in her room, naked, and she never asked—never even questioned. Stupid, na?ve, Claire. How could she believe he’d done nothing with her? Even drugged, Jessica was all sensuous curves and beauty.

The bridge. She’d leave and walk over it if she had to. Smearing an icy glove under her nose, she forced herself forward on wobbling legs down a quickly fading shoveled pathway.

She’d never seen snow like this. Thick, heavy flakes so dense she couldn’t see through it. Even dressed warmly, the relentless wind found any exposed skin. Don’t fight the wind, Claire. Embrace it.

“Daniel.” She covered her mouth to keep his name in. He’d taught her that on their last outing, arms out like he was hugging the wind, a wide smile on his face.

She lost her footing, sliding into a drift with a loud cry. Something hard thumped against her thigh as her hands sank deep, struggling to stand. Reaching inside her coat pocket, her fingers brushed against cold metal. She’d almost done it. Pictured it so clearly.

The crack-bang, the gentle recoil. She envisioned the back of a caramel-colored wig bursting into a sea of red. She was headed straight for his moaning voice and her laughter. But outside the office, she stopped when a different vision took over. A vision where the bullet missed and pierced through him instead. That’s when she tore out of Flygande.

She struggled forward again, unaware she left one glove buried in the snow.

Foolish Claire. Ian, Emelie, the entire town ... were they part of it too? Some grand scheme to dupe her? Fooling her into false friendships—family. All while laughing behind her back at her stupidity?

A hidden rock tripped her unsteady feet, and her body collided with a boulder. This time, she didn’t move. Cold stone numbed her cheek as she let hot tears slide down unhindered.

It had been real this time. The kisses, the promises. The unspoken meanings in the changing color of Danny’s eyes. She’d been so sure of it.

Staggering to a wobbly stand, she shook her head. How could she reconcile the Danny she’d known these past two months with the man she just saw?

Through blurry vision, she spotted not the bridge, but the silhouette of her cottage. Fresh white plaster and a bright-red roof and a red door. Exactly the way she’d wanted it.

“My flower boxes,” she whispered, devastation collapsing in. She’d never get to live in the home where her independence was born.

Clamoring up to the now-solid front porch, she sank to her knees when she saw a padlock on the door. Why did the contractors add a padlock without her permission? Furious, she yanked on it and yelled.

A noise brought her ear to the door. “H-Hello? Is someone in there?”

Bright light beamed down on her, and she screamed. The silhouette of a tall, broad figure stood to the left of the porch, completely shadowed behind the flashlight.

“Madelynn Claire.” Even with the howling wind, a deep voice came through clearly.

She lifted a hand to shade her eyes. “Do I know you?”

He took a slow step onto the porch.

Skittering to her feet, she kept a hand shading her eyes, but the light kept her blind to him. “Who are you?”

He took another step.

She stumbled backward, hit the edge of the porch, and tripped. Her leg swallowed inside a snowdrift.

“My, my, what happened to the perfect, put-together Madelynn Claire? Let me guess, your life fell apart?”

Humiliation stained her cheeks, and she grunted, trying to free her leg. “I said, who are you?”

His responding laughter was deep and raspy. Just like ... just like ...

Her phone vibrated. Not once. Not twice. Three short bursts that sent terror clawing over her skin, seizing her joints.

Jake Matthew’s emergency signal. She wasn’t safe ... she wasn’t safe ... Her body violently shook as her fingers curled over the phone. It should have a safe house listed. But if this was— “Show your face.”

“You mean this face?” The man flicked the beam of light directly under his chin, shooting distorted shadows over a thick square jaw and a crooked smile. A jagged scar lay directly under his left eye.

He wore a flat cap. A coat with an upturned collar.

It was him. The man who stared at her outside the tavern was him. Vinegar seeped into the walls of her stomach and blood rushed to her head in a flash of vivid memories.

His body pressed against her ... The stench of his breath ... Pain in her wrist ...

Her phone vibrated three times again, snapping her back.

“What’s the matter, M. C. C.? Speechless?” He lifted a voice distorter to his mouth, and the rumbling ghost voice hit her. “Boo.”

She spun and ran.

“Where you gonna go?” He called after her, laughter caked in his voice. “The bridge is closed, and your Viking is busy.”

That reminder tore a cry from her throat, and she veered left off the path that led back to Danny. The same path Henderson must have shoveled for her to get here.

“I’m a good writer, too, don’t you think? Tsk-tsk, you should have looked ... ”

She tripped.

“ ... behind the curtain on a hook.”

Crawling, dragging, sobbing, she shoved her way up again. The wind whipped snow in her eyes, slowing her frantic pace.

“The water’s turned cold, my actions now bold ... ”

She threw her hands over her earmuffs. Sobbing. Wheezing. Wind burned her cheeks. The moisture in her eyes froze crusty crystals over her lashes.

“ ... to get you to see. You’ll never be rid of me.”

Her legs sank thigh-deep into another drift. No. Whipping around, she squinted and strained, but couldn’t see him. Panting. Gasping for air, she fumbled her phone out and was met with a blank screen.

“Oh, God.” Panting breaths clouded in front of her. The drama of the night before. The crazy day that followed.

She’d forgotten to charge her phone.

“Madelynn Cla-aire ... ” His voice took on the familiar ghost-like echo. “I thought you, of all people, would appreciate my little ode to Phantom Love.” He laughed again.

She bit hard on her tongue. He’d haunted her using a twisted interpretation of her most popular and beloved novel. She felt sick.

“I’ll admit, I made a mistake when I drove you straight into the Viking’s arms. But the frightened look on his face when he tried to protect you after the Viking scare?” He laughed again. “Now that was worth it. And to think his bravado was for nothing. Where is he now, by the way? Oh, that’s right, balls deep in his ‘ex.’” He tsked. “Tell me, Madelynn Claire, how does it feel to be passed over so easily for a drug addict?”

A bruise formed on her lips from the fist she pressed to her mouth, trying to keep the sob in. Saliva grew thick in her throat, and she choked on it.

“Aw, there, there now, Madelynn. It’s alright. I’ll tell you what.” His voice had a smile in it. “How ’bout I give you some money and ship you out of the country? That’ll make everything better, right?”

That sound in his voice. The same maniacal tone he had right before he attacked her in her bedroom. Her shaking hands dropped her useless phone, and she scraped and clawed her way out of the snow drift.

“Now, I must admit,” his voice followed her, “when you first sent me away, I was devastated. I mean, ten years, Madelynn. Ten years I waited patiently for you, only to have you scar my face and force me out of my own country. What right ... ” His control slipped, and he yelled, “What right did you have to do that?” He took a deep breath. “Well, I just couldn’t sit south of the border while you went on living carefree now, could I?”

He was to her left, she was sure of it.

“So, I took it all away. One by one, I broke your life into pieces and took everything away from you. The way you took everything from me.”

He was to her right.

“I took your Viking, your son, even—”

Everything inside her went still. There wasn’t a thought she remembered thinking. No movement she remembered making. Only that her numb fingers had wrapped around the gun in her coat. That she’d stepped out from the safety of the boulder and now stood directly in front of him. Gun raised. “Where. Is. My. Son.”

His hands slowly raised.

“I said, where is he?”

“A bit tied up.” His crooked smile lifted, and he nodded toward the gun. “What are you going to do with that? You’re not a killer. You have to plan these kinds of things. Make it look like an accident.” He took a slow step forward. “Like I did for Brandon.”

“Brandon?” The gun rattled in her hands.

“Tell me, how do you think your meticulous husband took more than his regular dose of anti-anxiety pills?” He took another careful step. “Ten years of building his trust. I convinced him, Madelynn Claire. I overheard your argument about leaving him and convinced the Great Brandon Johnson that he needed a night to relax. And he did. Fell right to sleep. Do you know how easy it is to hold a man underwater when he’s asleep?”

But Brandon’s eyes had been open. Oh, God, he’d woken up while drowning. She was so fixated on that thought, she didn’t see Henderson’s next step.

“And Grey? He’s the reason I knew you’d be here.” His smile didn’t reach his dead eyes. “But then that little prick thought he could stop me when he realized what I had planned. I couldn’t allow that, now could I?”

Pudgy baby fingers. Greyson’s precious baby pudgy fingers reaching for her from his crib, his toothless smile pushing up the apples of his cheeks. The smile he only gave to her.

“You should have seen Greyson beg—”

She forgot to take a breath first. Forgot to relax her shoulders back and aim for the broadest part of his body. His yell was drowned from her own screaming as her fingers pulled nonstop on the trigger.

But he didn’t fall. Hand holding his arm, blood dripped through his fingers. The demon remained standing with only a graze when no more bullets came from her gun.

“That was a mistake.” His voice went low and quiet. “That was a big, big mistake.” He lunged forward. The force of him knocked the gun from her hand, and she sprawled backward in the snow. He snatched the gun and whipped the butt of it across her face. Starbursts of pain shot through her mouth. “You think you can just shoot me?”

Tears streamed down the sides of her eyes as blood filled her mouth and she gurgled, “Where’s my baby?”

His fingers clamped around her throat, yanking her up. She gripped his hand with both of hers, gasping for a breath as he pressed his face into hers and said, “In hell.”

A raw sound strangled from her throat, and she pounded his chest. He kept her by the throat, shoving her backward. “Let’s go for a walk, shall we?”

Her sobs were cut off, airways blocked. She yanked on his viselike grip as he kept pushing her backward.

“I have dreamed of this moment.” His dark eyes cut to her. “All those hours and days in that sweltering heat, using all your goddamn money to plan out every perfect detail just so I could see this pathetic, hopeless look on your face.” He suddenly stopped, hand still wrapped around her throat as he whispered, “Such a waste of a pretty face.”

His mouth slammed over hers. She wrenched her body, clawed, and slapped, nails making useless scrapes down his coat. Tearing his mouth away, blood from her bleeding mouth dripped from his. He laughed, giving her another hard shove, and let go.

Snow fell away from beneath her feet, and she flailed to catch her balance. The edge. He’d pushed her to the edge of the cliff.

“Goodbye, Madelynn Claire.”

“Wait—” One final push and she careened in the wrong direction, her stomach plummeting as her body went into a free fall. Arms and legs swam in the open air as his scarred face faded from view.

She had heard when you’re about to die your life flashed before your eyes. But Claire didn’t see her life. She saw Brandon’s ashen face and Greyson’s baby hands. And she saw eyes, cyan eyes, twinkling with a smile.