PRAISE FOR KENDRA ELLIOT
“In Elliot’s latest gripping novel the mystery and suspense are top-notch, and the romance embedded within will quench love story junkies’ thirst, too. The author’s eye for detail makes this one play out more like a movie rather than a book. It can easily be read as a standalone but is obviously much better if the prior three are digested first.”
—Romantic Times Book Reviews on Targeted, 4 stars
“Elliot’s latest addition to her thrilling, edge-of-your-seat series, Bone Secrets, will scare the crap out of you, yet allow you to swoon over the building romantic setting, which provides quite the picturesque backdrop. Her novel contains thrills, chills, snow and . . . hey, you never know! The surprises and cliffhangers are satisfying, yet edgy enough to keep you feverishly flipping the pages.”
—Romantic Times Book Reviews on Known, 4 stars
“Elliot’s best work to date. The author’s talent is evident in the characters’ wit and smart dialogue. . . . One wouldn’t necessarily think a psychological thriller and romance would mesh together well, but Elliot knows what she’s doing when she turns readers’ minds inside out and then softens the blow with an unforgettable love story.”
—Romantic Times Book Reviews on Vanished, 4½ stars, Top Pick
“Kendra Elliot does it again! Filled with twists, turns, and spine-tingling details, Alone is an impressive addition to the Bone Secrets series.”
—Laura Griffin, New York Times bestselling author
“Elliot once again proves to be a genius in the genre with her third heart-pounding novel in the Bone Secrets collection. The author knows romance and suspense, reeling readers in instantaneously and wowing them with an extremely surprising finish . . . Elliot’s best by a mile!”
—Romantic Times Book Reviews on Buried, 4½ stars, Top Pick (HOT)
“Make room on your keeper shelf! Hidden has it alclass="underline" intricate plotting, engaging characters, a truly twisted villain. I can’t wait to see what Kendra Elliot dishes up next!”
—Karen Rose, New York Times bestselling author
Kendra Elliot
A Merciful Truth
For Amelia.
Everything is within your power.
ONE
Police Chief Truman Daly slammed the door of his Tahoe and raised a hand to protect his face from the heat of the fire. He took a half step back, bumping into his vehicle. Flames had engulfed the old barn and were stretched high against the night’s black sky.
A total loss.
He’d believed he’d parked a safe distance from the fire, but the toasting of his cheeks caused second thoughts.
He pulled down on the brim of his cowboy hat to cover his face, ignored the flooding memories of a past deadly fire, and jogged toward the two Deschutes County sheriff patrol vehicles that’d arrived before him. The two deputies stood behind their cars, talking on their radios, eyeing the towering flames.
There was nothing they could do. A faint siren sounded in the distance, but Truman knew the fire department was too late. Its goal would be to keep the fire from spreading to the woods and neighboring ranches.
“Hey, Chief,” one of the deputies shouted over the roar of the fire as he approached.
Truman recognized the older deputy. Ralph something. He didn’t know the other one.
“Did you see anyone here?” Truman asked, knowing there was no way to check inside the barn.
“No one,” said Ralph. “We’ve been here fifteen seconds, and there was no chance in hell we’d try to look inside.” The young deputy next to him nodded emphatically.
“Let’s walk the perimeter,” said Truman.
“You go around to the right, and we’ll head left,” suggested Ralph.
Truman nodded and headed around toward the back of the burning barn, putting plenty of space between himself and the hot inferno and welcoming the crisp November air. The fire has gotten bigger in the few seconds I’ve been here. In the last two weeks, three other fires had popped up around his small town of Eagle’s Nest in Central Oregon. He and the fire department hadn’t caught the serial arsonist, and none of the previous arsons had been on the scale of this one. The first had been an abandoned car. Then someone’s trash. The last had been a small shed.
He’s escalating.
Sweat ran down his back, and it wasn’t solely from the fire. I hate fires. He jogged through the sagebrush and rocks, the ground well lit as he scanned for any signs of victims or a possible fire starter. Ponderosa pines towered about fifty yards away, and Truman was thankful to see the immediate area around the barn was clear of fuel for the fire. At one time there’d been a few small holding pens, but nearly all the fence rails had collapsed and rotted away. He doubted the old barn had been used in the last decade.
This fourth fire was several miles outside his city’s limits, but as soon as he’d received word about it, he’d rolled out of bed and gotten dressed. The arsonist had pissed him off, and Truman now took every fire personally. Truman could imagine the asshole’s glee as he sent police and fire crews scrambling to put out his handiwork.
One of these times, he’s going to hurt someone.
The fire engine sirens grew louder, and two gunshots cracked over the sounds of the flames.
Truman dropped to his stomach and rolled behind a rock, his weapon in hand. Who’s shooting? He froze and listened, trying to hear past the roar in his ears.
Two more shots.
Was that a scream?
His heart pounding, he called 911, reported shots fired, and advised the dispatcher to immediately let the approaching fire trucks know. He ended the call and slowly moved out of his hiding place behind the rock, his eyes peeled for the shooter. Who fired?
Eagle’s Nest officers had never found anyone at the scene of the previous fires. Why is this time different?
Truman resumed his circular path around the barn, his weapon ready, his focus on the shadows of the terrain beyond the barn. The light cast by the flames extended several yards into the dark, but beyond that the landscape was pitch-black. Anyone could be lurking just out of sight. He widened his circle to use the shadows for cover.
His shirt soaked with sweat and his senses on high alert, he rounded the back side of the barn and spotted two figures on the ground. Motionless.
In the flickering light, he recognized the Deschutes County uniforms.
Please, dear Lord, no.
He sank deeper into the dark and strained his vision, searching everywhere for the shooter. The flames created moving shadows in every direction, and his gaze shot from false movement to false shadow. He pushed his anxiety away, knowing he needed to check the officers even through it would expose him.
“Fuck it.” He dashed across the cleared area, feeling the heat singe his shirt, and landed on his knees next to the closest body. He shook Ralph’s shoulder, shouted, and then felt for a pulse in his neck. The officer had been shot in the head, and Truman averted his gaze after one horrified glance at the gaping exit wound in his cheek.