Home Before Dark (Christian Romantic Suspense) (Carolina Moon Book 1) Read online

  HOME BEFORE DARK

  Carolina Moon Series, Book 1

  By Christy Barritt

  Copyright 2013 by Christy Barritt

  Published by River Heights, Kindle Edition.

  Cover design by The Killion Group.

  This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

  The persons and events portrayed in this work are the creation of the author, and any resemblance to persons living or dead is purely coincidental.

  Prologue

  Daleigh McDermott ducked before another branch could slap her face. The woods surrounded her, reached for her, sucked the breath out of her. The darkness was an enemy all in itself, and right now the nighttime stalked her. She couldn’t escape its death grip.

  The trees blended together, morphing into an endless landscape that repeated itself over and over. Where was she? Which direction was help?

  She couldn’t afford to stop and gather her thoughts. The men were on her trail. She could hear their footsteps in the distance, only moments behind her. Quick and urgent. In pursuit.

  A bullet flew past her shoulder. Her breath caught again and perspiration invaded her skin like an army of fear moving in for the kill.

  Her gaze skittered in front of her, as her steps faltered for a moment. A fallen tree seemed familiar, like she’d passed it before. Could she be running right back into the hands of her father’s killer? Right back into the den of terror she’d discovered? Right back to the point where her life flashed in front of her eyes?

  No, she couldn’t think like that. She had to keep moving. Keep fighting to live.

  She dodged a cypress tree. A broken, low-lying branch snagged her skin and pain ripped through her thigh.

  She yelped, biting back any more telltale groans. She couldn’t let the men find her. She chomped down in an effort to remain silent. Blood soaked her taste buds.

  She had to keep moving. With one hand, she covered the wound on her leg. Something wet and warm saturated her fingers. Her blood. Her throat went dry at the thought.

  Run, Daleigh. Run. Her life depended on getting away.

  She limped forward, her breath now coming in ragged gasps. How many more people had died? How many people had been casualties in this lust for money and power?

  Everyone she thought she could trust had let her down. Well, almost everyone. Her heart lurched as unfinished conversations slammed into her mind.

  A shout echoed behind her. Her heart stuttered as fear wrapped its talons around her again. She had to keep moving, despite the pain, despite the fear.

  Two more steps, and her foot slipped. The ground disappeared beneath her.

  The river, she realized.

  She’d reached the river, and its black depths waited to swallow her.

  She gasped, realizing she may not have the strength to fight the watery grave awaiting her.

  Chapter One

  Two Weeks Earlier

  Don’t cry, Daleigh. Whatever you do, do not cry.

  Despite her determination, tears weighted her eyelids. Her throat burned. Her head throbbed. Daleigh was going to cry, whether she liked it or not.

  “I should be able to have your car fixed for you by tomorrow.” A deep, masculine voice approached from the office of Vern’s Auto Repair. Daleigh heard the catch in his voice and knew she’d startled him with the red splotches staining her face. She’d never been a pretty crier.

  She sucked in a deep breath and raised her chin, trying to pull herself together. The scent of motor oil and exhaust fumes mingled under her nose. Something about the smell calmed her heart for a moment.

  Daleigh ran her hands through her long hair. She’d barely had energy to wash it this morning. It had air-dried and she’d skipped any makeup, knowing she’d cry it off at the funeral. No doubt her skin looked chalky white next to her brown hair, especially when compared to the tans of many people living under the Hertford, North Carolina, sun.

  She cleared her throat and met the mechanic’s gaze. “Tomorrow, you say?”

  Blue eyes studied her as the man wiped his hands on a dirty white rag.

  “I’ve got to send for parts,” he said. “The check engine light came on because your alternator’s going bad.”

  Her dad would have been able to fix her car for her. He could fix anything. But not anymore. Three hours ago she’d gazed at his kind face for the last time. Now he was growing colder, alone in a casket beneath the ground. He’d fallen on the pier outside his home, hit his head, and Daleigh’s sister had found him two hours later. It had been too late. Hot tears flowed down Daleigh’s cheeks, despite her resistance.

  The mechanic shifted from foot to foot, shoving his grease-stained hands through his brown hair. “I’m real sorry about your dad, ma’am.”

  And I’m sorry I’m crying in front of a complete stranger. Only he wasn’t a complete, complete stranger. She had seen him at the funeral. He’d been dressed up there, wearing a suit and tie. She would have never guessed he worked at this garage. She’d pegged him as a businessman.

  The man waved his hand, signaling there was no reason to explain. “I’ll do a job that would make your dad proud, Daleigh.”

  Daleigh wiped her eyes with the back of her hand. “I’d appreciate that.”

  “Here.” The mechanic started to hand her his rag, but stopped and stared at the grease stains across it. “On second thought, let me get you something a little cleaner.”

  She watched him walk away and shifted her attention to the garage around her. Bins were marked where tools belonged, and the floor looked freshly swept. Another mechanic fiddled with an engine in the corner, the sharp clink of metal against metal sounding as he leaned over his work. Country music whined in the background, crying about lost love and a good hunting dog.

  Her eyes rested on her dark red Toyota Corolla. Her beloved car looked like a patient going in for surgery, the hydraulic lift an operating table. Her dad had helped her pick out that car three years ago.

  Tears threatened to fall again. She should leave and come back later when she was more composed. She started to turn when the mechanic appeared with a wad of toilet paper.

  “I thought we had tissues. I hope this will do.” He held out his offering with an apologetic frown.

  She accepted it and patted her eyes. Her vision cleared a moment, and her eyes wandered to the name embroidered onto his shirt.

  Ryan. That’s right.

  “Just let me know when it’s ready. You know where I’m staying?”

  “The house at the corner of town?”

  She nodded. “With the Fitzpatricks, my sister and brother-in-law. You have my cell phone though, if you need to reach me.” She had to remember to turn it on, however. She’d been avoiding calls from more than one person, not to mention Vince, her on-again, off-again boyfriend who couldn’t make time in his schedule to come to the funeral.

  “Got it. And Daleigh? I meant what I said about being sorry about your dad. He was a good man.”

  Her eyes met his and she attempted a smile. “Thanks.”

  She fled before the poor man had to see any more of her breakdown. She stepped out onto the sunny sidewalk, her vision still blurry with tears. Thankfully, the garage wasn’t too far from where she was staying. Just across the street and down two blocks.

  Dabbing her eyes with the soggy toilet paper, she stumbled toward the curb. The tears had fallen a little too strongly today. Perhaps she’d bottled them up too long
and, if she were honest with herself, she’d admit that she mourned for more than the loss of her father. She cried over losing the one person in life who’d accepted her just as she was; she cried over losing an irreplaceable link to her whirlwind childhood; she cried over losing the one person who knew and understood her.

  A hand clamped around her arm, jerking her backward—just as a car zoomed past. Her heart quickened as she realized she’d nearly stepped into the path of an oncoming vehicle.

  “How about if I walk you home?”

  Ryan’s sun-kissed face came into view. He’d just saved her life—at the very least, saved her a painful trip to the hospital. She was in no state to be navigating the relatively quiet streets of picture-perfect Hertford. She needed to be home. And quick.

  “No, really, I’ll be fine . . .” She glanced down the street. The blocks seemed so long and her destination so far away. Her emotions were making her head swirl, making her feel like she should lie down and drink some water. An escort home wasn’t a bad idea. “Well, all right. If you wouldn’t mind. I’m not quite feeling like myself.”

  Ryan extended his arm and Daleigh accepted it. No matter that she didn’t know this man. As they crossed the street, springtime sunlight warmed her. Daleigh lifted her face, hoping it would heat her clammy skin. But it didn’t work. She felt chilled to the bone and empty.

  Ryan cleared his throat. “I’m a big fan of your music. I have all three of your CDs.”

  Three CDs. Would there be a fourth? Not according to Vince, not unless she agreed to put in more time on the road. Her body drooped at the thought. Was that going to be her future? A nomad with no place to call home? A gypsy with no roots?

  She remembered Ryan’s compliment and mumbled thanks.

  Ryan slowed for a step. “Losing a loved one makes you feel like part of your soul has been ripped out.” His voice sounded compassionate and warm . . . with a touch of grief.

  “You sound like you know.” She glanced up at his comforting presence and sniffed. “People say it gets easier with time, but I’m not sure I believe them. All I feel is this hole in my heart. I can’t ever imagine it healing or life feeling normal. Even though I only saw my dad a few times a year, somehow I know that nothing’s ever going to be the same.”

  He shrugged. “Life isn’t ever the same, but it does go on. Your days will get easier, even though it might not feel like it now. I know your dad is in a better place.”

  Heaven. Her relationship with God had been so rocky lately. Sure, she still went to church, unless she was on the road. But even then, she mostly just went through the motions. Her relationship with God had faded along with her assertiveness.

  Still, the thought of heaven made her smile.

  “I can imagine my dad up there writing a book about the angels, how they socialize, their history, what dynamic pulls them all together.” She drew in a breath. “You probably know he taught sociology over at the university. But it was more than a job. He was a true sociologist. He studied people, wherever we went.”

  Ryan chuckled. “That sounds like your dad.”

  Daleigh stopped in the middle of the cracked sidewalk. She shielded her eyes from the blinding sun as she looked up at Ryan. “I didn’t realize you knew him knew him. I mean, I saw you at the funeral, but this is a small town, so I figured everyone came to show their respect.”

  “You’re right. Most people in Hertford do know each other. That’s the best thing about a small town.”

  Daleigh grimaced. “Or the worst thing.”

  “True enough. I was blessed to know your father, though. He always made me think about things in a different light.”

  As they walked down the tree-lined street, Daleigh felt a special connection with Ryan, just knowing her father had befriended him. “What did he make you think about?”

  He laughed. “What didn’t he make me think about? How I view work, life, my faith, the future. Your father was very wise. He’d always stop at the garage during his daily walk. He even showed me a thing or two about fixing cars.”

  Daleigh smiled. Cars had been her dad’s hobby. He loved fiddling around under the hood.

  Daleigh’s boots thunked against the sidewalk as they passed a mix of weathered and restored Victorians. The town tucked into the curl of a river that wound around quaint shops and luxury homes along Main Street. Some houses were lined with white picket fences. Most had inviting porches and tidy yards. Nameplates dedicated to the original homeowners graced the flowerbeds. Her dad always said the town had charm.

  At the end of the street, the massive Victorian her sister called home stood proudly, ivy creeping up the side of its white wooden siding. Daleigh released Ryan’s arm and turned to him. A nearby weeping willow danced in the wind, its shadow splaying across his face.

  “Thanks again, Ryan. You’ve been a lifesaver—literally.”

  He tilted his head and offered a boyish yet compassionate grin. “No problem. I’ll let you know as soon as your car is ready. I can even bring it by for you.”

  She raised her eyebrows. “You would do that?”

  “You know, traffic around here gets pretty bad, so whatever I can do to help out-of-towners from getting stuck in the gridlock.” He shrugged before grinning again.

  Despite herself, she chuckled and waved goodbye. She opened the vine-covered wrought iron gate and stepped onto the cobblestone walk leading to her cottage. Slightly comforted, her steps still dragged as she stumbled over the cobbles.

  ***

  As soon as Ryan walked into the busy garage, his employee, Frank, threw a smirk his way from under the hood of the Buick LeSabre. Ryan ignored him and went straight to Daleigh’s car. He wanted to make sure it was in top shape when he gave it back to her tomorrow.

  The thought of Daleigh caused him to lift up another prayer. Lord, please give her comfort in this time of need. I know you can sustain us through hard times. Let Daleigh feel your presence and love now. She needs you.

  “I never knew you were such a softie.” Frank’s voice cut into his prayer. Frank prided himself in being a redneck. He had a mullet, drinking problem, and hunting addiction. As far as social graces, Frank didn’t know what they meant. He spoke what was on his mind, when it was on his mind. But despite all of his weaknesses—or maybe because of them—Frank was a likable guy.

  Ryan decided to change the oil in Daleigh’s car while he had it on the hoist. “I was trying to be sensitive, Frank. Wouldn’t hurt to try it sometimes.” His voice didn’t hold any reprimand, only friendly familiarity.

  Frank snorted. “Sensitive, huh? Never seen you like that before.”

  “The girl’s father just died.” Ryan was thankful he’d been the one here when Daleigh arrived. Frank would have no doubt hit on her and made crude jokes to try and lighten the mood. That was just his style.

  “You think she’s cute.”

  Ryan thought of her wavy long hair and hazel eyes that glittered with streaks of gold—and grief. “She is cute.” He removed the discharge bolt to the oil tank. “Nothing wrong with noticing her looks. Didn’t have anything to do with my attitude toward her, though.”

  “Isn’t she a singer or something?” Frank asked, breaking from his work to clean his ear with a key.

  Ryan stared at Frank. “She’s one of the best songwriters of this generation. And, yes, she’s a singer also. They’re calling her the next Joni Mitchell, only with a little bit more country influence.”

  “Who’s Joni Mitchell?”

  Ryan rolled his eyes. Daleigh McDermott was one of his favorite singers. Having her in his shop had made him feel like a schoolboy with a crush. He admired someone who could be on the road for two hundred concerts a year. Not him. He was perfectly happy to live the rest of his life right here where he’d grown up in Hertford, North Carolina, home of Major League Baseball hall-of-famer Catfish Hunter and the place where Benny Davis had penned the song “Carolina Moon.”

  Frank snorted once again. “You sure know a lot for
someone who’s not interested in her.”

  Ryan went back to changing the oil. “Anyone who watches TV knows about her. She was profiled by Barbara Walters last week.”

  “I watch TV.”

  “I meant something other than wrestling.”

  Frank took the shot at his taste in entertainment with a good-natured grin. “Oh.”

  Ryan remembered the show well. It captured Daleigh’s bright, disarming smile, the dash of freckles across her face, her long honey-colored hair dancing in the breeze as she walked across a field of daisies. She talked about her music. Then her boyfriend—music legend Vince Torres—came on, speaking about her like a trophy instead of a treasure.

  Then today she’d pulled herself together enough to sing at her father’s funeral. He couldn’t even imagine the strength that took. She’d sat on a stool, wearing a black dress that came to her knees and black cowboy boots. She’d sung one of her hits, “Daddy’s Girl.” The words of the song had squeezed his heart, as had the moisture in her eyes. Seeing her sing like that . . . it was so raw and honest. Aside from it being a funeral, he’d actually enjoyed hearing her today more than he’d enjoyed her at any of her concerts where she had the backing of a full band and sound crew.

  Just watching her had made Ryan realize that, at least on the surface, Daleigh McDermott was the woman of his dreams. He also realized she was totally and completely out of his league.

  “I do think you’re smitten.” Frank grinned.

  Ryan scowled. “Smitten? I’m a grown man. I don’t get smitten with people.” Even as he said the words, he wondered if they were true.

  It didn’t matter, though. Daleigh would be leaving as soon as her car was fixed. She’d remain where she’d always been—on the cover of his CDs, not touching his arm as they walked together down Church Street.

  Nope, she’d remain out of reach and untouchable.

  ***

  Daleigh had spent the remainder of yesterday in seclusion. In the main house, her sister’s big-haired friends all gathered, offering condolences and trying to distract the family from their grief with casseroles and gossip. Daleigh didn’t want anything to do with the visitors, the small town news, or the meatloaf. She’d made a brief appearance, just to be polite, and as soon as the conversation morphed from reminiscing about her father into gossip, she slipped away to the guest cottage to mourn alone and count down the hours until her car was ready and she could leave, just as she’d planned.