Random Acts of Iniquity Read online

  Random Acts of Iniquity

  Holly Anna Paladin Mysteries, Book 6

  Christy Barritt

  Copyright © 2019 by Christy Barritt

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  Contents

  Complete Book List

  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

  Epilogue

  Dear Reader,

  Also by Christy Barritt:

  Other Books in the Holly Anna Paladin Mysteries:

  You also might enjoy: the Lantern Beach Series

  You might also enjoy …

  The Worst Detective Ever:

  About the Author

  Complete Book List

  Squeaky Clean Mysteries:

  #1 Hazardous Duty

  #2 Suspicious Minds

  #2.5 It Came Upon a Midnight Crime (novella)

  #3 Organized Grime

  #4 Dirty Deeds

  #5 The Scum of All Fears

  #6 To Love, Honor and Perish

  #7 Mucky Streak

  #8 Foul Play

  #9 Broom & Gloom

  #10 Dust and Obey

  #11 Thrill Squeaker

  #11.5 Swept Away (novella)

  #12 Cunning Attractions

  #13 Cold Case: Clean Getaway

  #14 Cold Case: Clean Sweep

  While You Were Sweeping, A Riley Thomas Spinoff

  The Sierra Files:

  #1 Pounced

  #2 Hunted

  #3 Pranced

  #4 Rattled

  #5 Caged (coming soon)

  The Gabby St. Claire Diaries (a Tween Mystery series):

  The Curtain Call Caper

  The Disappearing Dog Dilemma

  The Bungled Bike Burglaries

  The Worst Detective Ever

  #1 Ready to Fumble

  #2 Reign of Error

  #3 Safety in Blunders

  #4 Join the Flub

  #5 Blooper Freak

  #6 Flaw Abiding Citizen

  #7 Gaffe Out Loud

  #8 Joke and Dagger (coming soon)

  Raven Remington

  Relentless 1

  Relentless 2 (coming soon)

  Holly Anna Paladin Mysteries:

  #1 Random Acts of Murder

  #2 Random Acts of Deceit

  #2.5 Random Acts of Scrooge

  #3 Random Acts of Malice

  #4 Random Acts of Greed

  #5 Random Acts of Fraud

  #6 Random Acts of Outrage

  #7 Random Acts of Iniquity

  Lantern Beach Mysteries

  #1 Hidden Currents

  #2 Flood Watch

  #3 Storm Surge

  #4 Dangerous Waters

  #5 Perilous Riptide

  #6 Deadly Undertow

  Lantern Beach Romantic Suspense

  Tides of Deception

  Shadow of Intrigue

  Storm of Doubt

  Lantern Beach P.D.

  On the Lookout

  Attempt to Locate

  First Degree Murder

  Dead on Arrival

  Plan of Action (coming in May)

  Carolina Moon Series

  Home Before Dark

  Gone By Dark

  Wait Until Dark

  Light the Dark

  Taken By Dark

  Suburban Sleuth Mysteries:

  Death of the Couch Potato’s Wife

  Fog Lake Suspense:

  Edge of Peril

  Margin of Error

  Cape Thomas Series:

  Dubiosity

  Disillusioned

  Distorted

  Standalone Romantic Mystery:

  The Good Girl

  Suspense:

  Imperfect

  The Wrecking

  Standalone Romantic-Suspense:

  Keeping Guard

  The Last Target

  Race Against Time

  Ricochet

  Key Witness

  Lifeline

  High-Stakes Holiday Reunion

  Desperate Measures

  Hidden Agenda

  Mountain Hideaway

  Dark Harbor

  Shadow of Suspicion

  The Baby Assignment

  The Cradle Conspiracy

  Nonfiction:

  Characters in the Kitchen

  Changed: True Stories of Finding God through Christian Music (out of print)

  The Novel in Me: The Beginner’s Guide to Writing and Publishing a Novel (out of print)

  Chapter One

  An ache jostled me from a total blackout state. An ache in my head.

  Dull pain pounded. Pounded. Pounded, almost like someone had taken a hammer to my skull and continuously swung it.

  Something was wrong. Really wrong.

  Think, Holly. What happened? Where are you?

  Using all of my willpower, I forced my eyes open. My vision blurred. More pain shot through me until I squeezed my eyes shut again. A few minutes later, the pain subsided enough for me to think.

  Focus on what you can comprehend, even with your eyes closed. What do you feel?

  I moved my fingers—just barely, though. Something soft pillowed beneath my palms. Maybe a blanket? Sheets?

  Maybe I’d had a medical emergency. Could I be at the hospital, blacked out right now? In a coma? Was this what it would feel like?

  It definitely didn’t smell like a hospital, and I doubted hospitals had sheets this soft. Plus, I was on my belly, and it was quiet. Too quiet. A hospital would be filled with beeps and voices in the background.

  Okay, what else? What do you hear, Holly? Use your senses.

  I swallowed hard, trying to focus. But I heard nothing, only the pounding in my head. Bam. Bam. Bam.

  The pain enveloped me until I let out a cry.

  I was a social worker by trade, but I temporarily worked for my brother who was a state senator. I was twenty-nine. Single. A foster mom. I wasn’t the kind of person who went clubbing or drank unmonitored drinks or who blacked out and had no sense of place.

  I tried to move my arm, but my limbs felt heavy, like weights had been tied around them.

  I’d been drugged, I realized. It was the only thing that made sense. But I had no recollection of why I might be drugged or if a doctor or someone else had put me in this state.

  Panic surged through me again.

  Pull yourself together and open your eyes. You can do it. You have to do it. Maybe your family is all standing around you, waiting for this very moment when you show you’re awake.

  I drew in several more deep breaths. I didn’t want to freak out. In order to obey my mental orders, I needed to focus.

  On the count of three, I tried to force open my eyes again. They barely slit open this time, allowing me to see a sliver of
my environment. Everything was blurry. My surroundings were bright. So bright it hurt my eyes. Caused my eyelids to close like floodgates trying to stop an impending disaster.

  The darkness swallowed me again.

  Okay, so it was bright around me? Did that mean I was outside?

  My instincts told me no. The temperature seemed too consistent, too perfect. I must be inside a room with a light on.

  I drew in another breath, this one not as shaky. Maybe I was finally gaining some control. What I knew was this: I lay on a soft fabric in a bright, climate-controlled area. That was something.

  Dear Lord, help me. What’s going on?

  My gut told me something was majorly wrong. My instincts were poised in anticipation of danger. The last thing I remembered was . . .

  I flexed my fingers beneath me again.

  What was the last thing I remembered? That was right. I’d been at my house. In the evening. My foster daughter, Sarah, was with her biological mom for the week on a family trip. Drew Williams, my ex-boyfriend, was out of town at a conference. My mom had remarried and was on her honeymoon in the Caribbean.

  I’d been baking cookies when . . . I heard someone at the door.

  My body stiffened as the memories slowly trickled to the forefront of my thoughts, feeling like a poison spreading over my mind.

  My heart pulsed more quickly.

  That was right. Someone had rang the bell. I’d gone to answer it and . . .

  My head pounded again. Harder. And harder until I flinched.

  What had happened next?

  I tried to form a clearer picture in my mind. But maybe some kind of internal self-preservation wouldn’t allow the facts to come into focus. Maybe the memories were too awful for me to recall, awful enough that blacking out seemed a better option.

  A sickly feeling roiled in my gut.

  I had to remember what had happened, whether I wanted to or not.

  I drew in a deep breath, trying to regain control of . . . something. Anything.

  In an instant, I flashed back in time. My doorbell had rung. I’d gone to answer it. My last batch of cookies had just come out of the oven, and the heavenly scent of snickerdoodles drifted through the house.

  Chase, I remembered. Chase Dexter.

  He was supposed to stop by. Chase was my high school crush, a Cincinnati detective, a former professional football player, a Chris Hemsworth lookalike, and the man who had broken my heart.

  Despite that, we’d remained friends.

  Chase had said he would drop off some flyers about a new youth initiative the police department was doing. I worked with inner city youth, and I was going to try to spread the word.

  But Chase hadn’t been at my door when I’d opened it.

  I squeezed my eyes together as the nausea in my gut grew stronger.

  A strange man had been at my door, I remembered. A man in a mask. The disguise had featured rosy cheeks. A big fake grin. White skin like a porcelain doll. A creepy porcelain doll.

  I’d screamed.

  Stepped back.

  Tried to shut the door. But it had been too late. The man grabbed me. Shoved something over my mouth and nose. Something with a sweet scent.

  And now I was here. I didn’t remember anything after that.

  A sob escaped from somewhere deep inside. What had he done to me? Terror swept through my bones, causing an earthquake-like tremor through my body.

  My fingers rubbed the buttery-soft fabric beneath me again. I desperately needed something to keep me grounded, to remind me I was still alive. There was still hope . . . right?

  Images began to pummel me. Possibilities of what had happened. Anxiety gripped my thoughts.

  Don’t let anxiety win.

  I’d just gone to a conference on that subject as part of my certification as a social worker. That was one of the things they’d talked about—controlling anxiety before it spiraled. I needed to apply that advice now.

  I needed to see for myself where I was. I could do this. I could take charge of my floundering emotions.

  I moaned as I turned. I was definitely lying down. Maybe on a bed. Maybe on the floor on a blanket. I wasn’t sure.

  The man must have drugged me with more than whatever had been on the cloth he’d put over my face. That would explain the ache in my head, my blurry vision, and the general groggy feeling that lingered. Eventually, the effects would wear off.

  More anxiety churned inside me at the possibility of opening my eyes again. I knew I had to do it, but I dreaded the dizziness that would come, followed by pain and the disoriented feeling.

  I swallowed hard and forced my eyes open.

  A room slowly came into focus.

  A bedroom.

  I was on a bed, I realized. A twin bed. With a pink bedspread. A white dresser. Lacy curtains.

  Everything spun again, and I squeezed my eyes shut.

  Where in the world was I? In a little girl’s room? It made no sense.

  My head was heavy. So heavy.

  I was so tired of fighting the exhaustion that pressed at me.

  Sleep beckoned me. Fought for my attention. Begged me to surrender.

  And, against my better instincts, I let sleep win.

  * * *

  My eyes jerked open with a start.

  The pink, lacy bedroom came into sight again. My lungs deflated only briefly before seizing with fright.

  That was right. I’d been drugged and left here by the strange man who’d come to my door wearing a creepy mask. I had no idea where I was, how long I’d been here, or if anyone knew I was gone.

  My head still hurt, but not as bad. Everything wasn’t as blurry. The drugs were wearing off.

  But I was far, far from being out of the woods.

  With a groan, I pushed myself up.

  Just as I remembered, I was lying on the princess-style bed in a strange room. I paused until everything around me stopped spinning. Every limb trembled uncontrollably.

  The drugs? Terror? Probably both.

  Drawing up my knees, I glanced down and blanched. What was I wearing? I had on a dress. I liked dresses, especially 1950s-style outfits.

  But I’d never seen this dress before. It was yellow with a tight waist, a billowing skirt, and fitted top. Were those . . . I stared at my legs. Pantyhose? I was also wearing pantyhose and some rounded-toe heels.

  My heart beat harder.

  Those definitely weren’t mine.

  Tears pressed my eyes as the sickly feeling in my stomach continued to grow.

  Whatever was going on here . . . it terrified me.

  I’d been dressed up, almost like a doll. This had not been what I was wearing earlier. No, as I’d lounged at home, I’d been wearing my favorite pajama bottoms—the ones that were white and decorated with watermelon slices—along with a comfy red shirt.

  I needed to move. Every minute counted right now. I could be missing my opportunity to get away.

  Drawing on all my strength, I swung my legs to the floor. I nearly stumbled as I stood. My muscles felt like rubber. I caught myself on the edge of the bed and waited just a moment until I felt steady.

  I spotted a door in the distance. My way out. I darted toward it.

  I grabbed the knob and twisted.

  It was locked.

  An airy cry escaped from me.

  I should have known.

  I turned and, leaning against the door to remain steady, I glanced at the rest of the room.

  The windows. I needed to check the windows. See if they were locked or if I could break them.

  I sprinted across the room, nearly stumbling but catching myself. I jerked the heavy curtain aside.

  My heart sank when I saw what was on the other side.

  Wooden boards had been nailed on the outside covering the glass.

  I wasn’t getting out of this room, I realized. Someone had ensured that.

  I pushed down another round of panic and sagged against the bed.

  If only I
could remember what had happened during my black hours. Who might have done this. Why.

  Nothing made sense right now.

  Don’t panic, Holly. Think proactively. Think like a survivor, not a victim.

  I needed to take a closer look at my surroundings. See if there was anything I could use to aid my escape or to protect myself. That’s what Chase would tell me. He was a police detective, so he should know.

  At the thought of him, my chin trembled. Faces of all my loved ones flashed through my mind, my heart.

  Did they know I’d been abducted? Were they worried? Did they know how much I loved them?

  I couldn’t think about that now. The thought of them worrying crippled me.

  Solutions, Holly. Solutions.

  With a push, I propelled myself from the bed. I grabbed the handle on one of the dresser drawers. I tugged but nothing happened. What?

  I tugged harder.

  Still nothing.

  I tried the next drawer. It was also locked.

  They all were.

  What? All of this . . . it was no accident. It had been planned. Carefully executed.

  I straightened and heaved in a shaky breath.

  Okay, that hadn’t worked. But I needed to keep thinking, keep searching. I glanced around.

  There was nothing else in the room. No lamps. No other doors—not even a closet. No knickknacks. Only lacy pillows and curtains.

  I rushed back toward the door and rattled the knob again.

  Just as last time, it didn’t budge.

  I knelt and examined the handle. Two screws held it in place. If I could get them out, maybe I could take the knob off.

  My dad had been a locksmith and had taught me a few tricks of the trade.