Table of Contents
DEVIL SMOKE
Prologue
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
Epilogue
DEVIL
SMOKE
CJ Lyons
Also By CJ Lyons:
Lucy Guardino Thrillers:
SNAKE SKIN
BLOOD STAINED
KILL ZONE
AFTER SHOCK
HARD FALL
BAD BREAK
LAST LIGHT
Hart and Drake Medical Suspense:
NERVES OF STEEL
SLEIGHT OF HAND
FACE TO FACE
EYE OF THE STORM
Shadow Ops Covert Thrillers:
CHASING SHADOWS
LOST IN SHADOWS
EDGE OF SHADOWS
Fatal Insomnia Medical Thrillers:
FAREWELL TO DREAMS
A RAGING DAWN
BORROWED TIME
LUCIDITY: A GHOST OF A LOVE STORY
BROKEN
WATCHED
FIGHT DIRTY
Angels of Mercy Medical Suspense:
LIFELINES
WARNING SIGNS
URGENT CARE
CRITICAL CONDITION
Caitlyn Tierney FBI Thrillers:
BLIND FAITH
BLACK SHEEP
HOLLOW BONES
PRAISE FOR NEW YORK TIMES AND USA TODAY BESTSELLER CJ LYONS:
“Everything a great thriller should be—action packed, authentic, and intense.” ~#1 New York Times bestselling author Lee Child
“A compelling new voice in thriller writing…I love how the characters come alive on every page.” ~New York Times bestselling author Jeffery Deaver
“Top Pick! A fascinating and intense thriller.” ~ 4 1/2 stars, RT Book Reviews
“An intense, emotional thriller…(that) climbs to the edge of intensity.” ~National Examiner
“A perfect blend of romance and suspense. My kind of read.” ~#1 New York Times Bestselling author Sandra Brown
“Highly engaging characters, heart-stopping scenes…one great rollercoaster ride that will not be stopping anytime soon.” ~Bookreporter.com
“Adrenalin pumping.” ~The Mystery Gazette
“Riveting.” ~Publishers Weekly Beyond Her Book
Lyons “is a master within the genre.” ~Pittsburgh Magazine
“Will leave you breathless and begging for more.” ~Romance Novel TV
“A great fast-paced read….Not to be missed.” ~4 ½ Stars, Book Addict
“Breathtakingly fast-paced.” ~Publishers Weekly
“Simply superb…riveting drama…a perfect ten.” ~Romance Reviews Today
“Characters with beating hearts and three dimensions.” ~Newsday
“A pulse-pounding adrenalin rush!” ~Lisa Gardner
“Packed with adrenalin.” ~David Morrell
“…Harrowing, emotional, action-packed and brilliantly realized.” ~Susan Wiggs
“Explodes on the page…I absolutely could not put it down.” ~Romance Readers’ Connection
This book is a work of fiction. Any references to historical events, real people, or real locales are used fictitiously. Other names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination, and any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental and not intended by the author.
Copyright 2016, CJ Lyons
EdgyReads
Cover design: Toni McGee Causey
Stock photo copyright lassedesignen/Dollar Photo Club
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means for example, electronic, photocopy, recording without the prior written permission of the publisher. The only exception is brief quotations in printed reviews.
CJ Lyons and Thrillers with Heart registered Trademarks of CJ Lyons, LLC
Library of Congress Case #1-3352756051
DEVIL
SMOKE
CJ Lyons
Dear Reader,
Thanks so much for joining in on Lucy’s adventures! If you haven’t read her first stories, they are: SNAKE SKIN, BLOOD STAINED, KILL ZONE, AFTER SHOCK, HARD FALL, and BAD BREAK
LAST LIGHT is Lucy’s first adventure at Beacon Falls, followed by DEVIL SMOKE, and, coming 2/17, OPEN GRAVE.
The Lucy Guardino Thrillers are the only series I know of that come with a warning—and there’s good reason for it. Most of the crimes and bad guys depicted in these stories come from real life.
As always, thanks for reading!
CJ
PS: want advance notice of my next book? Sign up for my Thrillers with Heart newsletter HERE
Prologue
FIDDLER’S KNOB, SCOTIA COUNTY, PENNSYLVANIA
363 DAYS AGO
CHARLOTTE BIT DOWN on her clenched fist and swallowed back a cry of pain as jagged stones sliced her bare feet. Quiet. The night was too quiet. The silence unforgiving.
She winced as each step snapped twigs, slipped across dead leaves, jostled loose rocks. The soles of her feet were slicked with blood—her blood, leaving a trail, but in the dark and the fog, no one would see it. She hoped.
Faster. She careened into a sapling, its branches lashing without mercy. Keep going down, the road will find you, just keep going down.
Without the steep slope of the mountain to guide her she wouldn’t have had a hope. Not in this fog, so thick it felt like cold fingers curling around her body, brushing her face, grasping her hand to tease her away from the path that would save her. Cunning, sly, deceitful fog, beckoning to her, coaxing her deeper into the woods.
Devil smoke, Granny Callabrese called fog thick like this. The kind of fog where the dead walked in hopes of luring you into the grave.
Bare feet, no coat, only jeans and a torn shirt. What day was today? Had she missed Tommy’s game?
Her mind was as murky as the night surrounding her. She’d hit her head, that much she knew from the blood making her hair sticky. What else? She felt bruised head to toe, wasn’t at all sure how she’d gotten to the top of the mountain. All she knew was waking to darkness, the smell of fresh moss and ancient smoke smothering her, rocks piled up all around her, trapping her until she dug her way out. Had she been hiking and slipped? Was there a rockslide? Or something else?
Images, too terrifying to be memories, wisped past her vision. A woman’s face… her own? Tears, screams, shouts for help. A man, fist raised… no, no, she couldn’t look. She shoved the—memories? n
ightmares?—aside, burying them deep. Focus. She needed to focus. On what was real, what was important. Tommy. Nellie. Bright lights in her blood haze, they kept her running even after she’d pushed far past exhaustion. Her family. Home.
The terrain abruptly flattened as if someone had gouged a notch through the mountainside. Dead leaves and twigs gave way to gravel that dug into the ruined flesh of her feet. Gasping for air, she hobbled across the narrow strip of cleared earth. Relief surged through her when she stepped onto rough asphalt. The road. Help. Home. She was almost there, almost free.
Fog cloaked the road, caught between the mountaintop overhead and the steep decline to the valley below. It was thicker down here, left her skin clammy even as she shivered in the May night. Cars—where were the cars? He’d be back soon, maybe already was, maybe he was coming for her right now.
He? He who? Had she been with someone? If so, why hadn’t he helped her?
Why was she so frightened at the thought of him finding her?
She spun, trying to remember which direction to take back to the main highway. The fog circled around her, a ghastly embrace. Willowy figures danced at the edges of her vision, beckoning with outstretched arms and faces that could be familiar.
No. I’m not going with you, she screamed inside her head, both hands covering her mouth to muffle her cries of pain as she limped down the road. Go away!
Home. She just wanted to be home. Curled up beside Tommy. Nellie stretched out on the floor at their feet, coloring, her legs kicking in the air because as a four-year-old, perpetual motion was her natural state of being. Their faces hung in her vision, framed by tears.
Charlotte kept going despite the pain. One foot. The other. Go, go, go, chanted her invisible companions, the wraiths conjured by the devil smoke, urging her on.
Headlights pierced the fog. Blinded, she stood, shielding her eyes with her hands.
“Stop!” she shouted, remembering too late that he could be near, that he might hear as well. But she had to get the driver to stop. She stepped farther into the lane and waved her hands. Could he see her in the fog?
“Stop.” This time it was an anguished cry, her strength too far gone to scream. “Please…”
Brakes screeched. She felt the rush of the car hurtling toward her, felt it straining to stop. But it kept coming, closer and closer. Instinct had her ducking her head, arms up, as if that could stop a three-thousand-pound vehicle.
But somehow it did. The car lurched to a halt. Only a few feet away from turning her into road kill.
She straightened, her adrenaline long since drained past empty—which was exactly how she felt: empty. Home. If she could just go home…
The fog swirled black and blue against the headlights’ glow, the light bruising.
“Help me, please.” She limped toward the driver’s side, squinting. The car looked familiar, so familiar. She stepped closer. It was familiar—it was her car. Her gaze snapped up to the driver, now opening the door and emerging, a featureless silhouette against the harsh glare of the lights.
Why didn’t the fog try to smother him? she wondered even as she realized the thought was born of hysterical relief. She was saved. She was going home.
With no strength left, she fell to her knees, sobbing as the man approached. “Tommy? Take me home. Please, I want to go home.”
Chapter 1
363 DAYS LATER…
“I WANT SUGAR LOOPS!” Nellie screamed.
Who knew a five-year-old’s voice could blister paint? Tommy Worth tried to ignore his daughter’s outburst, reminding himself of the principles of good parenting. Set clear boundaries. Catch them being good. Never negotiate with terrorists.
Right now Nellie’s siege of the Worth kitchen was about to come to a messy and triumphant conclusion as she banged her chair against the table hard enough to rattle the plate of low-fat sausage and scrambled egg whites. She not only refused to eat, she threatened to crash her wholesome and nutritious breakfast straight onto the floor.
“Glinda’s mom lets her eat Sugar Loops anytime she wants,” she said with a huff as he continued to ignore her. “She can even have Sugar Loops for dinner if she wants. Her mom loves her.”
Tommy bit back a retort about Glinda’s mom being a ditz and her daughter being destined for childhood obesity. Instead, he concentrated on the chicken salad he had prepared last night. This time he’d gotten it right, re-creating Charlotte’s recipe to the letter. Last year Nellie had begged for chicken salad every school day. Charlotte had mixed it each night before bed, her last “mommy-job” before it was “grown-up” time, Tommy’s favorite time of day, even if all they did was sit side by side on the sofa and read.
He spread a healthy dollop of chicken salad onto a slice of whole grain bread before tasting a tidbit that clung to the knife. Delicious. Just the right amount of salt and pepper, a dash of mayo, and a loving touch of Charlotte’s secret ingredient: honey mustard. The best chicken salad ever.
Nellie’s lunch box wasn’t going to come home with this sandwich uneaten today—not like it had every other day. No way.
Tommy added a pear, carrot sticks, and some whole grain pretzels to the lunch box, then dared a glance at Nellie, who sat glaring at her uneaten breakfast, arms crossed over her chest, face pinched into a scowl. Great, the silent routine. This could last for hours.
Sighing, he grabbed another piece of bread and slapped together a PB and J. Just in case.
He added the sandwich and snapped the lid shut. Blinking hard against the glare from the early morning sun, he knew without a doubt that when he cleaned out the lunch box that evening, there would be an uneaten chicken salad sandwich left abandoned and neglected.
“Time to go,” he announced in a too-chipper voice.
“I’m hungry,” she whined.
The sound danced along his nerve endings, producing a fight-or-flight tug-of-war.
He was a pediatrician. He couldn’t send his daughter to school without breakfast. It was cruel; it was unhealthy. But he also didn’t dare give in to her whining. Do that once and he was doomed.
He swore he felt Charlotte’s fingers brush against the back of his arm, felt her standing beside him. How many mornings, how many evenings had she stood right here, her feet where his were now, her hands dancing over the countertop, hips swaying in time with the music that was her constant companion?
“If you’re hungry, you can take some sausage to eat in the car. I’ve packed you an extra sandwich with your lunch,” he said, keeping his tone bright and cheerful, refusing to surrender to misery or despair. He scooped the eggs into the trash and turned back to get the sausages. Nellie snatched them away, munching on one greasy link as if it were finger food.
“It’s too hot, I don’t want to wear a coat.” She trudged behind him out to the car. He kept her jacket over his arm. “My backpack is too heavy. You carry it.”
“It’s your backpack. You need to take responsibility for it.” He opened the garage door.
She took a bite of sausage, a hawk snapping off the head of a field mouse, eyeing him with the same ferocity.
He circled around the rear of his ancient Volvo station wagon and opened the back passenger side door for her. “Hurry up, we’re late.”
She dragged her backpack carelessly along the pavement—the Hello Kitty backpack, the one she had saved up her allowance to buy special, which should have been a warning of just how much of a snit she was in—to the rear of the car, stomped her feet, then dropped it with a thud. “I told you. It’s too heavy.”
“Eleanor Rose Worth,” he snapped. “You pick up that bag and get into this car right now.”
Her feet remained planted, her arms across her chest, her glare as incandescent as a lit match. “No.”
His temper flared, temper mixed with grief, churned with disappointment and fear. If he, with his training, couldn’t handle a five-year-old’s tantrum… He grabbed her arm, pulled it down to the backpack, forced the strap over her elbow, and
tugged her toward the car.
She didn’t cry, didn’t say anything, just scrunched up her face in the fiercest, most meanest look a five-year-old could possibly conjure. A look designed to banish monsters under the bed, to fell bullies in their tracks. A look that screamed: You don’t love me!
Tommy didn’t even remember getting her into the car, fastening her into the booster seat, or backing down the driveway. His hands gripped the steering wheel like it was the last bit of flotsam in a churning monsoon.
“Daddy, are you mad at me?” Nellie asked from the back seat, her voice as shaky as Tommy’s grip on his own emotions.
Unshed tears burned his throat. He swallowed before answering. “No, sweetie. I’m not mad at you. It’s just, sometimes the things you do, well, they make Daddy sad. Very sad.” Don’t dump it all on her. “It’s okay, though. You also make Daddy very happy, and I need that. We’ll get through this, Nellie. I promise.”
But her five-year-old mind seemed headed in another, more mysterious, five-year-old direction. “Were you mad at Mommy? Is that why she went away?”
He almost ran the car into the curb, but instead slowed and pulled over. To hell with school and staff meetings and cases waiting. He climbed out of the driver’s seat, went back to the rear, and slid into the empty space beside her.
“Mommy didn’t want to go away,” he said, taking her hand in his.
He blinked back the sudden rush of fear that he might someday lose her as well. Despite the warm May morning, his hands and feet were numb, frozen as if his heart couldn’t spare the blood necessary to keep them alive.
“I wasn’t mad at her. Even if I was—even if you were—that’s okay. Mommy didn’t want to leave us. You had nothing to do with it, Nellie.”