Authors: Brenda Novak
In Close
Praise for the novels of Brenda Novak
“
[Inside
brings out] the edgier side of Brenda Novak’s talent….
You’ll definitely find yourself wanting more.”
—
Suspense Magazine
“I instantly knew I was reading a great—not good—
great book, when the day came to an end and I’d consumed
over half of it… The first book of Brenda Novak’s I’ve read,
Inside
did not disappoint. If all her books are written to
this caliber, I can’t wait to get my hands on more.”
—
Leafs & Bounds
(book review blog)
“A compelling, suspenseful story filled with nonstop action…
a definite page-turner.”
—
RT Book Reviews
on
Body Heat
“Novak expertly blends romantic thrills, suspenseful chills, and
realistically complicated characters together in a white-knuckle
read that is certain to keep readers riveted to the last page.”
—
Booklist
on
White Heat
“Brenda Novak has written the
best high action thriller of 2010.”
—
Midwest Book Review
on
White Heat
“Gripping, frightening and intense…
a compelling romance as well as a riveting and
suspenseful mystery…Novak delivers another winner.”
—
Library Journal
on
The Perfect Liar
“Strong characters bring the escalating suspense to life
and the mystery is skillfully played out.
Novak’s smooth plotting makes for a great read.”
—
Publishers Weekly
on
Dead Right
“Any book by Brenda Novak is a must-buy for me.”
—
Reader to Reader Reviews
Also by BRENDA NOVAK
IN SECONDS
INSIDE
KILLER HEAT
BODY HEAT
WHITE HEAT
THE PERFECT MURDER
THE PERFECT LIAR
THE PERFECT COUPLE
WATCH ME
STOP ME
TRUST ME
DEAD RIGHT
DEAD GIVEAWAY
DEAD SILENCE
COLD FEET
TAKING THE HEAT
EVERY WAKING MOMENT
Look for Brenda Novak’s next novel
Available in 2012
BRENDA NOVAK
IN CLOSE
To Louise (LouBabe) Pledge, a reader I knew only
via email for a long time, who has turned into a cherished
friend. Thank you for all your enthusiasm for my books
and the massive support you have given my efforts to
raise money for diabetes research. You’re one in a million!
Dear Reader,
I
love
old mysteries. Maybe that’s why I’m such a fan of cold case programs. I can’t stand unanswered questions, so I enjoy vicariously experiencing the resolution of such cases and the satisfaction that resolution brings to all the people involved. If something mysterious happened to my friend or loved one, I’m the type of person who’d dig and dig and dig and never give up, never be able to let go. So I completely identify with the heroine of this novel, Claire O’Toole, whose mother, Alana, went missing while Claire was in high school. I enjoyed exploring how that event shaped Claire’s life. I also found it fascinating to consider what might’ve happened to Alana and to come up with a list of possible suspects, including Claire’s stepfather, who was so good to Claire while she was growing up; her crippled sister, with whom she has a strained relationship; the man with whom Claire’s mother might’ve had an extramarital affair; even a few surprise contenders. This case is particularly hard to solve. It’s quite a challenge for Claire—and so is the man who decides to help.
Isaac Morgan has overcome great difficulty himself, which is partly what makes him a perfect match for Claire. She’s exactly what he needs, if only he can figure out how to open his heart again.
Part of the fun of creating this novel was imagining the small town of Pineview, Montana. This area is unique—so different from where I live in California. I’d love to own a cabin in the Chain of Lakes area, where I placed my fictional town. Maybe someday I will (if I can ever talk my husband into leaving suburbia).
I would like to extend a special thanks to Becky Kranz for purchasing the chance to name a character in this book via one of my annual online auctions for diabetes research. She chose the name Carrie Oldman, which you will see in the story. Like every other person who’s helped me raise money for this important cause, Becky is a hero to me.
For more information about me or my work, please visit www.brendanovak.com. There, you can enter my monthly contests, see what’s coming out next or participate in my annual online auction for diabetes research, which runs for the entire month of May. To date, we’ve raised over $1.4 million!
All the best,
Brenda
Contents
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2
D
avid had a copy of the case files on her mother. Everything was here, from the missing-persons report to the last interview. Claire had seen some of this before, but even she hadn’t been privy to all of it. How had he come by this much information?
He must’ve gotten it from Sheriff King. Either that or he’d called in a favor from his old hunting buddy, Rusty Clegg. Rusty had been a deputy for the past six or seven years. It helped to have a friend on the force.
But what felt so strange about finding this was that David had made his own notations on many of the reports and interviews. It was almost as if he’d picked up the investigation where the sheriff had left off.
Why hadn’t he told her what he was doing? The dates on the log he’d kept correlated with the first year of their marriage and included a number of entries in the months leading up to his death. The last time he’d written anything was two days before the accident. She found detailed information on her stepfather and Leanne, plus her mother’s only sibling—a sister living in Portland, Oregon—and a complete chronology of Alana’s last movements.
Some of it Claire didn’t want to read. It brought back That Night, the longest night of her life, during which every adult she knew, including her stepfather, was out searching. She and Leanne hadn’t been allowed to leave the house. They’d waited for their mother, or some word of her, praying all the while for her safe return—to no avail. When the sun came up, their stepfather and one friend after another checked in with the bad news that they hadn’t been able to find any sign of her.
Reluctant yet determined, Claire’s eyes skimmed the handwritten log fastened to the left side of the thickest folder.
May 10: Spoke to Jason Freeman. Claims he saw Alana at the bakery between 8:00 and 9:00 a.m. Watched her go in and come out carrying a bag of doughnuts while he drank a cup of coffee in the cab of Pete Newton’s truck. Jason says she got in the car with Tug and drove away. Tug confirms this in original interview. Other than Tug, Jason is the last person to see Alana.
May 12: Tried to reach Joe Kenyon.
Now
there
was a name, the one most often mentioned by those who theorized that Alana had been unhappy in her marriage and had gone looking for fulfillment in the arms of another man. If she’d had one affair, it was plausible she’d have more and might even have run off with whatever new lover she’d taken, right? That explained the mystery to some. But it explained nothing to Claire, who couldn’t believe her mother had ever cheated.
He wouldn’t open his door when I knocked, but Carly Ortega across the street told me Alana stopped at Joe’s house quite often. She even saw her car parked in his drive once, late at night.
Late?
How could that be possible? Tug was always home at night. Alana would’ve had to slip out of bed without his noticing in order to leave the house. And why would she do that? Joe had come to cut down the diseased cottonwood tree that was about to fall onto their roof, but other than the few hours they’d spent together then, Claire couldn’t remember them ever speaking.
May 13: Tried again to get an audience with Joe Kenyon. Refused to speak to me. Prick.
David’s log went on for several pages. Figuring she’d read the rest at home, Claire switched to the other side of the folder and skimmed several interviews originally done by Sheriff Meade.
Carly wasn’t the only one who believed there was something going on between Joe Kenyon and Alana. Joe’s twin brother, Peter, thought they were involved. He insisted that he’d heard his brother take a call from Alana while they were at work one day. He said he couldn’t hear what was being said, but he could tell by the tone of Joe’s voice that it wasn’t a simple request for tree-trimming services.
Cringing, Claire dropped her flashlight in her lap. Did she
really
want to continue reading? This was making her sick, making her wonder if she’d really known her mother. Had Alana been leading a double life?
Claire didn’t want to suspect her, but…how much more about Joe, about
Alana
and Joe, could she endure?
That depended on how strongly she believed in Alana, didn’t it? Maybe Leanne had been a daddy’s girl from the moment Tug had come into their lives, during Leanne’s first year, but Claire had always preferred Alana. She trusted her mother more than to accept, on circumstantial evidence alone, that Alana was an adulteress.
Breathing in through her nose and out through her mouth, Claire picked up the flashlight. “We’ll show them, Mom,” she promised. “We’ll show them all.”
Beneath the log, she ran across a list of typed “inconsistencies.” These didn’t appear to be written by David, but she was willing to bet he was the one who’d highlighted various passages. According to the date at the top, the list was Sheriff King’s summary after taking over from Sheriff Meade.
Tug said he was at work until he received Claire’s call. Concerned that Alana’s car was still in the drive and yet she was nowhere to be found, he left immediately.
The next part was highlighted.
Why would he be instantly worried? There’s never been a kidnapping or a murder in Pineview.
There’d been one murder since—Pat Stueben, the town Realtor—but that hadn’t yet occurred when this was written.
Unless she kept it to herself, Alana had never been threatened and wasn’t having problems with anyone. For all Tug knew, she’d walked down the block to talk to a neighbor and would be back any minute.
Was
his reaction a bit too fast? There was always the threat of bears. They came around if people left out food. But no one in town, other than Isaac Morgan, who tracked and filmed wild animals for a living, had ever been attacked.
Claire’s arms and legs tingled with apprehension. Tug was normally the last person to assume the worst. Why had he reacted so quickly?
She tried to remember every word of the conversation that had passed between them when she’d called that day.
What do you mean she’s gone?
she’d asked the minute she told him.
I’ve searched the whole house.
Did you check the bathrooms? Of course.
She didn’t leave a note?
Not that I can find. You haven’t heard from her?
No. Stay there. I’m on my way.
At that point, it hadn’t occurred to Claire that her mother could be in danger. She’d expected him to say something like, “Don’t worry. I’m sure she’ll be home soon.” But he hadn’t. And once he reached the house, he’d acted so tense, the same fear began to percolate through Claire. That was the first inkling she’d had that they were facing a major tragedy, and she’d taken her cue from her stepfather.
Had he already known what was wrong? Had he and Alana argued earlier, maybe when he came home for lunch? Possibly about Joe Kenyon? And had that argument gotten out of hand?
As much as she didn’t want to believe it, she knew things like that happened…?.
Chilled by the thought, she ran her free hand over the goose bumps on her arm. But it didn’t help because she found Sheriff King’s next point equally disturbing.
On the day Alana disappeared, she picked Leanne up at school at 11:15 a.m. for reason of “illness,” but someone who didn’t come to the office took her back shortly before two. The sign-in/sign-out log in the attendance office reflects this partial absence but Leanne has never mentioned that she was home for a portion of the day. And she has never said whether or not her mother was with her during that time.
“Impossible,” Claire muttered. After all the years of searching and questioning, how was it that Leanne had never spoken of missing school? Why would she keep it to herself?
There had to be a reason. Hoping it might become apparent, Claire kept reading.
If she was sick, how did she recuperate so fast?
Exactly!
At 2:00 p.m. she brought a note to the office excusing her absence and signed herself in. The attendance lady didn’t keep the note and doesn’t remember who wrote it—mother or father—but she stands by her log. When asked if she could’ve gotten the date wrong, she insists it would be almost impossible. “If that’s wrong, all the dates before it would have to be wrong, as well as the dates after.”
Another highlighted part.
All the days are accounted for and run Monday through Friday, as they should.
Stunned, Claire sat staring at the yellow circle her flashlight created on the page. What did this mean? Why had the sheriff or his deputies even thought to check with the school? At sixteen, she could be considered a suspect. Everyone close to the missing person had to be ruled out. But
Leanne?
She hadn’t yet had the sledding accident that broke her back, but she’d only been thirteen. What could she have done to Alana?
The discomfort of the hard floor and the scrabbling of some rodent in the corner began to bother Claire. It was too difficult to read for an extended period sitting in such an unfriendly spot, holding a heavy flashlight and trying to ignore the pack rats.
It was time to take the files home, where she could scour every interview, every note, at her leisure. No doubt David had been trying to find her mother for her. He was that kind of man. He probably hadn’t told her in case he didn’t come any closer than anyone else. He wouldn’t want to raise her hopes, only to see them dashed. Probably a smart move. He certainly seemed to have run into more questions than answers. But she loved him for making the attempt.
Relieved to be going, she closed the files. But just as she slid them into the accordion folder, a noise from below brought her head up.
What was that?
Movement? If so, whoever or whatever made that noise was definitely bigger than a rat.
She’d thought she heard footsteps when she first arrived—and there’d been no one here.
Irritated that she kept spooking herself, she climbed down the ladder. She’d just set foot on the stairs heading to the ground floor when a draft of cool air, smelling distinctly of smoke from the fireworks, swept up to meet her.
Fresh
air. From outside…
“Hello?” she called.
No answer. No corresponding rustle, either.
She angled her flashlight in every direction to illuminate the dark recesses below, but the beam would only reach so far. “Anybody there?”
Silence.
Her mind conjured up the gruesome images that sometimes came to her in nightmares, images of her mother being tortured and strangled by some crazed psychopath. Most people were killed by someone in their circle of family and friends. But not all. Murders committed by strangers were among the most difficult to solve.
Was that why no one could figure out what had happened? Was her mother’s killer lurking in the shadows, waiting for her to move closer?
Half expecting the truth she’d been chasing for so long to become apparent in the most frightening way, she stood as if her feet were encased in concrete. The possibility of a violent ending didn’t escape her.
But there were no footsteps, no madman rushing toward her, no more movement.
Had she imagined the change in temperature? The noise? In such an old structure, even a slight wind caused creaks and groans.
She wasn’t convinced it was the wind, but she didn’t see how staying on the landing, holding her breath, was going to help. She needed to get out.
Tightening her grip on the files, she crept down the stairs, using her flashlight to scout for trouble—until she reached the living room. Then she aimed the beam straight ahead and ran for the door. But just as she reached it, she twisted around to look behind her.
And that was when she saw it.
A man’s booted foot.
Someone was crouching behind her mother’s old piano.
The scream curdled Isaac Morgan’s blood. He’d seen headlights pass by his place, knew it was probably Claire. It’d been a while since she’d come to her mother’s studio. He had a feeling his proximity served as a deterrent, especially since David’s death. But even the chance of coming face-to-face with him in such a private setting didn’t scare her away entirely.
He usually turned a blind eye to her visits and pretended not to notice. He understood what she’d been through, why she couldn’t let go, and felt she deserved privacy to deal with her demons.
Lord knew he preferred privacy to deal with his.
It was the second set of headlights, appearing only a few minutes later, that had drawn him out of the house. He doubted she’d bring anyone up here; she tried too hard to act as if she was fine, as if the past didn’t bother her, but it did. The amount of weight she’d lost was alarming.
Determined to investigate, he’d walked over. It was the Fourth of July, after all. The last thing he needed was a group of teenagers—teenagers who were even half as reckless as he’d been—coming up here and setting off fireworks. As dry as it’d been this summer, they could start a forest fire that would take every single cabin. But all he’d found was Claire’s Camaro. He’d been skirting the property and using his flashlight to comb through the trees in search of the second car when that scream sliced through him.