You're Not Safe (Texas Rangers)

 

 

“Dark and disturbing, a well-written tale of obsession and murder.”

Kat Martin,
New York Times
bestselling author

 

“Burton delivers action-packed tension . . . the number of red-herring suspects and the backstory on the victims make this a compelling romantic thriller.”

 

“Burton’s crisp storytelling, solid pacing, and well-developed plot will draw you in and the strong suspense will keep you hooked and make this story hard to put down.”

 

“A nail-biter that you will not want to miss. Terrifying . . . it keeps you on the edge of your chair.”

The Free Lance-Star
(Fredericksburg, Virginia)

 

 

“Will have readers sleeping with the lights on.”

Publishers Weekly
(starred review)

 

 

“Convincing detective lingo and an appropriately shivery murder venue go a long way.”

 

“Burton just keeps getting better!”

 

“Terrifying . . . this chilling thriller is an engrossing story.”

 

“Mary Burton’s latest romantic suspense has it all—terrific plot, complex and engaging protagonists, a twisted villain, and enough crime scene detail to satisfy the most savvy suspense reader.”

Erica Spindler,
New York Times
bestselling author

 

 

“Stieg Larsson fans will find a lot to like in Burton’s taut, well-paced novel of romantic suspense.”

 

“This is a page-turner of a story, one that will keep you up all night, with every twist in the plot and with all of the doors locked.”

 

“With hard-edged, imperfect but memorable characters, a complex plot and no-nonsense dialog, this excellent novel will appeal to fans of Lisa Gardner and Lisa Jackson.”

 

“Absolutely chilling! Don’t miss this well-crafted, spine-tingling read.”

Brenda Novak,
New York Times
bestselling author

 

“A terrifying novel of suspense.”

 

“This is a story to read with the lights on.”

 

 

“Burton’s taut, fast-paced thriller will have you guessing until the last blood-soaked page. Keep the lights on for this one.”

 

“A twisted tale . . . I couldn’t put it down!”

Lisa Jackson,
New York Times
bestselling author

 

 

“Dangerous secrets, deadly truths, and a diabolical killer combine to make Mary Burton’s
Dead Ringer
a chilling thriller.”

Beverly Barton,
New York Times
bestselling author

 

“With a gift for artful obfuscation, Burton juggles a budding romance and two very plausible might-be perpetrators right up to the tense conclusion.”

 

 

“Taut . . . compelling . . . Mary Burton delivers a page-turner.”

Carla Neggers,
New York Times
bestselling author

 

“Creepy and terrifying, it will give you chills.”

 

I’M WATCHING YOU

 

DEAD RINGER

 

DYING SCREAM

 

SENSELESS

 

MERCILESS

 

BEFORE SHE DIES

 

THE SEVENTH VICTIM

 

NO ESCAPE

 

YOU’RE NOT SAFE

 

 

MARY BURTON

 

 

ZEBRA BOOKS

KENSINGTON PUBLISHING CORP.

All copyrighted material within is Attributor Protected.

 

 

 

A hangover punched and pounded Rory Edwards’s brain as he woke to discover a hangman’s noose coiling around his neck. His hands lashed behind his back, his booted feet were braced on an open truck tailgate. He shifted, tried to wriggle free, but hemp dug painfully deep into an already bloodstained neck and wrists.

He blinked grit and film from his blurred gaze as he glanced up the thick rope meandering over a distant tree branch and snaking down the gnarled bark to a square knot at the trunk.

He’d done a lot of stupid things in his life, but what had he done to land here?

Panic rising, he scanned the area, illuminated by the full moon, to find dense shrubs and trees and a patch of dirt too rough to be considered a road. He didn’t recognize his surroundings, but a lonely isolated feeling banded around his chest. Wherever he was, it was far from another human. Texas had hundreds of thousands of bleak acres where a man could die and never be found. A coyote howled in the distance.

Dread kicked and scratched his insides.
Shit. Shit. Shit.
He struggled to free his hands, but when they refused to budge, he couldn’t silence his fears.

“Help!” He shouted his plea over and over until his throat burned inside and out. No one came.

Breathless, he craned his neck trying to better identify his surroundings, but as he leaned forward his foothold slipped and he nearly skidded off the tailgate’s edge. Every muscle in his body tensed as he scrambled and threw his weight back until he was on firm footing. He was hyperventilating now, and minutes passed before he calmed enough to think.

This time his gaze roamed wildly and landed on a picture nailed to the hanging tree. It was an old picture, crumpled, tattered, and faded. Recognition flickered instantly. He’d carried the picture in his wallet for a dozen years, and he’d cherished it. More nights than he could count he’d stared at that picture asking for strength when life shit-kicked him in the gut.

Tears filled his eyes.

The aging image captured a grinning teenage Rory, tall, straight, and broad-shouldered. His thick sun-kissed hair skimmed piercing blue eyes. Tanned skin accentuated a crooked melting grin. His arm wrapped around the shoulders of a petite, young blond girl. She was pretty, not overly stunning like Rory, but her smile could be electric.

At first glance Rory’s embrace around the girl appeared casual and playful. Two young teenagers in love. However, closer inspection exposed a wrinkle of tension creasing Rory’s forehead and the pointed edge of desperation behind his gaze. The young Rory held the girl a little too close and a little too anxiously.

On that long-ago day, he’d been so worried about himself and his immense burdens. He’d never bothered to look past the girl’s forced smiles. Not once had he asked about her feelings. Not once. If he had really noticed her, he’d have seen she hadn’t been happy. Yes, she smiled, but her full lips often thinned into a strained line, and her blue eyes reflected the weight of her own demons. She clutched his shirt as if knowing one drowning swimmer couldn’t save another.

If he’d been a little less selfish, he would have seen her sadness. Instead of whispering empty compliments in her ear or kissing her when she needed to talk, he could have soothed her wounds. He could have done so much for her. But he didn’t.

Twin weights of regret and failure settled on his shoulders as he begged for her help one last time. “I’m sorry, Elizabeth. Save me. Just one more time, please. Don’t let me die. Save me.”

Laughter crept out of the darkness and rumbled behind him. “How many times is Elizabeth supposed to save you, Rory?” The deep, clear voice made him bristle. “Don’t you think Elizabeth deserves a break from your incessant whining?”

Shocked by the voice, Rory twisted his bound hands against the tight rope. “Who are you?”

Silence.

“Why are you doing this?”

Laughter.

In his peripheral vision, a strike and a flash of flame cut the shadows as the stranger lifted a match to a cigarette’s tip.

Rory craned his neck, trying to see the stranger’s face but the ropes cut and burned until he stilled. The smoke’s acrid scent wandered out from the shadows. “Who are you?”

As if he hadn’t spoken, the voice said, “How many days of sobriety did you wipe out last night? Two hundred and five or six?”

Two hundred and six days of sobriety had bolstered his confidence and plumped up his pride. He believed he’d never go back. And yet he had tossed away those months so easily. He stared at the sparse land as barren as his promises to get clean and sober. Shit. Why had he been so reckless?

The demons, which had stalked him for many, many years, murmured familiar words.
Loser. Stupid. Failure
.

Shit. He thought he’d licked the drinking. Pooling tears spilled down his cheeks.

Loser. Stupid. Failure
.

The words beckoned him to step off the tailgate and let the rope end his suffering. Who would notice? Who would care? Likely no one.

And still he clung to life. “I don’t want to die. Whatever I’ve done to you, I’ll fix it. I’ll make it right.”

“How are you going to fix it?”

“I don’t know.”

The stranger chuckled. “Don’t you see? The true fix is death.”

Rory swallowed. His throat burned. “It’s not too late. It’s not. I can make amends and fix what I’ve done. I’ve a brother who has money. He’ll make it right. Just tell me what you need.”

The stranger moved out of the shadows toward the tree, giving Rory a glimpse of a red ball cap and a heavy blue jacket obscuring a lean frame. His tormentor tossed his cigarette on the ground and summer grass dried from drought crackled under his feet as he ground out the embers.

Rory cut his vision to the left toward his tormentor who remained just out of sight. “Come on,
man.
” Pure desperation emphasized the words. “I can make it right.”

“You can kid yourself, but you can’t fool us, Rory. You’ll never get it right. It’s not in your DNA.”

His slight body trembled and he pissed on himself. “What the fuck do you want?”

“We don’t want to hurt you, Rory. We want to end your suffering.”

“I’m not suffering!” He managed the strained smile of prey facing predator. “I’m living my life as best I can.”

“It’s a sad miserable life, Rory.”

His wrists strained against the unbreakable bindings. “But it’s mine, and I’ve a right to live it. I’ll get back on the wagon. Start over.”

“I know you’re scared.” The stranger’s voice gentled. “I know you don’t have the courage to see this through. Look at that picture, Rory. Even then when your chances were at their best, you clung to young Elizabeth who could barely take care of herself.”

“I don’t want to die!”

“Do you really think Elizabeth would think your life is worth saving, Rory?”

“Elizabeth was kind and gentle. She’d want me to live.”

“Really? You hurt her badly. Disappointed her when she needed you most. And then you proceeded to screw up all the good works your family did for you. You’ve been in one crap job after another for the last decade, and you managed to piss away two hundred and six days of sobriety in one night. You talk of your brother, but in recent years he’s refused all your calls.”

Rory had burned the last bridge with his brother last year when he’d missed their mother’s funeral. “I’ve never claimed to be a straight arrow.”

“It’s as if you feel you don’t deserve any bit of happiness.”

He’d never wanted to be a suit like his brother or be jailed by the family business. “I like happiness just fine. I have fun all the time.”

“Where do you think your trouble began, Rory? When did your life go off the rails?” The stranger’s voice was soft but clear. And a little familiar now.

Rory rummaged through his memory trying to isolate the voice. When had they crossed paths? He’d been in that bar in East Austin last night. He’d had a lead on a job and had not wanted to go inside but the promise of work had been too tempting. Who?

“Just because I’m not a choirboy doesn’t mean I’m bad.”

A click of a lighter and then more smoke from a fresh cigarette. “I think you were done the day you were born, Rory. I think you could never hold a candle to your brother. He’s the one your parents loved. He’s the one who got all the attention and support.”

The stranger’s blistering truth rekindled the old anger that had chased him toward reckless choices, gotten him kicked out of a string of private schools, and thrown into too many jails. “Did my brother send you to do this? I know he’s wanted me gone for a long time.”

“Face it, it’s time you left this world for the next.”

Panic extinguished the anger. “That’s not true!”

“Of course it’s true.” The stranger’s voice remained soft, steady, and so reasonable. “You were the mistake. The child no one wanted. Sad your own parents wouldn’t want their own flesh and blood.”

Rory tipped his face up away from the picture and toward the moonless sky. “Stop.”

“It’s not good to bury the pain, Rory. Better to face it head-on and deal with it. Admit it. Your parents didn’t want you.”

Tears stung his eyes. He was thirty-one, could hot-wire a car, crack any lock, and hold a gallon of liquor in his belly and still walk straight. He’d grown a thick skin, but the stranger’s words stripped away the gristle and left him feeling like the sad, pathetic kid he’d been. “Not true.”

“Come on, Rory, it’s
Come-to-Jesus
time. The moment of truth. The pain had burrowed deep inside you, and though it does a good job of hiding behind a bottle, it’s there.”

Rory stared at Elizabeth’s face. He fisted his fingers. “Who sent you?”

“We weren’t sent, Rory. We were summoned by you.”

“What the hell does that mean?”

“You called us. Your pain and suffering beckoned us to find you. I’m only here to take the pain away.”

Rory twisted his head toward the stranger and stumbled on the truck’s tailgate. Heels skidded up to the edge. Heart racing, he shouted, “I don’t want you to take the pain away. I like my life!”

“How long has it been since you’ve seen Elizabeth?”

“How do you know Elizabeth?”

“I know all about her.”

Even now, here, hearing her name and staring into her and her lackluster blue eyes soothed him. “She told me she loved me.”

“And I believe she did. She was willing to go to the mat for you. And you sent all her letters back unread.”

More tears spilled. “I didn’t want to send them back. I loved her.”

“Our deeds define us Rory, not our words.”

Rory tensed, shocked a stranger would know deep and intimate details. “How do you know so much about me?”

“I know a lot about you. And Elizabeth. And the others. I know all your deepest desires.”

“You don’t.”

“You once said you’d die a happy man if the last face you saw were Elizabeth’s. Isn’t that right?”

“Go to hell,” Rory spat.

“I’m here to grant that last wish. No one should go to their grave without getting their last wish granted.”

The stranger ground out his cigarette and opened the truck cab door. His body scraped across cloth seats before the cab door slammed closed. He turned on the engine and revved it.

Rory braced.

His gaze bore into Elizabeth’s smiling face. In these last moments he ignored her tension and saw only her smile, her smooth skin, and her blond hair, swept recklessly over her right shoulder.

In these last seconds, he transported back to the night by the campfire. She’d raced to the fire laughing, and seconds before the image had been snapped, she’d nestled close. He’d hugged her tighter and attributed her tensing muscles to the evening chill.

Rory gritted his teeth and fisted his hands. He straightened. He’d die like a man for her. “I love you, Elizabeth.”

The truck engine roared and the bed moved slowly away from the tree. Even knowing he couldn’t escape his bindings, he struggled to free his hands and dig his boots into the rusted tailgate. His bindings clamped hard on raw wrists and his feet slid to the tailgate’s edge.

Seconds ticked like hours as the last inches of metal skimmed the bottom of his boots and his body fell with a hard jolt. The noose jerked tight and sliced into his skin. Pain burned through him. His struggles tightened the rope’s grip, crushing his windpipe as his feet dangled inches above the ground. He gasped for air, but his lungs didn’t fill. He dangled. Kicked. The rope cut deeper.

He was vaguely aware the truck had stopped. The scent of another cigarette reached him. The driver had stopped to have a smoke and watch him dangle.

And then his brain spun, spittle drooled from his mouth. As the blackness bled in from the corners of his vision, he stared at Elizabeth.

His grip on life slipped away.

 

 

“Unbind his hands.”

Her voice had a shrill quality that made Jackson cringe. Out of spite, he ignored her and continued to stare at Rory’s dangling lifeless body. Head tilted to the right. Eyes stared sightless at the sky. Tongue dangled out of his mouth.

“Unbind his hands,” she demanded.

He sighed. “Why?”

“Tied hands mean murder and this is supposed to be a suicide.”

He hated to admit it, but she was right. Damn her. She was always right. She could be annoying that way. Always so sure in what needed to be done. And so judgmental when he didn’t listen.