Flashback

by London, Cait

• ISBN13: 9780060790875
• ISBN10: 0060790873
• Format: Paperback
• Copyright: 2005-09-27
• Publisher: HarperCollins Publications

Summary

Sexy Kyle Scanlon has always been a thorn in Rachel Everly's side, and his one goal in life seems to be tormenting her. Years ago, he came riding into town, opened up his mechanic shop, and went on to tempt every woman in Neptune's Landing, including Rachel's own sister, Mallory, whose tragic death Rachel has returned to sleuth out. Who was the monster leading her sister to destruction? All evidence points to Kyle, the one man Rachel would like to extract from her life. Rachel is certain he is responsible for Mallory's downfall, and she's determined to prove it -- even as she is drawn to the mysterious, dangerous man. But what if she is wrong? What if the secrets Mallory took to her grave, and the surprising clues she seems to give now, are darker than Rachel ever imagined? What if there is a different monster hiding in the shadows waiting to strike again? And could it be that Kyle Scanlon is the man who will save her?

Excerpts

Flashback

Chapter One

"Once upon a time, there were three . . ."

Rachel Everly had to see where her sister had died. She gripped the handrail leading up the side steps to the second-story apartment. The first step creaked a little, as if warning her not to trespass.

"Once upon a time, there were three sisters, Mallory. Now, damn you, there's only two. I've got a right to be mad."

In late March the first floor of Nine Balls Billiards Parlor was dark and silent in the night. The howling wind swept through the streets of Neptune's Landing, carrying the creaking sound of the business's swaying sign on Atlantis Street. The Oregon coast's salty mist swirled around Rachel, the tide a rhythmic pulse, sounding almost like a heartbeat in the distance, beating endlessly against the jutting black rocks.

With beachfront access to the Pacific Ocean, the town of Neptune's Landing offered business executives and the wealthy pricey oceanside homes. The real estate developments clustered along the beach, containing magnificent homes, or expensive condos with club houses, swimming pools, and tennis courts.

Located away from the town's thriving chic business center, Atlantis Street lay closer to the older, oceanfront, historic section of town. Trees lined the street, shadowing the turn-of-the-century homes that had been converted into businesses to accommodate tourists. In the mist, streetlights glowed eerily upon the wet bricks of the street, an inheritance from the first wealthy families who had settled in Neptune's Landing. Once, horse-drawn carriages rolled across those bricks, the wheel rims clattering noisily, but now only the dense fog moved quietly through the too quiet streets.

The candy maker's Sweets sign and Natasha the Fortune Teller's pink lighted sign were only indistinct shapes in the fog. The mist hid a variety of less flashy signs for day spas, beauty shops and health food store signs in the elegant two-story homes' front yards.

With her sisters, Rachel had grown up in Neptune's Landing, had ridden her bicycle down these same streets on her way to pick up shells at the beach.

She looked around the parking lot adjacent to the billiards parlor. In the past few years, neglected by the owner, Mallory's billiards business had declined. Empty now, the parking lot was once filled with very expensive luxury cars and SUVs, owned by the patrons of the upscale billiards parlor, Nine Balls. Most of them had very expensive custom-made tables in their homes, and until the last few years Nine Balls had provided a sedate place to relax away from home. Undeterred by gossip, a few women still enjoyed Ladies Only times, where they could relax without a beer-and-guys-tavern atmosphere.

Above the game room was where the owner had lived, and in later years, gossip questioned how many men had gone up those same stairs to bed the owner of Nine Balls and the town tramp, Rachel's adopted sister.

Rachel closed her eyes and saw Mallory as a scared, ragged thirteen-year-old, then later, as a laughing teenager rushing into life.

Today, thirty-four-year-old Mallory had been laid in her grave.

Tears brimmed and slid softly down Rachel's cheek. "Oh, Mallory. I could have helped you. Why wouldn't you let me in?"

She looked up the steps to the apartment's door. Its window was a cold, silvery square, the mist on it glittering, lit by the streetlights.

Rachel rubbed the ache in her chest and forced herself up the stairs, her fingers gripping the handrail, locking to it with each step. At the small platform, she looked down the stairs, and wanted to run away from what she might find.

You aren't welcome in my home, Rachel, Mallory had screamed furiously over the telephone just a month ago. Because it's mine, all mine, a part of me that just might not meet your Miss Perfect standards. Oh, and don't try that Good Samaritan act on me. Your mom took me in . . . she adopted a tramp foster kid who didn't turn out okay, got it? Think of me as a wasted effort. Leave me alone! No one had been in the apartment since "the body" had been removed. The Body, so impersonal, so cold, Rachel thought. With shaking hands, she inserted the key, turned it, and opened the door. The interior of the apartment was cold, damp, and musty with stale cigarette smoke, the place where Mallory had chosen to take her life. Why?

Rachel stepped into the living room, closed the door, and leaned back against it. She listened to the wind, and Mallory's vanilla scent came to curl softly around Rachel, as if welcoming her . . . vanilla, sweet, good . . . just as her sister had been until later years.

"Once upon a time . . ." Once upon a time there had been three sisters, loving each other, sharing secrets -- Rachel, Mallory, and Jada. Then Mallory had stepped into the shadows, excusing herself from that bond, appearing only at family gatherings when absolutely necessary. And now she was gone, leaving Rachel without closure for an adopted sister she'd loved. . . . Grief andanger and love weren't a stable mix, and Rachel felt frustrated and helpless.

" ‘Mom, Rachel, Jada, I love you' is a hell of a suicide note, Mallory. I'm mad at you. You could have come to me for help. You could have told me anything. But oh, no, you just up and killed yourself, didn't you? Did you think of Mom, who loved you like her own daughter? Did you think of Jada, who's crying at the house right now? In the very same bedroom we shared growing up? Damn you."

Rachel could almost hear Mallory's voice, taunting her in a husky, smoky singsong. Naughty, naughty. Good girls don't cuss.

The slight vanilla scent seemed stronger. "Yeah, well, Goody-Two-Shoes does curse, given enough reason, and I'd say you killing yourself is enough, Mallory." She hadn't been in the apartment for years; Mallory had. . .

Flashback. Copyright © by Cait London. Reprinted by permission of HarperCollins Publishers, Inc. All rights reserved. Available now wherever books are sold.

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Excerpted from Flashback by Cait London
All rights reserved by the original copyright owners. Excerpts are provided for display purposes only and may not be reproduced, reprinted or distributed without the written permission of the publisher.