Walking on Her Grave (Rogue River Novella, Book 4)

BOOK: Walking on Her Grave (Rogue River Novella, Book 4)
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WALKING ON HER GRAVE

Rogue River Novella No. 4

THE ROGUE RIVER NOVELLAS

On Her Father’s Grave
by Kendra Elliot

Gone to Her Grave
by Melinda Leigh

Her Grave Secrets
by Kendra Elliot

Walking on Her Grave
by Melinda Leigh

WALKING ON HER GRAVE

Rogue River Novella No. 4

MELINDA LEIGH

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, organizations, places, events, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.

Text copyright © 2014 Melinda Leigh

All rights reserved.

No part of this book may be reproduced, or stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without express written permission of the publisher.

Published by Montlake Romance, Seattle

www.apub.com

Amazon, the Amazon logo, and Montlake Romance are trademarks of
Amazon.com
, Inc., or its affiliates.

e-ISBN: 9781477871263

Cover design by Marc Cohen

CONTENTS

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

CHAPTER ONE

It’s not going to happen again.

Carly stared at the Rollins house. Dead petunias and weeds choked the flower beds. Despite the early hour, the temperature had already reached uncomfortable. Southwestern Oregon had been trapped in a bizarre heat wave for the entire summer. Everything about this summer had been unnatural.

Unsettled, she tucked her case file under her arm and closed the door of her Jeep. The first time she’d visited this home the landscaping had been tended. But that had been before drugs destroyed the Rollins family.

The one-story house sat a dozen blocks off Main Street in a solid blue-collar neighborhood. Folks edged their lawns and trimmed their shrubs. Lawn-mower engines started at eight a.m. on Saturday mornings. Residents raked and weeded between soccer games and dance practice. The Rollins house had been one of those proud, tidy lots. Now it looked like the house neighborhood kids dared each other to touch.

She stared at the neglected bungalow. Nerves skittered along the exposed skin of her arms. Her early-morning surprise visit was bound to spark discontent. The last time she’d visited an angry parent, she’d nearly been killed. A twinge passed through her shoulder, phantom pain from the dislocation she’d suffered in the assault.

She forced herself to walk toward the house. The heels of her flats clicked on the concrete as she made her way to the front stoop and rang the bell. Her stomach curled into an instinctive ball. She willed her body to relax. This was a totally different situation. Plus, she couldn’t lose her nerve. Her job as a social worker for Child Protective Services was vital. While police backup was sometimes a valid option, she couldn’t bring an armed escort on every call, though that’s exactly what her estranged husband, Seth, wanted her to do.

Seth, with whom she’d agreed to spend the evening. Alone. Without their seven-year-old daughter as a buffer. As if her nerves weren’t already on high alert, she’d agreed to go on a date. With the man she’d left last winter.

Damn it, no matter how hard she tried, she couldn’t stop loving him.

The door opened, and a red-eyed Alex Rollins stood in the doorway. The events of the last few months had sapped his vitality. A carpenter by trade, he’d lost his job. His wife had nearly died from taking a drug she’d confiscated from their son, and the teenager had been arrested for possession.

He glared down at her. Resentment dragged his mouth into a frown. But he had to let Carly in, and he knew it. Peter had been assigned to Carly over the summer when another CPS case manager had quit after being attacked by one of her charges. When a child was released from juvenile detention with a host of conditions attached to his freedom and future, unannounced home visits from Child Protective Services were part of the deal.

Without a word Alex turned and walked to the kitchen. Carly followed. A box of doughnuts graced the counter. The scent of coffee lingered, but Alex didn’t offer her a cup. Attempting to foster a working-together relationship, she set her paperwork on the table and sank into a chair.

Alex backed into the kitchen counter, widened his stance, and crossed his thick arms over his chest. “Do you want me to get Peter?”

“In a few minutes.” Carly rested her interlaced hands on top of her closed file. “How are you?”

Alex studied the vinyl-tiled floor. Despite his burly and muscular frame, he looked ragged. Did the bags and circles under his eyes attest to exhaustion or alcohol abuse? Carly’s gaze swept the kitchen. Alex kept the inside tidy. If he was drinking, he’d concealed the evidence.

Alex was the main pillar of the family, and his well-being concerned her just as much as his son’s. After an extensive hospital stay, his wife had recovered from her coma, but she had several more weeks of rehab before she’d be permitted to come home. Having both two family members in treatment for drug addiction burdened even Alex’s broad shoulders. “We talked about what happened on Founder’s Day. Public drunkenness won’t help you keep Peter, and alcohol won’t help you fix your family. They need you, Alex.”

He flushed. “It won’t happen again.”

“No one’s perfect,” Carly said. “But you need to find better ways to deal with your stress.”

He nodded stiffly. “I’ve split enough logs for all of next winter.”

Carly smiled. “When does family counseling start?”

“This morning.” He rubbed his chin. The heavy calluses on his hands showed his years on the job. “I talked with the counselor a couple of times solo.”

“Did it help?”

“I’d rather chop wood.” He looked away, his jaw sawing back and forth as if he were grinding his molars to bonemeal. “I’m not used to all this emotional bullshit.”

“Have you found any work?”

“I turned down a job in Portland,” he said. “I can’t be away right now. Peter’s home. Bev has three more weeks of rehab, and then she’ll be released too. They need me here.”

“They do,” Carly agreed. “No signs of local jobs?”

Alex dropped his arms to his sides. His fingers curled into meaty, frustrated fists. “Not after the O’Rourkes fired me and claimed my work was subpar. I still can’t believe it. They wiped out a twenty-year reputation and my good name in one day.”

“Last time we talked, you were hiring a lawyer.” Lack of work and income was going to be a serious hindrance to the family’s recovery.

“I didn’t have much of a choice. I’m suing them for breach of contract and slander.” Anger blazed from his brown eyes. “I have never done subpar work in my life. I can’t let them ruin my family’s future. Even people who don’t believe I’d do shoddy work are shunning me. The O’Rourke resort is the biggest job in town. No one wants to jeopardize his income by pissing them off.”

Carly opened her file. She scanned her last report. The family’s savings were likely wiped out. “What are you going to do?”

“I don’t know.” Alex’s gaze turned bleak. “I don’t want to lose my house.”

“Did you fill out those papers I gave you for public assistance?”

“I sent them in.” Distaste radiated from his frown. “I can’t believe I’m applying for food stamps and welfare. I’ve never been late paying a bill in my whole life, but if I can’t bring in some money, that’s going to change fast.”

“Food stamps don’t exist anymore. You’ll get a debit card—”

Alex slammed a fist on the countertop beside him. Carly startled. Dishes jumped behind the glass-doored cabinets.

“You can call it whatever you want. It’s still a fucking handout.” He recrossed his arms, his posture stiff and unyielding.

Carly’s heart rapped against her sternum as she sought calming words. “You’ve been paying the taxes that support these programs your entire adult life. You need to think of this as collecting on an insurance policy. You wouldn’t feel guilty accepting a payment from your auto insurance provider if you were in an accident. Don’t let pride stop you from accepting help.”

“Don’t worry. I’m well aware that I can’t afford to have any pride these days.” Alex’s eyes hardened.

Carly’s vulnerability felt acute. She shouldn’t have come here alone. But Alex had never been hostile, just frustrated. Damn. She hated second-guessing her instincts. “Where is Peter?”

Alex uncoiled his arms and stalked to the archway. He called up the stairway for his son. Wood treads creaked, and fifteen-year-old Peter appeared at his father’s side.

His basketball shorts and T-shirt were loose on his lanky adolescent frame. Two weeks in juvenile detention and two in the residential juvenile drug treatment facility had taken their toll on the boy.

Alex’s stiff posture softened in an instant as he focused on his son. He might be resentful and difficult and stressed, but he loved his family. Unfortunately, powerful emotions could fuel dangerous behavior.

“Hi, Peter.” Carly smiled. “Come sit down. We have a few things to discuss.”

Alex put a hand on his son’s shoulder and steered him into the room. Peter rounded the table and took a wary seat. While she wasn’t thrilled with Peter’s lack of trust in her, she was satisfied to see him leaning on his dad. The whole family was in this mess together, and they’d need each other to work their way out. Alex squeezed his son’s shoulder and dropped into a chair.

Carly reviewed Peter’s long-term treatment plan. Peter was a first-time offender, and exceptions had been made in his case. Authorities had more leeway in dealing with juvenile offenders than with adults. Peter had done his stint in residential rehab and was receiving outpatient counseling. “When are you scheduled to begin community service?”

“This afternoon.” Peter picked at his thumbnail, and his gaze skittered around the room like a trapped field mouse. When she’d first met him, he’d been cocky, almost belligerent. His foray into the juvenile justice system had siphoned the arrogance out of the teen. Hopefully, more therapy would bolster his confidence. Carly reviewed the rest of Peter’s legal requirements. The teen slumped in his chair as she detailed the solid year of close supervision ahead of him.

Alex’s jaw stiffened as he watched his son. He glanced at his watch. “We have to leave. The counselor is over in Hannon.” The Rogue County seat was a forty-five-minute drive from Solitude.

She gathered her papers. “All right. I think I’ve covered everything on my agenda.”

“Next time, it’d be best if you called first.” Alex escorted her to the door. “It’s easier on Peter if he can prepare himself for these meetings.”

“I’ll try.” Carly stepped out onto the stoop. The door slammed behind her, and she flinched. Then she took her first deep breath since she’d arrived. The next time she came to visit Alex and Peter, she’d ask her sister, Stevie, a Solitude cop, to go with her. In the car, Carly turned the air conditioner vents to her face and steered toward the highway that would take her to her office in Hannon. After this morning’s encounter, she was more than happy to spend the rest of the day catching up on paperwork.

The assault in July had left a permanent imprint on her confidence. She knew she needed to get over her fear, to listen to her well-developed gut. The only way to do that was to do her job.

If only she could tell whether Alex Rollins was simply frustrated or dangerous.

CHAPTER TWO

The forest loomed, the air thick and silent. Normally teeming with life, the woods were eerily devoid of sound. A robin shot out of an evergreen. Closing the door of the SUV, Carly startled. She pressed a hand to the base of her throat. Under her palms, her heartbeat thudded, the short burst of adrenaline quickening her pulse.
Just a bird
.

BOOK: Walking on Her Grave (Rogue River Novella, Book 4)
2.41Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub
ads

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