Watch Me

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Authors: Brenda Novak

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Praise for
BRENDA NOVAK

“All the characters [in
Dead Right
] are well-defined…. This novel is incredibly taut and tense, with some nice sexual tension between the principals—and the denouement is harrowing.”


RT Book Reviews

“Believable characters and gripping action—nonstop suspense at its very best.”


New York Times
bestselling author Carla Neggers

“Any book by Brenda Novak is a must buy for me.”


Reader to Reader Reviews

“Brenda Novak’s
Cold Feet
is storytelling at its best—engaging and entertaining but believable. It just doesn’t get much better than this.”


All About Romance

“Brenda Novak’s seamless plotting, emotional intensity and true-to-life characters who jump off the page make her books completely satisfying. Novak is simply a great storyteller.”


New York Times
bestselling author Allison Brennan

“Novak knows how to relate a suspenseful tale. [The heroine’s] almost palpable fear fuels this gripping tale.”


Publishers Weekly
on
Every Waking Moment

“Novak expertly mixes her usual superior characterization with a chilling sense of evil.”


Booklist
on
Dead Silence

Also by
BRENDA NOVAK

STOP ME

TRUST ME

DEAD RIGHT

DEAD GIVEAWAY

DEAD SILENCE

COLD FEET

TAKING THE HEAT

EVERY WAKING MOMENT

BRENDA NOVAK
WATCH ME

To my brother. If only you knew…

Dear Reader,

Sheridan Kohl, the heroine of this novel, has spent the past several years building The Last Stand, one of the best victims’ charities in the country. Driven by her own experience with the ravaging effects of random violence, she really believes in the cause. Although she thinks what happened to her is in the past, she’s trying to make a difference for others. But a new development in her own case sends her home to Tennessee, where she must face the man she left behind—and at the same time she learns how very present the old danger is.

Cain Granger is the man she left behind. He’s a character based very loosely on my own brother. A man I barely know. A man who loves animals and the outdoors with unrivaled passion. A man who feels more comfortable alone than in a crowd. A man who has always struggled with his lack of a father. A man who, in his anger, takes no prisoners. It requires the love of a woman like Sheridan to make Cain whole. Maybe writing this story was my attempt to give my brother the happily-ever-after I so wish for him.

In the first two books of this series (
Trust Me
and
Stop Me
), you came to know Sheridan’s partners in The Last Stand—Skye Kellerman and Jasmine Stratford. They’re part of this novel, too, but they also have their own stories to tell.

There are lots of fun things to do, read and see at www.brendanovak.com. Please visit if you’d like to take a virtual tour of the offices of The Last Stand, read a prologue that doesn’t appear anywhere else, download a free screen saver for signing up on my mailing list,
read interesting interviews with police and other crime fighters in my Crimebeat blog, browse merchandise with the “The Last Stand: Where Victims Fight Back” logo, enter my monthly drawings for fun mystery boxes and other prizes or check out the items in my annual Online Auction for Diabetes Research. The diabetes auction is my own passion, my own effort to give back. Together with my fans, author friends and publishing contacts, I’ve raised over $350,000 to help those, like my son, who struggle with this disease.

I try to respond to everyone who contacts me, so feel free to e-mail me via my Web site. For those who don’t have e-mail access, please write to P.O. Box 3781, Citrus Heights, CA 95611.

All the best,

Brenda Novak

1

The belief in a supernatural source of evil is not necessary: men alone are quite capable of every wickedness.

—Joseph Conrad

W
as he gone?

Sheridan Kohl lay in a heap on the ground, her clothes, her cheek, the entire left side of her body, wet from the moist earth. The taste of her own blood sat bitter on her tongue, but the fecund smell of the thick vegetation growing all around reminded her of her childhood. She’d grown up in eastern Tennessee, in the small town of Whiterock.

Not that this was the kind of homecoming she’d expected.

The scrape of a shovel let her know the man who’d attacked her was still close. So close she dared not move or even whimper.

After a few turns of his spade, his breathing grew labored, and she heard him grunt every so often.

Scrape…plop. Scrape…plop. The digging obviously wasn’t easy, but it was rhythmic enough to tell her it was
progressing. Although he wasn’t particularly tall, he was strong; she knew that already. Even after she’d managed to get free of the rope that had bound her wrists, she hadn’t been able to fend him off. Her determination to fight had only made him angrier, more violent. She was sure he would’ve killed her if she hadn’t gone limp.

She gingerly explored her top lip. It was split, but that was probably the least of her injuries. Unless she angled her head just right, blood rolled down her throat, choking her. She could barely open one of her eyes. And his fierce blows to her head had left her dazed, unable to think coherently. On some level, she knew she needed to get up and run now that he’d turned his attention elsewhere. But she couldn’t stand, let alone make a dash for freedom. It was painful just to
breathe
.

The promise of complete darkness and total silence hovered at the edge of her consciousness. She longed to embrace it, to drift away and leave her broken body behind. But her best friend seemed to be standing at her shoulder, shouting:
Get up, damn you! Don’t allow this, Sher. Gain the upper hand no matter what you have to do. Fight for your life!
For a moment, Sheridan even wondered if she was sitting in one of Skye’s self-defense classes back at the victims’ charity they’d started five years ago.

But then she felt the rain, lightly sprinkling her parted lips, forehead, eyelashes. She was in the forest in the middle of the night, alone with a man wearing a ski mask.

And he was digging her grave.

 

The dogs, barking and jumping against the chain-link fence, woke Cain Granger from a deep sleep. He told himself it was probably just another raccoon or possum, and rolled over to go back to sleep. But when the racket didn’t stop, he realized it could also be a bear. He’d spotted a couple of black bears in the area the week before; they seemed to be foraging closer and closer to the house.

“I’m coming,” he grumbled. Forcing himself to get out of bed, he yanked on a pair of jeans and some work boots. It was the height of summer—too hot and sultry to bother with any more clothes, even in the mountains. A bear would have no opinion on how he was dressed. But by the time he’d grabbed his tranquilizer gun and reached the dogs’ pen, he didn’t see a bear or anything else, at least not in the immediate vicinity.

“Quiet down!”

The dogs stopped barking, but they didn’t come toward him. All three coonhounds stood rigid as statues, sniffing the air and pointing with their noses, as if they were tracking.

Cain frowned at this odd behavior, but he was too tired to do much about it. If the bear wasn’t close enough to cause any harm, he didn’t care to mess with it. Drugging and transporting such a large animal was a major feat; he knew because he worked for the Tennessee Wildlife Resources Agency, and it was the kind of thing he did for a living. “I’m going back to bed,” he told the dogs and started toward the house, but Koda, his oldest and smartest hound, gave a warning growl that brought Cain up short.

Koda didn’t spook easily….

Instead of returning to the house, Cain opened the gate and all three dogs raced toward him, shimmying and shaking, but not barking because he’d already chastened them for making too much noise. “What’s up?” he asked, patting each of them. They generally loved his attention, reveled in it as long as possible, but tonight they tried to slip between him and the fence so they could head out into the forest.

“Hold on.” He was planning to put them all on leashes, but Koda didn’t want to wait. The black-and-tan bounded to the edge of the clearing, then glanced back for permission and whined.

“If it’s a bear, you’ll get your ass kicked,” Cain told him, but Koda wouldn’t attack a bear. Not on his own. The dogs would corner and hover until he arrived—and hopefully they’d be quick enough to get out of the way if a bear charged them.

He relented with a wave. “Fine,” he said, “do it.”

And that was all it took to send the hounds racing out ahead of him.

Taking a flashlight from the shed, Cain jogged behind them, using the noise they made as a guide.

It wasn’t long before the tenor of their barking changed. They’d found something.

Picking up his pace, he shone the flashlight to avoid obstacles. The moon hung full and bright overhead, but it was beginning to rain, and the extra light helped when he had to weave through the shadowy trees. A lot of stumps, pinecones and broken limbs littered the ground. But there weren’t many people in these mountains. That was why Cain loved them so much.

The dogs grew louder, more excited, as he neared the far corner of his property. Whatever they had was on
his
land.

He put the tranquilizer rifle to his shoulder, in case he needed it, and came up behind Koda. But they hadn’t cornered a bear. They hadn’t cornered anything threatening at all. From the looks of it, they’d surrounded a life-size
doll.

Was this a joke? The boys in town, with whom he occasionally had a few beers, liked to pull pranks….

“Take it easy.” He spoke low in his throat, his tone warning the dogs to calm down and back off. Reluctantly, they inched away—and that was when Cain saw that it wasn’t an inflatable doll or a mannequin or any other inanimate object. It was a woman.

“What the hell?” Whoever she was, she’d been badly beaten. She wasn’t moving, wasn’t responding to the noise and activity around her.

Was she
dead?

Cain used his flashlight to search the surrounding trees. He appeared to be alone with the woman, but the existence of a discarded shovel and a partially dug hole a few feet to his right told an unsettling story. Apparently, someone had murdered this woman and brought her out here to bury her.

No wonder his dogs had been going crazy.

“Son of a bitch.” He should’ve come sooner. Maybe he could’ve saved her.

Setting his gun on a nearby log where he could get it in a hurry, he commanded his dogs to get out of the way and knelt beside her. Her limp wrist felt small and
fragile in his hand. Thick black hair had fallen over her face; he could see, even in the darkness, that it was matted with fresh blood.

What must she have gone through? Who was she? And why had this happened?

Cain was so sure she was already dead the faint fluttering of her pulse surprised him. But it was there—thank God, it was there.

Breathing a sigh of relief, he silently begged her to hang on while he tied his gun to Koda’s collar so the black-and-tan could drag it home.

He had to get this woman some help. Fast. But there was no time to put her in his truck and drive seventy miles to the closest hospital. She’d never make it.

Lifting her gently, he carried her to the clearing near his house and animal clinic. He’d have more room for her in the clinic, an easier place to wash her up. But as clean as he kept it, he couldn’t imagine putting a human being where he’d been nursing sick and injured dogs, cats, horses and the odd coyote, deer or bear. Opting for the house, he shoved the front door open with his shoulder, then brought her to the spare room, where he laid her on the bed.

Her head lolled to the side, smearing blood on the bedding, but the mess didn’t matter. He’d never seen anyone so close to death. Except Jason, one of his stepbrothers.

Ordering the dogs who’d followed him in to stay out of the house, he hurried to the living room and called for emergency services. A helicopter would never be able to land in the wooded area where he lived, but he
could meet the airlift at the Jensen farm just outside of town, like he had for that camper who’d had a heart attack two years ago.

It only took a moment to arrange it, then he tried to contact Ned Smith, Whiterock’s chief of police, but the dispatcher didn’t know where to find him.

“Want me to wake Amy?” she asked, offering him an alternate.

“No.” Cain didn’t even hesitate. Amy was also a cop, but she was Ned’s twin sister—and Cain’s ex-wife. He definitely didn’t want Amy in the middle of this. She had no experience with violent crime. Neither did the other two officers on Whiterock’s small force, which was why he didn’t suggest the dispatcher continue down her list of available officers. Cain wasn’t sure Ned would be any better, but he
was
chief of police. “Just get hold of Ned and tell him to meet me at the hospital in Knoxville. As soon as possible.”

“The hospital?”

Cain didn’t have time to explain. “That’s right.”

Afraid the woman he’d found in the forest might die before he could reach the helicopter, he hung up and went back to the spare bedroom to get her. “You’re going to be fine,” he told her. Carefully he smoothed the tangled hair out of her face, wiped away the mud and blood—and realized, to his shock, that he knew this woman. It’d been twelve years since he’d seen her. But he’d slept with her once. Right before she’d gone to Rocky Point with Jason.

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