Liar, Liar
More Praise for Winter Austin
Don’t miss the first books in the McIntire County series:
Atonement
“Austin’s series opener has much to entertain readers . . . it paints a picture of a strong, fearless woman with a sympathetic plight.”—Library Journal
“Atonement is a gripping start to Austin’s new romantic suspense series.”—RT Book Reviews
“To have such a girl-power-driven novel, rooting for her happily ever after with Con was as natural as the changing of the seasons.”—5 stars, InD’Tale Magazine
“Once in a while you come across a book that simply grabs your attention not letting you go. This is one of those books.”—5+ stars, Romancing the Book
“Nic is just wow! . . . This was a great read and I was caught up in the ride . . . There were plenty of twists and turns that kept me on the edge of my seat.”—4 stars, Night Owl Reviews
Born to Die
“Lots of tension and intrigue will keep readers hanging on until the very satisfying end. An excellent second offering in the series.”—Library Journal, Starred Review
“Crisp as an Iowa winter! Winter Austin’s Born To Die is vibrant and exciting.”—New York Times and USA Today best-selling author Toni Anderson
“The book is solidly written and well-paced, the attention to detail in the procedural side is excellent, and the combination of robberies, murders, and great characters will keep readers hooked.”—BTS Book Reviews
“The history of the characters is easy to gauge from their dialogue, and while the reader will want the characters to catch the bad guy, they’ll also be rooting for the lovers to get together in the end.”—4.5 stars, InD’Tale Magazine
“A stark and chilling tale that strikes all the right notes. Fans of Atonement will love this!”—Robin Burcell, bestselling author of The Kill Order.
“There were times my heart was racing due to the violence and malevolence that was tangible . . . Austin incorporated a lot of emotions both in the characters and what she drew out from me.”—Romancing the Book
“I LOVED this pairing . . . if you are looking awesome reads that involve romance with a thrilling mystery, well developed storyline and characters, I would recommend these two in a heartbeat!!” —4.5 stars, The Reading Cafe
Sins of the Father
“A searingly hot male hero fighting his inner demons and a sassy heroine who can hold her own . . . from the first page, the hook is embedded deep and it doesn’t let go until the end.”—starred review, InD’Tale Magazine
“OMG, I don’t think I’m going to sleep tonight.”—5 stars, Long and Short Reviews
For more from Winter Austin, check out the Degrees of Darkness series:
Relentless
Retribution
Revenge
Reckoning
“Beautifully written with a plot that blew my mind away . . . I totally recommend this to all readers that love suspense with romance. Pick it up today and enjoy.”—The Romance Reviews
“The romance between Cody and Remy is tender, yet teasing, and invites the reader into their budding relationship.”—4 stars, InD’Tale Magazine
“ . . . a taut, complex, fast-moving thriller with a twist you won’t see coming while it still manages to include a little hot romance, relational drama (and silliness), and the characters who work very hard to protect each other yet somehow cause each other to end up in life or death situations. A bittersweet but satisfying conclusion to this well-done series. Winter Austin ends it with a bang.”—Hope of Glory-Into the Fire
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Liar, Liar
McIntire County, Book 4
Winter Austin
Avon, Massachusetts
Contents
Cover
More Praise for Winter Austin
Dedication
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
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-one
Chapter Twenty-two
Chapter Twenty-three
Chapter Twenty-four
Chapter Twenty-five
Chapter Twenty-six
Chapter Twenty-seven
Chapter Twenty-eight
Chapter Twenty-nine
Chapter Thirty
Chapter Thirty-one
Chapter Thirty-two
Chapter Thirty-three
Acknowledgments
About the Author
‘Relentless’ Excerpt
Copyright
Guide
Cover
Contents
Start of content
For Julie. No project is complete
until your red ink has littered the
pages. To make good perfect.
Chapter One
Sober Saturday night number 836.
Sixteen years dry.
Enough time to move on, to forget what happened that night sixteen years ago. Yet the anniversary would roll around, and he couldn’t stop the binge. Sipping on those memories, downing them one after another, drowning in them until he was drunk. Letting her take him to a dark place in his soul he could never purge. By dawn’s light, he was left wasted and broken, a shell of a man, lying on the floor. Another piece of his soul lost, buried with her in that cold, dark hole.
Shane Hamilton had lived in this hell for so long, it became a ritual. Every April he prepared for it, taking off the day of and the day after. Even during those bleak six years where he was dodging bullets and bombs, he was swirling in a black abyss. This year, the anniversary fell on a Saturday.
Hands braced on the tile walls, he watched the water snake along his body and pool at his bare feet. No matter what effort he put in to cleansing his body, or mind and soul, the water never baptized him from his sins.
Twinkling under the harsh electric light, the slim, gold circle danced and twirled at the end of the silver chain. She had danced and twirled under the smoky haze of neon lights, laughing and flirting, making promises that never came true.
Shane gripped the diamond ring, ceasing its merry spin, and flattened it to his chest. The emergency room doctor had removed it from her finger and given it to Shane, pity gleaming in the man’s eyes. The doctor’s fingers were heavy as they pressed the ring into his palm; the memory of the band’s slick feel from the blood was branded into his palm. From then on, the ring dangled from a chain around his neck, settling in a place near his heart. A reminder of what he lost in a moment of stupidity.
The jangle of his phone drifted into the bathroom. In the last half hour, he’d heard it go off five times. Lifting his face to the spray of the shower, he commenced with continuing to ignore the persistent caller.
A thrumming ache wove through his muscles and seeped into his bones. Too many years on the rodeo circuit ri
ding some of the rankest broncs and his multiple tours in the Sandbox had left behind a different kind of pain he easily remedied with a few aspirin. Though it was getting difficult to ease the hurt, especially after a night spent on a hardwood floor. Shane turned fifty next month but felt all of seventy.
Finishing his poor man’s shower, he shut off the faucet and then stepped out of the stall. Once more the old-fashioned telephone ring of his cell phone reached him. Toweling off, he turned his back to the open door.
Sunday morning rays peeked through the gaping brown, plaid curtains. Before passing away, his mother had decorated her little haven with homey touches only a cowboy like himself would enjoy. She had done it because she missed her husband—who passed two years before she did—and for Shane, who was to inherit the family farm. His mother must have believed in her heart that he’d leave this world as a bachelor, never daring to step into that minefield of love again. In reverence to his saintly mother, Shane hadn’t changed a thing.
He wrapped the towel around his waist and then staggered into his bedroom to dress.
Avoiding the bed with its twisted sheets, he pulled on a pair of jeans and skipped his duty shirt. Today was a dark blue plaid shirt kind of day. Finger combing his tightly coiled hair, he stepped into his boots and carefully picked a path down the hall. Each step sent flares of pain up his spine. It might be time to consider taking up Doc Drummond on his offer to make an appointment with an arthritis specialist in Iowa City.
Shane removed the half-full coffee pot from the warmer and slowly poured a cup. Lifting the stout mug to his lips, he inhaled the aroma of dark roast and then sipped the strong brew. During his travels all over the world, Shane had fallen in love with Community coffee in Louisiana. He sniffed, reality punching him in the gut. Louisiana had been his little trick rider’s home state; Community had been her favorite coffee. And what she’d loved, he loved, too.
Today was going to be rough. He had to find a way to get past this.
Rummaging through the cabinets, he upended a box of Pop-Tarts and snatched a package. Tearing into the foil with his teeth, he grunted as he bit through both pastries. Almost fifty and still eating like a kid. If she could see him now, she’d probably laugh.
His phone went off like a banshee. Damn it to hell and back! He made a crooked path to the table where the infernal machine continued to squeal. Seven missed calls and eighteen text messages glared at him.
“Shit.” He stabbed a blunt finger at the speakerphone icon. “Murdoch, this better be damn important to interrupt me on my sabbatical.”
“How damn important is it to you that there’s a body in the river, boss?”
• • •
Thumbs hooked in his belt loops, Shane surveyed the scene. Next to him, rising into the spring morning, the bridge rumbled with the sound of passing vehicles. The body drifted facedown in the frigid waters, bobbing and bumping against the tangle of branches and river debris. None of his deputies had disturbed the scene—whip-smart people he had here—until he arrived. Their floater wore dark brown slacks, a white dress shirt, and black socks. His shoes and coat were MIA. Shane couldn’t tell the actual color of the man’s hair; the water had darkened it.
No suspicious death in his county was good, but this one was giving him a bad case of hives.
“Anything recognizable about him?” he hollered to Deacon Nash.
The normally jovial deputy paused as he picked his way along the shoreline in an attempt to get closer to the body. “Sir, no disrespect, but could you shut the hell up and let me do my thing?”
Shane smothered a smile behind his hand. Most sheriffs wouldn’t put up with any lip from their deputies. He had learned long ago—thanks in part to a truly mouthy and tough-as-nails former deputy—that he garnered more respect from his people when he gave them enough rope to hang him with. Though the McIntire County sheriff’s department was small, they were a well-oiled machine.
A petite redhead sidled up next to him with her arms crossed at her chest and joined in surveying the mess before them. Deputy Jolie Murdoch was his shiniest and youngest deputy, and also the former sheriff’s daughter. She’d proven Shane right last year when he pegged her as his new investigator. What was once an unsure, slightly gun-shy rookie was now a full-fledged cop with enough tart to make your mouth pucker.
“Sabbatical? Really?”
“Hey, if it gets the minions to leave me alone, I’ll call it an orgy.”
“Not even remotely funny.” Murdoch did a poor job of holding back her smile. “Detective O’Hanlon is on his way.”
“Slow poke.” Shane’s best friend’s satirical Irish humor was always the pick-me-up he needed in times like these, along with Con’s experienced eye as Eider’s only investigator. “ETA on DCI?”
“Three hours out. Appears no one wanted to be roused this early on a Sunday morning. Then again, the woman on the line muttered something about ‘you’ve had enough killings down there, you should be damn experts at evidence collection by now.’”
“Be my guest.”
She shook her head vehemently. “Way above my pay grade.”
Shane checked his watch. “Doc Drummond?”
“Will be here right after he checks on his patients—that was a half hour ago.”
Apparently Nash gave up trying to avoid getting wet and waded into the water. “Holy . . . This is cold for a brother!” Carefully picking his way over the rocks, he walked right up to the body. “There’s blood on the shirt.”
“Maybe he injured himself before falling into the river,” Shane muttered. He didn’t need nor want another homicide. He just wanted a smooth four years.
“Suicide?” Murdoch asked.
Good God Almighty, he didn’t need that, either.
Nash tipped the body, and then with a heave, flipped it. Once it stopped violently rocking, Nash steadied the deceased. His gaze shot up the hill to Shane.
“Sheriff?”
It was a familiar face.
“Oh my God”—Murdoch gasped—“is that . . . ?”
“I’m afraid so. Nash, grab a camera and take pictures. Both of you comb this shoreline and that debris for any evidence. If DCI wants to take forever to get to the party, then we’ll do clean up. Once Doc Drummond gets here, haul our victim out of the water.” Shane turned from the body and hiked up the hill.
“Sheriff, what do you think happened?” Murdoch asked.
“It’s a damn homicide, Deputy. Someone decided Mr. Gene Avery needed to die.” He about-faced and resumed his march up the hill.
“Where are you going?” she called after him.
“To visit the man’s widow and give her the bad news.” Then lock himself in his office and wish he could drink away this monster of a headache that was about to bring the folks of McIntire County to his front door with their proverbial pitchforks and torches.
Chapter Two
Agent Liza Bartholomew was lost.
Who could blame her, really? The last time she’d been in McIntire County it was winter and snow covered every inch of landscape. She hadn’t been focused on driving; since her “partner” at the time was well acquainted with the area, he did all the chauffeuring. With the budding trees, greening grass, and miles of plowed fields, nothing looked familiar. And don’t get her started on this damn GPS. Every turn Siri told her to take led to a muddy gravel road and a dead end. Liza was L-O-S-T kind of lost.
Cripes, to get to the sheriff’s department—which was where she was headed in the first place—she had no clue which road to take to get there.
“If that asshole gets away from me, again . . . ”
A gas station/convenience store popped into view. Hallelujah! Salvation.
“Thanks, Siri, you’ve been a real pain in the ass today, but I can get proper directions here.” And a huge cup of jitters to go. Her mouth salivated at the phantom taste of a peppermint mocha cappuccino. Sweet mercy, that would taste so delicious right now. God, they better have it.
&
nbsp; She pulled into the busy lot. It was considerably packed for mid-Sunday morning. She half-expected Eider to be quiet, because all of the residents would be at church. Guess she thought wrong. She parked in the only available spot that happened to block the dumpster—there wouldn’t be a dump truck picking up trash today, would there? She cut the engine and relaxed in her seat. The tension in her muscles drained away.
“This is what I get for trying to surprise people.”
Gathering her billfold and phone, tucking the unhelpful device in her coat pocket, she vacated the car. As she closed the door, she adjusted her badge and holster to remain concealed under her red leather coat. Iowa had its right to conceal and carry law, but as a law officer, she didn’t need to stir up the masses on this bright Sunday morning. Liza learned all too well how fast news of strangers spread through this town—hell, the county. And right now, she didn’t need her prey taking off for parts unknown. After a scan of the parking lot, she sauntered to the store.
Liza stilled when she went to pull open the door. Ironic. This was the same convenience store that had brought her here to Eider the first time. Was that more than a year ago? Swinging the glass and metal barrier wide, she strode inside.
Her gaze swept the store’s interior to get the layout and plan for emergency exits and possible threats—a habit born out of necessity while growing up and as training with the FBI. To her right were the bathrooms with the other exit point, to her left the rows of display shelves bursting with candy bars, gum, and chips, all the goodies one could want to fuel up for a long road trip. Beyond those evenly spaced shelves was the Employees Only door, which should provide access to the coolers and another exit point. Everything was clear. Yawning, Liza meandered over to the coffee bar.
Yes! They had peppermint mocha.
From her coat pocket the Eagles’s “Desperado” sang out from her cell. While pawing out the iPhone, she snagged the largest to-go cup, placed it under the cappuccino dispenser, and punched the peppermint mocha button. Heaven. She tapped the screen with her thumb and pressed Steve Jobs’s second greatest invention to her ear.