Her Wilde Marines (Wilde, Nevada 4)

Chapter One

“Emma, we’re coming for you.”

Emma Grant sat up in her bed, jolted awake by the voices of her dead sisters. Sweat beaded on her forehead, and her heart raced. The nightmare seemed so real. From the darkness of her dream her sisters Samantha and Lily had called to her again and again.

Trembling from the aftermath, she pulled her sheet up to her chin.

This is only a dream. This is only a dream. This is only a dream.

Emma repeated the mantra over and over that she’d created soon after her mother and Lily’s funeral in Wilde. That’s when the nightmares had begun. Why couldn’t she stop dreaming about her troubled, homicidal, mentally ill sisters? She’d tried sleeping pills but that had only made things worse.

Emma knew sleep had escaped her for the rest of the night, so she leaned over and clicked on her lamp. She flung off the blanket and grabbed her robe. A cup of hot tea might calm her nerves.

She stood and heard a creaking noise that made her freeze in position.

What is it? You’re letting your imagination get the better of you, Em.

“Emma. Emma. Emma.”

Her heart thudded like a jackhammer in her chest.

This wasn’t a dream. She was actually hearing Lily’s voice.

No. This can’t be happening to me, too.

“We’re coming for you, Em. Be ready.” Samantha’s voice sounded faint but she could hear every syllable.

Shaking, she leaned back on her bed and brought her hands to her face. She remained there for what seemed like several minutes.

Finally Emma knew she had to face her demons and fears. She must go to Wilde, her hometown and the place where her sisters had committed all the horrors.

She went to check on her children. Both Andrea and Autumn were sound asleep, completely unaware of what she’d been suffering and of the voices she’d also been hearing. A good thing. Andrea was thirteen and Autumn twelve. Too young to think their mother was going crazy.

There’s no sense kidding myself any longer. I have what Sam, Lil, and our dad had.

She closed her girls’ door quietly and headed into the kitchen. A cup of tea might not cure mental illness, but she thought it might help to clear her head for the moment. She needed a moment. Several, actually, but she would settle for just one.

She started the kettle and leaned back against the counter to wait for the water to get hot.