Her Frozen Cry (Detective Amanda Steele)

PROLOGUE

She stoked the fire, hoping its warmth would coax the cold from her bones. She couldn’t shake the feeling that someone was watching her. But there was no one around. Surely, she was being paranoid, her mind fed by too many horror movies set in secluded cabins. Much like the one she was in right now. Alone. Isolated. Surrounded by nothing but wildlife and trees, with miles separating her from the nearest neighbor.

Earlier, rain had battered the roof and fat drops pinged against the windows. Instead of soothing her, nature’s lullaby had her on edge. She jumped at every creak of the old cabin and had to repeatedly assure herself the structure was sound. It was likely fortified by many secrets made and kept within the walls, some of which were ones she’d deposited herself since arriving yesterday. But she had needed to get away, slip out of her life, re-evaluate. Step back.

The flames in the fireplace grew and danced wildly. She watched, entranced, and felt herself let go, just a little. But the chill was still in her, as if someone’s eyes were crawling over her skin.

She got up and dared to look outside. Nothing but blackness. She’d draw the curtains, but there were none in the living room. Why had she ever left her beautiful home and family for this place, even for a couple nights? She must be crazy.

But her secrets were at risk of exposure if she didn’t handle things just so, and that meant facing her demons in stillness and silence. Their voices grew loud, and she could feel her day of judgment drawing near. So many regrets and fears ricocheted in her mind. There would be no escaping them any longer.

She left the fire and grabbed the blanket from the couch. Wrapping it around her shoulders, she slipped into the bedroom. She’d get ready for bed and pour another glass of wine until her mind quieted and gave way to indifference, and possibly courage. Only then would she be able to slip into a deep, peaceful slumber.

She checked everything off the list and settled back on the couch beneath the throw, sipping her wine, and looked at a photograph she’d brought with her. The people in the picture were what was most important to her above all else—they made her want to be a better person, to do better—but her vision blurred. She blinked deliberately a few times, but it didn’t offer much improvement. And now her head was spinning.

What the…?She hadn’t drunk that much.

She tried to return her wineglass to the table, but it shattered to the floor.

She was dizzy, and she couldn’t catch a full breath. It was like her heart was slowing down.

She gripped her chest, and the photo slipped from her lap.

She suddenly felt so weak, so very cold, so very tired.

Tears fell, hot against her cool cheeks.

This was it. The end—how and when she died. But this wasn’t right—the timing so unfair. There was so much more she wanted to do with her life, so many things she wanted to make right.

As the darkness claimed her, a figure outside in the night moved to leave. Their mission was now complete.