Gabriel: A thriller (Standalone within the Divinus Pueri series) Read online

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  Copyright

  Copyright 2016 © Tracie Podger

  All rights reserved.

  This is a work of fiction. Characters, names, places and incidents, either, are products of the author’s imagination or they are used factiously. Any reference to actual locales, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form, or by any electronic, or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, to include, by not exclusive to audio or visual recordings of any description without permission from the copyright owner.

  Cover Image designed by Margreet Asslebergs

  Rebel Edit & Design

  Cover Model – Fin

  Cover Model shot by – Wander Aguir

  www.Wanderbookclub.com

  Acknowledgements

  My heartfelt thanks to the best beta readers a girl could want, Karen Shenton. Alison Parkins and Rebecca Sherwin- your input is invaluable.

  Thank you to Margreet Asslebergs from Rebel Edit & Design for yet another wonderful cover, this makes our ninth collaboration!

  I’d also like to give a huge thank you to my editor, Karen Hrdlicka and proofreader, Joanne Thompson.

  A big hug goes to the ladies in my team. These ladies give up their time to support and promote my books. Alison ‘Awesome’ Parkins, Karen Shenton, Karen Atkinson-Lingham, Marina Marinova, Ann Batty, Fran Brisland, Elaine Turner, Kerry-Ann Bell and Louise White, Catherine Bibby & Ellie Aspill, – otherwise known as the Twisted Angels.

  To all the wonderful bloggers that have been involved in promoting my books and joining tours, thank you and I appreciate your support. There are too many to name individually – you know who you are.

  Gabriel is my first foray into the thriller/suspense genre – I normally write romantic suspense. You’ll find a little sexy in here, I’m afraid I can’t not write it! The photograph you see on the cover inspired this book. I have to thank Wander for introducing me to his amazing photography skills. I saw this picture and the image called out to me. I bought it without knowing what I would write. I sat and studied it for ages until Gabriel came to me.

  If you wish to keep up to date with information on this series and future releases - and have the chance to enter competitions, feel free to sign up for my newsletter. As a thank you, you’ll receive download information for a FREE novella, Evelyn.

  http://eepurl.com/cjfnof

  Life is not about the destination but the journey.

  Cover design – Rebel Edit & Design

  Model – Fin

  Photographer – Wander Aguiar http://www.wanderbookclub.com

  I twisted the solid gold band on my wedding ring finger; three turns, it was a ritual. It had been our ritual. Whenever she had held my hand, it’s what she did. Why three, I had no idea. Three seemed to be her number. She wanted three children, we didn’t get beyond the one that I sat watching sleep.

  I smoothed a piece of hair from my daughter’s face, she murmured a little before settling back into what I hoped was a dreamless sleep. Night after night I sat and soothed her, chasing away the nightmares that plagued her. My baby was only five years old and had seen the stuff of horror movies. She had been locked in a bathroom while her mother was murdered.

  The house was cold, empty, and full of memories as I walked from room to room. I stood at the end of my bed and stared, willing my wife to return to us. I wanted to picture her naked, her perfect body lying prone, waiting for me. Instead what I saw was blood and dead eyes wide with fright. My stomach recoiled and I clamped a hand over my mouth. Maybe it was a mistake to stay here. Maybe I should have done what my parents had advised and moved out immediately after, but I was torn. I wanted my daughter safe. I wanted her to be free of her nightmares and to be as far away from the source of them as possible. Until I found who had taken my wife, her mother, I was paralyzed into staying.

  Did that make me a bad father? Probably. Was everything I did focused on my own agenda? Maybe. I was going to find the man who had murdered my wife, who had inflicted such insufferable pain and anguish, and I’d make him pay. That was a promise I’d made to my wife as we laid her body to rest, no more than a few months prior, and a promise I intended to keep.

  The local police were about useless. They’d already decided it was a failed burglary, an opportunist who had been disturbed by my wife returning home early. Someone who was passing through, because there couldn’t be anyone who resided in our Hicksville town so deranged as to want to murder the local schoolteacher. I believed they just wanted the case closed, they didn’t want to have the thought that there was a killer on the loose.

  However, nothing had been taken. There had been plenty of mess left. Drawers and cupboards had been upended, as if someone was looking for something, but jewelry and electronics were all left behind. I’d argued over and over that it wasn’t a burglary; any fool could see that. I’d wanted the FBI called in, someone with an ounce of sense to investigate; my pleas fell on deaf ears. So it was up to me to solve the crime. It was up to me to rid the world of the scum that had made a child motherless, a husband a widower, and a classroom of five-year-olds, teacherless.

  It was up to me to avenge the beautiful Sierra, a woman without a mean bone in her body. A woman who had loved me despite my past. A woman that had given birth to something so precious my heart ached every time I looked at our daughter. It was up to me to right the wrong. Bringing the culprit to justice wasn’t my plan. It should have been, it was the right thing to do, but I needed to know whoever had destroyed my family was going to suffer. There would be no chance of a cozy jail cell, or a fucking lawyer to defend their actions. Oh no. An eye for an eye the Bible taught us. I intended to crucify the man.

  I scrubbed my hands over my face with exasperation. I was trying to stay calm.

  “Baby girl, we have five minutes to get to school. Can you please tell me where you put your shoe?” I asked.

  Taylor was sitting on the first step of the stairs. She had one shoe in her hand, and we were missing the other. I hadn’t gotten a lot of sleep the previous night and was trying to keep my temper in check.

  “I don’t know, Daddy. It was there, by the door.”

  She hiccupped a little and I took a deep breath. I could see she was getting upset.

  “Okay, how about we find another pair? What about those pretty pink ones?”

  “No, Mommy loved those, I don’t want to wear them.”

  Taylor had taken to not wanting to wear anything she believed her mother loved. The fact was; her mother bought pretty much everything in the wardrobe and all the shoes in the closet. I guessed she didn’t want the reminder.

  “Mommy hated these ones, I think Grandpa bought these.”

  I held up a pair of black sneakers, knowing full well where they’d come from. I was hoping the thought that her beloved grandpa had bought them would tempt her to wear them. I was in luck; a broad smile broke over her face. She reached out for them.r />
  Hand in hand, we walked the short distance to the local school. It was a bright sunny day and Taylor skipped along beside me. Some days it was as if nothing had happened, she was internalizing so the therapist told me. Other days, it would all crash down on her and my heart would shatter at her cries and screams. That day looked to be a good day.

  “Who’s that lady?” she asked, looking up at me.

  “What lady?”

  I followed her gaze across the street. There was no one there.

  “There was a lady, I’ve seen her before. She came to our house once and Mommy was upset.”

  We had arrived at the school gate and I crouched down to Taylor’s level.

  “When, baby girl?”

  “Yesterday.”

  It was always ‘yesterday.’ Taylor was too young to really understand the concept of time, and since her mother’s murder, she was more confused than ever.

  “Was it daytime?” I asked.

  She nodded her head. “Before or after school?”

  “After, I think, I was drawing and she knocked on the door.”

  “Okay, can you remember what she looked like?”

  Taylor shook her head at first. “She had the same color hair as you.”

  So a brown-haired woman had come to my house yesterday. I gave my daughter a hug and told her to be good. I stood and watched her run into the playground, her backpack jiggled and swayed, clearly too large for her little body. Her teacher, the new one, waved from the door as she ushered the children in. I raised a hand back and then turned to make the short walk home.

  “Gabriel, how are you?” I heard.

  Across the road I saw my oldest friend. We shook hands once he’d reached me.

  “Doing okay, I guess. Don’t suppose there’s any news?” I asked.

  Thomas shook his head. He was a member of the useless local police force. “You know the case is cold. I still have it, though. I made a promise to you that I wouldn’t give up and I won’t. I just don’t have any leads. I’m sorry.”

  We had the same conversation every time we met. I was thankful, I guessed, that Thomas had kept the files. He’d even shared details with me, details that could have cost him his job.

  “Got time for a coffee?” he asked.

  “Sure.”

  We made our way to the diner, where the owner, Mary, greeted us. We’d grown up together in that town, a town where everyone knew everyone. She remembered me, even though I’d left for a few years, only to return with a pregnant Sierra. She had no family; I thought it best to be around mine. It would be support for her when Taylor made her appearance. She was immediately welcomed with open arms, but then, there was nothing not to love about Sierra.

  “Coffee?”

  Mary stood on one side of the counter, and as we sat on the stools, she poured two cups, not waiting for an answer.

  “Taylor told me a brown-haired woman visited and Sierra got upset,” I said, as I took a sip of the rich black coffee.

  “Does she know when?”

  “No, yesterday she says. I don’t recall Sierra mentioning anything. But what was strange was Taylor thought she saw the woman today, outside the school. I looked, there was no one there.”

  “Could it be someone in her imagination?” Thomas asked.

  I shrugged my shoulders. “She’s still in therapy, obviously. And to be honest, I think we might have to move out of the house. Her nightmares are getting worse, I’m not being fair staying there. I’ll speak to my folks later today about it.”

  Thomas was one of Taylor’s godparents and, like the rest of the town, had been devastated by what had happened. He’d often stop by for a beer after his shift, or to read a bedtime story to Taylor. He always bought her candy and she had a great relationship with him.

  “You heard from your brother?” he asked.

  “No, not for a while. I guess he’s busy saving souls and all that shit,” I replied with a chuckle.

  My brother was a man of the church; he had been the local parish priest for a while. But he’d risen up the ranks. I wasn’t remotely religious so had no real understanding of what his position was. All I knew was Mom and Dad were proud of him, and he was a pompous ass. Even as kids we’d never been friends.

  “I guess I ought to be getting to work,” I said, as I drained my coffee cup.

  “Yeah, same here. Crimes to solve and all that… Shit, man, I’m sorry,” Thomas said when he saw my raised eyebrows.

  “It’s fine, don’t worry. Go solve some crimes. I’ll catch you later.”

  Other than the odd traffic violation, or to break up a party after a neighbor complained, our local police department, which consisted of Sheriff Thomas and a couple of deputies, weren’t that busy. But they kept the townsfolk in order when necessary and were highly regarded. They’d called in reinforcements, the part-timers, when Sierra had been murdered but not the ones I’d wanted. Thomas had spent many a night consoling me, and telling me the FBI was not interested in a small town murder. It didn’t offer me any comfort at all.

  We parted company on the street corner and I made my way into work. I owned a small garage, repairing cars. It wasn’t what I’d planned, but it was what I loved.

  Fixing up things had been a hobby; the satisfaction I got when something was broken and then repaired was wonderful. It was just a shame I couldn’t fix my daughter. It was a shame I couldn’t fix myself.

  “Morning, Boss,” Jake said, as I walked through to my office.

  “Hey, buddy. How’s Trina?”

  Trina was due with their third child and Jake was in a panic about it. He’d worked with me for the past five years and was someone I viewed as a friend.

  “Moaning about getting fat. She sent in a pie, I left it in your office,” he said.

  Trina had taken it upon herself to feed me. She also supplied all the pies to the diner. Her pies had made her a local celebrity and, like Sierra, she was someone the townsfolk loved.

  “Smells good, maybe we'll have a slice with a coffee,” I said.

  The smell of cherry pie had managed to wipe out the scent of oil that hung permanently around the garage. It made a nice change.

  “So, what do we have today?” I asked.

  “Old Mrs. Forrester wants this beast back on the road, I told her even the scrap yard won’t want this heap of shit.”

  Mrs. Forrester owned a Cadillac about as old as she was, ancient. It was a classic and one we’d kept on the road for her, only by the grace of God, for many years.

  “What’s wrong with the beast now?”

  “Carburetor, I think.”

  “And don’t tell me, she wants authentic parts?”

  “She sure does. Not sure we’re gonna be able to find many more for this baby.”

  I sat at my desk and left Jake to tinker. I had a stack of paperwork to deal with that I had been putting off for days. I had no enthusiasm for that side of my business. I missed getting my hands dirty, I missed being the one to hear the purr of an engine that had been brought back to life.

  “Jake, Taylor said she saw a brown-haired woman this morning, somewhere near the school. You haven’t noticed any strangers around town, have you?” I called out.

  “No, Boss. Not recently.”

  “Okay, just thought I’d ask.”

  Jake and Trina were the oracles for the town. If anyone wanted to know anything, they were the couple to ask. The town was home to just a few hundred people, so a stranger in our midst was often news. Calling it a town was probably an overstatement.

  The brown-haired woman was soon pushed from my thoughts as I started my day. Before I knew it, a very pregnant woman bustled into my office with a basket over one arm.

  “Lunch, my lovelies,” Trina said, as she perched her ass on the corner of my desk.

  “You don’t need to do this,” I said, as I peered into her basket.

  “I know, but I need my man to eat so you might as well, too.”

  I liked Trina, we had been
school friends and she had become a best friend to Sierra. She was godmother to Taylor and, like Thomas, very active in her life.

  She dished up a round of sandwiches and some chips, and we sat while she regaled us with the town gossip.

  The week carried on with no more mention of the brown-haired woman. Taylor only had one more nightmare, and I was thankful for that. I managed to get four nights of uninterrupted sleep.

  On the weekend, we headed out to visit my folks. They had a ranch on the edge of town, and each weekend Taylor would spend two days with her grandparents, rounding up cattle and horses, and getting dirty. She loved it.

  “Hey, you guys,” I heard, as we pulled to a halt on the dusty driveway.

  My mother had left the porch to greet us. Before I’d climbed from the car, Taylor was out of the door and running toward her. Mom scooped her up into a hug and swung her around. I smiled at the sound of laughter.

  “Gabe, beers are cooling,” my father said as he rounded the house.

  ‘Now that sounds like a plan,” I replied.

  My father gave me a hug, he had always been an affectionate man, not afraid to hug and kiss his children. Unlike many of the older generation locally, whose only attention to their children had been when they’d beat them.

  I enjoyed my dad’s company. He’d been a veteran in his day, fighting wars he didn’t believe in but wanted to ‘do his duty for his country’. He was an honest man, a hardworking man, who loved his wife with such openness it was often embarrassing.

  “So, what’s been happening in the world of cattle?” I said with a smile.

  “Ah, you know, the usual. Shot a couple of mountain lions the other day,” he replied.

  “Grandpa, you didn’t?” Taylor squealed.

  “No, honey, I’m just teasing. Those pussycats are no match for my cattle,” he said, taking Taylor from the arms of my mother.

  Mom and I watched as they wandered off, Dad was regaling Taylor with stories of the two mountain lions that he’d fought off. I wasn’t sure any of it was true but it kept her entertained.