Grave Deception - Signed Paperback

Surrendering to death is different than I imagined. 

I assumed the final seconds of life would feel quick, but as I plummeted from a bridge toward the glacial water of the Chicago River, my body felt like it was suspended in midair, the winds pushing against me, shoving against the sands of time.

Tonight, a thin layer of fog snaked around steel skyscrapers, their windows glowing against the onyx sky—as if the city’s mythical beauty was trying to veil this grisly tragedy. Arctic gusts stung my cheeks and hardened the ashen chunks floating in the coal-colored water beneath me. 

I wonder if they’ll find my body. Or if I’ll sink and Mom will never know what happened to me.

My heart bled for her. The poor woman didn’t deserve to suffer yet another loss—this time, her twenty-nine-year-old daughter. Her grief from Dad’s death had cloaked her soul with so much darkness that even the sun could not penetrate it. Her heart so fractured, it had hardened her skin into an impenetrable shield, emotionally shutting everyone out for years. 

It was only recently, after she’d started therapy, that Mom had made the progress I’d always hoped for, and she was finally on the cusp of turning things around. If I didn’t make it, all her progress would drown with me. She’d sail into the empty sea of loneliness, destined to die alone. 

I didn’t want that for her, and it felt unfair, to lose my life before I’d had the chance to experience some of life’s most profound milestones. I would never walk down the aisle or know the joys of motherhood. The closest I’d come to having kids was the stray cat I fed every day. If I died, who would take care of her? I’d been feeding her for months, and now, she had grown to depend on me. Adopting her was my ultimate goal, but my landlord didn’t allow pets, so for now, I put out food every morning and night, gave her medication to prevent fleas, and put a cat shelter full of blankets outside to keep her warm. If I never returned, would she survive?

I wished I’d told Shane about the cat; maybe he could have taken over where I left off.

Shane Hernandez. The guy I’d had a crush on ever since he moved in as my next-door neighbor. He was the complete package. Tall, sexy as hell, with eyes that could make you forget about everything going on around you. He was kind, too, always making the effort to stop and ask how I was doing when we bumped into each other in the hallway, and as if that weren’t hot enough, he was a detective with the Chicago Police Department, sporting a gun and badge hanging from his belt that hugged his incredible physique. Insert swoon-fest. 

I could see flashes of our first encounter.

“Leave me alone, Ezra,” I snap, yanking my arm away.

I walk along the sidewalk toward the double doors of my apartment complex. 

“I’m just trying to help you get inside, Willow.”

“I don’t need your help.” 

“You’ve had too much to drink.”

Not typical and not intentional. I tried a new mixed drink that was dangerous, how its strength snuck up on you. 

But I’m not drunk. I’m buzzed. Big difference. He wants me to be drunk so he can play the part of the noble guy who helps a vulnerable woman get home safely. As if behaving like a gentleman can make up for what he did to me.

“It’s over between us,” I remind him. “How many times do I have to say it?”

Ezra ignores me and grabs my elbow. Like I need his help to walk. 

Asshat.

When I yank my arm away, I lose my center of gravity, and I fall to the ground. 

Ezra manhandles me again because it isn’t enough that he invaded my girls’ night and jumped into my Uber. 

“Let me go!” I snap.

But Ezra uses both hands to grab me now.

“She said let her go,” a deep voice warns.

Ezra whips his gaze to the figure standing ten feet from us. It’s dark outside, the only light coming from two exterior bulbs that cast an orange haze around the mystery man.

“Mind your own damn business.” Ezra pulls me.

“Stop!” I say.

Seriously, I’m not a violent person, but so help me, if Ezra doesn’t leave me alone, I’m going to slam my heel into his crotch.

“Chicago PD.” The shadowy figure flashes a badge that reflects the light from the building. “Step away from her right now, or I’ll arrest you for assault.”

Ezra pauses. “I’m not hurting her. I’m helping her because she’s drunk.”

“She told you to stop. Step away from her. Now.”

“You can’t arrest me for helping her.”

“If you don’t leave her alone? I sure as hell can.”

Ezra glares at the guy, his fingers flexing at his sides.

“But you don’t step away right this second?” the guy growls. “Maybe I’ll rearrange your face instead.”

I have no idea if the cop is being serious or sarcastic, but hallelujah, it works. Ezra moves away from me. 

“I was just trying to help,” Ezra says before slinking away into the night.

“You okay?” the cop asks.

I stand up slowly. In the dark, I can only make out his muscular body, which is encased in dark pants, a button-down shirt, and a gray wool jacket. He tucks his badge back into his pocket and straightens his tie.

“I’m fine. Thank you,” I say, but I can’t stop myself from adding, “You didn’t need to do that. I had it under control.”

I start to walk, losing the upper hand when my high heel hits a crack. Before gravity makes me another victim, a hand catches me by the hip, and I’m pressed against a firm side, a stern face looking down at me.

Holy crap. That chiseled jaw, those steely blue eyes. The guy holding me against his unfairly gorgeous body is my new next-door neighbor. His palm sends a flash of heat through my hip as he holds my gaze for five heartbeats. Five slow, belly-warming heartbeats.

“I’ve seen you around but haven’t introduced myself yet.” 

He’s noticed me. My hormones begin a glee fest, but the blood beneath my cheeks is too busy worrying he might’ve noticed me drooling over him. 

“I’m Shane,” he says. 

“Willow,” I say, adding, “You’re a cop?”

“A detective,” he says. “I wouldn’t be a good one if I didn’t say this…” His voice is warm and caring, no hint of animosity. “Gettin’ this drunk is dangerous, Willow. You don’t know how many girls in this city get assaulted every day.”

I step away from him to make it clear I can stand on my own, that my clumsiness is merely from dangerous footwear.

High heels are weapons of mass destruction.

“I’m not that drunk,” I say, motioning to where Ezra walked off. “He’s just using my slight overindulgence as an excuse to try to weasel his way back into my life. Which will never work.”

Shane raises his eyebrows. Seems to consider this with a ghost of a smile, which he quickly drops. 

“The guy. Does he normally get that handsy with you?”

“No. He’s harmless.” Overbearing and a class-A dickwad. But harmless.

“Didn’t look harmless,” he says. 

My neck burns in embarrassment of this scene. Of all the ways I wanted to meet my hot neighbor, this was not one of them.

“I’m sorry I bothered you,” I say.

The tone of his voice lowers an octave. “You’re never a bother, Willow.” 

That encounter sparked the fire of my growing attraction to him, yet in our subsequent run-ins, I kept getting mixed signals. On the one hand, it seemed like he looked for excuses to stop and make small talk with me, and when he did, he studied me intently, like my every word fascinated him. During those talks, I’d catch him staring at my mouth with this wanton look in his eyes, and other times, his hungry gaze would comb over my body. But sometimes, we’d be in the middle of talking, and he’d suddenly clear his throat and excuse himself, leaving me with the impression he was intentionally cutting the conversation short. 

Maybe he was attracted to me but thought dating a neighbor was a bad idea. After all, if we broke up, that would be seriously awkward, running into each other, but still. I wished I could have explored something with him, because as the foreboding water rushed toward me, I realized I’d never have another chance.

No. 

I wasn’t going to die. 

The bridge was only three stories above the river—people survived higher falls than that. The bigger danger was the water, which, in winter, was a hair above freezing. So cold, it would lock up your muscles, making it virtually impossible to swim. Causing death within minutes, if not sooner. And it would endanger anyone else that might try to rescue me. 

But so help me, even if the landing broke my bones, I’d fight with everything I had and make it to the shore.

I could do it.

I had to.

I braced myself as the river slammed into me.

And everything went black.

Pain pierced through my body like a thousand daggers stabbing me—each dagger ice, slicing up my skin with their arctic blades. I tried to scream, but I couldn’t open my mouth, couldn’t open my eyes, either. In a sea of darkness, the only thing that existed was muffled sounds.

Splashes. 

Yelling.

Something hard clenched my torso.

“Hold on!” 

Something else pressed to the back of my neck, lifting my face above the waterline.

“Willow?” The voice echoed its shock through my ears. 

The voice knew my name. How did the voice know my name? Why did the voice seem familiar to me?

My body shifted and jerked, water splashing on my face and going up my nose, dripping a freezing path into my throat. Whoever it was seemed to struggle with my weight—my winter coat and jeans anchoring me down. 

I could hear the mystery man breathing heavily, and I could feel his arm loosening its grip around me, undoubtedly weakening from the beginnings of hypothermia. 

“Hold on, Willow.” There was an urgency to his voice, as if he knew I needed to actively fight against falling asleep. Because it wasn’t just falling asleep…

Flirting with the border between life and death, fighting to live was exhausting. My body hurt, my lungs hurt, and trying to stay alive was as tiring as fighting against a violent rip current. How easy it would be to just let go and get carried toward death.

“Grab her beneath her shoulders!” the voice barked. “But be careful. Support her spine!”

Something locked beneath my armpits, and then my back scraped across something as the water receded from my torso, then my legs. 

With my body now still, I tried to open my eyes again. 

Why can’t I open my eyes? Why can’t I scream?

I’m so cold. It feels like every cell, every vein, every bone in my body is freezing into pure ice. 

I wanted a blanket, to be curled up by a warm fire—anything to get warm.

I tried to take a breath, but I couldn’t, and my lungs screamed with death’s grip squeezing them.

Help. 

“Her pulse is weak,” the voice growled, panting. “I don’t think she’s breathing. Check the ETA on the ambulance. We have less than four minutes before permanent brain damage sets in, another minute or so until she’s dead.”

Fingers tilted my chin, opened my mouth, and then something warm draped over it. A thrust of heated air burst into my throat. The relief was only temporary though, because the wind whipped against my neck and carved a tunnel into my body, all the way to my bones. 

“Coats!” the voice barked. “Give me your fuckin’ coats!”

As his mouth returned to mine, blowing another deep rush of oxygen into my lungs, I could hear zippers. And then layers of clothing shielded my body from the assaulting wind.

As the mouth blew another gust of air into me. And another. And another.

In the distance, a siren wailed. 

“Come on, Willow. Fight!”

I sensed something just above my mouth.

Then, his lips returned. 

Suddenly, I gasped, and my eyes flew open, taking in the scene before me.

I was lying on a snowy embankment with several fuzzy silhouettes of people standing around me. But only one person was drenched, only one had jumped into the ice water to pull me out, risking his own life in the process. 

Shane Hernandez.

“Willow.” He cupped my cheek and stared down at me, his relief giving way to vengeance. “Who did this to you?”