Wild Hearts. Sharon Sala
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Past Sins Cast a Long Shadow
Dallas Phillips refuses to believe her father committed suicide, even though things were tough on his farm and he was deeply in debt. When she hears he’d told a neighbor about an upcoming windfall, she grows suspicious, and her suspicion only deepens when she realizes someone is lurking in the nearby mountains after dark.
For help, she turns to Trey Jakes, local police chief—and her former lover. As they begin to investigate, another mystery comes to light. Trey’s mother is beginning to remember events from thirty years ago, something shadowy that happened in the mountains, and Dallas’s father was there, too. Is what happened that night connected to his “suicide”? As they search for the truth, Trey and Dallas struggle to fight their attraction, but they may not be able to fend off another force—a killer who’s more than willing to kill again to make sure old secrets stay buried.
Praise for the novels of Sharon Sala
“Skillfully balancing suspense and romance, Sala gives readers a nonstop breath-holding adventure.”
—Publishers Weekly on Going Once
“Vivid, gripping…this thriller keeps the pages turning.”
—Library Journal on Torn Apart
“Sala’s characters are vivid and engaging.”
—Publishers Weekly on Cut Throat
“Sharon Sala is not only a top romance novelist, she is an inspiration for people everywhere who wish to live their dreams.”
—John St. Augustine, host, Power!Talk Radio WDBC-AM, Michigan
“Veteran romance writer Sala lives up to her reputation with this well-crafted thriller.”
—Publishers Weekly on Remember Me
“[A] well-written, fast-paced ride.”
—Publishers Weekly on Nine Lives
“Perfect entertainment for those looking for a suspense novel with emotional intensity.”
—Publishers Weekly on Out of the Dark
Wild Hearts
Sharon Sala
Childhood sweethearts are the first and the best, because the love is new and untainted. Even though most of them do not carry through to adulthood and become the life partner you will have, they all hold a special place in our hearts.
I’m dedicating this book to my first love, my Bobby, who reappeared in my life when I needed him most. I had eight of the most wonderful years of my adult life with him before I lost him to cancer. He was my first love, and he will be my last love.
Some things are impossible to replace.
Contents
Praise
Six
Seven
Eight
Nine
Ten
Eleven
Twelve
Thirteen
Fourteen
Fifteen
Sixteen
Seventeen
Eighteen
Nineteen
Twenty
Epilogue
Mystic, West Virginia May 1980
The sky was as dark as a witch’s heart, the smells of whiskey and sex as strong inside the titty-pink Cadillac as the vomit in the floorboard behind the driver. The speedometer was pegged out at a hundred and ten, and still the headlights of the car behind them kept gaining.
Eighteen-year-old Connie Bartlett’s fingers were curled around the steering wheel of her brand-new graduation present, her eyes wide and fixed on the white stripe down the middle of the blacktop, and she was screaming at the top of her lungs.
Her boyfriend, Dick Phillips, was on his knees, leaning over the seat and looking out the back window. Like Connie, he could see the headlights coming closer.
“Faster, Connie, faster! He’s gonna catch us!”
“It won’t go any faster!” she cried.
She swerved toward the right, then swerved back toward the left, tossing her passengers from one side of the car to the other. She was trying to follow the white stripe down the middle of the highway, but she was driving drunk, something her daddy had told her never to do.
In the backseat, Betsy Parr was three beers and most of a fifth of Jack Daniel’s drunk, down on her hands and knees in the floorboard, puking up her guts. She always felt carsick in the backseat. Being drunk and dancing with death only made it worse.
Her boyfriend, Paul Jackson, was passed out above her, drunk from the other three beers from Betsy’s six-pack and the rest of the bottle of Jack Daniel’s, oblivious to the drama and the danger.
Dick was pounding the seat and crying now. “He’s gaining! He’s gaining! He’ll kill us, too. What are we gonna do?”
Betsy groaned as another wave of nausea swept over her, but before she could follow the urge to puke again, the car fishtailed, throwing her against the door at her back. Too scared to look up, she began beating her fists on the back of Connie’s seat.
“Oh, my God...Connie, stop, please stop! You’re going to kill us.”
“We can’t!” Dick yelled. “He saw all of us. We have to get to the cops first or he’ll finger us for what he did!”
“We’re