style="font-size:15px;"> Contents
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter One
“I thought you were my friend.” Tyler Blackwell loomed above the seated Freddy Gold, owner and editor-in-chief of Texas Gold. How could Freddy ask something like this from him knowing where he was coming from? Wasn’t it hard enough for him to start again? But to start like this? Tyler blasted his friend with every expletive he knew.
Freddy calmly leaned back in his cordovan-leather chair and stared at him.
“Tyler, it’s precisely because you’re my friend that I’m giving you this assignment.” Freddy turned away from him in his swivel chair and went back to work. “I owe her, Tyler. It’s the least I can do. And you owe me. So I’m calling in my chip. Make sure nothing happens to Melissa Carnes.”
What did Freddy have to do with her? She was nothing but a crazy artist who never came out of her self-imposed isolation. And Freddy had a dozen journalists on staff who’d kill for an opportunity to ingratiate themselves to the boss. “Why me?”
“I trust you. I don’t dare trust anyone else when it comes to my niece.”
“Your niece? Freddy—”
“She needs a champion. For once, she needs someone on her side.”
Tyler sneered. The last time he’d tried to be a champion, his wife had died. “If it’s a champion you’re looking for, you’re looking in the wrong place.”
“I know that if you give me your word, you won’t bail out on me until the job’s done. You’ll keep her safe.”
“After Lindsey, you can still say that?”
“Because of Lindsey, yes.”
That vote of confidence silenced him for a while. Since Lindsey’s death, even he didn’t trust himself.
“I know you,” Freddy said. “I’ve taught you everything you know.”
Tyler had come a long way since he and Freddy had been beat journalists together ten years ago. Tyler was just starting then, and Freddy was getting ready to move on to bigger and better things. Freddy had indeed taught him everything he knew. But some things you couldn’t prepare for, and no amount of training could get you ready for some blows. Still, Freddy was always there for him—even when everyone else had given up—and that loyalty had to count for something.
“So who’s this big bad wolf who’s after your little lamb?” Tyler asked, sinking into one of Freddy’s well-appointed leather chairs. He’d hear what Freddy had to say. Then he’d lay out a rational argument as to why he couldn’t take on the responsibility of looking out for someone else. Freddy would have to listen to logic.
“I’m not sure.”
“You’re not sure?”
“It’s a feeling…” He shrugged.
Tyler stared incredulously at his friend. “Freddy Gold’s calling in a chip on a feeling?”
“Yeah.”
Seeing Freddy so unsure of himself was strange. Tyler contemplated the man in front of him, noticed through his haze of frustration that Freddy had aged seemingly overnight. His jowls, usually so easy to jiggle with laughter, sagged. Puffed smudges made purple half-moons beneath his eyes. Lines spidered from the corners of his mouth.
“So what exactly is it you want me to do?” Tyler asked.
“I want you to protect her. Keep her safe.”
“From what?”
Freddy marched his pen across his knuckles. The muffled noise of telephones and voices on the other side of the office wall filled the uncomfortable silence. Slowly he pulled open the middle drawer of the desk and drew out an envelope. “This came two days ago.”
He pushed the envelope across the desk.
Tyler started to reach for it, then sprang up from the chair, backing away, hands held palms out in front of him. “I can’t.”
“It’s an article about Thornwylde Castle where Melissa lives,” Freddy said as he unfolded the newsprint. “And a bishop.” From his hand, a black chess piece rolled out onto the desk. “It’s a warning, Tyler. Someone’s playing a game, and I don’t like it. I need you there.”
“It’s just an article.” Tyler ran a hand over his face, not liking the sinking feeling weighing him down. “How do you get a warning out of a chess piece?”
“Chess is a game of war. Bishops can move in any direction, but must keep on a diagonal. They’re valuable because they can make long, narrow moves.”
In spite of his best intentions, Tyler couldn’t quite bite off the questions that sprang up. “Who sent the package?”
“I’m working on that.” Freddy hid the bishop in the envelope and returned the whole to the drawer. “Melissa’s had a hard life, but in some ways, she’s very innocent. She won’t know how to defend herself.”
Who? What? Where? When? How? Instinct kicked in. It felt like old times when the merest hint of a question had sent him sniffing for answers. His limbs became jittery. He tried not to think of all the Tennessee bourbon and oblivion he’d only recently given up, but it was like trying not to think of a blue elephant. The bottle with the black label was all he could see. The fire of the dark liquid was all he could taste. The sweet blackness of nothing was all he desired. He shook his head. Stay here. Stay focused. “You already suspect someone.”
“She’s a rich woman who’ll be even richer in a month. Money makes people do unspeakable things.” Freddy frowned, his pen etching deep grooves into the pad on his desk.
Tyler licked his dry lips, tried not to taste the phantom whiskey and rested his backside against the edge of the credenza. “Why don’t you just tell her to be careful and be done with it? Why do I need to go there?”
“Because…we’re estranged. She
