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Praise for KATHLEEN O’BRIEN
“If you’re looking for a fabulous read, reach for a Katheleen O’Brien book. You can’t go wrong.”
—New York Times bestselling author Catherine Anderson
“Darkly gothic and disturbing, Happily Never After is a thrill ride reminiscent of V.C. Andrews’ Flowers in the Attic, with the added appeal of a robust romance and an unnerving mystery.”
—Terri Clark, Romantic Times BOOKclub on Happily Never After, 4½-Star Top Pick
“Any book written by the talented Ms. O’Brien is a good excuse to leave all your troubles at the bathroom door as you spend a couple of hours relaxing in your tub.”
—Diana Tidlund, Writers Unlimited
“Ms. O’Brien has definitely made it to my ‘must read’ list.”
—Bea Sigman, The Best Reviews
Quiet as the Grave
Kathleen O’Brien
Dear Reader,
When you first met Mike Frome and Suzie Strickland, back in Firefly Glen, they were just impetuous teenagers, full of attitude and hopeless longing. They took foolish risks, as so many of us do when we’re young, trading a sensible tomorrow for a thrilling today.
A special thanks to all the readers who wrote, asking for more. What happened to those two grouchy, mismatched kids? Did they ever find contentment? Did they ever find their way back to each other?
I know how you felt. They were special kids, and they deserved a happy ending. But, as we all know, happiness isn’t handed out to the most deserving, like a merit badge. Sometimes you have to wait a long time, and trudge through a lot of tough times.
Quite simply, sometimes you have to fight for it, tooth and nail.
Now, ten years after their beginnings in Firefly Glen, Mike and Suzie are ready to meet that fight head-on. Mike’s divorced from the glamorous Justine, sharing custody of his son, Gavin. Purple-haired, fiery-tempered Suzie has reinvented herself as a cool, collected beauty, and is even building a career as a portraitist.
But the calm is an illusion—the eye of the hurricane. Justine has turned up dead, and the authorities are only a heartbeat away from arresting Mike. If he’s going to save himself, he’s going to have to find out what really happened to his beautiful, toxic wife. He’s surprised to learn that his strongest ally is the feisty girl he left behind in high school. The girl whose heart was too strong to be broken then—or daunted now.
I hope you enjoy their story.
Warmly,
Kathleen O’Brien
www.KathleenOBrien.net
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 EIGHTEEN
CHAPTER NINETEEN
CHAPTER TWENTY
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
BONUS FEATURES
CHAPTER ONE
EVEN AS THE DREAM played out, the man knew he was dreaming. Except…how could dream be the right word for anything so real? It was more like time travel. While his body lay there, helpless on the bed, twitching and whimpering and trying to wake up, his mind flew back to the cave and lived it all again.
Lived the stink. The air in the cave was wet. It had rained all day, and moisture clung to the slimy, pitted walls. Now and then a pocket of algae grew too heavy and popped from its secret pore. It slid across the gray rock slowly, an insect leaving behind a shining trail of ooze.
Everyone had come tonight, which was rare—but they must have heard that this would be special. Too many men crowded into the space, so the wet, stinking air was hot. He felt light-headed, as if the oxygen levels were too low. He wondered if they’d all die here, breathing foul air until they collapsed where they stood. How long would their bodies lie in their black robes before anyone discovered them?
Maybe they’d never be found, and they’d rot here. Poetic justice, surely. They were already rotted on the inside.
His mask was too tight. He couldn’t breathe. He adjusted the cloth so that the eye and mouth holes lined up better.
When the girl was brought in, it was obvious she’d been drugged. The man practically had to drag her through the opening. Her head kept dropping. She made small sounds that weren’t quite human, more like a puppy whining in a cage.
From there the dream went black. No sight. All sounds. The sound of metal against metal. Metal against rock. Metal against skin.
And always the puppy sound, begging. Struggling to find its way out of the cage. Sometimes the noises escalated a little, but they never got very loud. The cage held. The puppy had almost given up hope.
The cave seemed to come alive then, as if it was being sucked into an auditory whirlwind. Weeping and low moans. Wet noises, as if someone gargled fear. Heavy breathing that rode the naked back of animal grunts. Babbling, strangely religious, from the blind trance of terror.
And then, finally, at the very end, one heartbreaking human word. The word to which everyone, even the dreamer, could be reduced, if things
