The Forgotten Widow Read online

  The Forgotten Widow

  The Widow Taker

  Book One

  KENNEDY LAYNE

  THE FORGOTTEN WIDOW

  Copyright © 2020 by Kennedy Layne

  Kindle Edition

  Cover Designer: Sweet ’N Spicy Designs

  ALL RIGHTS RESERVED: The unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work is illegal. Criminal copyright infringement is investigated by the FBI and is punishable by up to 5 years in federal prison and a fine of $250,000.

  All characters and events in this book are fictitious. Any resemblance to actual persons living or dead is strictly coincidental.

  Rose Icon made by Freepik from www.flaticon.com is licensed by CC 3.0 BY

  Dedication

  Jeffrey—To second chances.

  Cole—I’m beyond proud of the man you have become.

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright Page

  Dedication

  About the Book

  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

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  About The Isolated Widow

  Books by Kennedy Layne

  About the Author

  USA Today Author Kennedy Layne brings you a spine-tingling trilogy with such surprising twists and jarring turns that these stories will leave you breathless…

  They call him The Widow Taker…

  When the FBI is called in to join the investigation of three murdered women, Special Agent Dean Malone wasn’t expecting the case to hit so close to home. His mother was a widow, just like the women who were left to die in dark pools of their own blood. He does his best to remain impartial with each and every senseless killing, but that all changes when he discovers exactly how The Widow Taker is choosing his victims.

  Kenna Burke is finally ready to join the land of the living after the death of her husband almost three years ago. With the simple ring of her doorbell, an obscene evil is now threatening to take away her hopes of having a new life. Special Agent Dean Malone gives Kenna his word that he will do whatever it takes to keep her safe, and she must now decide if she should place her trust in a shining light that could shatter the veil of darkness.

  Chapter One

  Three weeks ago…

  Meghan peered out into the cold wet darkness, searching for those yellowish-green eyes that belonged to her nightly visitor. Nothing materialized from the ink black shadows of her back yard. She pushed down the immediate concern for the stray tomcat that visited her house from time to time. He most likely had a date, unlike her on this forlorn Friday night.

  She’d been seeing the tabby’s lineage in many of the kittens that had magically appeared last spring and summer. His distinctive tuxedo pattern was hard to miss. At least he was having fun. Of course, he put more effort into it.

  The faint scent of burning wood from a nearby neighbor’s fireplace hung in the air. Unfortunately, the staple fragrance of autumn she loved so much couldn’t hide the contents of the plate in her hand. The strong scent of tuna would almost certainly lure Spartacus away from any potential liaison with a pretty feline in heat, or possibly salve his wounds if he’d been stood up by his date. Another few minutes passed, but the thick bushes at the back of her lot didn’t rustle and there was no telltale meow signaling the tomcat’s arrival.

  “I splurged on tuna and everything, Spartacus,” Meghan said softly, glancing down at the glistening canned fish on the plate. He would have wolfed it down. “I hope she’s worth it.”

  The roan tabby she’d been feeding on and off again over the course of six months had begun visiting her regularly in the last week or so. She’d come to enjoy his short visits, even thinking maybe she could provide a permanent home to the neighborhood’s brave patriarch. It was obvious from his missing tufts of fur and the ragged scars left behind on his ears that he was a bit of a scrapper.

  Maybe that’s why she’d come to admire him—they both accepted their inevitable lots in life.

  A strong gust of wind suddenly turned the melodic windchimes into a jumbled racket of an improvised song. Her back patio was small and enclosed with a six-foot privacy fence. The irritating new age reverberations would have scared anyone or anything off. It wasn’t a surprise that Spartacus was a no-show, date or no date.

  A late season storm was rolling in, and with it a cold front with forty-five mile per hour gusts that would no doubt turn over her wicker furniture. She should have stored the pieces away a couple of weeks ago, but she’d gotten into the bad habit of putting off the outside jobs due to the recent chill in the air.

  Losing her husband nine months ago had put some things into stark perspective, and yet she’d found herself fighting against taking up the responsibilities Jack had undertaken during their marriage. Doing those things herself only reminded her that he wasn’t ever coming back.

  Meghan couldn’t seem to push aside the constant ache that had set up residence inside her soul, while everyone else had resumed their own lives and put this unfortunate incident behind them. Life moved on, right? Isn’t that what her family and friends had said after the funeral and the months that followed? It was as if they’d forgotten she’d lost her soulmate.

  She just had to keep getting up every morning, remembering to breathe in and out.

  She sighed in resignation as she stared at the six-piece set of tables and chairs. It wasn’t as if she had a choice but to be an adult and take care of the endless obligations that came with being a single homeowner in a house built for a family that would never be. She debated on going back inside for a jacket, but then thought better of it. The quicker she got to her chores, the faster she’d be inside watching her favorite reality TV show. Not that it helped beyond the momentary distraction it provided.

  Meghan set the plate of tuna on the edge of the patio, still hoping that Spartacus would make an appearance at some point tonight. He always entered through a small hole in the wooden fence created last summer by a bunny rabbit with sharp teeth. It was too dark to see the entry point through the bushes, but the golden hue of the deck lighting would have shimmered off the cat’s eyes had he been peeking out from between the shrubs.

  An unfamiliar shadow shifted in Meghan’s peripheral vision.

  She spun in that direction with a knowing smile on her face, only to find nothing there. It was silly how excited she got over Spartacus’ nightly companionship. She carefully scanned the brick patio corner to corner until her grin slowly faded.

  Her handsome tomcat wasn’t there, after all.

  Meghan glanced at the patio door, which she’d left open when she’d come outside. Spartacus had never tried to enter the house before, but that’s where she thought she’d seen something move. Had the cold weather changed his mind, or had the door simply yielded to the gusting wind? Was she getting a roommate for the winter?

  A crack of thunder overhead had her scrambling to stack the furniture. There was still time to get everything secured before the storm hit. She quickly slid the
wicker loveseat against the siding and was in the process of doing the same to the coffee table when something told her to pause.

  Demise—it was the only description that she could come up with to define the sense of foreboding she’d experienced the day Jack had died. She found it hard to breathe as the same awareness washed over her now.

  Why?

  Meghan unconsciously sought out what was responsible for this sudden change in mood, quickly shifting her gaze back and forth. She swallowed around the constriction in her throat as she slowly straightened, lifting her palms from the glass top of the table. She peered through the patio door and into the living room.

  Nothing appeared out of place from what she could see.

  Still, she took a tentative step toward the parted door. She was unsure of why she was suddenly afraid of her own home as even familiar shapes were now second-guessed as looming threats.

  This was ridiculous.

  No one had gotten inside her house. She had been near the doorway the entire time. She was alone, just as she always was on any given Friday evening.

  Meghan had parked in the garage after work and double checked that the door had closed. Listening to the news carry on about that woman on the south side of town being murdered in her own home had her imagination running overtime. She shook off the remnants of her unease and reached for the wooden handle on the door, pulling it open even farther. The heat from the gas fireplace enveloped her in comfort as she stood on the threshold.

  “See?” Meghan whispered to herself, straining to hear over the low murmur of the television. Her house was as silent as a tomb. “Nothing unusual.”

  There was no holding back her cry of alarm when something brushed against her leg. She instinctively sought the security of her house and was inside within two seconds flat, spinning around to see what had taken her by surprise.

  “Spartacus.” Meghan rested a hand over her chest, as if her own reassuring touch had the ability to slow down her accelerated heartrate. “You scared me, buddy. I thought you might have had a better offer and weren’t coming for dinner tonight.”

  Meghan was in the process of leaning down to run a hand over Spartacus’ back, but an odd reflection in the glass of the patio door brought her up short. She became motionless as she studied the apparition in hopes that her eyes were playing tricks on her. Unfortunately, the figure reflected in front of her didn’t change shape or disappear.

  No, it was definitely a large man-shaped apparition. And he was standing in her living room wearing a ubiquitous black ski mask over his face. His head was tilted to the side in an eerie manner, as if he was studying her for a response. Neither she nor the stranger moved as Spartacus hissed at her assailant and vanished into the dark of night.

  Something deeply innate told her that she would die if she didn’t do the same—run and live to fight another day.

  Meghan couldn’t take her eyes off his somewhat distorted reflection. On instinct, she somehow accepted that she’d never make it out of her back yard even if she sprinted. Abject terror was something she’d never experienced before. It washed over her body like someone had poured a cold drink down the back of her shirt. She couldn’t process anything other than the brief, simple observations that raced through her mind.

  She truly believed that he was going to make the first move, which triggered her legs to finally engage. A strangled cry reverberated through the short hallway as she ran, penetrating the terror that had taken hold of her.

  Had that horrifying sound come from her throat?

  Meghan managed to grab the doorknob and spin around, screaming when he came charging toward her. She slammed the door closed and tried numerous times to twist the lock. It took her three tries before her fingers could make the latch catch.

  Bang!

  “Stop!” Meghan cried out, jumping back when the man tried to ram his way inside the small bathroom. She was trapped with no way to retreat any further. “Please, stop!”

  Silence.

  She’d always heard the phrase that silence could be deafening, but she’d never understood its true meaning until now. She resisted the urge to cover her ears with the palms of her hands to stop the discomfort of what would come next. Although the door was solid wood, it wasn’t impenetrable. A man that size could eventually break it down with only minimal effort.

  What was he doing out there?

  Meghan quietly exhaled, unable to prevent the hitch in her breathing. She forced herself to stop staring at the door, fully comprehending what needed to happen.

  She needed to fight.

  What could she use as a weapon? She had no phone to call for help and no one was going to hear her from outside the house. Old homes like this one were built solid enough that the sound from one part of the house didn’t reach the other, nor would it be heard outside over the howl of the winds.

  Meghan hit the light switch before falling to her knees in her rush to open the cabinet underneath the sink, looking for anything that could help her fend off a man twice her size. A bottle of drain cleaner was the only thing she could find in the array of cleaning supplies. She cringed when the plastic lid hit the floor with a hollow ting that echoed off the bathroom walls.

  Was he still standing outside the door?

  Could he hear her scrambling around inside the bathroom as she looked for a weapon?

  Meghan held the bottle of drain cleaner in front of her with trembling fingers as she struggled to get to her feet. She could splash it in his face and hope that the acid burned his eyes right out of his head. The doorknob had yet to turn again and there was no sound coming from the hallway.

  Had he gotten scared from the sudden outburst of noise and left?

  She took a tentative step forward, straining to hear even the slightest breath coming from the other side of the door. She got close enough to rest her ear against the wood. It was easier to collect her thoughts now that she had a barrier between her and…whoever he was. What did he want from her?

  Think, Meghan.

  She needed access to her phone. Either that or she needed to try and find a way to get out of the house and over to the neighbors. Hiding behind the door in the bathroom forever wasn’t an option.

  Meghan carefully stepped back and went over her very limited options.

  She had no choice but to unlock the door and make a run for it. She pressed the back of her hand against her mouth to prevent the scream of terror that was dying to be let loose. Why was this happening? Why had he targeted her?

  Ever so carefully, she lowered her arm and took the simple privacy latch in the middle of the doorknob by her fingertips. She slowly began turning it to the right, petrified that he was still waiting for her.

  Nothing happened.

  Meghan braced herself for him to come charging inside the bathroom, but the air didn’t even contain a ripple of movement. She warily began turning the handle until the lock gave way. Nausea settled in her stomach as the click resonated loudly, and her heart beat painfully hard against her chest until she finally witnessed an empty hallway.

  He was gone.

  Meghan momentarily believed that she’d made it all up in her head as she cautiously put one foot in front of the other. The usual drone of the television filled the air, and the lamp on the side table was shining brightly as if nothing was amiss. Had she finally had that nervous breakdown her mother had warned her about?

  She held the bottle of cleaner in a way that would allow her to toss the liquid effortlessly, though she wasn’t sure it was needed as she rounded the corner. Nothing was out of place. Her hot cup of tea was now sitting cold on the coaster, and the television had begun airing her favorite show.

  He was nowhere to be found.

  Even the patio door was still open the way she’d left it. It reminded her of Spartacus and the way he’d run off at the first sign of danger. He’d seen the intruder too, hadn’t he?

  Where was her cell phone?

  Meghan didn’t care if she soun
ded like a lunatic. She was calling the police and having them come look through her home. She’d wait for their arrival at her next-door neighbor’s house.

  “I’ll make it better.”

  The strange words came out of nowhere. She didn’t even have time to scream as she spun around to find him standing there. The ski mask did nothing to hide the dark eyes that were almost eerily black instead of brown. Yet, he looked sad. Why did he look so damned despondent?

  Somewhere in the back of Meghan’s mind, she was asking herself why she wasn’t running away. Urine ran down her leg and made a puddle at her feet as her body lost control. One glance down toward his hand and the reason why made itself known.

  The blade of the knife had sliced through her abdomen as if she’d been made of whipped butter, but there was no pain…yet.

  She didn’t want to die.

  Not like this.

  Not without a fight.

  “Please,” Meghan begged in desperation, dropping the container of drain liquid so that she could grab ahold of his wrist. His skin was cold, but her focus shifted to the rising agony as her brain finally began receiving the signals from her nerve endings. “D-don’t do this.”

  The lines around his eyes deepened as he slowly smiled, letting her know that her plea to live fell on deaf ears.

  She was going to die tonight.

  Chapter Two

  Present day…

  Special Agent Dean Malone lifted the woolen collar on his dress coat a little higher to protect his neck from the bite of the bitterly cold wind. It didn’t present a professional appearance as he usually maintained, but it was just a matter of being practical. November had arrived with a bang this year, bringing an early snowstorm that was about to dump eight inches on New Haven, Connecticut. The crappy weather he could handle, but the details of this current case he’d been saddled with might very well cause him to drop his name in the hat for a transfer. Living down south didn’t sound so bad at this point, with beach weather year-round and only a brief afternoon thunderstorm every day.