What’s Mine (A Peyton Risk Suspense Thriller—Book 5), page 1
WHAT’S MINE
(A Peyton Risk Suspense Thriller —Book 5)
Ella Swift
Ella Swift
Ella Swift is author of the PEYTON RISK mystery series, comprising five books (and counting); and of the COOPER TRACE mystery series, comprising five books (and counting).
An avid reader and lifelong fan of the mystery and thriller genres, Ella loves to hear from you, so please feel free to visit ellaswiftauthor.com to learn more and stay in touch.
Copyright © 2024 by Ella Swift. All rights reserved. Except as permitted under the U.S. Copyright Act of 1976, no part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed or transmitted in any form or by any means, or stored in a database or retrieval system, without the prior permission of the author. This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return it and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author. This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, organizations, places, events, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictionally. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
BOOKS BY ELLA SWIFT
PEYTON RISK MYSTERY SERIES
WHAT’S HIS (Book #1)
WHAT’S LEFT (Book #2)
WHAT’S WISHED (Book #3)
WHAT’S GONE (Book #4)
WHAT’S MINE (Book #5)
COOPER TRACE MYSTERY SERIES
SHATTERED MIND (Book #1)
SHATTERED LIFE (Book #2)
SHATTERED HOPE (Book #3)
SHATTERED DREAM (Book #4)
SHATTERED FATE (Book #5)
CONTENTS
PROLOGUE
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
EPILOGUE
PROLOGUE
The Mojave's desolate landscape stretched out before Ella Connelly, the stars above indifferent to her plight. She gripped the steering wheel, willing the vintage VW Beetle to life, but it only sputtered a final, defeated cough before silence fell.
A chill ran through her as she glanced at the dashboard, its lights fading into darkness. The car was like a relic from another age, much like her marriage—full of character, but temperamental and increasingly unreliable.
"Damn it, George," she muttered under her breath, a mix of anger and disappointment lacing her voice. Her husband's promises were like mirages on this desert road—appearing solid until she reached for them. He’d insisted he could handle the car's persistent issues, that they didn’t need to waste money on a mechanic. Yet here she was, stranded in the void between dusk and dawn, with nothing but the distant howl of coyotes to keep her company.
Fumbling for her phone in the gloom, Ella hit the speed dial for George, her thumb pressing hard against the screen as if that might summon him faster. The line rang hollow, once, twice, thrice...then diverted to voicemail. Her heart sank—a familiar tune.
"Pick up, please," she whispered to the uncaring device. But then the voicemail cut out.
No signal.
Leaning back in the driver’s seat, Ella closed her eyes and pictured her small apartment, the one that had seemed so full of possibilities when they first moved in. Now, those walls bore witness to the slow decay of their union. She longed for the sanctuary of her shower, to wash away the grit of her fieldwork—and with it, perhaps the mounting disillusionment that clung to her like the fine desert sand to her skin.
Her day had been a litany of cataloging specimens, each plant a testament to the resilience of life in harsh conditions. If only her relationship with George had a fraction of that tenacity. She envisioned the shower's cool water cascading over her, droplets tracing paths along the tiles, carrying away the burdens of the day. The mental image soothed her frayed nerves, offering a fleeting respite from the reality of being marooned under the vast indigo sky.
Ella opened her eyes and glanced at the empty passenger seat beside her, which was strewn with maps and notes from her research. She loved her work, the pursuit of understanding flora that thrived where others withered. Yet, her passion for botany couldn't fill the void of her faltering marriage. This breakdown was a glaring metaphor for the state of her life: stalled, in need of repair, and lacking the support that should have been a given.
With a sigh heavy enough to stir the dust inside the car, Ella rested her head against the seat, staring out the window at the alien landscape. The night was a canvas of shadows and silhouettes, a stark beauty that underscored her isolation.
A pair of headlights illuminated Ella's car in a bright, almost clinical glow, and then the vehicle rushed past.
Well, I guess that's one option, she thought. It had been many years since she'd last hitchhiked, but under the circumstances, she didn't seem to have many other choices, not with such spotty cell phone service.
The desert chill nipped at Ella's skin as she stepped out of the stagnant Beetle, the air tasting of dust and the unseen creosote bushes that dotted the landscape. The stars above were indifferent sentinels to her plight, offering no solace or solution.
She could feel the weight of the silence around her, a heavy blanket muffling her movements as she stepped onto the asphalt. Another pair of headlights appeared, growing steadily brighter as they approached. Ella began to wave her arms. She felt ridiculous, like some damsel in a low-budget thriller waving down her inevitable doom rather than help.
"Please," she whispered to the night, as if it could bend destiny in her favor. And then, like a reluctant genie granting a wish, the approaching vehicle began to slow.
The truck was an older model, heavy-duty and utilitarian. It slowed to a stop beside Ella, the dust from the road swirling up like specters disturbed from their rest. Relief fluttered in Ella's chest, quickly giving way to unease as the driver's door creaked open.
The man who emerged was broad-shouldered and unkempt, his clothes stained with what might have been oil or grime from long hours on the road. His hair was a matted tangle that hung over his brow, shadowing eyes that seemed to gleam with more than just the reflection of the moonlight.
"Need some help there, miss?" His voice was gravelly, carrying an edge that made Ella instinctively take a step back.
"Uh, yes, my car—it just died on me." She tried to steady her voice, to not let on how his leering gaze unsettled her as it traveled from her face down to her dusty boots and back up again.
"Bad place for a breakdown," he observed, his mouth stretching into a grin that didn't quite reach his eyes. "Lucky I came along."
"Very lucky," Ella agreed, though the word felt sour on her tongue. There was something about him, an aura that screamed warnings her brain couldn't articulate but her body understood. His presence loomed larger than his frame, casting a shadow even under the starlit sky.
"Well, hop on in," he said, gesturing toward the passenger side of the truck with a hand that had seen more than its share of hard work. "I don't bite." He grinned as if it were a particularly clever joke.
Ella hesitated, the hairs on the back of her neck standing on end. No, this was wrong. She couldn't do this.
"Actually I think I'll just wait for a tow," Ella said, clutching her phone like a lifeline. The device felt ludicrously small and powerless in her grip, an ineffective shield against the discomfort this man inspired.
"Aw, come on now," he drawled, pushing off from his truck and taking a step closer. "A pretty little thing like you shouldn't be all alone out here. Who knows what could happen?"
Ella's heart thundered in her chest, her thoughts skittering like windblown sand as she tried to hold onto some semblance of control. "Really, I'm fine. My husband will be here soon." She hated the lie as it slipped out, hating even more that she felt the need to fabricate a savior in the form of the absent George.
"Your husband, huh?" He snorted, disbelief plain in his voice. "Don't look like he's coming to me. Get in the truck—I’ll take good care of you."
The implication behind his words was clear, and Ella felt the desert chill seep into her bones despite the heat. "I said no." Her voice had gained an edge, the word sharp enough to be a weapon. "And I mean it. I have my phone right here, and I won't hesitate to call the police."
For a moment, they stood locked in a silent standoff, the only sound the distant howl of the wind over the arid landscape. Finally, the man's eyes narrowed, and he took a half-step back, his posture radiating indignation.
"Fine. Have it your way." He spat the words out like venom before climbing back into his truck. The engine roared to life, and with a spray of gravel, he was gone, leaving a cloud of dust in his wake.
Ella released a breath she hadn't realized she'd been holding, her knees buckling slightly as the adrenaline began to ebb. She sank down onto the bumper of her car, the cool metal grounding her as she fought to steady her shaking hands. For a fleeting moment, safety enveloped her, a fragile bubble in the vastness of the desert.
But now, what was she to do? She couldn't wait here all night. Maybe she'd try calling George again and—
Suddenly, she noticed another pair of headlights approaching. She felt a flutter of hope in her chest, mingling with an undercurrent of wariness that had settled in her bones. She stood up, watching as the vehicle slowed to a halt on the cracked asphalt.
Maybe this time it'll be someone who actually wants to help, she thought, her mind conjuring the image of a kind-hearted traveler or a desert patrol officer. Warily, she began walking toward the vehicle, her eyes trying to penetrate the tinted windows for a glimpse of the driver.
Then, to her surprise, the high beams flashed on, bathing Ella in blinding light. Disoriented, she blinked furiously, spots dancing before her eyes as she tried to shield her face from the invasive glare. Her heart started to hammer in her chest, the uneasy feeling from earlier returning tenfold.
"Could you please turn those off?" she called out, her voice sounding small and frail against the vast silence of the desert.
There was no response, just the hum of an idling engine. Ella's skin prickled with unease. She squinted, trying to make out any detail that could give her some sense of control over the situation.
Then, without warning, a figure emerged from the car. She could see very little due to the glare of the headlights, but what she did manage to see puzzled her.
The figure was holding something long and curved in his hand. A tool of some kind? But what was that object in his other hand?
"I just need a ride," she said, still hoping she could reason with this individual.
"The nearest town... it's not far."
She took a step back, her heart pounding violently in her chest. She squinted again, trying to make sense of the object in the stranger's hand. And then it hit her.
A bow. And an arrow.
She stared at him, dumbfounded. What was going on? What in the world was he doing?
She had read about primal instincts, how in moments of true peril, the body reacts before the mind has time to process the threat. Now, she understood those words viscerally. Her legs moved of their own accord, muscles fired by a surge of adrenaline. She turned on her heel, stumbling as she started to run away from the ominous stranger and his archaic weapon. Every rational thought was obliterated by the instinct to survive.
Her feet pounded against the rough asphalt, every stride jarring her bones, a staccato rhythm syncing with the hammering of her heart. The night air whooshed past her ears. Her mind was a carousel of panic and survival, spinning too fast to grasp anything but the need to run.
She didn't dare look back, not at first. The stretch of road behind her was vast, empty, a void waiting to swallow her whole.
Her mind scrambled for a plan, any plan. Hide? No, the barren landscape offered no sanctuary. Run off-road? But where?
But then she realized it didn't matter where, so long as it kept her moving, increasing the distance between herself and the stranger behind her.
Hoping that maybe the man had given up, she slowed and glanced over her shoulder. The man was still a good distance back, but his position had changed. He was holding the bow in both hands, one arm stretched back—
There was a distinct twang from the bow. Ella turned her gaze forward, running for all she was worth.
And then something punched her hard in the leg.
CHAPTER ONE
Come on, come on, Peyton thought. Would you please hurry up?
She tapped her foot impatiently in the sterile white hallway of the Pine Vale police station, her gaze fixed on the sergeant behind the front desk. The nameplate on his uniform read "Griggs" in bold black letters. He was leaning back in his chair, phone cradled between his shoulder and ear, laughter spilling from him as easily as water from a mountain stream.
"Sure, sure... Nah, I'm telling you, Bob, it's the biggest bass I've ever caught," Griggs boasted into the receiver, oblivious to Peyton's growing impatience. She shifted her weight from one foot to the other. She felt out of place amid the buzz of fluorescent lights and the scent of stale coffee and cleaning products—so far from the wilderness she loved, a world of pine needles and crisp air.
The past sixteen years had transformed the pain of her parents' unsolved murder into a dull ache, but the recent discovery of a video in which an unidentified man threatened her father had reignited the flame of injustice within her.
You do what I want, or else.
The man had shown her father, Galen, a picture of her, making the nature of his threat all-too-clear. And it appeared he had carried through on that threat, too—not by hurting Peyton, but by killing Galen and Marie, Peyton's mother.
Now, standing in the Pine Vale police station that was less than a fifteen-minute drive from her parents' cabin, where she now lived, Peyton felt closer than ever to unearthing answers. She needed access to the old case file so she could search for anything that might help her identify the man in the video. Every fiber of her being told her he was the one responsible for shattering her world, and she would not rest until she could prove it.
But first, she had to wait for this Sergeant Griggs to finish his little chit-chat.
Peyton braced herself as Sergeant Griggs finally set the phone down with a clack, the crinkle around his eyes from laughter vanishing as he met her expectant gaze. The room seemed to shrink in anticipation of her inquiry.
"Can I help you?" Griggs asked, his voice flat, betraying none of the warmth from his private call.
"I'm with the National Park Service," Peyton began, her tone authoritative yet edged with a personal urgency that she couldn't mask. "I'm here about an old case—the murder of Galen and Marie Risk in Eden's Gate National Park."
Griggs' expression didn't change, but she detected a flicker of recognition in his eyes. "The Risks? Yeah, they lived here in Pine Vale, didn't they? What about them?"
"Sixteen years ago, they were found dead, and their killer was never caught. I may have come across something connected to the case, so I need whatever information you have on file."
She briefly considered revealing that she was their child, but she decided not to. It was better to make this look as official as possible.
Griggs leaned back in his chair, lacing his fingers over his belly. "Sixteen years—that's quite some time ago. Do you have an official request form for this information?"
A pulse of frustration throbbed in Peyton's temple. "No, I don't have a form. Is that really necessary? I just need to take a look at the file and—"
"Protocol is protocol," Griggs said, unmoved. "Without the form, there's nothing I can do."
"Listen, Sergeant," Peyton insisted, leaning forward, her eyes locking onto Griggs'. "Their murder isn't just a cold case to me, okay?"
"What do you mean?"
She hesitated. "I'm their daughter."
He raised his eyebrows and nodded knowingly.
"It's my life that got torn apart," Peyton said. "I've been hunting for answers since I was twelve years old, so if you think I'm going to let a little red tape get in my way..."
Griggs sighed, the sound heavy with bureaucratic indifference. He shuffled some papers on his desk, avoiding her gaze. "I understand that this is important to you, but without proper authorization—"
"Proper authorization?" Peyton cut in, her voice sharp with incredulity. "You and I both know there's some flexibility here. If I were a friend of yours like your fishing buddy, Bob, you'd bend the rules, wouldn't you?"
Griggs stiffened. "Are you accusing me of not taking my job seriously?"
Peyton was about to give a heated answer when a voice behind her surprised her.
"Excuse me, miss," the officer said, his voice carrying a seasoned timbre that spoke of decades on the force. Peyton turned, her gaze meeting a pair of kind, inquisitive eyes. His features bore the marks of experience and a life spent serving and protecting.
