LET ME FORGET, page 1
L E T M E F O R G E T
(An Ashley Hope Suspense Thriller—Book 5)
K a t e B o l d
Kate Bold
Bestselling author Kate Bold is author of the ALEXA CHASE SUSPENSE THRILLER series, comprising six books (and counting); the ASHLEY HOPE SUSPENSE THRILLER series, comprising six books (and counting); the CAMILLE GRACE FBI SUSPENSE THRILLER series, comprising eight books (and counting); the HARLEY COLE FBI SUSPENSE THRILLER series, comprising seven books (and counting); and the KAYLIE BROOKS PSYCHOLOGICAL SUSPENSE THRILLER series, comprising five books (and counting).
THE KILLING GAME (an Alexa Chase Suspense Thriller—Book #1), LET ME GO (an Ashley Hope Suspense Thriller—Book #1), and NOT ME (a Camille Grace FBI Suspense Thriller—Book #1) are available as free downloads on Kobo!
An avid reader and lifelong fan of the mystery and thriller genres, Kate loves to hear from you, so please feel free to visit www.kateboldauthor.com to learn more and stay in touch.
Copyright © 2022 by Kate Bold. 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. Jacket image Copyright andreiuc88, used under license from Shutterstock.com.
BOOKS BY KATE BOLD
ALEXA CHASE SUSPENSE THRILLER
THE KILLING GAME (Book #1)
THE KILLING TIDE (Book #2)
THE KILLING HOUR (Book #3)
THE KILLING POINT (Book #4)
THE KILLING FOG (Book #5)
THE KILLING PLACE (Book #6)
ASHLEY HOPE SUSPENSE THRILLER
LET ME GO (Book #1)
LET ME OUT (Book #2)
LET ME LIVE (Book #3)
LET ME BREATHE (Book #4)
LET ME FORGET (Book #5)
LET ME ESCAPE (Book #6)
CAMILLE GRACE FBI SUSPENSE THRILLER
NOT ME (Book #1)
NOT NOW (Book #2)
NOT WELL (Book #3)
NOT HER (Book #4)
NOT NORMAL (Book #5)
NOT AGAIN (Book #6)
NOT SAFE (Book #7)
NOT TODAY (Book #8)
HARLEY COLE FBI SUSPENSE THRILLER
NOWHERE SAFE (Book #1)
NOWHERE LEFT (Book #2)
NOWHERE TO RUN (Book #3)
NOWHERE LIKE THIS (Book #4)
NOWHERE GIRL (Book #5)
NOWHERE TO HIDE (Book #6)
NOWHERE CERTAIN (Book #7)
KAYLIE BROOKS PYSCHOLOGICAL SUSPENSE THRILLER
LAST BREATH (Book #1)
LAST CHANCE (Book #2)
LAST WISH (Book #3)
LAST SHOT (Book #4)
LAST MISTAKE (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
CHAPTER TWENTY SEVEN
CHAPTER TWENTY EIGHT
CHAPTER TWENTY NINE
CHAPTER THIRTY
CHAPTER THIRTY ONE
CHAPTER THIRTY TWO
CHAPTER THIRTY THREE
CHAPTER THIRTY FOUR
CHAPTER THIRTY FIVE
CHAPTER THIRTY SIX
CHAPTER THIRTY SEVEN
CHAPTER THIRTY EIGHT
CHAPTER THIRTY NINE
CHAPTER FORTY
CHAPTER FORTY ONE
CHAPTER FORTY TWO
CHAPTER FORTY THREE
CHAPTER FORTY FOUR
CHAPTER FORTY FIVE
CHAPTER FORTY SIX
CHAPTER FORTY SEVEN
CHAPTER FORTY EIGHT
CHAPTER FORTY NINE
CHAPTER FIFTY
CHAPTER FIFTY ONE
CHAPTER FIFTY TWO
PROLOGUE
Alden Rayburn jumped in his chair as an explosive blast of thunder rocked the house. The overhead light flickered once and then darkness fell across his study. The power was out. Again. Only this time, rather than it being due to the ancient wiring in the century-old southern colonial, it was the storm that had killed the lights.
Rain pelted the window behind him as he rose from his desk. He’d left his flashlight in the old barn. Braving the icy December downpour, especially this late at night, ranked last on the list of things he wanted to do. But he still had a shoebox full of a client’s receipts to go over before their meeting in the morning. He usually didn’t schedule business appointments on Sundays, but the client had offered to pay for a round of golf.
Alden thought Grace had stowed a box of candles somewhere in the kitchen. Maybe the pantry. The thought of calling her at her sister’s home in Nashville struck him. But it was ten o’clock, and he might wake the kids. He could find the candles on his own.
Easing around the cherry desk that had once belonged to his father, Alden made his way to the door. Obstacles met him in the darkened foyer. Black silhouettes of a ladder, paint cans, brushes, and rollers.
“Restoring the old Taylor mansion will be fun. We can do most of the work ourselves,” Grace had said, urging him to purchase the property.
His wife had fantasized about living in the historic home since her childhood. The price for the house that had been updated twenty-five years earlier seemed reasonable, and the sellers had agreed to install a new roof. So, against his better judgement, he’d given in. But the restoration had proven more difficult than just refinishing the hardwood floors, repairing the interior woodwork, and adding a fresh coat of paint to the walls.
They’d discovered hidden termite damage and dry rot, along with a slew of plumbing and electrical problems. He’d already sunk a year’s salary into the repairs, and they weren’t even half finished.
Grace’s dream had become Alden’s nightmare.
His socked feet rustled the plastic drop cloth lining the floor as he skirted past the ladder. Shuffling through the dining room, he headed toward the kitchen.
Lightning flashed in the window over the sink, followed by a loud clap of thunder.
Alden froze in the doorway—certain he’d heard another noise.
A creaking sound. Like footsteps. The noise seemed to have come from the direction of the rear hallway.
The hairs on the back of his neck bristled.
Was it just the timbers of the old house swaying with the wind?
Tales of restless spirits that haunted the Taylor mansion filled the idle gossip of the Fergus County locals. It was rumored that Zebulon Taylor’s wife had poisoned him after learning of his affair with a servant girl. Over the years, several of the locals claimed to have seen his apparition, as well as the spirit of his young lover, prowling the grounds.
But Alden didn’t believe in ghosts.
Assuring himself that there was nothing to fear—that it was normal for the old structure to moan and creak in a storm—he stepped into the kitchen. But an eerie feeling still plagued him. He couldn’t remember whether he’d locked the door leading out onto the rear porch.
His ears perked for sounds of movement as he crept through the kitchen into the back hallway. The rear door stood closed. His fingers touched the doorknob. It was unlocked. The thumb-turn deadbolt proved unlatched as well.
Securing both locks, he stepped closer to the door, intending to peer out through the glass panes. Icy water seeped through the toes of his socks.
Fear shot through his chest.
Was someone in the house?
Had an intruder opened the back door? Or had the driving wind propelled the rain through a crack in the aging weather stripping?
Alden needed to find the candles. He couldn’t work the combination of the gun safe in the master bedroom closet without light. And he wanted the protection of his pistol. Just in case.
Turning away from the door, he stood still and listened. The old house sighed as wind whipped its exterior walls. He thought he heard another creak—footfalls on the floorboards in the adjacent living room.
Goosebumps broke out on his arms.
Careful to be as quiet as possible, he hurried back to the kitchen. The hinges squeaked as he edged open the pantry door. In the inky darkness, Alden’s hands flew across the shelves, id
Stretching to the top shelf, he reached into an open box. His fingertips slid over cool cylinders of wax. The long-burning emergency candles.
As he grabbed the box, he heard a noise behind him.
Pop!
Pain seared his back.
Every muscle in Alden’s body contracted in agony as he crashed to the floor.
CHAPTER ONE
A wave of trepidation hit TBI Special Agent Ashley Hope as she wheeled her shopping cart across the parking lot of Wheldon’s Food Market in the Nashville suburb of Briarwood. A familiar eerie sensation swept through her. She’d felt it before—knew what it meant. Someone was watching her.
Tucking errant strands of long, blonde hair behind her ear, she scanned the sea of vehicles and customers crowding the lot, searching for anyone who seemed out of place. No one caught her eye. Still, she knew that he was there. Hiding in the driver’s seat of a pickup, an SUV, or maybe a muscle car. Peering at Ashley through the windshield.
Her instincts had never let her down before.
The image of the first note he’d sent—the one he’d stuck beneath her sedan’s wiper blade—flashed through her mind.
YOU WILL DIE SOON.
And to let her know that he had the ability to make good on his threat, he’d broken into her apartment while she was away. He’d left another note on her bed pillow. She could still see the capital block-style letters, warning of his intent to strike.
YOUR TIME IS ALMOST UP.
Although she’d investigated, even sent the notes to the TBI lab for analysis, Ashley hadn’t been able to uncover the identity of her stalker. She believed the culprit was likely a male cousin of serial killer Ethan Barrett. Ethan hailed from Ashley’s rural hometown nestled in the mountains of Laurel County, Tennessee.
As a young teenager, Ashley had fallen in love with Ethan. But after they married, she’d discovered that he had a dark side. A side so evil that it drove him to murder. A judge had granted her a divorce right after handing Ethan a long prison sentence.
Ashley had managed to piece her life back together, earning a master’s degree in criminal justice.
But earlier that year, after being denied parole, Ethan had overpowered a guard and escaped. On a rampage, he’d left a trail of bodies behind. And when he’d attempted to murder Ashley, she’d been forced to kill him in self-defense.
The scenes from that night—the horror she’d felt as she’d pulled the trigger of the pistol—haunted her nightmares. And the memory of Ethan’s fingers clamped around her neck, choking the life from her body, was one that Ashley would never forget. Killing her ex-husband was not what she’d wanted, but she’d had no other choice.
Now, she suspected Ethan’s relatives sought revenge. And like many of the locals in Laurel County, the Barrett clan practiced their own method of law and order. A clandestine vigilante system they termed mountain justice.
Picking up her pace, Ashley steered the cart toward her sedan.
As she tapped her key fob that opened the trunk, her eyes swept the vehicles surrounding hers. Everything seemed normal, no one lurking around. She remained on high alert as she loaded the groceries into her car and as she shoved her empty shopping cart into the store’s return corral.
The second Ashley slid into the driver’s seat of her sedan, she locked the doors. It was only then that she felt somewhat safe. Although armed—her Glock holstered at her side—she still feared that she was a sitting duck. The Barrett clan’s reputation nagged at her. Skilled hunters and marksmen, Ethan’s cousins possessed the ability to pick her off with a hunting rifle from five hundred yards away.
Ashley’s cell phone rang, startling her.
Apprehension grew in her chest. She’d received calls from her stalker before. Threats issued from a staccato, computer-generated voice.
Fishing the phone from her jacket pocket, she glanced at the screen. Relief flooded her body. The call was from her boyfriend, TBI Special Agent Daniel Lansing.
“Hi, Daniel,” she answered, forcing a cheery note into her tone.
At this point, she didn’t want to alarm him. Not until she actually spotted someone who might be her stalker.
“Hey, sweetheart,” he said, his voice like a soothing balm. “Just wanted to let you know that I’ll be working until at least six.”
Although it was a Sunday, she was lucky to be able to spend the evening with him. Daniel had been assigned to a complicated undercover case that required long hours, even on the weekends.
“Okay, I’ll wait until around six-thirty before I start cooking dinner.”
Ashley planned to serve his favorite meal: T-bone steak with roasted garlic potatoes and asparagus. They’d recently suffered through a rough patch in their relationship, which she knew was her fault. She’d waited too long to admit that she’d been forced to share a motel room—and a bed—with her male partner during her last TBI assignment. Daniel had found out the hard way—discovering the man’s shirt in Ashley’s luggage.
Although nothing inappropriate had happened between Ashley and her partner—she’d even slept in her jeans—her omission had hurt Daniel and strained his trust. If she had explained the situation at the onset, although her boyfriend wouldn’t have liked it, he would have understood. The trouble in their relationship could have been avoided.
With a busy work schedule of her own, Ashley rarely found the time to cook. Tonight’s dinner had been designed as a peace offering. She didn’t want to lose Daniel. He’d proven to be the kindest, most thoughtful, and loving man she’d ever dated.
He was smart and funny, possessing the ability to make her laugh with ease. And he’d encouraged her to follow her dreams, setting up her initial job interview with the TBI. Not to mention the fact that he was one of the handsomest men she’d ever laid eyes on, with his dark hair, blue eyes, sexy dimples, and athletic physique.
“I’ll get there as soon as I can,” Daniel promised.
“Okay. Be careful.”
Ending the call, Ashley veered out of Wheldon’s parking lot and headed toward her garage apartment, tucked inside one of Briarwood’s well-established residential neighborhoods. She checked her rearview mirror as she drove, watching for any vehicles that might be following her.
All seemed clear as she pulled into her concrete driveway and rolled past the main house—a brick Georgian style—that belonged to her landlords. The garage door hummed, rising out of the way. Parking her sedan, Ashley killed the engine.
Before exiting her car, she pivoted in the driver’s seat and peered through the rear window. She waited a few seconds, eyeing the street behind her. Satisfied that no one had followed her home, she lowered the garage door and popped open her trunk.
Her arms laden with paper grocery bags, she maneuvered her way out through the garage’s side door. A gust of December wind chilled her cheeks as she climbed the open stairs leading up to her apartment.
When she reached the landing, Ashley froze.
The door to her apartment stood ajar.
After the break-in, she’d paid to have the locks changed. And before leaving to go shopping, she’d double-checked the door, making sure it was secure.
The hairs at the back of her neck stood on end.
Ashley eased her grocery bags down onto the floor of the landing. She drew her Glock from its holster. Poised to fire, she nudged the door the rest of the way open with her foot.
The living room was empty. She inched across the threshold. As she crept toward the open dining area, Ashley heard a noise coming from the direction of the bathroom.
Water running.
Was her stalker playing a game? Ashley was certain he—or at least someone—had been watching her at the food market. Her instincts didn’t lie.
Did the man have help? Had he sent someone to flood her apartment while she was away?
And more important—was the person still here?
The sound of rushing water stopped. The tap had been shut off.
With her heart hammering in her chest, Ashley skulked through the short hallway toward the bathroom. Glock first, she swung around the door frame.
