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  Shadows of Jane

  The Shadows Trilogy, Book One

  Amy Hale

  Copyright © 2015 Amy Hale

  All rights reserved.

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, and events are the product of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is coincidental.

  This e-book is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This e-book 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 to your favorite e-book retailer and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

  Cover Designer: Sarah Hansen, Okay Creations, www.okaycreations.com

  Editor and Interior Designer: Jovana Shirley, Unforeseen Editing, www.unforeseenediting.com

  OTHER BOOKS BY AMY HALE

  Ulterior Motives

  Catching Whitney

  For strong women everywhere

  and my late mother, Janice McGuire, the strongest woman I’ve ever known.

  I love and miss you, Mom!

  One

  Two

  Three

  Four

  Five

  Six

  Seven

  Eight

  Nine

  Ten

  Eleven

  Twelve

  Thirteen

  Fourteen

  Fifteen

  Sixteen

  Seventeen

  Eighteen

  Nineteen

  The Shadows

  Acknowledgments

  About the Author

  Snow White Lies by Sarah J. Pepper

  I RUN FROM SHADOWS.

  THEY CALL MY NAME AND TAUNT ME WITH THEIR CRIES.

  She ran. She ran as fast and as far as her legs would carry her. Stumbling through the trees, she squinted and wiped the rain from her eyes. Exhaustion had begun to overtake her limbs, and she was unsure of how much farther she could go. She stopped, doubled over, and grasped her trembling knees for support. Her breath came in short, shallow gasps as she attempted to recover from the exertion. Her lungs burned, and it felt like they would explode if she didn’t slow down. Despite her need for rest, her mind screamed at her to keep going. She needed to get away. She had to put as much distance as possible between herself and them.

  The faint sounds of running footsteps from somewhere behind her spurred her into action once again. As she dashed through the dense forest, she frantically searched for somewhere to hide. There was no way she could continue to outrun them. Eventually, she would get caught. Her only hope was to hide away and pray they passed by her. The idea of spending the night in the forest was terrifying, but she was even more frightened at the thought of them taking her back. She would never go back—ever.

  Her pace slowed as she noticed a large brush pile. She quietly worked her way past several fallen branches and peered into the mound of limbs and twigs. Hidden behind it was the mouth of what appeared to be a small cave. It didn’t look to be very spacious, but she hoped it would be enough so that she could disappear from sight until the hunting party moved on. With any luck, they’d never notice the modest cavern. Unfortunately, luck hadn’t been on her side for years.

  She pulled just enough of the pile out of the way, so her slight frame could scamper into the darkness. Then, she reached forward and did her best to pull the limbs back into place. Scooting farther into the cold, bleak cavity, she settled herself in between an icy dirt wall and a large rock. With her legs drawn to her chest, she pressed her cheek to her knees and closed her eyes. She was soaked to the bone and would probably end up with hypothermia. But if she were going to die, it would at least be her way and not by the sadistic hands of those searching for her.

  She closed her eyes and tried to envision her childhood home and the parents she missed so badly. It had been years since she saw them—almost ten to be exact. She wondered if she could find them after all this time.

  Are they still alive?

  Her thoughts unintentionally wandered to the night she had been taken from the only two people who truly loved her for who she was. To them, she was special and someone to be treasured.

  To those in the search party, she was an oddity. She was their plaything. Today’s escape had changed all that. She refused to let them control her ever again. She’d rather die first.

  She sat in silence and waited. For several minutes, nothing could be heard, except for the wind and the light patter of rain striking the dead leaves littering the forest floor. Her pulse beat erratically as she waited for any indication that they’d found her hiding place.

  Her heart almost stopped when she finally heard them.

  “Where the hell did she go?” a gruff voice shouted.

  “I don’t know. She couldn’t have gotten too far,” replied a less masculine voice.

  “Stupid little twit! I’ll make her pay for this!” said a woman, her voice filled with venom.

  “Come on. She probably headed toward the creek,” the gruff voice said.

  She sat there, frozen, daring not to breathe, as she heard them walking away.

  Even after an hour or so, she was still afraid to move. She was unsure if they were really gone or if they were trying to trick her into feeling secure so that she’d exit her hiding spot.

  She hoped that, maybe just this once, fortune was shining down on her.

  It had grown completely dark, so she wrapped her arms around herself for warmth and curled into the fetal position on the dirt floor. If she survived the night, she could plan her next step. For now, she needed sleep.

  She awoke the next morning to bright sunshine filtering through the brush and the sound of chirping birds. Her legs were stiff and cold, so she stretched and cautiously crawled out from behind the rock. Once near the cave entrance, she poked her head out and took in her surroundings. Seeing no signs of human life, she slowly wriggled out between the branches and then guardedly made her way through the trees, heading north, until she stopped at a steep ridge. She smiled at the sight before her, hope filling her heart for the first time in years.

  Just a little longer, and I should be safe.

  She’d taken only three steps down the sharp incline when she suddenly lost her footing and tumbled headfirst all the way to the bottom of the hillside.

  Colt Henderson looked down at his muddy boots and sighed. He was really tired of fixing his dad’s beat-up old truck. The 1974 Ford F-100 was practically falling apart, but his dad never considered trading it in for a newer model, no matter how much Colt had tried to convince him. He smiled as he remembered his dad’s argument for not buying a replacement.

  “They don’t make them like this anymore, son. Why would I want one of those newfangled contraptions with computers and such? It’d cost more to fix and have more to break down! Just a waste of good money when we can easily make the small repairs on this one instead.”

  What Colt hadn’t understood at the time was that his father could barely afford to fix the old vehicle, let alone buy a new one.

  Randy Henderson had been a proud man, and while he had known it was obvious they were a poor family, he would never have admitted it out loud. Instead, he had given reasonable excuses as to why they couldn’t do this or buy that. His boys, Colt and Brett, never had the heart to argue with their old man, so they would just let it be.

  Colt glanced at the mostly rusty blue pickup. He didn’t think it was going to hold out much longer. Even if he could keep the engine running, the body was disintegrating. Regardless of finances, his dad had loved that old truck, so Colt would keep it running fo
r as long as possible, if only to help him feel closer to the man he’d recently lost. Randy hadn’t always been the easiest man to live with, but he was the only parent Colt and his brother had known for most of their childhoods.

  Colt shut the hood and walked around to the tailgate, cleaning his hands with a rag. He repacked the toolbox and slid it behind the bench seat in the cab.

  Once everything was back in place, he gave the old pickup a frustrated pat on the side. “Hang with me a bit longer, baby. I’m not ready to retire you just yet.”

  Colt glanced toward the pile of firewood he’d chopped earlier, which was still sitting on the small porch of his father’s modest hunting shack. Winter was mostly over, yet today there was a chill in the air, and he really needed to get a fire going.

  That little building had been Randy’s pride and joy. He’d built the small cabin from the ground up and loved bringing his boys out here for hunting and fishing. Colt had to admit that some of his best memories were from weekends spent in the hills of Kentucky with his father teaching them how to live off the land. It was part of why Colt was here now.

  Colt thought back to his dad’s funeral. It had been a small and simple gathering. Randy had specifically told the boys he didn’t want anything fancy or expensive, so they had given him a nice, intimate send-off. Then, Brett had gone back to college, and Colt had gone back to work as a mechanic at Mike’s Bikes.

  Motorcycles were Colt’s life, and while it wasn’t a six-figure kind of job, he loved what he did. His boss, Mike, was a dick, but after six years there, Colt knew how to handle him.

  Surprisingly, even Mike had realized that Colt wasn’t properly dealing with the loss of his dad, and he never noticed anything that wouldn’t personally benefit him. Colt had threatened to take Jerry, his coworker, out at the knees for touching his tools. After that incident, Mike had suggested Colt take a few days off.

  Thinking back, Colt realized that it might have been more for Jerry’s safety than his own well-being. Either way, Colt really didn’t give a crap. He had an extra week off—with pay—and he was going to enjoy it.

  As he walked toward the cabin, Colt shook his head and smirked. He was pretty sure that weasel Jerry had pissed his pants when Colt confronted him. That was a memory Colt felt sure would keep a smile on his face for weeks to come. Colt wasn’t a mean guy. He just had no patience for jackasses. And Jerry was a colossal jackass. Colt suspected that Jerry slapped his girlfriend around, and if Colt ever personally witnessed such actions, he’d ensure that Jerry never hit anyone ever again.

  Once near the door, Colt loaded his arms with firewood and went inside. He placed some crumpled newspapers and a few of the logs on the grate, and then he lit the papers.

  When heat was finally radiating from the fireplace, he made a cup of coffee and sat down to go through a trunk of family items his dad had left behind. Colt had just pulled out a small shoebox when he thought he heard a knock.

  He froze. A knock? How could there be a knock? There are no other cabins for miles.

  He heard it again. He rose and quietly approached the door, grabbing his dad’s twelve-gauge shotgun along the way.

  For the third time, Colt heard a faint knock on the cabin door. He yanked open the door to find a wet and somewhat malnourished petite young lady leaning against his doorframe. Her red hair was dirty and matted to her face, and her clothes were torn and ragged.

  She looked up with piercing green eyes that quickly registered surprise upon seeing him. “Who are you?” she asked softly.

  “Excuse me?” Colt replied. “Can I help you?”

  She nodded once and then leaned in close. “Where are they?” she whispered.

  He was completely confused. “They? Who are you talking about?”

  She put her hand on her forehead in a gesture of despair and then closed her eyes. “I-I don’t know.” She ran her hand through her hair and winced when she hit a sore spot.

  Colt placed the gun just inside the door and then crossed his arms as he looked at the presumably high young lady before him. “Are you lost? Where did you come from?” He tried not to sound harsh, but he had no tolerance for addicts.

  She gazed up at him once more, a tear making a clean trail down one dirt-stained cheek. She pulled her hand away from her head and stared at her palm.

  Concerned about the sudden lack of color in her face, Colt glanced at her hand and noticed the presence of blood on her fingers. She took a step back and then wavered, unsteady on her feet. Colt rushed forward and caught her just as she collapsed.

  I SEARCH FOR TRUTH, WITHIN AND WITHOUT,

  YET I SEE NOTHING BUT LIES.

  Colt looked down at the unconscious girl in his arms. She didn’t look a day over sixteen, but then she also looked like she hadn’t taken very good care of herself. She was thin, and as he lifted her, he realized she was even lighter than she looked. His mind raced about her possible circumstances as he carefully placed her limp body on a small sofa near the fireplace.

  Squatting down next to her, he felt her forehead. He thought she felt warm, despite the fact that she seemed to be shivering now, but he wasn’t exactly a nurse, and he couldn’t recall seeing a thermometer in the cabin at any time. It wasn’t one of those things his dad had considered a necessity when they spent time here. Colt grabbed a blanket off a nearby chair and draped it over her.

  What am I doing? I don’t know what’s wrong with her, and even if I did, I wouldn’t know how to help. She needs a doctor.

  Letting out an audible sigh, he searched his jacket for his cell phone. Hitting the name Dr. Weston in his Contacts, he stared at the girl and muttered to himself, “So much for my week of rest and relaxation.”

  “Hello? Dr. Weston speaking.”

  “Doc, it’s Colt Henderson. I have a situation.”

  “A situation? Like what?”

  “Uh…well, there’s a girl passed out on my sofa.”

  “That’s hardly a situation you can’t handle, Colt. Don’t you often have women staying over?” Dr. Weston gave a small laugh.

  “No, Doc, not that kind of passed out. I mean, unconscious. I’m at the cabin. She knocked on the door, mumbled something weird, and then collapsed. I don’t know what to do.”

  “Oh, dear. You need to get her to the hospital as soon as possible.”

  “Swell. I’ll be there as quickly as I can. Should take me about thirty minutes.”

  “See you then.”

  Colt hung up and stuffed the phone back into the pocket of his jacket, and then he slipped it on. He ran out to start the truck, and he laid an extra blanket and a pillow on the bench seat. Leaving the door open, he ran back inside to get her. Wrapping her in the blanket he’d previously draped over her, he carefully carried her to the truck and placed her inside. She let out a slight moan, but she didn’t otherwise appear to have regained consciousness.

  After grabbing a couple of bottles of water and some beef jerky, in case she woke up dehydrated or hungry, he locked up the cabin and got in the driver’s seat. He had to carefully move her head as he climbed in, and then he tried to situate her until she wasn’t quite so cramped. She surprised him by grabbing the blanket and curling into a fetal position, her eyes still closed.

  He drove away from the cabin as fast as he could safely travel while he worried that getting her to the hospital could mean life or death for her. Colt also feared he’d already wasted precious time by calling the doctor. He didn’t know this girl from Adam, but he would feel bad if something happened to her because he’d reacted too slowly.

  He’d been driving for about fifteen minutes when she moaned again and started to sit up a little. He wasn’t sure what to expect from her, so he tried to keep an eye on her and on the road. She pushed herself upright, and then she leaned back and pulled the blanket up toward her neck. Colt couldn’t believe that through all of this, she never once appeared to open her eyes. She just sat up and got as comfortable as possible, and then she seemed to go right back to
sleep—or whatever she was doing. Once she settled and didn’t move again for several moments, he relaxed and focused on the drive once more.

  He still had another ten minutes or so before he’d reach town. The good news was, she seemed to be in less danger than he’d originally suspected, so maybe she’d be okay in the long run. He was lost in thought when he felt her snuggle up to him as she laid her head on his shoulder. Her feet were tucked up under her legs with only her toes sticking out of bloody, torn socks.

  Colt loudly cleared his throat, hoping she’d wake up and realize how awkward their positions were. He’d never willfully push a pretty girl away from him, but this wasn’t the bar scene. For all he knew, she wasn’t even old enough to enter a bar.

  When did I start thinking she was pretty?

  He blew out a frustrated breath. This girl was ill and injured, and the last thing she needed was him thinking lewd thoughts about her—not that he was, but he knew how easily his mind could wander in that direction.

  No one could ever accuse Colt Henderson of being a saint. He wasn’t evil, but he sure as hell wasn’t going to win any awards for community service or good deeds. This situation was the closest he’d come to being a Good Samaritan in years.

  He pulled the truck up to the double doors at the ER and honked the horn. Two men in uniform came out, and Colt pointed to the girl curled up beside him.

  Lance, one of Colt’s classmates from high school, came around to the driver’s window. “What’d ya do now, Colt?”

  “Don’t give me crap right now, Lance. Get a damn gurney or wheelchair, and get this girl inside.”

  Lance nodded and motioned above the truck to the other man. “Wheelchair, Greg!”

  Greg ran back inside while Colt gave Lance the same details he’d given to Dr. Weston. Lance trotted around to the other side of the truck and opened the door.

  Then, he tried to audibly rouse the young woman curled up next to Colt. “Hey, sweetheart. Can you wake up for us? We need to get you out of the truck.”