Be Afraid Read online

  Outstanding praise for Mary Burton and her novels!

  YOU’RE NOT SAFE

  “Burton once again demonstrates her romantic suspense chops with this taut novel. Burton plays cat-and-mouse with the reader through a tight plot, with credible suspects and romantic spice keeping it real.”

  —Publishers Weekly

  “Serial killers, vendettas, tortured souls and romance are the main ingredients in You’re Not Safe. Beware! As one of Burton’s main characters might say, she has all kinds of tricks up her sleeve.”

  —BookReporter.com

  “Mary Burton is one of the best romantic thriller writers around.”

  —The Pilot (Southern Pines, North Carolina)

  “Burton really has a way with plot lines and her delivery is flawless. You’re Not Safe carries just the right amount of suspense, creepiness and romance, that when mixed together, creates a satisfying mystery with a shocker of an ending.”

  —FreshFiction.com

  NO ESCAPE

  “Thrills on multiple levels.”

  —BookReporter.com

  “ A thrill a minute . . . there is no escaping the fact that with No Escape, Mary Burton delivers again.”

  —The Jefferson County Post (Tennessee)

  THE SEVENTH VICTIM

  “Dark and disturbing, a well-written tale of obsession and murder.”

  —Kat Martin, New York Times bestselling author

  “Burton delivers action-packed tension . . . the number of red-herring suspects and the backstory on the victims make this a compelling romantic thriller.”

  —Publishers Weekly

  Please turn the page for more rave reviews!

  THE SEVENTH VICTIM

  “Burton’s crisp storytelling, solid pacing and well-developed plot will draw you in and the strong suspense will keep you hooked and make this story hard to put down.”

  —RT Book Reviews

  “A nail-biter that you will not want to miss. Terrifying . . . it keeps you on the edge of your chair.”

  —The Free Lance-Star (Fredericksburg, Virginia)

  BEFORE SHE DIES

  “Will have readers sleeping with the lights on.”

  —Publishers Weekly (starred review)

  MERCILESS

  “Convincing detective lingo and an appropriately shivery murder venue go a long way.”

  —Publishers Weekly

  “Burton just keeps getting better!”

  —RT Book Reviews

  “Terrifying . . . this chilling thriller is an engrossing story.”

  —Library Journal

  “Mary Burton’s latest romantic suspense has it all—terrific plot, complex and engaging protagonists, a twisted villain, and enough crime scene detail to satisfy the most savvy suspense reader.”

  —Erica Spindler, New York Times bestselling author

  SENSELESS

  “Stieg Larsson fans will find a lot to like in Burton’s taut, well-paced novel of romantic suspense.”

  —Publishers Weekly

  “This is a page turner of a story, one that will keep you up all night, with every twist in the plot and with all of the doors locked.”

  —The Parkersburg News & Sentinel

  “With hard-edged, imperfect but memorable characters, a complex plot and no-nonsense dialog, this excellent novel will appeal to fans of Lisa Gardner and Lisa Jackson.”

  —Library Journal

  “Absolutely chilling! Don’t miss this well-crafted, spine-tingling read.”

  —Brenda Novak, New York Times bestselling author

  “A terrifying novel of suspense.”

  —Mysterious Reviews

  “This is a story to read with the lights on.”

  —BookPage

  DYING SCREAM

  “Burton’s taut, fast-paced thriller will have you guessing until the last blood-soaked page. Keep the lights on for this one.”

  —RT Book Reviews

  “A twisted tale . . . I couldn’t put it down!”

  —Lisa Jackson, New York Times bestselling author

  DEAD RINGER

  “Dangerous secrets, deadly truths, and a diabolical killer combine to make Mary Burton’s Dead Ringer a chilling thriller.”

  —Beverly Barton, New York Times bestselling author

  “With a gift for artful obfuscation, Burton juggles a budding romance and two very plausible might-be perpetrators right up to the tense conclusion.”

  —Publishers Weekly

  I’M WATCHING YOU

  “Taut . . . compelling . . . Mary Burton delivers a page-turner.”

  —Carla Neggers, New York Times bestselling author

  “Creepy and terrifying, it will give you chills.”

  —Romantic Times

  Books by Mary Burton

  I’M WATCHING YOU

  DEAD RINGER

  DYING SCREAM

  SENSELESS

  MERCILESS

  BEFORE SHE DIES

  THE SEVENTH VICTIM

  NO ESCAPE

  YOU’RE NOT SAFE

  COVER YOUR EYES

  BE AFRAID

  Published by Kensington Publishing Corporation

  BE AFRAID

  MARY BURTON

  ZEBRA BOOKS

  KENSINGTON PUBLISHING CORP.

  http://www.kensingtonbooks.com

  All copyrighted material within is Attributor Protected.

  Table of Contents

  Outstanding praise for Mary Burton and her novels!

  Books by Mary Burton

  Title Page

  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

  Epilogue

  I’LL NEVER LET YOU GO,

  Copyright Page

  Prologue

  Monday, August 14, 4:3 0 A.M.

  Nashville, Tennessee

  Reason and Madness, like Jekyll and Hyde, were two sides of the same coin. One worshipped peace, the other devastation. One told the truth. The other, rule breaker and thief, always lied. Once again, a war raged between the two.

  The cell phone on the granite kitchen counter buzzed with an incoming call. A glance at the display revealed Sister was calling again. This was her sixth call in the last two hours. Sister could see past the smiles and the assurances. She sensed when meds had been skipped and Madness regained control.

  Ignoring the call, Madness reached for a half-full tumbler of whiskey and held it up, letting moonlight illuminate the honey-brown liquid depths. A quick toss of the glass, and the whiskey slid down a parched throat, soothing tense muscles and pushing aside all thoughts of Sister’s call. It wouldn’t do for Sister to know about tonight’s endeavor. Tomorrow Sister would get a visit. There’d be lots of wide smiles and a box of her favorite chocolates gift-wrapped in a bright blue bow. Blue was her favorite color. They’d play the question-and-answer game for a time. She’d be satisfied and then shift talk to regrets and the what-should-have-beens.

  Madness washed the glass in the sink, careful to dry it with a paper towel before replacing it in the cabinet. A few wipes of the cabinet knobs, the faucet, the whiskey bottle, and the surrounding area erased all fingerprints. Some might consider the action overkill but attention to detail was key to a successful performance. Madness had
learned well from Reason.

  Down the dimly lit hallway carpeted in neutral beige, Madness admired the new coat of antique white paint. Fresh paint was a wonder. One swipe of the roller eradicated dirt, grime, and shadows of framed memories that no longer mattered.

  A few more steps toward the master bedroom and the scent of paint gave way to the aroma of diesel fuel. This room—center stage for tonight’s performance—was painted a pale yellow with white trim. A tasteful landscape of the Smokey Mountains hung on the wall by the door, a gilded mirror topped an oak dresser displaying strategically placed crystal perfume bottles, a new hairbrush and a tiny camera displaying a bright red RECORD light.

  In the center of the room was a four-poster bed. On the bed lay a woman, the actress in this play. Her near-naked body nested in twisted sheets damp with sweat and flecks of blood. Ropes lashed hands, manicured nails painted a soft pink, to the headboard and feet to the baseboard. A river of mascara-stained tears trailed down pale cheeks and a duct-tape-covered mouth.

  Carved in the headboard above her was the word FAITHLESS. Madness thought it a fitting tribute to another woman, Sara, who’d plagued them during their youth.

  As Madness approached the bed, green bloodshot eyes alert with panic darted from the man standing in the shadows back to Madness, the night’s true master. Her wide, pleading gaze reflected panic and desperation. Good. She understood who was in charge.

  The man in the shadows, Jonas Tuttle, stepped forward, his large, calloused hands wrapped tightly around the grip of a .45-caliber handgun. Tall and broad-shouldered, he stood over six feet. A man’s man, some might say. But fear all but vibrated off every inch of his muscled body. “We’ve been waiting for you. I need you to tell me what to do next.”

  The warmth of the whiskey kept anxiety at bay. “Patience, Jonas. Patience.”

  Jonas, the bloodthirsty and angry hero tonight, had nurtured a murder fantasy since he was a young boy. Careful observation of Jonas over the last six months told a lot about the man. His likes. Dislikes. Fears. Wants. Needs. Stalking the stalker.

  Jonas’s murder obsession had chased him most of his life, his fantasies playing over and over like a worn record. As much as he craved killing, he also feared the cops and prison. And so, he’d bottled up his wants and needs for years. Madness had found this want-to-be killer ripe for guidance in a bar six months ago drowning frustrations away with whiskey.

  “I can show you how to kill,” Madness had whispered.

  Jonas’s gaze had danced first with hesitation, then interest, and finally excitement.

  Madness had taught Jonas how to stalk, to watch and to plan. Madness worked with Jonas for months, priming him for this kill.

  Now at the brink of the grand finale, Jonas oozed desperation and need. Nervous energy buzzed around him as if live wires zapped his nerve endings. This was the moment he’d dreamed about a long, long time.

  One nod and he would fire.

  Instead of giving permission, Madness shifted attention to the woman. Pretty and slim enough, the woman, Diane Smith, until hours ago had been dressed well and had walked with confidence. She, no doubt, had caught the eye of many men. She liked rich, buttery chardonnays paired with a creamy Brie or goat cheese. She liked good conversation and old movies. Reason might have befriended her if not for Madness.

  In this macabre scene, Madness, not Reason, was the ultimate authority. Madness chose the staging, the casting, and, of course, the final execution. Moments like this thrilled because it gave Madness the one thing he could never sustain: control.

  “Can I do it now?” Jonas’s timid voice had a familiar, annoying ring.

  “Savor the moment,” Madness rasped.

  Jonas’s hunger was razor sharp and, of course, the woman’s senses had never been so acute. Being this close to death made everyone in the room feel alive.

  Diane’s watery gaze was a mixture of terror and confusion. How could this have happened to me? I’m careful. I play by the rules.

  Madness saw the question flash. A soft chuckle rumbled. “But you didn’t play by all the rules, did you, Diane? In fact, you like to break them every so often. Not too much. But once in a while, you enjoy the walk on the wild side.”

  Diane shook her head as tears streamed down her cheeks.

  Gently, Madness approached the bed and sat. The mattress sagged. Diane’s black hair was plastered to her forehead by sweat. “Didn’t you ever hear that cocaine is a bad habit? If not for that little quirk in your personality, you’d have been fine.” Jonas had lured her out of her car with the promise of coke. “You’d be on the other side of that door right now sitting in your living room watching that cooking show you enjoy so much. But you couldn’t control it and now you must pay your toll.”

  She closed her eyes and shook her head, a soft moaning rumbling in her throat.

  “Maybe it’s not a crippling compulsion, but it’s there nonetheless.” Madness continued to stroke her hair, so soft and dark. “You’re no different from me. Once in a while, I get the cravings. I can ignore them for a time. But the more I deny them, the more they grow until one day I just must have one little bite.” A snap of even white teeth close to her ear made her flinch. “You’re my bite.”

  She closed her eyes and wept.

  Madness drew in a deep breath, and the scent of her fear smelled sweet. Deliciously intoxicating.

  “Now?” Jonas asked.

  The world and the people in it were in such a rush. “In a moment.”

  “I can’t wait! Why do I have to wait?” He pressed the handle of the gun to his head as if trying to soothe the pounding behind his eyes. Bang. Bang. Bang. The tantalizing promise of release was painful.

  “Anticipation is the sweetest part of dessert.” Madness patted Diane on the arm, rose, and moved to the back corner of the room by the dresser.

  Madness double-checked the camera’s angle and then hefted a red can of diesel fuel and jerked off the cap. A tip of the canister splashed the fuel on the gray carpet, over the blue bedspread and up sheer white curtains that blocked the light of the full moon.

  Jonas shifted from foot to foot. “Haven’t you spread enough of that stuff?”

  “Never can be too careful.” Diesel burned longer but didn’t have the initial combustive power of gasoline, which could spread too fast or burn out.

  The woman twisted at her bindings. She rolled her head from side to side as if willing this nightmare to end.

  They were all suffering with anticipation.

  Backing up to the room’s threshold, Madness stood silent, savoring the scene one last time. Finally, Madness retrieved a box of matches from the deep pockets of a blue Windbreaker and dug out a single match and struck it. The flame danced and swayed as if begging to be sent out onstage.

  Diane closed her eyes, as tears streamed down her cheek.

  A breeze caught the flame and blew it out.

  “What’re you waiting for?” Jonas asked.

  One. Two. Three. Savor. Savor. Savor.

  “Okay, Jonas.”

  “I can shoot now?” Excitement and fear rumbled under the words.

  “Yes.”

  Diane’s eyes shot open and a muffled scream rumbled in her throat as Jonas raised the gun. She jerked at her bindings until her wrists bled.

  Jonas pulled on the trigger and, as the gun fired, he closed his eyes on reflex. The bullet hit the woman directly between the eyes. Her body jerked as blood splattered and her eyes rolled back in her head. In one second she was gone, dead.

  Jonas opened his eyes and looked at his gun in shock, as if the entire moment had been lived by another. He pressed the gun to his chest, cradling it close. “I killed her! I finally did it.”

  Madness pocketed the camera. “Yes, you did. You did it just right.”

  Jonas studied her. “She’s so still.”

  “Yes.”

  Seconds passed as Jonas stared at the carnage. Slowly the brightness in his gaze dimmed. The near-bursting bu
bble of anticipation had popped with one sharp prick of a bullet.

  “You’re feeling let down,” Madness soothed.

  Jonas looked at the gun and the woman. “How did you know?”

  “Because I feel it too. All the planning, thinking, and dreaming. All gone in an instant.”

  “Yes.”

  “And just like that, it’s over.” The snap of two fingers echoed in the room.

  Jonas flinched. “I thought it would last longer.”

  “It never does. It’s always over in a blink.”

  Jonas shook his head. “I thought there’d be more.”

  “I told you, anticipation trumps the moment.” Breathe in. Breathe out. “That’s why I made us wait.”

  “I can’t believe it’s over.”

  A clap of hands made Jonas start and look up. “Time to go. Time to destroy the evidence.”