Finding Lost

Finding Lost

By

Deena Remiel

Finding Lost

By: Deena Remiel

Published by Deena Remiel

© 2016 Deena Remiel

Cover Art by Syneca

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 person or use proper retail channels to lend a copy. 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.

All characters in this book are fiction and figments of the author’s imagination.

Dedication

To those souls who enjoy taking the road less traveled, or not traveled at all.

Acknowledgements

As with any novel I write, there are many people to acknowledge who’ve helped me along the way. First, and foremost, I’d like to thank Carrie Ann Ryan, for asking me to write this kind of story. It’s been a pure joy working on it with everyone involved in its development, especially my editors, Devin and Heather. They’ve buffed and polished and made Finding Lost sparkle! I’d also like to thank my beta readers, Melissa Dulany, Pamela Donavan, and Melissa Toppen for taking time out of their lives to give me the readers’ perspective before sending my manuscript in for consideration.

My family knows me so well by now. They’re like a well-oiled machine, picking up the slack where I must let go. So, thank you, yet again, for supporting my writing. Finally, I’d like to thank my mother-in law, Lois Passe, and my father-in-law, Peter Rosenblum. They’re the originators of finding lost. They’d take the kids out for a drive and not have any set plan or route. They’d go find lost for the day and come back home having had great experiences. They’ve since passed on, but their memory and their message lives on in my heart.

Finding Lost

How could anyone be miserable in paradise? Carrie Samuels could write a book about it! Far away from her family and friends, she’s fled to Isla Mujéres hoping to escape a relentless stalker who knew how to torment and leave no calling card. What started out as a short-term solution has turned into a long-term jail sentence on a tropical island.

Painfully handsome, with a killer smile and well-hewn body, Dillon McMahon left his past behind and plans to spend the rest of his life off the grid on Isla Mujéres, the perfect place to dig in. Living next door to a sexy, quirky, and mysterious woman makes it all the sweeter.

When Carrie and Dillon’s pasts collide with the present, it threatens their budding relationship and sends them into a maelstrom of danger, abduction, and attempted murder. Sometimes, no matter how far you run, you just can’t hide.

Chapter One

Change your name and your hair color. Then move far away from here and lay low. I’m sorry, but at this point, that’s the best advice I can offer you.

Laura slumped in the rickety wooden seat next to the detective’s desk and pounded her sweaty palms against the armrests. He couldn’t be giving up on her case! But the truth of the situation mocked her with every hopeless word the defeated man spoke. Just like all the others, he’d been bested. One psychopath had managed to render New York’s finest and a host of private detectives impotent.

I don’t understand. How can this monster make my life a living hell day after day and not get caught? How can he continue to terrorize me like this and not leave any trace of who he is?

Detective Roberts gnawed on a sunflower seed and spit the mangled remnants into a paper cup. Had he gotten a little grayer around the temples since the last time she’d been to the station? He knows what he’s doing, and how to play the game. I’m thinking he could be one of us or someone who’s been in law enforcement. It’s uncanny the way he can do so much and not slip up. It’s pissing me off.

"You’re pissed? she scoffed. What about me? According to you, my life is about to be over as I know it." She grabbed a tattered tissue from her purse and blew her nose. As she took a quick look in the makeup mirror, her complexion told a sorry story of incessant stress and sleep deprivation. I’m such a hot mess. She plunged the mirror back into her bag and noticed paper clips strewn across his desk. One by one she gathered them into rows and columns. Then she gathered each row and deposited them back into the paper clip holder.

Listen, I’m not giving up on you or on finding the sick bastard. I just think it would be best for you to disappear into a whole new life. As long as your stalker remains a mystery, it’s not safe for you to be… you. I could suggest what I’m sure all the others have— change your routines, move to another part of the city, or hire security.

I’ve done all that already, and he still manages to find me.

The last, most severe response is to skip town and start fresh somewhere else. Keep a low profile in some invisible job where nobody knows who you really are.

Do you realize what you’re asking me to do? I own a thriving book store. I have family and friends. I can’t just give it all up. Then he wins.

Isn’t he winning now?

She raised a brow and turned away, preferring to straighten the various piles of paper on his desk and align each container to another rather than face the truth. Damn it. He’s right. Why does he have to be right?

Anyway, it’s not like you can’t tell the people important to you what you’re doing. They can know. They just can’t visit you or contact you in the usual ways. The book store could still run as it has. Have your manager take care of things while you’re gone.

"I don’t have a manager. If I’m not there, the store doesn’t open. That’s why I came in today. Store’s closed. I can’t just pick up and leave on a whim. Something like this takes intricate planning. No, there’s got to be something he’s done to lead you to him. Go over everything again. Tell me you’ll put in extra time looking for this guy."

I will. I promise. Go home. Use a different way. Call me when you’re safe inside.

She willed her weary body to stand and put a hand on his shoulder. Okay. Would you see me to a cab, please?

Certainly. He offered a warm, compassionate smile. Come on. And thanks for straightening my desk supplies. It’s very organized now.

I’m so sorry! I just, well, when I’m stressed and my life is out of my control, I organize. She flushed with embarrassment as he walked her down the worn stairs and out the precinct doors. The bustling street teamed with a paradoxical mixture of scowling white-collar workers on their lunch breaks and obdurate degenerates being taken in for processing. The suffocating heat of a New York summer only added insult to injury. Detective Roberts hailed a taxi, scanning the area repeatedly while helping Laura settle into her seat. Before signaling the driver to go, he reminded her to be hyper-vigilant about checking her surroundings.

She needed no such reminder. Nine months of being the target of an unknown stalker made one hyper-aware of everything, if not paranoid. Keys sank their teeth into her palm. A sudden chill mingled with the sweat-soaked back of her shirt, and she took a deep breath to slow down a heart ready to race out of control. As the car pulled up to the apartment building, she chided herself. When would she remember that her new building had a doorman? She wouldn’t need her keys until she reached her own door.

Thank you. Keep the change. She handed the driver the fare, scooted out into the oppressive wall of heat, then slammed the door shut.

The driver pulled away, and she took a quick glance around while hurrying up the steps, darting past the smiling doorman and through the opened door to the lobby.

So far, so good. Nothing out of the ordinary. From one day to the next, she never knew what would greet her around any given corner. Whoever had decided to make her the object of their bizarre attention, they certainly knew how to keep her off balance and on edge. She pushed the button for the elevator and tapped her toe on the floor. Waiting for those blasted doors to open killed her every time. Waiting anywhere alone drove her nuts.

A bell signaled that her chariot to Eden had arrived. The doors slid apart, and an inviting, golden glow emanated from within. Empty. Good. Better empty than filled with people she didn’t know. She stepped inside and pressed the button for the fifth floor. On the ride up, she glanced at her reflection in the mirrored walls. Her once-vibrant, curly blonde hair hung limp. Dark circles had taken up permanent residence along with puffiness under her eyes.

Ugh! I can’t look anymore! She leaned against the handicap rail and hung her head, and before too long, the doors opened to her floor and she whispered a desperate prayer. Please, oh please, let there be nothing unusual down this hallway or at my door.

She manipulated the keys to rest in between her fingers. Self-defense classes taught her strategies for personal safety, and she practiced them religiously. That had included moving to this apartment building for its safety features. All the hallways were brightly lit, and security cameras were placed at regular intervals. A lot of good her move did, though. The asshole had found her here, too, eventually, and evaded all security measures for identification. She wouldn’t be able to move out until the end of the month.

Nothing surprising sprung out at her from the doorways she passed. Inspecting her own, she found nothing unusual either. Key in the lock, she turned the knob slowly, and took a listen and long, hard glance inside before stepping across the threshold. The light on the foyer table still cast a welcome aura, and all she heard was the hum of the air conditioner. So she entered, locking the door behind her,