Parted by Death (Ellie Matthews Novels Book 4), page 1
PARTED BY DEATH
CAROLINE FARDIG
Copyright © 2023 Caroline Fardig.
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
Severn River Publishing
www.SevernRiverBooks.com
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.
ISBN: 978-1-64875-325-1 (Paperback)
ISBN: 978-1-64875-326-8 (Hardback)
CONTENTS
Also by Caroline Fardig
Prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Also by Caroline Fardig
Acknowledgments
About the Author
ALSO BY CAROLINE FARDIG
Ellie Matthews Novels
Bitter Past
An Eye for an Eye
Dead Sprint
Parted by Death
Relative Harm
To find out more about Caroline Fardig and her books, visit
severnriverbooks.com/authors/caroline-fardig
To my son, William
PROLOGUE
Victory. He celebrated by scarfing two handfuls of Cheetos and pounding a Red Bull. Using his favorite shirt to wipe the orange dust from his fingers, he saved his findings on two flash drives—one for his client and one for himself. Nothing wrong with a little insurance.
He’d had a bad feeling about this mission for days, especially once his client had to get a new email account after the old one had been compromised. His work had gone off without a hitch, like any other cyberattack he’d ever orchestrated: infiltrate the target, find all the skeletons in the proverbial closet, and get out without being noticed. But having to sift through this particular information sickened even him, and he’d seen some messed-up shit.
He fired off an email signaling he was finished with his latest hack job, being purposely vague about the specifics, as always. Email servers were notoriously easy to hack into, especially when dealing with amateurs on the other end, so the less said, the better. He did, however, make it clear that he’d gone the extra mile and had a treasure trove of dark secrets to share.
He put on his headset and dived into his preferred world. In Xanthe’s Quest, he was Rex, general of one of the largest guilds in the game. His character was his complete opposite. Rex was a mountain of a man nearly impossible to beat in hand-to-hand combat, not some scrawny introvert largely ignored by the world. Rex was the ultimate badass sculpted meticulously by his unbeatable gaming skills and countless hours of time.
Once he’d greeted his fellow online players, he’d only had time to walk Rex to the closest pub to meet his hunting party for a tankard of mead before his real-world phone interrupted him. It was a reply to his email. He briefly considered waiting until tomorrow to open it, but then he remembered how much he wanted that sweet new gaming chair he’d seen online, which this job would more than pay for. The sooner he turned over his findings, the sooner he could come back, splurge to overnight himself an ergonomic throne fit for a king and get lost in his preferred world.
The email read, Sounds like you hit the motherlode. I need the info tonight. Bring it now.
Groaning aloud, he issued a quick apology to his fellow online players for having to step away so soon, ripped the headphones off, grabbed one of the flash drives, and stowed the other away for safekeeping. He hated being summoned and ordered to run across town at a moment’s notice, but that’s how the agreement worked, and he was well compensated for it. Maybe this late-night delivery and the extra time he’d invested to wade through all the information would earn him a hefty bonus.
He arrived at the darkened building in record time and parked in the small rear parking lot. He began knocking on the back door as he usually did, but it swung open as his knuckles made contact. That was odd. Usually a pretty lady met him at the door and wordlessly exchanged an envelope full of cash for his flash drive. Sometimes this cloak-and-dagger stuff seemed a bit ridiculous to him. But considering the secrets he’d unearthed, especially this time, maybe it was necessary for the safety of everyone.
He entered the building, calling a “Hello!” down the dark hall. No response. “Anyone here?”
Still hearing no response, he blew out a disgusted breath. “Hey, I brought the flash drive with the info you said you needed tonight.” Again, nothing. Angered, he stomped on down the hallway, griping to himself, “If I wasted time and gas driving over here for nothing…”
As he passed an open doorway, grumbling as he went, he slowed and glanced in but saw nothing. Suddenly, a hard shove from behind had him sprawled out on the floor.
“What the hell?” he croaked, tears springing to his eyes as his knees and right wrist exploded in searing pain from his fall. A wrist injury was the last thing he needed. If he couldn’t type, he couldn’t work.
Before he could get his bearings and raise his head to figure out what was going on, whoever had knocked him down gave him a swift kick in the ribs, shooting a racking pain through his torso. Moaning in agony, he curled into a fetal position, his only defense to stave off any further attack.
A low voice growled next to his ear, “Hand over the information.”
He shoved a shaking hand in his pocket and retrieved the flash drive, only to have it ripped from his fingers with unnecessary force.
His attacker slammed his face against the floor, keeping up a blinding pressure that seemed like enough to be able to pop his head like a grape. “Did you tell anyone about this?”
“N-n-n-no,” he wheezed.
The pressure suddenly subsided, leaving his head pounding and his ears ringing. Before he could get his bearings and try to crawl away, a thick plastic bag engulfed his head, stretching tight over his face. He clawed at the bag to get free, but with each hitching breath, it sucked closer over his mouth and nose. Each frantic gulp for air burned his lungs more and more, but relief wouldn’t come. He got light-headed and everything went dark. He awakened in Rex’s body with an odd feeling of weightlessness about him despite Rex’s larger frame. He felt as if he were flying, gazing down over the moors of his kingdom at sunset. He could see the spoils of his victories and the throngs of his loyal minions across the darkening landscape. Smiling, he closed his eyes. He was home.
1
My phone buzzed. I checked the screen and shoved the phone back into my pocket without answering or breaking my stride as I jogged with Vic Manetti on the Nickel Plate Trail toward downtown Fishers. For early April, the weather in central Indiana wasn’t half bad. It was the first time I hadn’t had to layer up for the first mile only to have to shed half my clothing once I got warmed up. The trees along the trail were starting to leaf out again. I was not at all sorry to see this brutal winter come to an end.
Vic asked, “Who was that?”
“Jayne.”
“You let the sheriff go to voicemail? I don’t know of anyone else in this county who could get away with that.”
For the past two months, I’d let all of my calls from the sheriff go to voicemail. Jayne Walsh was my mentor and friend, but at times she was also my boss. I welcomed her personal calls to chat or check up on me. For the professional calls, I needed the extra time a voicemail afforded to come up with good excuses to repeatedly turn down the consulting jobs she offered me.
“I’m kind of busy at the moment,” I huffed, our pace a little quick for me to carry on a full conversation.
“Ellie, come on. You’re not that busy. What if she has a case for you?”
I shook my head. “Probably a social call.”
After a few minutes, catching my breath became easier and I noticed I kept having to slow my speed to stay next to Vic. “You okay?” I asked.
“I’m starting to run out of steam,” he replied, his handsome face stuck in a frown. He wasn’t sweating or flushed, which were his normal indicators that it was time for me to remind him to take a break. Glancing down at me, he said, “You’re getting pretty good at reading me.”
I smiled. “Well, when our pace slows to the point where I’m not overexerting myself,
Vic was a big-time fitness buff, but after being nearly killed during the last case we’d worked together, he’d had some major recovery to do. He had a long road ahead of him to get his full stamina and speed back, and I’d appointed myself the person to make sure he didn’t try to overdo it and he-man his way back into shape while he was on medical leave from the FBI. To my surprise, he’d been positive and, for lack of a better word, obedient. He could’ve even been described as downright sweet and easygoing. I feared I’d have the fight of the century on my hands to get him to cut himself some slack, but he’d been impressively laid-back.
Slowing to a fast walk, he said, “I think you’re selling yourself short. I feel like you could definitely kick my ass in a race.”
Even in his weakened condition, I doubted that. “A lesser person would accept that challenge, but I won’t.”
He laughed and steered me away from the ramp leading to the tunnel under 116th Street, which was always our normal route, turning and taking 116th east instead. “Very noble of you. How about we stop for coffee?”
I eyed him. “Coffee during exercise time? Now I know something’s up. Is there something you’re not telling me? Is one of your wounds infected again?”
“Relax, mom. My wounds are perfectly fine.”
“Then why the stop? We’ve only gone a mile, and you said you wanted to try stretching it to two today without a break.”
“Can’t I simply offer to take you to your favorite place for coffee, considering how much of a burden I’ve been—”
I stopped in the middle of the sidewalk. “You think you’re a burden to me? That couldn’t be further from the truth.”
He wheeled around to face me. “Oh, sure. So it was no big deal when I called you in the middle of the night to drive me to the hospital, only to find out I’d managed to develop a staph infection, which then you had to deal with for weeks?”
“I told you I didn’t mind. It was only a bump in your road to recovery, and it was silly to have your sister come back for something I could easily help you take care of. Besides, that was a month ago. I thought we hashed this out already. Where’s this coming from?”
Vic’s sister had flown in to help him recover when he came home from the hospital. I’d offered to help in any way he needed once he was well enough that she could go home. It was simply bad luck that the stab wound in his gut had gotten infected, and no reason for his sister to leave her family again to run back out here. I’d helped him change his bandage and got food and medicine for him so he didn’t have to drive. It was the least I could do, considering I’d caused his excessive blood loss.
“Look, I’m trying to do something nice for you to thank you for everything you’ve done for me.”
And there came today’s fresh wave of guilt. I continually blamed myself for having assumed he was dead at the hands of the sadistic killer we’d been chasing and not at least attempting to give him first aid. Helping him recover could never make up for me standing there like an idiot while he bled out, making no move to help because I couldn’t get my act together enough to think straight.
I opened my mouth to speak, but he put a hand up. “And don’t even think about subjecting me to another monologue detailing what you could or should have done differently at the scene. Either forgive yourself for being human and snap out of your self-inflicted guilt trip, or I’ll trump up some kind of bogus charges and arrest you.”
I managed a rueful smile. “Okay, fine. No more monologues. But you couldn’t arrest me if you wanted to. You’re on leave, pal. And, as you said, you probably couldn’t catch me.” As his eyebrows shot up, I added, “That was not a challenge. We are not racing the rest of the way.”
“Party pooper.”
As Vic and I settled into a table at The Well with our coffees, he asked, “Are you going to call the sheriff back?”
“Later,” I replied. “How’s your coffee?”
He ignored my lame attempt at a subject change and suddenly slipped into his no-nonsense FBI agent persona. “How many more cases are you going to avoid?”
Training my gaze on the intricate swan latte art on my drink, I said, “I haven’t been avoiding cases, Manetti.”
“Bullshit. You passed on a robbery last week and the guy with the buckshot in his ass the week before that.”
I took a deep sip of my latte. “I was busy helping you and doing my real job.”
He kept his expression neutral, but his eyes held some pain. “I don’t want to be the reason you give anything up.”
I wished I hadn’t said that the moment it was out of my mouth. “Seriously, they didn’t need me on a measly robbery and a drunken, out of season hunting accident. Wasn’t worth my time.”
A smirk pulled at the corner of his mouth. “Oh, because celebrity criminalist Ellie Matthews is too big-time for that?”
I frowned at him, having forgotten over the past couple of months what it was like to go toe-to-toe with the old Vic. “Well, this conversation has certainly taken a turn.”
The tough FBI agent schtick falling away, he put his hand over mine and said gently, “Ellie…are you happy?”
Wishing he’d go back to bad copping me instead of whatever this was, I jerked my hand away. “Wait, this isn’t coffee. This is some kind of weird intervention. What the hell kind of a question is that?”
“The kind that needs to be asked once in a while, especially when someone is in a caregiver role.”
I waved a hand. “I haven’t been hardcore caregiver-ing in a couple of weeks. All I’ve had to do for you lately is make sure you don’t keel over while you’re jogging. Back when I had to clean out your nasty wound a couple of times a day, maybe I wasn’t at my happiest.”
“I think you need to go back to work.”
“I do go to work. I taught three classes and a lab today.”
“I mean to the job you love.”
I feigned a little more offense than I actually felt from his remark. “I love teaching at Ashmore College. And now that I’m ‘celebrity criminalist Ellie Matthews,’ my students actually listen to me. My job is going better than it ever has.”
He shook his head. “Maybe it’s easier, but it’s not fulfilling you. You need to get back out on scene, doing what you do best. I’ve been watching as you turn down case after case, and I think you don’t realize how much you’re missing field investigating.”
It wasn’t exactly the field investigating I was missing…or avoiding. It was Detective Nick Baxter. Because of the circumstances of our last case—he was on the “lead detective who broke the case” side and I ended up not only being dismissed from the case but also landing on the “victim/witness” side—we couldn’t begin the relationship we’d both so desperately wanted for months for fear of the defense using it against us and the case suffering. To make sure we stayed above reproach, he and I couldn’t have any contact outside of work until the trial was over and done. We hadn’t spoken in two months. It had been excruciating to cut him out of my life only hours after I’d told him my true feelings for him. It would stand to reason that I should take any approved opportunity to see him, but I didn’t know how I could manage working side-by-side with him, pretending we were merely colleagues and nothing more.
My phone buzzed again. I checked it—Jayne again. I put it back in my pocket unanswered, again.
Vic said quietly, “I think you need to get that.”
“It would be rude since we’re in the middle of a conversation.”
