HAUNTING LIES (Available on Galatea)

CHAPTER THREE (SAMPLE)

She wheeled back to Mia whose whimpers had stopped, her eyes wide and staring. Her mouth was open, and blood moistened her lips.

"No. No, Mia, don't do this to me, baby." The sound was broken as it left her trembling lips.

"Don't do this to me, baby girl. Come on... No, no... Oh no, no, no... Please. Oh, God. Please, please, don't do this. Please, God..."

With the exception of her heavy breathing, silence stretched over what felt like several seconds. She couldn't speak, and Quinn's eyes never left Mia's.

She wanted him to look at her. But she was terrified of the confirmation she would see there.

Quinn finally spoke. "I'm so sorry, Miranda."

As her gaze fluttered to his, her lower lip trembled. She said nothing and turned her gaze back to her dead daughter.

He squeezed her shoulder gently before he left, saying something to the two officers that she couldn't focus on.

Her thoughts were swimming. Tightness formed in her throat. She was trembling from head to toe. From the adrenaline, from the sheer panic of watching the life of the child she loved draining away.

Tears fell unbidden down her cheeks.

As she brought Mia gently into her arms, Miranda was no longer able to hold back the agonizing sob that tore from her chest.

***

The hotel phone rang, startling her awake.

A part of her wanted to turn and answer, but mostly she wanted to stay asleep.

She moaned and burrowed into her pillow, trying and failing to block out the ringing.

Then she finally reached over to her nightstand to grab the receiver, toppling over four mini bottles of hard liquor in the process.

"What?" she snapped into the phone.

"Good morning, Ms. Hastings. This is Taylor from the front desk with your 6:30 a.m. wake-up call, and a reminder that breakfast is being served and ends at 9:30 a.m.

"Give me a call here at the front desk if you have any questions."

She scowled at the receiver. "Thank you." She hung up and sat up gingerly, her head pounding as her stomach did a flip-flop, no doubt from the heavy drinking the night before.

Miranda clambered out of bed and searched for a bottle of water. Her throat was so dry she couldn't swallow. Finding none, she staggered toward the mini fridge and opened it.

She found one.

Turning around, she closed one eye, trying to find the aspirin. Her double vision slowly subsided, and she spotted the bottle on the nightstand, next to her phone.

She opened the bottle and took two tablets. The water was cold and refreshing.

A ping from her calendar announced an appointment.

Oh right, Captain Westbrook. She had her first interview with the Manhattan police department this morning. Six months had passed since her world was shattered.

Six long, agonizing months since she'd heard her daughter laugh, seen her smile, read her a story, or given her a cuddle.

Despite the assistance of other law enforcement agencies, the investigation came to an apparent dead end.

There were no witnesses, no unaccounted-for fingerprints, no murder weapon, and no suspects. The specific motive for Mia and Brooke's murder was still unknown.