Slow Burn (Rabun County Book 1) Read online

  There was nothing wrong with this place.

  The shrill cry shattered the early morning peace, a sound of terrible fear. Startled into dropping everything again, Adeline clutched her heart to make sure it hadn’t leapt through her chest. Scrambling to her feet, grabbing the makeshift walking stick like a weapon, she turned in a quick circle. Being functionally deaf in her left ear, she had trouble determining the directionality of sound, and needed to make sure something wasn’t charging her.

  After determining that she was alone, she turned back toward the doorway. Whatever was making that noise, it seemed to be coming from inside the house.

  Jesus, she thought when the howl became a series of muffled whimpers. It had to be some sort of trapped or wounded animal. But what? And how likely was it to be rabid?

  Bending down to retrieve her phone once more, Adeline reminded herself that the latter was the most important question. She needed rabies even less than she needed a twisted ankle. Animal-loving nature warring with her sense of self-preservation, she was torn between heading for the hills – quite literally – and investigating further. Because it sounded like...

  Oh. Her throat tightened. That had to be a puppy.

  And where there were puppies, there were frequently mama dogs. Or coyotes. Or hell, did they have wolves here?

  Probably.

  Go back to the car, Adeline.

  Poking around an abandoned house in the middle of the damn woods was risky enough. No need to add blatant stupidity on top of it.

  And then the animal yipped, a very puppy sound, and Adeline cursed herself for being a softie. She’d never be able to walk away from a frightened animal, let alone a baby one, without at least looking to see if it needed help. Glancing at her phone, she saw that she had no service, so calling… whoever it was that one called out here was out of the question. And she had no idea where the closest house was.

  Sighing, Adeline slid her phone into her coat pocket, exchanging it for the pepper spray on her keyring. She moved forward the several steps that she’d taken backwards, continuing until she reached the stone stairs outside the open door. Usually, she didn’t attempt to enter any structure that was as dilapidated as this one, because she knew too many other abandoned explorers who’d fallen through rotten floorboards. But even though most of the mortar was crumbling, the steps themselves appeared sound enough. Placing her foot on the bottom one, she made sure it would hold her weight before climbing the next. From there, it was easy enough to see inside the room, including the large hole in the center of the dirty linoleum-covered floor.

  The sound of whimpering echoed from beneath it.

  Crap. She had no choice but to look. Ascending the rest of the stairs, Adeline hesitated in the open doorway, debating the safest way to proceed. Obviously, the floor beneath the linoleum wasn’t stable, but she used the stick to poke at it anyway. It seemed to be solid toward the walls, but grew increasingly spongier as it neared the hole in the center. However, she wasn’t going to trust even the parts that appeared solid, because the support beams beneath the entire floor might have rotted away. And while physics had never been her strongest subject – those pesky numbers, again – she seemed to recall something about pressure being dependent upon the force exerted over a given area. Reducing pressure, and therefore the likelihood of falling through, meant either decreasing force or increasing area. Since she couldn’t do anything about her weight, she’d have to try to… spread it out. Sort of like a human snow shoe.

  With a sigh, she sank to her knees, prepared to shimmy in a spread-eagled formation closer to the hole.

  “Hang on,” she called when the animal whimpered again. “I’m coming.”

  Setting her stick and her pepper spray beside the door so that she didn’t accidentally pull the quick release, Adeline cautiously walked her hands out, bouncing lightly to further test the wood. When it held, she lowered to her belly, feeling like a particularly ungainly snake. Using the toes of her boots to propel her, she slithered forward inch by inch until she could peer over the edge of the broken floorboards.

  And realized that it was too dark to see much of anything.

  With a grunt of frustration, Adeline lifted her right hand, rolling to her side so that she could slide it into her pocket. After retrieving her phone, she engaged the flashlight so that she could shine it into the hole.

  The walls of the cellar were made from stone, similar to the outside stairs. Moss and mildew and God knew what else clung to them, and the space smelled like damp gym socks. It struck her as a questionable choice for building materials, but before the days of cookie cutter developments and home improvement chains, people used what they had. Recalling the nearby creek, the stone made sense.

  Rolling back onto her stomach, Adeline inched forward a little more, angling her phone so that the light shone into the space beneath her.

  And what she saw made her heart sink.

  Oh. Oh no. “You poor little baby.”

  The baby was indeed a puppy, of indeterminate breed, lifting its head to stare back at her. At greater issue than the fact that it was lying on the dirt floor of the basement, was that its head stuck out of a hole in a plastic garbage bag.

  Horror had her bringing her hand to her mouth. Someone had thrown this innocent puppy down there to die, like a piece of discarded trash.

  “I’m going to get you out of there,” Adeline said, in the gentlest tone she could muster while positively pulsing with a potent mix of pity and anger. “Okay, baby? You just hang on.”

  The back of the bag moved, and Adeline couldn’t tell if it was another puppy, or the first one wagging its tail.

  Jesus.

  Physically shaking, Adeline tucked her phone back into her pocket and started to inch backwards, debating as she did so. She should probably go back to her car, drive until she hit a spot where she had better service. And call… the Humane Society? The fire department? Was a puppy in a cellar like a cat in a tree?

  Or maybe she should simply knock on a neighbor’s door and ask if they had a ladder?

  “I’ve done called the sheriff.”

  At the sound of the voice from behind her, Adeline screamed. Flipping over, she started to scramble toward her pepper spray when she spotted a tiny, elderly woman – wearing a housecoat, of all things – standing at the base of the stairs.

  She was also carrying a shotgun.

  Called it. At least it wasn’t a chili-making psychopath, she guessed?

  “You scared me,” Adeline said, trying for normalcy.

  “I reckon I did, since you were just shrieking like a goat. What’re you doing crawling on the floor?”

  But before Adeline could answer that, or ask her to put down the shotgun, the woman continued as if she hadn’t just asked the question.

  “It’s a good thing I had to walk down to the mailbox to get my bills out, or I might not have seen your car. You run out of gas? I told young Ethan to bring some.”

  Adeline felt like she was missing several important details necessary to follow the conversation.

  “Young Ethan?”

  “I told you I done called the sheriff.”

  To bring… gas. Because she’d seen Adeline’s flashers. Not to have her arrested for trespassing.

  Although if the sheriff showed up, he might have other ideas.

  “Look,” Adeline said, lifting her hands. “I appreciate your concern, but there’s been a misunderstanding.”

  Just then, the puppy barked, and the woman’s brows shot up her wrinkled forehead as she leaned to the side. “You got a dog in there?”

  “Yes.” Adeline shifted, gesturing toward the hole. “I mean, no, he’s not my dog, but –”

  An ominous cracking sound caused her to freeze.

  Oh shit.

  The surprised look on the old woman’s face was the last thing Adeline saw before she fell.

  CHAPTER TWO

  SOMEWHERE within his sleeping brain, Sutton McCloud recognized the sound
of the phone ringing. But in the way of dreams, his subconscious incorporated the noise, making it part of the repertoire of the golden retriever with whom he was conversing. Sutton hadn’t had a dream about a talking animal, let alone one that could mimic domestic electronics, since he was a kid. However, given the fact that he was currently staying in his childhood home, his dream self didn’t think much of it.

  A short while later, the phone rang again.

  The dream world couldn’t fight this second intrusion, and though Sutton tried to hold on to the vestiges of sleep, his adult sense of responsibility forced his eyes open. The ringing came from his parents’ landline in the kitchen, and then he heard the click of their ancient answering machine.

  Snatching the extra pillow from beside him, he pulled it over his head.

  Who the hell even called land lines anymore, except scammers, marketers and politicians?

  And why on earth were they calling on a Sunday at… peeking out from beneath the pillow, he glanced at the bedside clock. Seven-freaking-forty-six a.m.

  Not that early, he tried to tell himself. He was up well before this most days.

  But not after a full forty-eight-hour shift at the fire station, the last part of which had been spent containing a brush fire caused by some idiots who decided to have a Halloween bonfire in the middle of a bone-dry hayfield, and which had ended mere hours ago.

  One of these days, he was going to give up volunteering. He was getting too old for this shit.

  You’re thirty-four, his more reasonable inner voice pointed out.

  And right now, he felt every one of those years.

  You’re just tired.

  Obviously, since he was talking to himself in the third person.

  Sutton rolled onto his stomach and replaced the pillow. Maybe he could will himself back to sleep…

  The phone rang again, and he beat his head against the mattress before throwing the pillow across the room.

  This time when he opened his eyes, he found himself face-to-face with a familiar feline.

  “You could have made yourself useful,” he told his mom’s cat, who’d jumped onto the nightstand “and answered the phone.”

  Colonel Mustard, so named due to his very impressive white mustache on an otherwise grey body, continued licking his paw.

  “Fine. Be that way.”

  Tossing back the sheet, Sutton slid his feet to the floor, scrubbing a hand over two days’ worth of stubble before giving his cheeks a light slap. Jesus, he was exhausted. But three calls in a row – at least, he thought it was three. There was a chance that he’d dreamt at least one of them. Anyway, several calls in a row suggested that there was a matter of some urgency. Considering his parents were currently driving their RV through… whatever state they were in right now. Utah, maybe. Anyway, he knew that cell phone reception in some of those western states could be spotty, in which case they’d call the land line if they needed to reach him. As his dad liked to point out on what Sutton considered a more than necessary basis, that was why people shouldn’t go entirely wireless.

  Placing his hands on his knees, Sutton pushed to his feet, wincing as he did so. Carrying around an extra seventy pounds of gear for hours on end was a really good way to become acquainted with each individual muscle in the body. And to piss all of them off.

  Yawning, he gave in to the need to stretch, although his pissed-off muscles protested. Proceeding out the bedroom door, he was halfway down the stairs when he considered the two-story wall of glass in front of him, and the fact that he was naked. Growing up, he’d tended to make this same trek at least partially clothed.

  Screw it, he thought, continuing on his way. A fair number of the trees in front of the house were bare, affording less privacy, but unless the neighbors across the street had a pair of binoculars on them, they wouldn’t be able to see much. Not only were the houses situated well back from the road, but wisps of the thick fog he’d driven through on the way home last night still hung over the creek, and he doubted they were out birdwatching. This road wasn’t exactly unpopulated, and it had grown up some since he’d lived here, but people weren’t stacked on top of each other. Not like when he’d lived in Atlanta.

  Of course, he hadn’t thought twice about walking around naked in front of his apartment windows, either. Personal modesty wasn’t his strong suit.

  Flipping on the light, because the west-facing kitchen wasn’t quite as bright as the great room, Sutton winced at the mirrored breakfast nook. Meant to reflect the wall of windows and bring the outdoors in, as his mom insisted, he considered it a disco-era eyesore. Especially when it showed all six-foot-five inches of his naked self, looking like a freshly awakened zombie.

  Shit. He ran a hand through his dark blonde hair, which stuck up at odd angles, deciding that it was overdue for a cut. He could practically hear his dad asking him if he planned on becoming a hippie.

  Annoyed that his parents’ kitchen seemed to make him mentally regress, Sutton turned his attention to the answering machine. He had no idea how his dad managed to keep the relic working, but it flashed the number two. Two messages, then. Maybe he’d dreamt that third call, after all.

  The nerves he hadn’t realized he was feeling settled when he heard the voice. Not one of his parents, telling him there’d been an accident, or a health crisis, or worse. His relief was such that it took him a moment to process what the caller was saying.

  Bring gas?

  What the hell? Rewinding the tape – where on earth did his dad find them – he played the message again.

  Good morning, Young Ethan. This is Mary. There’s a car with out-of-state- tags in front of the old Driscoll place, blinkers a-going. More -n likely another leaf-peeper run outta gas. I know you keep it for that generator of yours, so you might want to bring some on down. I’m going over to see what’s what.

  A pause.

  I’ve got my shotgun.

  Sutton pressed end, and then dragged a hand down his face. Mary was the widow who lived down the road. She’d seemed ancient even when he was a kid, and quite frankly, he marveled at the fact that she was still alive, let alone assisting stranded motorists while toting a shotgun.

  Young Ethan, of course, was Sutton’s father, called such in order to distinguish him from Big Ethan, who was Sutton’s grandpa. Sutton wasn’t sure where that left his older brother, who carried on the family name. Tiny Ethan? Quite the misnomer, considering his size.

  Anyway, widow Mary obviously wasn’t aware of the fact that his parents were traveling. Or – knowing his mom and dad – she’d been made aware and had simply forgotten. Even though his dad had retired as sheriff last year, he still took his duty to his neighbors in the greater Rabun County area seriously. In fact, Sutton was surprised that…

  Crap. There was a note from his mom on the counter beside the answering machine. He wasn’t sure how he’d missed it before – maybe because most normal human beings didn’t have telephone answering machines in the current year of our Lord – but after a quick scan he did indeed see that she’d mentioned Mary. Apparently, calls from Mary were a somewhat regular occurrence, as she could not be convinced that his dad wasn’t still the sheriff.

  Super. He guessed Mary was his problem now.

  Figuring it was easier to grab a gas can and drive down the road than it was to complain about being woken up, Sutton started to head toward the laundry room and the basket of clothes he’d washed but hadn’t gotten around to folding. He’d only gone a few steps when he remembered the second message.

  Hoping that it was Mary again, having recollected that the elder McClouds were out of town – or that she’d hallucinated the whole thing and no longer required assistance – Sutton hit play.

  She’s not outta gas. Durn fool girl got herself stuck down in the cellar going after a pup.

  Another pause, this one longer.

  Is this that middle boy? The one with the funny name? Young Ethan said how you were supposed to be looking after things for a few
weeks. A vet-tri-narian, aint ya? I don’t think the pup’s hurt, but the girl might be. Not too bad though, because her mouth sure is working.

  Anyway.

  And with that, she hung up.

  He stared, torn between mild horror and amusement. Personally, he didn’t see what was so unusual about Sutton. It was his mom’s maiden name, after all. But then horror – or more aptly, concern – won out when he processed what she’d said. A dog and a girl, stuck in a cellar.

  And Ms. Mary with her shotgun.

  If the girl’s car was parked on the side of the road with its hazards engaged, maybe she’d stopped to let the animal do its business, and it had taken off after a rabbit or something.

  But there was no point in speculating. He’d find out soon enough.

  Heading toward the laundry room again, he snatched up jeans, a T-shirt. Since he wasn’t sure how cold it was, he pulled on a flannel for good measure. Using the utility sink, he splashed water on his face, swished out his mouth so that he didn’t kill anyone with morning breath. From the coat hanger he and Ethan had built their mom for her birthday one year, he grabbed a cap to cover his hair. The boots he’d worn last night sat by the door, and he shoved his feet into them without bothering about socks. Having no idea what he was facing apart from Mary’s less-than-encompassing description of the situation, Sutton decided he’d check it out first before calling reinforcements, should that be necessary. He had a pretty comprehensive first aid kit in his truck, along with some other equipment. If he could handle the situation himself, he would.

  Snagging his wallet from the kitchen counter, Sutton started out the door before realizing he didn’t have his keys. He patted his pockets, checked the places he usually tossed them. When he came up empty, he debated walking down instead of wasting any more time. But then he had an epiphany, and went back into the laundry room. Sure enough, they were still in the pants he’d been wearing last night.