Shadow Lover (Siren Publishing Allure) Read Free

I had bought so much until the clerk bagged everything up for me."
    "The name's Sam—Sam Walters."
    "Chyna Marsh," she said, while managing to work her hand around the lurching bags.
    As soon as he heard the familiar name he stroked his chin, leaving Chyna’s hand hanging. “Chyna Marsh,” he mumbled. Like a peeping tom he peered around one of the bags, and a big smile lit up his face when he recognized the famous novelist. "Of course, Chyna Marsh,” he blurted out. “Well, what do you know about that? I heard about you," he said, grabbing her hand and pumping it up and down, almost spilling Chyna’s groceries. "You’re that writer lady they say moved down here from New York."
    "I’m afraid so," she said with a note of despair, thinking her luck hadn’t held out after all.
    Curling his fingers around a match he'd been chewing on, he slowly removed it and said, "So, you just went right on ahead and bought the old Lawson place, huh?"
    Hearing all kinds of implications in his question, Chyna’s answer was hesitant. "Well, sure. It’s a nice house. Why shouldn’t I?"
    The well-chewed match stayed secure between his thumb and forefinger while his hand moved through the air as he talked. "Oh, I don’t know. I thought maybe you’d change your mind once you heard the stories. All the others did."
    Becoming concerned about what the hot sun was doing to her frozen items, Chyna began to edge toward her car, but the man stuck to her like glue. With a few pitching movements, she finally managed to get her trunk open without his help. Once she got her bags inside she gazed up at him, shading her eyes with her hand. “I’m a little lost here,” Chyna said, feeling as if she were being baited for some reason. “I’m afraid I don’t know what stories you mean."
    "You ain’t heard the stories about—"
    "Oh, the stories ,” she said, trying to hurry the conversation along. “I see. You’re trying to tell me my house is haunted.”
    “Oh hell, no. I’m talkin’ about the little road right near there."
    Chyna felt herself getting more and more confused. "What road is that?"
    "Well, it ain't got a name, but it's the one just down a ways from your house. It’s the narrow, overgrown little path that veers off to the right of Old Rocky Road. Hell, you can’t miss it. It’s downright scary to look at."
    "Oh yes," Chyna said. "I know the one you mean."
    "You know about that road, yet you still bought the house?"
    "Well,” Chyna said, not understanding the man’s attitude. “I know the road looks—"
    “Looks, hell. If you’ll excuse me for sayin’ so, ma’am, they’s a lot more than just the looks of that place to worry about. It's a goddamned death trap."
    "A death trap?" she repeated, her eyes widening.
    "Yes ma'am. You'd best stay away from it, ‘specially at night."
    A nagging fear grew in Chyna. "I don’t know what you mean."
    Just then one of the other men jumped down from the porch and hurried over. "Don't aim to worry ya none, ma'am, but they's been people that's gone up that little road and never been heard from agin, that's what Sam means."
    Sam began chewing on the match again while leaning against Chyna's red, low slung Spyder Convertible.
    Chyna cringed when he lifted his massive boot and rested it on her fender. “Sir, uh, Sam, please—”
    "That’s Hector Jackson’s property,” he interrupted, his eyes angling toward Chyna. “I don't imagine he told you nothin' about that road, right?"
    “Well, no, but—” Chyna’s words halted, a look of irritation on her face when she realized she’d been cut off again.
    “I thought not. Hell, all them damn realtors are alike. Money,” he said, disgust coloring his voice. “That’s all they care about.”
    "But what's there to tell?” Chyna asked, furtively eyeing the place where Sam’s rough work boots were doing their best to scratch up her fender. “It's nothing more than a place to, I don’t know, jog, use as a bicycle path, whatever.”