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  ALSO BY ELLE CASEY

  ROMANCE

  Red Hot Love (3-book series)

  By Degrees

  Rebel Wheels (3-book series)

  Just One Night (romantic serial)

  Just One Week

  Love in New York (3-book series)

  Shine Not Burn (2-book series)

  Bourbon Street Boys (4-book series)

  Desperate Measures

  Mismatched

  ROMANTIC SUSPENSE

  All the Glory

  Don’t Make Me Beautiful

  Wrecked (2-book series)

  PARANORMAL

  Duality (2-book series)

  Pocket Full of Sunshine (short story & screenplay)

  CONTEMPORARY URBAN FANTASY

  War of the Fae (10-book series)

  Ten Things You Should Know About Dragons (short story in The Dragon Chronicles)

  My Vampire Summer

  Aces High

  DYSTOPIAN

  Apocalypsis (4-book series)

  SCIENCE FICTION

  Drifters’ Alliance (3-book series)

  Winner Takes All (short story prequel to Drifters’ Alliance in Dark Beyond the Stars Anthology)

  To keep up-to-date with Elle’s latest releases, please visit www.ElleCasey.com

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  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, organizations, places, events, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

  Text copyright © 2018 by Elle Casey

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced, or stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without express written permission of the publisher.

  Published by Montlake Romance Publishing, Seattle

  www.apub.com

  Amazon, the Amazon logo, and Montlake Romance Publishing are trademarks of Amazon.com, Inc., or its affiliates.

  ISBN-13: 9781542047074

  ISBN-10: 1542047072

  Cover design by @blacksheep-uk.com

  Cover photography by Matthew Hegarty

  For Sandrine, fellow animal lover and friend I can always count on.

  CONTENTS

  CHAPTER ONE

  CHAPTER TWO

  CHAPTER THREE

  CHAPTER FOUR

  CHAPTER FIVE

  CHAPTER SIX

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  CHAPTER NINE

  CHAPTER TEN

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

  CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

  CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

  CHAPTER THIRTY

  CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

  CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

  CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

  CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX

  CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN

  CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT

  CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE

  CHAPTER FORTY

  CHAPTER FORTY-ONE

  CHAPTER FORTY-TWO

  CHAPTER FORTY-THREE

  CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR

  EPILOGUE

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  CHAPTER ONE

  I close the last of the clinic’s kennel doors and look down at the wiggling, waggling ball of energy at my feet. “Are you ready to go home for the day, Banana? Is that what you’re trying to tell me?”

  My three-legged border collie mascot whines in response and looks at the door as his tail wags. His communication skills are the stuff of legend. I could have named him Lassie, except he’s not a girl and he’s always so crazy-excited and going . . . well . . . bananas. Naming him after the fruit seemed more appropriate.

  “Fine. Let me get my coat.”

  Before I can even think about following through on my statement, he runs to the rack in the lobby, grabs the bottom of the jacket with his teeth, and yanks it down, dragging it back over to me. He only trips once. The rack doesn’t fall over because I’ve learned from experience that these kinds of things need to be permanently affixed to the walls in order to remain in one piece. Banana has not yet learned how to be graceful in his approach, but he’s still young. Given enough time, I’m sure he’ll figure out how to do just about everything around here as my helper, despite the fact that he lacks opposable thumbs.

  “Why, thank you very much, kind sir.” I bend at the waist to take my coat from him, with an exaggerated smile for his benefit. I scratch the side of his head in gratitude. “Good boy, Mr. Banana. Good boy.”

  He nearly turns himself inside out with happiness, managing somehow to smile back at me. I wish everyone were as easy to please as my dog is.

  My cell phone rings as I head toward the door. When I recognize the caller as the thorn in my side—Betty Beland from the town council—I hit the Ignore button and slide the phone into my coat pocket. I’m too tired to deal with her nonsense right now. She has never respected the fact that I’m running a business here, and that if she wants to talk to me about it she needs to call me during regular hours on the work number, and not on my personal phone at eight p.m. Some people . . .

  I know very well what she’s going to tell me—that there’s going to be a meeting soon about the use of my family’s former barn as a clinic and that it doesn’t look good for me or my patients. Been there, done that, and not worried; I have the law on my side.

  I’ve been battling these small-minded bureaucrats for years, ever since I decided to make my business—a nonprofit animal rescue—official. You’d think they’d be grateful that I cure their sick pets at discount prices and the local injured wildlife at no cost to them, but nope . . . no, a hundred times no. They want to tax me, fine me, and wrap me up in red tape so tight I suffocate, because they cannot stand that all the efforts they’ve made thus far to control my life have failed.

  If it weren’t for Betty’s personal vendetta against me, I doubt the town would continue to bother with the issue, but hell hath no fury like a woman scorned, and her ex-husband asked me out on a date once. In her eyes, I think it means she was rejected by a man who wanted to be with me instead. He never asked again and I never see him around town, but that doesn’t seem to matter to her. Just the fact that he wanted to take me out was enough for her to hate me. It almost makes me want to date him, just so the whole thing would be fair, but I don’t go out with guys who have the kind of baggage he’s carrying around; Betty always struck me as a potential Fatal Attraction/boil-the-bunny-type person.

  If it’s not one thing, it’s another with her, but I’m going to stand strong like I always do. The only things I care about are the animals who need me at the clinic and the family that loves me. Those stiff-necked politicians can go suck a bag of lemons as far as I’m concerned.

  I can’t help but smile at the image this thought conjures . . . all of them puckered up and cringing. It’s not all that different from how they look every day, even without lemons being involved.

  After I turn out the lights and lock up, Banana and I make our way up the road to the house. It’s getting pretty cold
and dark, but the stars are out and bright, lighting our way. My down jacket is keeping me warm tonight, but I’m going to have to add a scarf and mittens to my getup soon. Luckily, we don’t have far to go, only about three quarters of a mile.

  We’re more than halfway home when Banana stops and turns around. His tail goes straight up in the air and stiffens as he leans forward and sniffs the wind.

  I pause, looking over my shoulder. I’ve never been afraid to walk anywhere at night around here, since we own the entire property that our intentional-living community sits on, and there’s rarely anybody around this time of year to bother us, but the dog’s body language is a little freaky.

  “What’s the matter, Banana Bread? You smell a deer or something?”

  He takes off running, barking like a mad fool, his little black-and-white form quickly disappearing in the dark. Missing a leg doesn’t slow him down one bit.

  Fear makes it feel like my heart just flipped over in my chest. Do I follow behind him or go home and get help?

  The decision is easy. If there’s anything happening back at the clinic, there’s no way I’m going to waste any time getting someone at the house in person. I dial my home number and put the phone to my ear as I turn around and walk rapidly back in the direction I came from.

  “Hello,” a voice says. I immediately recognize it as belonging to my sister Emerald.

  “Hi, Em. It’s probably nothing, but Banana just ran back to the clinic barking like mad. I was on my way home, but I need to go find out what’s making him act so silly.”

  “Isn’t that what Banana always does? Goes bananas for no reason?”

  “Not like this. Maybe it’s just a deer or something, but I need to be sure.”

  “Do you want someone to come with you? Just in case it’s not a deer?”

  A chill slides over my bones. “Maybe?”

  “Okay. I’ll have one of the guys come out.” She doesn’t sound worried, and she shouldn’t, because this is probably nothing. I’m ninety-nine percent sure of it. Our farm is the safest place on earth: a hippie commune in the middle of central Maine doesn’t have much to offer the darker parts of society.

  “Great. Thanks.” I don’t bother to ask her which guy she’s going to summon on my behalf. There are plenty to choose from, since we’re still hosting the members of Red Hot—the rock ’n’ roll band our mothers have been in love with since they were teenagers. They arrived over a month ago as blasts from the past, and I honestly thought they’d be gone by now.

  It’s no big deal that they’ve stayed; I couldn’t care less either way. But our moms just secured a permit to build an addition onto the house—a future recording studio—so I suppose I’d better get used to them being around when they’re not on tour. They’ve been using the living room for their jam sessions, and it’s been really amazing to see them in action, but, truth be told, I could use a little break from the music. I’ve been listening to their stuff since I was born because my mothers are such big fans, but it was always the polished version that played on our stereo, and it came with a volume button. Their new stuff is raw and edgy—an update to their old sound—and even though everybody agrees it’s awesome, there is no volume button, and they’re still working out the kinks.

  It’s not like I’m a prude or anything, but parts of the creative process—aka the swearing, ranting, and arguing—are a bit much for me. Our lives were so peaceful before they came; now everything is loud and crowded and . . . totally rock ’n’ roll. I think I’m more of a Carole King person, really, but I’d never admit that to my mothers. The sun rises and sets on Red Hot for them, and I’m not going to be the one to burst their love-bubbles. Having the band living at our house has made all three of my mothers feel and look twenty years younger. They still do the work and chores that keep our community running, but they do it with a spring in their step and Red Hot songs on their lips. I’ve never seen them so happy.

  I do enjoy the fun part of the band’s creative process, where they laugh and joke around. There’s a lot of that going on, especially because it’s not just the band jamming alone; their three favorite groupies are always hanging around when they’re in session. But still . . . I feel like my life has been turned upside down, and I can’t seem to get it right side up again. We used to work side by side in our big garden, but now when I’m out there in the early morning, I’m more often alone than with someone. Their new schedules revolve around the band, which means gardening happens when I’m working at the clinic in the middle of the day. My mothers are too tired from staying up all night to wake up early and pull weeds or harvest pumpkins and other fall vegetables.

  The clinic appears in the distance. That’s funny . . . I thought I turned the lights off when we left, but there’s a faint glow coming from one of the windows. And then, suddenly it’s gone. Maybe I imagined it . . .

  The light comes on again and moves.

  A chill runs through my entire body from my toes to my nose as I realize that somebody is inside the building with a flashlight. That can’t mean anything good. My blood starts to boil. If anything happens to the animals, I’ll lose my mind . . . and I’ll be kicking some serious butt, too. Nobody had better be messing with my patients.

  “Bananaaaaaaa!” I scream, panicking now that I’m picturing him running straight into the arms of a criminal.

  CHAPTER TWO

  I want to sprint to the clinic to commence the ass-kicking, but I’m feeling pretty vulnerable without a weapon. I don’t think my rapier wit is going to be very effective in this situation. I slow down and pull my phone from my pocket again. The home line rings several times before someone answers my call.

  “Hello, Glenhollow Farms, this is Sally.”

  “Sally, hi.”

  “What’s wrong, sweetie?”

  I don’t want to upset my mother and make her freak out about something I may be imagining, so I work to calm my voice. “Oh, nothing. I was just wondering who’s coming out to the clinic. Em said she was going to send somebody to walk back with me.”

  “I think it’s Ty. Do you want me to ask? Amber is just in the other room.”

  “No, don’t ask her; it’s fine.”

  “Maybe we should’ve sent Sam, too. Do you need more muscle?”

  I can just imagine the goofy look on her face. She is so proud to have two of her daughters—Em and Amber—paired off with such ‘gorgeous hunks’—her words, not mine. Sometimes I think our three mothers view these relationships as their own personal accomplishments. It doesn’t matter that our moms only have one biological daughter each; all three of them claim all three of us as their own. One of the consequences of living in a free-loving hippie commune is that we are all family, as close as if Amber, Emerald, and I were born to the same mother when in fact we weren’t. I’m not complaining, of course. I wouldn’t have it any other way.

  “No, it’s fine,” I say to Sally, the one of us most easily worried about silly things and my actual birth mother. “Leave Sam alone. He’s taking care of a girl tortured with morning sickness.”

  “Boy, you can say that again. Poor Em. I’ve never seen anybody so sick before.”

  Footsteps crunch gravel behind me. “I’ll be back soon,” I say. “I’ve gotta go.” I turn to see my sister’s fiancé—Ty—arriving in the dark, his hands shoved into the pockets of his jacket. I slide the phone into my pocket and walk over quickly to meet him. As usual, his hair is sticking out all over the place and his expression is dark. The Stanz brothers definitely know how to get a brooding look on.

  “Hey, what’s up?” Ty asks. Amber’s boyfriend—otherwise known as the lead guitarist for Red Hot—is usually a man of few words when he’s around me. She claims he has all kinds of things to say when they’re alone, but I’m not sure I believe it. Not only have I not witnessed this personally, but people have reported having a hard time getting a word in edgewise when Amber is around.

  “I was headed home when Banana suddenly went on alert and ran
off toward the clinic, barking like crazy. When I turned around to figure out what was going on, I’m pretty sure I saw somebody moving around inside the building with a flashlight.”

  Ty looks toward the clinic. “Why don’t you stay here, and I’ll go check it out?”

  “No, I need to go with you. If any of the animals have been affected . . . I have to be there.”

  “Fine.” We start walking together, the pace much faster than I’m used to, but I’m glad for it. He’s taking my concern to heart. “I don’t see any lights there now, do you?” he asks.

  “No. And I could have been imagining things earlier. When Banana started barking, I got a little nervous.”

  “All right. Don’t worry about it. We’ll figure out what’s going on.”

  His assurances soothe my nerves a little, but I won’t be able to sleep if I don’t see for myself that everything is okay.

  The wind picks up, bringing tiny shards of icy rain to prick our faces. I’m going to feel really stupid if we get to the clinic and there’s nothing there. Ty is from California; he’s not used to this cold, and yet here I am dragging him out in the driving rain in the pitch black of night. “I saw the light for just a couple seconds, and then it was gone. Like I said, I might’ve imagined it. I haven’t been sleeping a lot.”

  “We’ll figure it out.”

  Banana is barking again, but he’s not at the clinic anymore. It sounds like he’s headed for the main road. When we get to the front door, I can see why.

  “You didn’t imagine anything. Somebody broke in,” Ty says, pulling the door open and looking at the jamb. The metal plate that covers the lock is dented and doesn’t look fixable. The door shuts, but it’s not pretty.

  “But . . . how did they do it so fast? I was just here.” My heart sinks, and I feel nauseated when I realize that this person, this thief, must have been waiting close by for me to leave. “What the hell.” I rush inside, my first thought for the animals and their safety. I’m stopped by Ty’s hand on my arm.

  “Let me go,” I say, annoyed that he’s slowing me down. “I have to check on my patients.”

  “No, you need to stop for a second. What if somebody’s in there? You don’t know what could be waiting for you.”