Ending Evil (The Evil Secrets Trilogy Book 3) Read online

  Praise for Vickie McKeehan’s Novels

  “Strong, distinctive characters. I cannot wait to get my hands on the next book.”

  Just Evil

  - Coffee Time Romance and More -

  “Queen of suspense…”

  Just Evil

  - Jill D. Hidy, author of The Old World Series -

  “…an excellent storyteller…”

  Deeper Evil

  - Toye Lawson Brown, author of When the Music Stops -

  “A must read trilogy.”

  Ending Evil

  - Rosalie A. Pope, author of Puppies For Sale $25.00 -

  “A brilliant and rewarding read.”

  Promise Cove

  - Bestchicklit.com -

  “For an entertaining adventure and love story,

  I highly recommend.”

  Hidden Moon Bay

  - Marilyn Holdsworth, author of Pegasus -

  “You feel Keegan and Cord’s sorrows, pain, and love…”

  Dancing Tides

  - John Chavez, reader -

  also by Vickie McKeehan

  The Evil Secrets Trilogy

  JUST EVIL - Book One

  DEEPER EVIL - Book Two

  ENDING EVIL - Book Three

  The Pelican Pointe Series

  PROMISE COVE

  HIDDEN MOON BAY

  DANCING TIDES

  LIGHTHOUSE REEF

  STARLIGHT DUNES

  LAST CHANCE HARBOR

  SEA GLASS COTTAGE

  LAVENDER BEACH

  The Skye Cree Novels

  THE BONES OF OTHERS

  THE BONES WILL TELL

  THE BOX OF BONES

  HIS GARDEN OF BONES

  The Indigo Brothers Trilogy

  2016

  Exclusively at Amazon in print and Kindle format

  Ending Evil

  The Evil Secrets Trilogy

  Book Three

  Vickie McKeehan

  Ending Evil

  The Evil Secrets Trilogy

  Copyright © 2013 by Vickie McKeehan

  All rights reserved. Except as permitted under the U.S. Copyright Act of 1976, no part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, or stored in a database or retrieval system, without prior written permission of the publisher.

  This book is a work of fiction. The characters, incidents, and dialogue are drawn from the author’s imagination and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events or persons, living or dead is entirely coincidental.

  Published by Beachdevils Press

  ISBN: 978-1-4524-0544-5 eBook

  ISBN: 978-0-6156-6057-8 Paperback

  Printed in the USA

  Cover art design by Audrey Mackaman

  Visit the author at:

  www.vickiemckeehan.com

  www.facebook.com/VickieMcKeehan

  “She Walks in Beauty”

  Poem Excerpt by Lord Byron

  For Carrol, sister by blood, the best mother

  I know, and my best friend. You know all

  my darkest secrets and manage

  to love me anyway.

  “Family isn’t always blood. It’s the people

  in your life who want you in theirs.

  The ones who accept you for who

  you are, the ones who would do

  anything to see you smile, and who

  love you no matter what.”

  Anonymous

  “To let evil go unpunished

  is to breed more evil.”

  Anonymous

  Table of Contents

  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

  Ending Evil

  The Evil Secrets Trilogy

  Book Three

  CHAPTER 1

  Darkness descended causing shadows to fall around him, helping to conceal his movements. He quickened his steps as cop cars flew past him racing to get to the Medical Center.

  It seemed to him the LAPD occupied the area in record time and from every direction. From the corner of his eye, Trevor Dane watched as uniformed cops blocked off the main entrance then scurried to get the entire hospital in lockdown mode in a matter of minutes.

  He had only a block to go and he would make it off campus entirely. Knowing that, he lengthened his stride, notched up his radar, kept his pace brisk.

  When he got to the end of the street, more black and whites screeched to a stop, cordoning off the last remaining access road into the parking structure directly to his right. Keeping his head down, he reached the first alleyway behind the Medical Center and the first path that wasn’t out in the open. He hastily ducked into the narrow opening before the cops had a chance to get a good look at him.

  Hidden now, behind a six foot wall of concrete, he continued putting one foot in front of the other toward his Chevy, which he’d parked several blocks over in a residential section of the neighborhood. After that close call, he didn’t dare run. Running would only draw attention to himself. Old habits sometimes paid off. Escaping from a risky area often called for simple action, like walking away rather than a problematic foot chase or worse, a do-gooder who took down the description of a vehicle fleeing the scene.

  He wasn’t far enough away, though, not by a long shot. He kept his steps brisk as he dared not steal a glance behind him. He didn’t have time to worry about security cameras or what surveillance images he’d left behind.

  Too late for that, he thought wearily.

  He’d worn gloves, though, and he had another name to check off his list.

  That list grew shorter by the day.

  Right out of the box he’d taken care of the viper, Alana Stevens with a simple kitchen knife, ending her reign of terror for good. She’d never be able to hurt another innocent soul.

  From there, he’d moved on to her cohort, Jessica Geller Boyd. A bullet to her temple from a nine-millimeter Glock had put an end to those soulless dark eyes once and for all.

  Thereafter, he’d moved down his list to Jessica’s sister, Eva Geller Gatz, then on to Sumner Boyd.

  By that time, it had been sleazy Frank Geller’s turn. Frank had met his fate with the standard suicide gun, a .22 caliber Smith and Wesson, the up close and personal model.

  Now, the boot knife that went wherever he did had taken care of Connor Boyd.

  That left two brothers still standing.

  Throw in a cousin or two, which even now might need his attention before too long and he would complete the coup d'état, ending the regime of Boyd Boyd Geller &Gatz for good. He’d missed taking out Collin Boyd once before though.

  He didn’t intend to miss a second time.

  Because he wore no shirt beneath his jacket, dusk made the June gloom marine layer cooler than it had been just an hour earlier. He’d left his shirt behind, the shirt he’d used to wrap up little baby Sarah, which obviously had Connor Boyd’s DNA all over it. But it was one of those things that couldn’t be helped.

  And the baby remained safe
now back where she belonged in the arms of her mother, Baylee Scott, away from the violent and unstable man who’d fathered her.

  The baby.

  It had been a long time since he’d held an infant, especially one so young, so dependent on the adults around her. He remembered her smell, her little face, her little puckered mouth, the hiccupping, and her eyes brimming with so many tears.

  Tears she should never have been forced to shed.

  Not twenty minutes earlier, he’d slit the throat of the baby’s father and left him on the dirty concrete of the fifth floor parking garage to bleed out. He would not soon forget Connor Boyd’s cold eyes as the man lay dying at his feet.

  Nor would he forget the man’s attack on the young mother. Connor had used his fists to bring her to her knees. If Trevor had let the man escape with the baby, he wouldn’t have been able to live with himself.

  In the distance Trevor heard the sounds of even more sirens as they grew closer. He needed to put some miles between this place and the crime scene as quickly as he could. Even a professional, he reminded himself, with his years of experience, sometimes had to take risks.

  He sighed. No sense beating himself up. Not every kill could be as meticulously carried out as one could hope or plan he thought bitterly. Even though the June night lacked a real bite to the air, he pulled his jacket collar up around his ears and hurried on.

  From the moment Connor had kidnapped Sarah, ripped the baby out of her mother’s arms, he had left Trevor few options. As he saw it, he’d been fortunate Connor had made his escape route via the parking garage. The place had been deserted enough that he had been able to take the man down without bringing much attention to himself or to the area.

  When his rented Chevy came into view, Trevor pressed the remote key lock. Good thing he hadn’t parked near the hospital. He hadn’t spent years working as a paid assassin for nothing.

  He thought of his bumbling counterpart, Uri Jankovic, and wondered if the Pacific Ocean had yet to give up his body to the land. Probably not, he decided, as he slid neatly behind the wheel of his car, quickly threw the vehicle in gear and took off down the quiet, residential side street.

  As he drove toward the 101, he contemplated his next move.

  He could simply leave L.A. now, wad up his list, discard it in the nearest trash can at LAX, and be on the next flight to Buenos Aires. He could find the first available warm body and spend the next two months fucking anything with a heartbeat.

  Or, he could finish what he’d started. He still had two more names on his to-do list. Certain Cade and Collin Boyd weren’t yet finished, he anticipated another attempt. He just wasn’t sure where or when.

  He pressed the accelerator, shot into the lane to access the 101 and made his decision.

  Ending the evil, once and for all, was the only thing that made any sense.

  Noah Parker wouldn’t have wanted it any other way.

  Two months into her first year of residency, Quinn Tyler realized chaos was about to erupt inside the ER. Having just finished stitching up a thirteen-year-old skateboarder’s mouth-meet-sidewalk mishap, she quickly shed her pair of latex gloves and stepped back out into the common area some twenty feet away from the front doors.

  She caught the last bit of conversation between one of the triage nurses who kept up a dialogue with the EMTs. They were bringing in a white male in his late thirties.

  From the call Quinn learned that the victim was in distress because someone had slit the man’s throat. He’d been found bleeding out on the fifth floor of the hospital parking garage.

  Quinn heard the overhead pager repeat the same alert several times. “Code Trauma Now!” The litany brought every available shift resident on the first floor running, along with a respiratory nurse along with any attending physicians not working on another patient. That included Harold Mendenhall, chief of emergency surgery.

  They all hovered near the ER entrance—anticipating the arrival of the EMTs.

  A minute later the doors whooshed open and technicians wheeled in a gurney with the injured man. Quinn grabbed a gown, slipped it on, a pair of glasses, another pair of gloves, and prepared to go to work.

  It wasn’t until the man had been transferred from the stretcher to the table that Quinn recognized Connor Boyd.

  But he didn’t look anything like the dark, brooding man she remembered from her youth. This man lay white as the sheets around him. And dark blood already congealed around the six-inch-long slice to his neck.

  As the paramedic reported on his vitals and what, up to now, they had done for him, Quinn listened, keenly aware the man looked more dead than alive.

  “He had a faint pulse when we first got to him but loading him up…it got fainter.” The EMT shook his head. “But I think we lost him on the way inside.”

  Dr. Mendenhall went to work, sizing up the man’s condition and snapped out orders, “Ms. Tyler, don’t just stand there. Cut these clothes off. Lopez, get me a blood workup. Stat! He’s not breathing. Sullivan, intubate him. Once she has the tube in, somebody try to put pressure on that gaping wound and get the bleeding stopped. Jesus, this man’s carotid artery has been severed. It looks like he’s lost too much blood. But…who knows…? We might perform a miracle.”

  As the resident with the least amount of experience, Quinn went to work cutting off Connor’s shirt and removing what was left of his clothing.

  Out of the corner of her eye, she watched with a certain amount of envy as Angie Sullivan, third-year resident and Mendenhall’s favorite underling, manually intubated Connor trying to get him to breathe.

  It wasn’t every day they saw a patient with his throat sliced open, let alone actually got to see the tricky procedure of intubating him with a fiber-optic laryngoscope firsthand. Quinn eagle-eyed Mendenhall in fascination, then watched Angie and Lopez while they worked together to get the airbag compressing air into Connor’s lungs, trying to get him to breathe.

  While they did their job, Quinn began to apply pressure to the wound. But there was no sign of life, no pulse and no heartbeat. After an eternal thirty minutes of trying, despite the fact that Mendenhall, Sullivan, Lopez, and Quinn worked frantically to save the man’s life, even a brand new resident knew it was too late. He’d lost too much blood.

  Connor Boyd was gone.

  He had more than likely bled out in a matter of minutes. Whoever had done this to him had known what they were doing, at least in Quinn’s mind they had. After another several long minutes, Mendenhall simply shook his head. “I’m calling time of death at…” He glanced up at the clock. “seven-twenty-five even though it was more like on the way in. By any chance, is there any next of kin around here?”

  “You’re goddamned right there is. Don’t you dare stop working on him! Do something! You can’t let him die!”

  Quinn whirled around at the sound of Cade Boyd’s voice and saw a disheveled man, standing holding the curtain that separated the attending rooms. He gripped the fabric like a drowning sailor held onto a life raft.

  Unlike his brother, Cade wasn’t pale but instead stood defiant and red-faced.

  A pair of glassy, black, stormy eyes met hers.

  The man looked very much like the last time Quinn had seen him—livid and arrogant.

  He pointed an accusing finger directly at Quinn and screamed for all it was worth. “This is your fucking fault. What the hell did you do to my brother? Get away from him. Get out of here. You shouldn’t be here. You don’t know shit about being a doctor anyway. What you know about medicine is nothing more than a fucking nurse knows. And you hate my family.”

  He turned to the bank of police officers standing around and yelled, “Ask her. Tell them, Quinn, tell them all how you hate my family. Now, get away from him, get away from my brother. I’ll sue your ass. I’ll sue this entire fucking hospital. I’ll own this fucking place before I’m done.”

  He began to sob uncontrollably as he finally took in the whole scene: Connor’s face a whitish gray,
all the blood, and the fact that his brother lay still, unmoving. Dead.

  Dr. Mendenhall raised his voice an octave and demanded, “Get this man out of my trauma room!”

  A rage built inside Cade, along with a sickening hard knot in his stomach. Acceptance brought another string of obscenities until he finally screamed and pointed at Quinn, “You fucking bitch, you killed my brother!”

  He lunged for her then. A uniformed cop barely managed to peel him off her right before his fists could meet flesh.

  Reese Brennan strolled through the hospital doors that led to the ER and past a waiting area filled with people on his way to check up on Baylee’s terminally ill father upstairs. As of two days ago, William Scott had become his client.

  He’d been hoping to catch a brief glimpse of Quinn on his way, maybe exchange a couple of sparring words to tide her over until the end of her shift. But when he heard a man’s voice that he recognized as Cade Boyd’s coming from one of the trauma rooms, he hurried past the waiting area.

  Even from this distance, the man sounded pissed.

  After spending all day on the sprawling grounds of The Enclave, which was owned by the Boyds, Reese was exhausted. He’d been riding on adrenaline for the past twelve hours watching a team of forensic anthropologists scrape away enough dirt to bring up three human skulls buried under the cabana house near the reflecting pool, the exact location where William Scott had directed the police to look.

  The cops suspected one skull belonged to Baylee’s mother, Sarah Moreland, the other to her friend, the tennis player Luc Delaine. But at this point, they had no idea who the third one could possibly be; in fact, it was anyone’s guess.

  Reese had stopped by the hospital hoping William Scott might wake from his coma enough to talk more about how the bodies came to be entombed on Boyd property. Jessica Boyd and Alana Stevens had more than likely put them in the ground. But if those two held the answers as to why, the why would likely remain a mystery.