Veil of Secrecy: Shadows, #1

By RM Alexander

Long-past atrocities against the rule of nature wait to be avenged...

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An uneventful move to Montana left Rachel Brackett caught off guard for all the Rockies would offer: adventures, new friends, beautiful scenery ... and nightmares. A mysterious family legacy leads Rachel into the forests of the Bitterroot Mountains, only to find that some things are best left alone.

 

Rachel wanted a calm life to allow deep wounds time to repair, instead, she stumbled on a riddle in her big house, science used for all the wrong reasons, and creatures only special effects experts could make up.

 

As she dives deeper into her heritage, Rachel must decide: will she run and hide, or stand on her own two feet and fight?

• Language: English
• Publisher: RM Alexander
• Release date: Feb 3, 2015
• ISBN: 9781507062975

Book preview

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

Veil of Secrecy

Chapter One

RACHEL BRACKETT WATCHED road signs and mile markers blur past through a haze of tears. She could run for years and never find an escape from relentless memories, pain, and sadness. Never give an explanation for the relief or excitement, or the confusion born from the messy concoction. If anyone knew what brewed inside of her, they’d think she was crazy. Or worse.

Someday, Rachel thought, I might be able to get the emotions under control ... but not today.

For now, she only wanted to run.

Rachel pushed a button to open the driver’s side window. Fresh mountain air wafted through the car, and a soft curl dressed the corner of her lips. Everything she needed. Fresh air. Time. As much distance from the past as possible.

She whisked away the remnants of tears, and, thumping both thumbs against the steering wheel, glanced out the window. Rachel drew in a heavy breath, filled her lungs, and calmed the tidal waves within.

She couldn’t deny how captivating the drive had been since leaving the city. Winding curves shimmered in the high afternoon sun, twisting through rich jade broadleaf and evergreen trees. Rushing rivers snaked alongside the road, through deep gorges and under occasional white stone bridges. Rocky shores were decorated by wildflowers. And more than one fisherman stood knee-deep in the gurgling waters with nylon lines dancing in the passing wakes. Alpine peaks of the Sapphire Mountains to the west and the Bitterroot Mountains to the east jutted skyward, snow-covered, even in mid-June. The further south she traveled, the closer the mountains edged toward the road, cliffs laced with trees and trickling water. Big Sky Country, Land of the Shining Mountains, the Last Best Place—all the nicknames she'd discovered in her limited research seemed appropriate. Whatever anyone wanted to call it, one word summed it up best. Beautiful.

Rachel glanced at the time on the console. She left the city limits of Missoula behind forty-five minutes earlier. The cup of coffee she purchased at McDonalds remained nestled firm in the cup holder, empty contents still pungent in the car. Her stomach growled, chastising the negligence shown in the city, and Rachel licked her lips. She’d eat at the end of the journey. Maybe spaghetti or a fried chicken salad. Both sounded good after three days of fast food. Not that she wasn’t used to eating out. She seldom cooked, but even she had endured enough hamburgers and French fries during the three-day road trip out of Pennsylvania.

She fidgeted against the navy velour, heart thumping a bit louder as a faint trace of nerves overtook the hunger pains to settle in the back of her throat. Seeing the town nestled at the southernmost base of the Bitterroot Valley made her pulse race, but everything in life seemed uncertain. An unenjoyable feeling.

And the pending arrival into Sullivan was only the beginning.

Michael Bublé’s Home rang out from the side speakers, and Rachel’s hand shot out like a viper to skip over the song. The songs skipped past Celine Dion, Journey, and Leona Lewis before she finally jabbed at the off button. No sense in listening to songs her emotions couldn't handle.

The sedan fell silent, and she sighed, leaned an elbow against the closed window, fingers pushing through tired hair. It’s going to be okay, Rachel. It’ll be better, a new start. The familiar words—a mantra born nearly two years earlier—didn’t offer comfort against the flood of memories that punched her from where the tidal waves lived.

After eighteen months of deployment, the love of her life and husband came home six months ago. In a casket.

All her hopes and dreams now lay, buried with him, in Arlington National Cemetery.

The coffer appeared before her mind’s eye and a fresh tear slid beneath her long lashes. You weren’t supposed to come home like that, Dereck. Rachel whisked the trailing drop away with her fingertips.

Gritting her teeth, she pushed the thoughts aside to focus on the road ahead just as a deer darted across the highway.

Oh! Rachel stomped against the brakes. Her knuckles whitened as her breath froze in time. Rachel’s shoulders tensed as the car screamed to a stop.

Panting, she gasped as a large grizzly trampled onto the pavement. With the prey safely bounding across the tall grasses to the right, the bear paused and turned to the car. The grizzly's nose wrinkled as it stood tall on heavy hind legs to tower over the car as he surveyed the automobile. A haunted bellow escaped through his rippling lips followed with a loud snort. Rachel pressed into the driver’s seat. Heart pounding, she lowered a hand to the shift.

The grizzly’s large paws landed on the pavement. His head swayed while his intense eyes remained fixed on her.

Was that normal?

Trying not to meet the bear's gaze, Rachel looked past the animal's eyes to the brown fur highlighted with silver tips and a single marred ear. She squinted and noticed a large piece of missing flesh in the ear. Rachel ran her lips across her teeth. Whatever battled this bear probably looked a lot worse.

The grizzly didn’t make a sound, didn't move a muscle, until a soft gust of wind passed through the valley and disrupted the animal’s steadfast eyes. With one last, gruff snort, the grizzly turned and lumbered off the road.

She exhaled slowly, and with trembling hands, edged the vehicle to the shoulder. Massaging fingers rubbed into one sweat-soaked palm, and then the other, she focused on the animal as it traipsed through the meadow toward the woods.

Well, that’s something you don’t see every day.

Her shoulders rose and fell, then, with fingers still quivering, Rachel reached into the console for hand sanitizer. Squeezing the clear gel out, the alcohol dried the final traces of perspiration, and she glanced one last time at the empty meadow. 

She chuckled, put the car in gear. I guess that was the welcoming committee, she whispered. Welcome to Montana, Rachel.

A heavy foot pushed against the pedal and the vehicle sped from the roadside. 

A faint smile played across her lips with the first glimpse of the town through tired eyes. Thoughts of the deer and bear on the highway ten minutes earlier all but forgotten—the anticipation of her close encounter of the first kind replaced by the quiet excitement of arrival.

THREE PAIRS OF EYES peered through the dark trees that lined the highway, watching Rachel with interest and curiosity as they lingered on the outskirts of town.

One of the males crossed thick arms across a thicker chest. Do you think the bear knew?

He knew, the other male agreed without movement, a step ahead of his companions.

Do you think she knew? The female, taller and thinner than the men, stepped back.

How could she? the second male asked.

She knows, the first male’s face clouded.

They watched Rachel drive away, and then melted into the forest. The second male shook his head. We shall see. 

Chapter Two

RACHEL PARKED IN FRONT of the Sullivan Hotel and stepped out. Drawing a deep breath of mountain air, she placed both hands on her hips and arched her back. Three days in a car left muscles cramped and restless. 

She followed the cobbled sidewalk past stores and strangers, past white churches and century-old brick buildings decorated by flowerpots and American flags. Many displayed faded, decade-old paint that once advertised businesses that were no longer in existence.

Gone were the silver metal streetlights of Philadelphia, now replaced by freshly painted black iron lanterns. 

Rachel circled the courtyard. Arriving in Sullivan, Montana was a bit like stepping into a Norman Rockwell painting.

A little cliché, maybe, she thought, but true.

People paused to talk to neighbors, grocery store clerks carried bags to cars for patrons, and the local patrol stopped to help children cross the streets. The rat race of the city was nowhere to be found.

A For Sale sign in a vacant store window caught Rachel’s attention halfway around the plaza. Tilting her head, Rachel strolled to windows shaded with a thin veneer of white paint. With hands cupped against each temple, she leaned against the glass. A ladder and some large chunks of fallen plaster were visible, all other details successively concealed behind the shading.

Might be worth checking out.

She sighed and backed away from the window, made a mental note to contact a realtor the next day. She turned to the courtyard as a family walked by, and Rachel returned their curious smiles while wondering privately how often a town like Sullivan received outside guests. Her guess was, not often. 

Rachel yawned and pinched the bridge of her nose. Time to check in at the hotel, put her feet up, get some dinner. A truck passed, and she trotted across the street, her heeled boots tapping against the asphalt. As she reached the inner plaza park, a woman stopped her on the walkway.

You’re not from around here, are you? the woman laughed.

Dressed in jeans, a form-fitted red plaid shirt, and gym shoes, golden hair pulled into a ponytail, and no makeup, the woman looked as though she had a horse tied next to a trough nearby. She resembled everyone else Rachel had seen and dressed the part to perfection. But an accent thick with New Jersey drawl wasn't much different from her own.

Rachel smiled. I guess I didn’t have to run. There’s no traffic here. 

Even if there were, they would stop for you. You’re in Mayberry—no points for hitting pedestrians here. The woman offered a hand. I’m Erica Smith. Born and bred outsider. She grinned and pushed the ponytail over one shoulder. And you?

Rachel Brackett. Philly girl. Just arrived today off the wagon train. The two women laughed and shook hands.

Where are you headed? To the Sullivan Hotel?

She nodded and they fell in step, strolling to the brick manor. Children raced past them, giggling while parents followed as though they didn’t have a care in the world. A slower pace of life, so different from the city. Rachel would have to get used to it. 

A few people met Rachel and Erica with weary smiles followed with half-hearted hellos, and Rachel grew quiet. Perhaps friendly wasn't the correct word. But maybe it took time.

Erica spoke as if reading Rachel’s mind. Don’t let them intimidate you, Philly girl. Like any small town, they take care of their own first—those born and bred here. But you’ll find people warm up quicker than you might think. She brushed the ponytail back, the coiffure remaining in place a few moments before returning to the more comfortable roost across her shoulder. My husband and I moved here five years ago so he could play cowboy and start a ranch, she continued, smiling. We love it. We figure we’ll be lifers. Sooner or later, everyone will forget we’re outsiders. Both women laughed. Where are you living? Not the hotel, I hope.

Rachel shook her head. She towered over Erica and guessed her new acquaintance wasn’t quite five feet tall. A little more than six inches taller, Rachel felt a bit like an Amazon woman standing next to Erica as they neared the end of the plaza. Only for the night. I inherited an old house somewhere outside of town. From what I remember, it’s at the base of a forest and there's a lake nearby, she replied, reciting the limited details she could recall from a barrage of emails sent by the estate attorney.

Erica’s eyes lit with recognition as they stood before one of the wood benches resting on either side of the hotel’s entranceway. She pointed to Rachel. You mean, you’re the heir to the Collingsworth estate?

She nodded, grimaced. The reverence of meeting a celebrity rang in Erica’s voice. Rachel felt like anything but a celebrity. Even the term heir sounded out of place. 

Huh. Imagine that. Well, the house is almost as old as the town, and I hear it needs a lot of TLC. But it’s huge. Erica cocked her head and looked up the street. Do you have a family too? 

None.

That’s a lot of house for just one person. Erica glanced at her watch. I better get going. I have to meet my husband. We’ll stop by sometime soon. He’s great with electrical and plumbing, just about anything you need. You may find you need the help.

Okay, thank you. 

I’ll let you check in. Nice to meet you, Philly girl. Erica retreated, oblivious to anyone else as she walked backward. And tell Georgie Porgie to give you the best room in the house. It’s not like he’s overbooked. She threw a casual gesture toward the mountains towering over the town. Oh, and Rachel! Remember—there’s eyes in them thar hills!

Rachel laughed, waved, and went inside, still chuckling as she passed through the door. 

The building's exterior had been beautiful and looked like one of the oldest in town. Inside, restoration preserved the historic accuracy of the hotel. From maple hardwood floors to the original oak counter to the tan tin ceiling above, every distinct detail had been noted and cared for. Impressed, she strolled to the counter, pushed down on a call bell, and turned to face the lobby as she waited.

Her eye for antiques and natural flare for interior design were delighted by the preservation of the hotel’s heritage. The atmosphere was made warm and inviting by oriental rugs, a cinnamon leather sofa, and matching armchairs. Rachel grinned. Even a wood coat hanger topped with a decorative cowboy hat and lady’s throw rested in a corner. From every nook and cranny, the hotel gave a comfortable nod to a nineteenth-century stagecoach inn and looked fresh out of the pages of an Old Western novel. Not one detail missed.

Hello. Can I help you?

Rachel turned to see a heavy-set man with a round face and dimpled chin. The nametag read George Portion and she smiled at Erica Smith’s characterization. With a round, stout stance, Georgie Porgie seemed appropriate, and she battled to keep from laughing. Hi. Rachel Brackett, I have a reservation.

I heard Ms. Erica’s order for the best room in the house, he explained, promptly passing a key across the counter.

Her cheeks flushed.

That would be the master suite on the second floor, directly above us. When you reach the top of the staircase, go down the first hall on the left. Sorry but we don’t have an elevator or swimming pool here.

Rachel suspected Mr. Portion wasn’t as sorry as he was polite. Thank you, I don’t need either.

Right, okay. Great. He pointed to an adjoining hallway to the right of the front desk. Breakfast will be served from six to nine in the morning, dinner from four to seven, both in the parlor, closed at lunch.

Thank you, Mr. Portion.

Retrieving the suitcase from the car, she headed up the carved black walnut staircase. The second-floor hallways were narrow and dimly lit with kerosene oil lamps long since updated for electrical use. The hotel reminded her of the small, downtown boutique hotels back home. Quaint, quiet, and adorable. 

The metal key slipped into the lock and turned easily, opening the door to a charming suite, large and comfortable. Rachel closed the door, then walked across the sitting area into a bedroom, where a queen-sized antique bed lay in wait. She yawned. A swollen comforter and plush pillows invited her to the large bed, and she yawned.

Her rumbling stomach had other ideas.  

Food first, then sleep. She searched the phone for a room service button and found none.