Extreme Measures (An Emily O'Brien novel #6)

By M.R. Miller

Everyone thinks Holly Brennan ran away from her problems, the biggest one being her mom’s creepy boyfriend. But reporter Emily O’Brien isn’t so sure. She sets out to find out where the college student has gone, putting her at odds with the family, the police, even her own boyfriend, Craig Caldwell. But as Emily picks up Holly’s trail, she finds hints something more sinister may have happened to the girl, something evil and twisted that has been allowed to thrive for far too long. But can she prove it? Putting her career, her relationships and her life on the line, Emily is determined to find out, no matter what it takes.

• Language: English
• Publisher: M.R. Miller
• Release date: Oct 30, 2016
• ISBN: 9781370513550

M.R. Miller

I was a journalist for about twelve years with a daily newspaper in the Midwest and am now the author of the Emily O’Brien series. When I’m not writing, I enjoy reading, hiking, cooking, gardening and spending time with my family.

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Extreme Measures

An Emily O’Brien novel

By M.R.Miller

Copyright 2016 M.R. Miller

All rights reserved. No reproduction of this work is authorized without prior written consent from the author.

This book is a work of fiction. All characters, dialogue and plot are products of the author’s imagination. Any similarities to people, living or dead, or actual events are entirely coincidental.

Published by M.R. Miller at Smashwords

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you are reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

Author’s Note

Each book in the Emily O’Brien series is a standalone novel (no cliffhangers, I promise) but the characters and events do develop and unfold over the course of each book so reading them in order is recommended to avoid any unintentional spoilers.

If you are new to the Emily O’Brien series, welcome! Here’s what you should know. The books have Christian themes. But these themes play out in the real world, and that world includes not-so-nice elements, including some profanity, that I’ve chosen to include for the sake of authenticity. If either of these elements bothers you (Christianity or profanity), then this might not be the series for you. That’s okay; not every book is right for every reader. But I hope you’ll give it a try with an open mind.

If you are a returning reader, thank you so much for taking this journey with me. Happy reading!

Chapter 1

My back ached from the hard courtroom bench. I’d spent the morning listening to testimony for and against a high-ranking gang member peddling his drug business in Ochre County. The evidence was pretty weighty, and I was thinking a conviction was likely. But sitting through all the witnesses was taking forever. It was only Monday and I was hoping this wouldn’t take my entire week.

I’d come back to the office for a little while to check my email and maybe grab a quick bite before heading back for another few hours that afternoon. I hustled into the newsroom, glancing at my notes while I walked. Pushing through the newsroom door, I almost ran over a young woman with dishwater blond hair and startling blue eyes who was waiting near our receptionist’s desk.

Holly?

Emily, she said, with a grin. How are you?

I’m great. How about you? Are you interning for us this summer?

I hope so. I’m here to talk to Mr. Marshall. Remember he said last summer that this year I was pretty much a shoo-in.

That sounds great. We’d love to have you back. How’s school?

Okay. I’m ready to be done. Just one more year.

I wanted to ask her more – about her finances and her mom and whether she was fitting in at college. But those questions were too personal for the middle of the newsroom, one huge room filled with desks. No one had cubicles that even gave the illusion of privacy. Bill Marshall, the managing editor of The Winston Chronicle, was the only one with an office.

How about lunch?

Sure. When?

Well, today and tomorrow won’t work. I’m tied up with a trial.

Trial? I thought you did education?

I did. But now I’m the crime reporter. Since Rosemary died.

I heard about that. I’m sorry. That was terrible.

I nodded my agreement. How about coffee instead?

When?

Tomorrow morning? Is eight too early? I have to be at the courthouse by ten.

That sounds fine. The coffee shop downtown?

It’s a date. Well, good luck with Bill. I’m sure I’ll be seeing you around.

I went to my desk and dumped my notebook on top of it. I checked my e-mail and returned a few phone calls. I had to be back to the courtroom by one so I didn’t get too much done, but it meant I wouldn’t be dealing with all of these calls and messages later. On my way back to the courthouse, I stopped at the deli for a quick sandwich and a couple quiet minutes reading a book.

Court recessed by four-thirty, and I went back to the office to write my story, double checking some facts from previous articles on this case. I had some mug shots to add to the finished product. Once I was done editing it, I turned it in. I waited around for Bill to read it so I could fix any mistakes or answer any questions. Then I went home.

Sam Johnson peeked through my gate when he heard my Jeep pull up. He was with Marty in my backyard.

Hey, Buddy.

Hey, Auntie Em.

What’s going on?

I was bored. I came over to play with Marty and Kitty.

I have softball practice tonight but you can stay with them if your mom says it’s okay.

I can come. Shag balls for you?

Don’t you have your own practice?

Not until tomorrow.

Well, call your mom and ask her.

I handed Sam my cell phone. I went inside, and he followed me as he dialed. I heard him talk to his mom for a few minutes, then he handed the phone to me.

Hey, I said. I’d gone into my room and was pulling out sweats for practice.

You don’t mind?

Of course not. I think he likes hanging out with the older girls.

He’s only eleven. Your girls are thirteen and fourteen.

He’s almost twelve. You never know.

Don’t even joke about it. What time will you be done?

Practice is until seven. I’ll feed him before I bring him home.

All right. If you’re sure.

I am.

Hey, I wondered if you would go shopping with me this weekend. I know it’s not your favorite thing but I need some moral support.

What are you shopping for?

Well, I told you my sister was dating that guy.

The one she met in rehab?

Yeah, the one I’m not even sure is here legally.

What about it?

They’re getting married.

Ah.

She wants me to stand up with her.

What are you going to do?

What can I do? She’s my sister. I can’t tell her no. She’ll just get mad and then Mom will get mad. I should just do it and shut my mouth.

That sucks.

The good thing is she told me I can just wear whatever I want. I have a couple places I want to go. Will you come? I’ll buy lunch.

Part of me wanted to say no since I hated shopping the way I hated going to the dentist, but Mattie had gone to bat for me more times than I could count. Sure.

Maybe after church?

Okay. Why don’t we take my car? Then we can leave right after. Jeff can take the kids home.

We hung up and Sam played with Marty a few minutes more while I changed clothes and tied my hair in a pony tail. We left the dog out back as we headed to the park. I had tried bringing him with me once, but he was way too social. I spent more time corralling him than I did coaching.

This was my second year coaching softball, a totally foreign concept to me since I’d played baseball for the first sixteen years of my life. Then my aunt and uncle put an end to that when I moved in with them after my dad died. My father had played in the major leagues for a couple years, and he taught me as much as he could, enough that I could compete with boys at the high school level.

When I made the switch to softball last year, I’d had to spend some time with the high school softball coach to learn more about the game and the techniques. I also played on my church’s intramural team, so that helped, too.

We worked through some drills, with me hitting ground balls to the infield and pop flies to the outfield. Sam grabbed the balls for me when the girls threw them back in. I deliberately hit the balls harder than they would see from their opponents at this level. Some of the girls were still afraid of the ball, and I figured eventually they would realize I was the scariest batter they would face. I hoped it would calm them when it was game time, knowing they’d already seen the worst. I heard plenty of complaining about that, usually from the parents. Bud Benner was one of the worst.

Hey, he yelled at me from the fence.

I frowned. What? I’m in the middle of practice.

He glared at me so I sighed and walked over to where his stocky frame was leaning against the chain link. He had on a button-down shirt with jeans, work boots and a baseball cap. His face was perpetually lobster red; I figured as a farmer he was in the sun a lot.

You hit that pretty hard. She could have been hurt. We all can see that you’re some butch. You don’t need to rub it in the girls’ faces.

I pushed my cap up off my forehead and then straightened it, giving myself a second so I didn’t spit out the first words that popped in my head. You’re talking about the ball I hit at Lissa?

Well, yeah, but it’s not just her.

Did you see what she was doing before I hit the ball to her?

He sputtered a bit as he grasped for something to say.

That’s right. She was fooling around and not watching the ball. Not acceptable.

You didn’t have to scare her.

Didn’t I? Next time she’ll pay attention to the ball. All of them will. If she wants to socialize, plenty of clubs at school allow for that. When she’s on the field, she’s got to be about the game. It’s not safe otherwise. To her or the other girls. Eyes on the ball. That’s my rule and they’re going to learn it.

I turned and began to walk back to home plate to hit some more balls. But he wasn’t done, muttering a few curses under his breath. Unfortunately, I couldn’t let it go.

Know what, Mr. Benner? You don’t like how I coach, take it to the board. Maybe you’ll get lucky next year and they’ll find someone else to take the job. In the meantime, it’s my team and my practice. Take it or leave it.

He muttered some more, but stalked back over to where a few of the other dads were standing. I deliberately hit a screamer all the way to the back fence, and then yelled for one of the girls to stop it.

Out of the corner of my eye, I could see them shake their heads and whisper. I didn’t have the weight or the build to suggest at first that I could hit like that. I was taller than average at five eight and had broad shoulders. But my technique, all the things I learned from my dad, were what gave me power when I hit the ball. I was trying to pass those things on to my girls, even if some of them didn’t appreciate it yet.

Not all of the parents were as vocal as Benner. Most of them were relieved to have someone at the helm. Finding coaches for softball at this level of play could be tough. Not many moms wanted to do it, nor dads for that matter. And not all that were willing had the knowledge. I’d become involved when a single dad from my church asked me to take the job for his daughter’s team. I hadn’t realized at the time that would involve much more than just teaching the basics of hitting and fielding.

We ended practice with some sprints between the bags, as I worked with them on base running skills. They were woefully inadequate at making good calls while on base – not their fault; they’d never been taught. Despite the claims I was too rough on the girls, I never belittled them. Athletes have different levels of skill, and mistakes happen. Effort was what I wanted, but I pushed them to improve, too.

When we wrapped up, I began packing up my gear, keeping an eye out to make sure the girls went home with their parents.

Hey, Em.

I looked up to see Jon Parks leaning against the chain link fence near the dugout. Jon was the dad who’d recruited me for the team; we played together on our church intramural league. He was a little taller than me and built like a tank. He worked construction and already the late spring sun had given him a deep tan. He wore a sleeveless shirt to show off his thick muscles. I hoped that wasn’t for my benefit, though on some level, I knew it was.

Hey. What’s going on?

Sorry about Benner.

I shrugged. Comes with the job.

So … uh … how’s Lindsey doing?

Great. Why do you ask?

I just think her swing could use some work. I thought maybe you could stop by one night and give her some extra pointers.

I frowned, getting where he was going with this. He was as transparent as a window. Why don’t I take a look right now?

Well… I… uh… don’t want to make you stay late.

No problem.

I called to Lindsey and pulled a bat and ball out of the bag, as well as my glove, which I tossed to Jon. You pitch. Hey, Sam, come over here and catch some balls.

Sam trotted over and took his place behind the plate. I handed Lindsey the bat. We worked through her swing a bit, which was actually better than most of the girls on the team. No shock there. I was sure Jon practiced with her regularly. We worked through a few balls, and I gave her some pointers for avoiding pop flies.

Otherwise, she’s good, I told Jon, then shot Lindsey a grin. I can always count on her.

She beamed under the praise, as did her old man. I put the bat away and started lugging the gear to my new Jeep. Not brand new, but new to me. It ran better and looked better than my old one, which had been taken out of commission in a hit and run accident this winter. While I was happy with the new one, sometimes I still missed the character of the old one.

Jon took the bags out of my arms and slung them over his shoulder. I opened my mouth to protest, and then thought better of it. Why fight it? He was just being nice.

I opened the hatch to the Jeep and let him place the bags inside. Thanks.

Sure thing, he said. He glanced around, noting that Lindsey had already gotten into his truck and Sam was getting into the passenger side of my Jeep. So…um… I was wondering if you had plans this Saturday night.

Crap. Well, yeah, I do.

Oh. Caldwell?

I felt my face begin to flush. Yeah.

Oh.

We stood awkwardly for a moment and inwardly I pleaded for him to not take that next step. But he did.

Maybe next weekend? I mean, you guys aren’t exclusive or anything, right?

Oh boy. How did I even begin to answer that question? Splitting with Brian in November had kicked the crap out of me, especially the up-in-the-air way we’d left things. And I could imagine from Jon’s point of view what my situation looked like. He’d had a crush, but never acted on it. Then I started bringing Craig Caldwell to church. As friends. But right after Easter that started to change. So it looked like I was ready, ready to move past Brian. But he would be wrong. The thing with Craig, though, is that he knew I was still struggling, but he swore up and down we could take it slow and just see what happened. So far, he’d been patient, more or less.

Look, Jon. The thing with Craig isn’t serious. I’m still having a hard time, from before, you know?

He let my words just hang there for a minute and I felt like a jerk. Sure, Em. Maybe another time.

Thanks, I said, offering him a sincere smile. I meant it. He was a nice guy. See you at church Sunday.

Yeah, see ya, he said.

He looked a little dejected as he walked back over to his truck. I got in the front seat with Sam.

What was that all about?

Don’t ask, I told him.

Did he just ask you on a date?

Do you not understand English? Don’t ask, I said, though the corner of my lips tipped up and he knew I was kidding. Sort of. I couldn’t really talk about my love live with an eleven-year-old.

So what do you want for supper?

Are we going out?

Yeah, it’s late and I have to get you back soon or your Mom will think I abducted you.

How about McDonalds?

As if I hadn’t known. We drove to the fast food chain and I pulled into the parking lot. We went inside and I used the restroom to wash up first. It took a little prodding to get Sam to do the same.

When we had our food, we sat and ate. Sam filled me in on all the happenings in the fifth grade. He would be leaving his school after this year and starting at the middle school on the other side of town in the fall. He was ready to be away from the little kids, he said. I was sure that included his younger sister.

So how come you said no? he asked.

What?

When Jon asked you on a date. Why did you say no?

Well, you’re being nosy, aren’t you?

He just looked at me.

How do you know he asked me out?

I could tell, the way he was all nervous. And Mom told Dad that he likes you.

Were you eavesdropping on your parents?

Don’t change the subject. So why did you say no?

How do you know I said no?

He rolled his eyes. Because if you said yes he would have been smiling when he walked away.

Why do you want to know?

Because I’m just asking. Don’t you like Jon?

Yes, I said carefully. He’s a very nice man.

But you like Craig better?

Well, not exactly like that. It’s complicated.

He sat and ate quietly a few minutes, dragging his French fries through the ketchup on his hamburger wrapper and popping them into his mouth. I thought he was ready to change the subject when he finally spoke again.

It’s because you still miss Brian, right?

Did you hear that from your mom, too?

No. I can figure that much out myself.

I didn’t know what to say so I took another bite of my sandwich. I was a little off kilter having this conversation with Sam. Normally we talked about sports or school, maybe when he had a problem with bullies or his little sister. But once in awhile, he would ask me the hard questions. Maybe that’s why I liked him so much.

Can I tell you something, something not very nice? he asked.

Sure.

I was glad when you broke up with Brian.

I lifted my eyebrows. Why?

Because, he said slowly, looking at his food rather than at me, I was afraid you’d marry him and move away.

My heart caught in my throat. I reached across the table and tilted his chin so he was looking at me. Guess what, kiddo, you’re stuck with me for life. You’ll probably be the one who moves away first, when you go to college and get a job and get married. And no matter what, I’ll always be your friend. I’ll always be there for you.

His eyes got moist, but he held in any tears. He was too big to break down anymore, even if he wanted to. You’ll always be my friend, too.

We’ll see, I teased. Maybe when you’re a cool teenager you won’t want to hang out with an old lady anymore.

He shook his head.

It was just a joke.

I know. But it wasn’t funny.

Sorry. I’ll try to come up with some better material.

He offered me half a smile, then took another handful of French fries and began bathing them in ketchup, his appetite returning. Did I tell you what happened at recess today? It was so gross…

He launched into a tale involving a sick kid who couldn’t make it to the bathroom. As much as I could have done without the story, I was glad to see him return to thinking like a kid.

Chapter 2

I got to the coffee shop a little before eight. For a change I was running early. I went to the counter and ordered a large iced coffee, then handed the girl behind the counter a ten.

Someone is joining me. She’s in her early twenties. Dark blond hair. When she gets here, this should cover what she orders, too. If not, let me know. Otherwise, keep the change.

Will do. Thanks.

The coffee shop was large and open, with lots of little tables spread throughout, some along the windows. There were plush chairs and couches in little groups and some near the fireplace. A handful of people were there this morning, typing on laptops, visiting with a friend or reading a book. None of the staff ever complained about how long a customer lingered so it was a good spot to hang out.

Holly came in a few minutes later, looking much less chipper than she had yesterday. She was dressed up for work, wearing a pencil skirt and a blouse. But her eyes were swollen, like she’d been crying. What’s wrong? I asked as she came to the table I’d chosen.

She started to tell me, but then shook her head.

I already paid for your coffee. Get something and then we’ll talk.

She did as I said, and I watched her as she went to the counter. Holly Brennan was average height, rounded in all the right places which the boys tended to notice. She wasn’t a ravishing beauty but she was pretty, especially when she smiled. She was smart, both street smart and book smart, a rare combination. She was a fighter. She had to be. No one had ever given her much in the way of help. Born to a single mom who’d had her share of problems with booze and men, Holly had grown up fending for herself. She was the proverbial girl from the wrong side of the tracks, and she knew all the clichés that went with that. But she was determined to move out of that situation, to go to college, to get a job, to get out of Winston and never look back. I wondered if she was having problems with her mom again.

When she came back to the table, she sat down and began to sip her coffee. She didn’t look at me, just glanced out the window. I waited for her to decide she was ready to talk.

I wasn’t sure I should come today.

Why not?

She shrugged. You don’t need to worry about my problems. It’s not very professional.

Who’s worried about being professional? Tell me.

She sighed. I didn’t get the job.

I almost choked on my coffee. What? I thought that’s why you were all dressed up. What happened?

I’m job hunting today. Mr. Marshall said someone else got the job. I found out it was Drake Hinckley. I went to high school with him and he is such a tool bag. Mr. Marshall said he was sorry… that I could freelance again… But I really was counting on that job.

She’d been one of our applicants for our internship program last year. It was a