Haunted Hideout Read online

  Haunted Hideout

  By

  Michelle Dorey

  The Haunted Ones Book 1

  CONTENTS

  About this book:

  ONE

  TWO

  THREE

  FOUR

  FIVE

  SIX

  SEVEN

  EIGHT

  NINE

  TEN

  ELEVEN

  TWELVE

  THIRTEEN

  FOURTEEN

  FIFTEEN

  SIXTEEN

  SEVENTEEN

  EIGHTEEN

  NINETEEN

  TWENTY

  TWENTY ONE

  TWENTY TWO

  TWENTY THREE

  TWENTY FOUR

  TWENTY FIVE

  TWENTY SIX

  TWENTY SEVEN

  TWENTY EIGHT

  TWENTY NINE

  THIRTY

  THIRTY ONE

  THIRTY TWO

  THIRTY THREE

  THIRTY FOUR

  THIRTY FIVE

  SPECIAL BONUS Legacy: The Mystical Veil

  About this book:

  Ghostly terror awaits in the so called ‘safe house’.

  They didn’t know it was the last day of normal. Liam—husband, father—the rock who anchored them in a comfortable life in sunny Miami had been gunned down by a hit man.

  The wounds of losing him are raw when Lydia and her two children are snatched for their own protection. The FBI scoop the family into the Witness Protection Program. Their safety from the drug cartel is assured.

  Or is it?

  The FBI makes a serious mistake in the relocation plan. The secluded farmhouse in a northern state is anything but a sanctuary. No one questioned why they could buy the house so cheap. No one listened to the local yokel tale of what happened there.

  A tale of a dark and tragic history. Ghosts of the past have abided there for years, forcing other families to flee for their lives. At first the entities toy with Lydia and her children, flickering the lights, banging doors, and revealing fleeting glimpses.

  When a raging blizzard traps the family there, the haunting escalates. What had been frightening escapades become dangerous threats. Deadly threats. Years before there had been a massacre in this house. It’s time for another.

  Will they survive the night?

  The Haunted Hideout is the first episode of the series ‘The Haunted Ones’, a collection of tales about ordinary people confronting extraordinary evil.

  Click here to see the rest of the books in the series!

  Special Bonus

  Legacy: They Mystical Veil, a full length novel is included!

  Copyright 2018, Michelle Dorey

  ISBN: 978-1-988913-07-0

  License Notes

  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’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to it and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

  Cover Design by Juan Padron

  https://www.instagram.com/padrondesign/

  Edited by Paula Grundy

  https://paulaproofreader.wixsite.com/home

  082118docx

  ONE

  “I HAVE TO TAKE THIS. SORRY.” Lydia shrugged, lifting the cell phone to her ear as she walked out of the house.

  Everything about the century home, even such detail as the scent of baking bread in the oven, was staged. So was the phone call. The young couple would be anxious to make an offer if they thought more buyers were interested in the place. She didn’t win the Florida Realtors Award every year for nothing.

  Her hand threaded through golden locks as she looked down at her high-heeled foot tapping on the walkway. From the Armani-tailored, raw-silk suit to the Jimmy Choo shoes, it was all about the image—juggling clients, closing deals and immense success. Give the middle-aged doctor and his trophy wife a few more minutes alone in the house, and they’d be begging her to write up an offer.

  Her eyes flashed wide at the squeal of tires from the black Suburban suddenly appearing at the end of the walkway. She could only stare as two dark-suited men raced up the walkway. It was right out of a movie!

  The older guy paused and peered down the street while the younger one gripped her by one arm and flipped an ID case with his free hand. “FBI. Come with us.”

  She yanked away from him. “What? There must be some—”

  “You’re Lydia Robbins, right?” The older guy’s voice was low and gravelly. His dark-brown eyes peered at her like she was his next meal; squinting in borderline pleasure.

  Her heart thudded against her rib cage. Was it that deal last week, the hotel she’d sold? Some kind of money-laundering scam? She held her chin high daring them to charge her with something. She was innocent in all that, by God! “Yes, I’m Lydia Robbins.”

  The younger guy flipped his badge closed and pulled her toward the idling Suburban. “You’re in danger, Mrs. Robbins. Hurry. Get in the vehicle.”

  Her heel twisted when he tugged her, and she scrambled to stay erect. “No! I’ve got clients inside. I have to—”

  The older man moved in. “You have to come with us. Now! If you don’t, that’s the last house you’ll ever set foot in. They’re coming and it’s not to buy a house.”

  Her gaze ricocheted between them like watching a ping pong match. “Who’s coming? Who are they?” But her feet clattered fast keeping up with them. The back door of the tank-like vehicle was thrown open wide. Strong hands clasped her elbow, ushering her inside.

  A black guy behind the steering wheel turned his head. “Move! Move! Move!”

  The door had hardly banged shut before there was another screech of tires, and they hurtled forward. She gripped the handle above the door, hanging on for dear life as the car spun around the corner. Her mouth was suddenly dry and she croaked, “What’s this all about? Are you sure it’s me you want?”

  The older guy in the front seat dropped his head and sighed. He turned around and in a gentler voice replied, “I’m sorry to break this to you but your husband...he’s dead. We found his body in a canal off Cypress Avenue.”

  His words kicked her in the stomach. She slumped over, hardly able to breathe. No. It couldn’t be. There had to be some kind of horrible mistake. “No. My husband is in Bermuda on business. I don’t know who you found, but it wasn’t Liam!”

  This time it was the younger agent beside her who spoke, “Mrs. Robbins. We’ve been working with your husband for some time. He didn’t want to involve you. But I’m afraid his cover was blown. Castinadas got to him before we could. I’m sorry.”

  Every cell in her body filled with rage. She spat the words, “I don’t know any Castinadas! Liam works for a hedge fund! He’s an accountant, for God’s sake!” She flipped her phone up and hit the button to call him. This was a joke! A mean and cruel joke.

  A tinny message told her that the message box was full. She blinked a couple times looking at it. That didn’t make sense. Liam was fastidious about his phone, always clearing out old messages. There was some mix-up or something. She hit the button about to try again, when the young agent’s hand covered hers.

  “I’m sorry, but it was your husband’s body. Liam was working for a drug cartel. We contacted him and made a deal. He was going to testify in exchange for immunity. You and your family were to go into the Witness Protection Program

  The world stopped. She sat like a stone, his words echoing in her brain. Liam? He was dead? He’d been working for some drug lord? But he was an accountant not so
me Mafioso guy! She’d teased him this morning when they spoke on the phone. With the sale today, she’d actually be making more money than he had all year. She’d kidded him she was going to get a pool boy.

  Oh my God. Liam. Gone? Tears welled in her eyes.

  The young agent passed her a tissue. “Other agents are picking up your son and daughter. The Castinadas are ruthless. They don’t stop at just the snitch. They go after the whole family.”

  Her mouth fell open, the breath frozen in her chest. Oh my God. The kids! Her heart lurched to her stomach.

  TWO

  SHE RACED FORWARD when the elevator doors slid open. Ahead of her were paper-strewn desks, men and women perched behind them, peering at computer screens or talking on phones. Her heartbeat sounded in her ears blocking out the cacophony of the busy office as her eyes searched the room.

  “Where are my damn kids!” she bellowed. The office went quiet, and a woman at a desk pointed a finger.

  There! They were in a glass-walled office behind the main entrance. She lurched forward, her knees suddenly weak. Thank God, they were safe!

  “Mrs. Robbins?”

  She ignored the man who had stepped forward and rushed past him. Through the glass of the far office, she could see Mark rise to his feet. He raced for the door, her daughter right behind him.

  As she strode to get to them, her mind was flying ahead. Had they found out about their father’s death the same way she had—from some FBI agent? Oh shit! Did they know? Both kids came to a skidding halt in front of her, clutching her arms with white-knuckled fingers.

  “Mom! What’s happening?” Angela’s whispered words spoke volumes. Even though she was fifteen, in that moment she was a child looking for the safety that only a parent could give. And Lydia was now the only parent.

  “Can we go home, Mom?” Mark’s fingers dug into her arm, tugging fiercely while tears flooded his eyes.

  Lydia took a deep breath and hugged her children closer, holding on for a scrap of sanity and time. How could she tell them their world had just ended along with their father? Especially Angela. She’d always been Daddy’s little girl.

  The agent she’d dismissed so easily was back, holding the office door wide for her. He nodded, giving her the room and space to be alone with her children.

  Lydia nudged her kids, guiding them to the private sanctuary. “It’s okay. We’re going to be all right.” But she was saying it more for herself than them. Nothing was going to be okay ever again.

  When the door snicked closed behind her she closed her eyes for a moment, fighting the tears. She sniffed and shook her head a little to clear it, looking into their frightened eyes. “I’m so sorry... Oh God. Your father is gone.”

  Angela pulled back and her face screwed tight, “What do you mean gone? He’s in Bermuda, Mom.”

  Lydia shook her head and sobs wracked through her. She had to gasp out the news. “No. He isn’t. He’s...he died.” Better than saying he was murdered. But just barely. Murdered! Oh my God.

  “No! That can’t be. There’s some mistake. He’s not dead.” Angela words rushed out, her head shaking back and forth.

  Lydia looked down at Mark. His eyes spanned wide and his face had gone pale under the sprinkling of freckles. He took a step back from them and clamped his lips shut. She reached for the eleven-year-old and pulled him in; burying her face in his dark curls as he stood perfectly still. Mark...his iron self-control was in full display. This would kill him and he would never let on.

  Angela wailed, clutching at her mother. “No Mom! Daddy? Pleeeease! It can’t be true! Noooo!”

  They stayed like that for a long time, just holding on to each other. Mark’s tears were silent while Angela railed at the world and herself for not being nicer to her father. She could have, should have spent more time with him; told him she loved him more often.

  Remorse turned to anger. Angela pulled away, swiping the tears away with the back of her hand. “So why are we here? Was Daddy in trouble? Did they do something that caused his death?” Her eyes narrowed glaring at the people working outside in the main area.

  Lydia slumped into a chair, pulling Mark onto her lap. She never wanted to let go. He needed her and she needed him. She looked up at her daughter and sighed. This was going to be hard. “Your father was working with the FBI. He was trying to do the right thing. The men where he was employed...they were bad. They were a drug cartel. When your father found out, he was going to testify against them.” How long had he known though?

  Angela’s head tilted and she leaned closer, “Harmony Group is a drug cartel? A drug cartel?” She pulled up a chair and sat close to her mother and brother. Her eyes were narrow when she continued, “They killed Daddy, didn’t they? They found out he was going to tell and they killed him.”

  Lydia took a deep breath. “Yes. And now they’re after us.”

  Angela’s jaw dropped, while Mark pulled away gaping at his mother. Lydia sat straighter, and her hands rubbed their shoulders. “We’re going to be okay. Your father made sure of that. The FBI are going to protect us just the way they would have if your father had lived. Your dad helped them, and now they’re going to help us.”

  But Angela wasn’t buying it. She crossed her arms in front of her, her head pivoting around their surroundings. “How? They couldn’t save Daddy! How are they going to help us? Drug cartels are ruthless, Mom. They could kill you while you’re showing houses...or Mark, when he’s riding his bike to school. I’ll come out of a friend’s house and some sniper will put a bullet in my brain.”

  “No! They won’t know where we are. We’ll be in the Witness Protection Program. A new state and new IDs.” Lydia tried to sound positive even though it took every last iota of energy.

  Angela jumped to her feet. “Where? Alaska?”

  Lydia could only stare at her daughter for a few moments. Angela had come pretty close to hitting the truth. “Not Alaska. Up north in New York State. Some town near the border.”

  “What border? Massachusetts or Connecticut?” Mark ventured a whispered question.

  Again, it was hard to keep the sadness from her voice. “Neither. The Canadian border. Some place called Alexandria Bay.”

  Angela shook her head, tears once more in her eyes. “Great. When do we leave?”

  But before Lydia could answer, the FBI agent who’d been assigned to them opened the door and popped his head through the crack. “We need to hit the road in twenty minutes. The sooner you’re out of Miami the better.”

  None of them had the energy to respond. Like chain-gang convicts, they quietly trudged out of the room behind the agent.

  Each step drawing them closer to an even worse nightmare.

  THREE

  LYDIA’S HAND RESTED on her son’s shoulder as they were guided into another room, this one without windows. And a uniformed agent stood at the door—holding a machine gun.

  “Everyone take a seat,” the guard said, holding the door open, then closing it when they entered. Lydia heard the tiny snick of the door latch locking. She closed her eyes and pressed her lips together. This was for real, real. The three of them flopped into metal chairs bolted to the floor around a stainless-steel table—also bolted to the floor.

  The door to the room opened, and this time it was a woman who stepped in. Her dark eyes were kind, set in a face that although attractive, showed signs of wear. “I’m Special Agent, Rhonda Bowles.” She looked at Mark and Angela and her head fell to the side. “I’m really sorry about your dad.”

  Angela fingered a fresh set of tears from under her eyes. She nodded and put her hand on her mother’s shoulder. Mark didn’t even try to respond, his mute focus on the floor.

  Lydia pushed up from the chair, setting her son on his feet in front of her. “So this is it? We’re leaving now? Can we stop at the house to pick up some things?” But it wasn’t the designer wardrobe she was thinking about. There were photo albums, memories of the kids as babies, toddlers and then there were the family
photos with Liam. Liam sitting next to the pool, shading his eyes from the sun and trying to turn from the camera’s lens.

  The room seemed to spin when she pictured that. There’d be no more easy teasing, no more holding each other sharing their day. Her grasp on Mark’s shoulders tightened for a few beats as she fought for control. Looking down at her son’s dark curls, was another reminder of Liam, the same mop of unruly hair.

  But Liam was gone. From now on it would be her providing emotional support for the kids. She took a deep breath and looked over at the agent. The small shake of the woman’s head told Lydia that their past lives were over. There’d be no photo albums or memorabilia to anchor them. They were adrift.

  Angela stepped closer to the agent and her voice was flat. “I can’t call my friends to say goodbye, can I?”

  “I’m sorry, honey. I’ll need your cell phones.” She looked past Angela, meeting Lydia’s red-rimmed eyes. “We can’t take any chances with your safety.”

  Lydia scooped her phone from her pocket and handed it over. It was tempting to take one last scroll through the pictures she’d saved there, but it would bring on a new onslaught of crying. There’d be plenty of time for tears later.