Playing in Shadow Read online

  Table of Contents

  Synopsis

  What Reviewers Say About Lesley Davis’s Work

  By the Author

  Acknowledgments

  Dedication

  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

  About the Author

  Books Available from Bold Strokes Books

  Synopsis

  After surviving a devastating car crash, Bryce Donovan is plagued by crippling nightmares that leave her terrified to close her eyes. She still bears the scars from that night, both emotionally and physically. Her job at Tweedy Contractors brings the diversion she is desperate for, and the new apprentice painter is a welcome distraction. As a gifted artist, Scarlet Tweedy creates beauty in every medium she employs. But she’s always been expected to take over her father’s business. The problem is she doesn’t want to follow in his footsteps while she has dreams of her own to pursue. But can she choose her own path over what has always been expected of her?

  What Reviewers Say About Lesley Davis’s Work

  “Playing Passion’s Game is a delightful read with lots of twists, turns, and good laughs. Davis has provided a varied and interesting supportive cast. Those who enjoy computer games will recognize some familiar scenes, and those new to the topic get to learn about a whole new world.”—Just About Write

  “Pale Wings Protecting is a provocative paranormal mystery; it’s an otherworldly thriller couched inside a tale of budding romance. The novel contains an absorbing narrative, full of thrilling revelations, that skillfully leads the reader into the uncanny dimensions of the supernatural.”—Lambda Literary

  “[Dark Wings Descending] is an intriguing story that presents a vision of life after death many will find challenging. It also gives the reader some wonderful sex scenes, humor, and a great read!”—Reviewer RLynne

  “[Pale Wings Protecting] was just a delicious delight with so many levels of intrigue on the case level and the personal level. Plus, the celestial and diabolical beings were incredibly intriguing. …I was riveted from beginning to end and I certainly will look forward to additional books by Lesley Davis. By all means, give this story a total once-over!”—Rainbow Book Reviews

  Playing in Shadow

  Brought to you by

  eBooks from Bold Strokes Books, Inc.

  http://www.boldstrokesbooks.com

  eBooks are not transferable. They cannot be sold, shared or given away as it is an infringement on the copyright of this work.

  Please respect the rights of the author and do not file share.

  Playing in Shadow

  © 2015 By Lesley Davis. All Rights Reserved.

  ISBN 13: 978-1-62639-381-3

  This Electronic Book is published by

  Bold Strokes Books, Inc.

  P.O. Box 249

  Valley Falls, New York 12185

  First Edition: April 2015

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  This book, or parts thereof, may not be reproduced in any form without permission.

  Credits

  Editor: Cindy Cresap

  Production Design: Susan Ramundo

  Cover Design By Sheri ([email protected])

  By the Author

  Truth Behind The Mask

  Playing Passion’s Game

  Dark Wings Descending

  Pale Wings Protecting

  Playing In Shadow

  Acknowledgments

  Thank you Radclyffe for making Bold Strokes the best publisher for me to unleash my characters from.

  Thank you always Cindy Cresap for having the patience of four saints when editing my work. I appreciate everything you do to help bring out the best in my writing. Quite simply, you are awesome! Or bostin’, to use the Black Country term that’s equally as appreciative of all you do for me!

  To Sandy Lowe and all the marvelous folk at Bold Strokes, thanks for all that you do to get these stories out there.

  For Sheri, your covers are such fantastic works of art. Thank you for sharing that talent and giving me covers that shine.

  To my friends Jane Morrison and Jacky Morrison Hart, Pam Goodwin and Gina Paroline, Annie Ellis and Julia Lowndes. Ladies, your unceasing support of my work and your friendships with me are the blessings I truly treasure every single day.

  Toni Whitaker, as promised, now the nursery will be filled!! Thank you for all your kindness and your techie wizardry.

  To all my readers who champion each and every one of my characters and write to me about them, you keep me writing so thank you all!

  And thank you Cindy Pfannenstiel for always being my most excellent friend xx.

  Dedication

  To those who battle with shadows every day of their lives.

  Chapter One

  Bryce Donovan watched anxiously as the doctor scribbled something on her chart. Her patience stretched to the breaking point, Bryce finally bit. “Well?”

  Dr. Hudson laughed at her. She was more than used to Bryce’s gruff demeanor when it came to her health. “I’ve never had a patient so intent on getting back to work as quickly as you. Most of them want me to add another week to their time off.” She signed off her notes and looked up at Bryce. “You’ve had cracked ribs. You need to let them heal.”

  Bryce bristled. “I’ll be careful not to bang them on anything. Believe me, I’m more than aware of my limitations.” She sat stiffly, knowing when each and every breath hurt.

  “You also sustained a dislocated shoulder. I know that you’re a plasterer. Are you going to tell me that you can do that one-handed so as not to cause damage to the shoulder joint?”

  The doctor’s imperial tone only served to rile Bryce more. Gritting her teeth until her molars hurt, Bryce tried to rein in her exasperation. “I’ll be even more careful where that’s concerned. The physical therapist said I needed to keep it moving so it didn’t seize up on me. We’ve discussed at length all my limitations.”

  “I’m sure you did. I have his notes here in front of me. Neither of us expects you to be carrying your mortarboard and slapping plaster on a wall for more than a few hours a day. Not yet. It’s too soon.” The look she leveled at Bryce brooked no argument.

  Bryce cautiously lifted her hand to her face and traced the injury there. “And what about this?” She brushed her fingers over the livid wound that ran from her hairline down to slash through her eyebrow in a jagged scar. The stitches were long gone, but nothing could mask its cruel marking of Bryce’s skin.

  “It’s healing nicely, but the scar won’t be fading any time soon. You were lucky it never went lower. You could have lost that eye.”

  Bryce shuddered at the starkness of Dr. Hudson’s words. Every time she had heard the words “you were lucky,” she felt a cold and unsettling dread lodge deep in her chest.

  “How are your headaches?”

  “Managea
ble enough with the painkillers you prescribed.”

  “And the nightmares?”

  Bryce stiffened at the subtle way Dr. Hudson slipped the question in like it was just another innocent query to tick off her list. They both knew it wasn’t. She wouldn’t meet the doctor’s eyes. “Not as frequent,” she lied.

  “You don’t look like you’re getting much rest. Are you even sleeping, Bryce?”

  Bryce shrugged, grimacing at the pain that ran through her body at such a simple gesture. She felt nauseous and had to close her eyes against the bright white flashes of light that made her head ache and her stomach roll more. Gasping for breath, teeth clenched against the pain, Bryce managed to answer. “I’m sleeping more than I was after the accident.”

  “How about I up your dosage of sleeping pills to help you with that?”

  “Sure. Whatever,” Bryce said. She knew full well that no matter what the dosage, she wouldn’t be taking the medication any time soon. All for fear of what their inducing slumber might cause her to dream. She would rather be awake and facing the demons than fighting them off under the influence of drugs. She had spent days in the hospital while they had ascertained that her head injury and the nightmares she’d experienced under medication had left her terrified to sleep.

  No more drugs and no closing my eyes to the dark.

  “I can’t see why you can’t go back to work,” Dr. Hudson said.

  Bryce slipped off the bed and began buttoning up her shirt from her examination.

  Dr. Hudson forestalled her with a hand. “But light work only until you get your full strength back. You went through hell, Bryce. You need to recover.”

  “I will,” Bryce told her, tucking her shirt into her jeans and carefully easing into her jacket. “Will you sign me off now so I can go see my boss to make sure I still have a job to return to?”

  Dr. Hudson made a tutting noise at her. “I hope your boss appreciates how eager you are to get back to work against my recommendation.”

  “I appreciate the fact that he’s kept my job open for me and hasn’t replaced me while I’ve been laid up in here or at home twiddling my thumbs.”

  The doctor signed off on the recovery forms, then hesitated in handing them over to Bryce. “You’d better not stop seeing your physical therapist.”

  “I won’t. He’s helping me, so I’m not going to quit until my shoulder is back to full mobility.”

  “If your headaches get any worse, you come back and see me immediately, okay?”

  Bryce nodded. “I will.”

  She had no intention of stepping a foot back in the hospital. She’d spent more than enough time there and had hated every minute of being poked, prodded, and sympathized with. A hand on her arm stopped Bryce in her tracks and brought her out of her reverie.

  “Bryce, I don’t need to tell you that you were incredibly lucky to survive. But you’re not one hundred percent yet, and you have to heal mentally as well as physically. You need to be careful not to undo the healing you’ve already done.”

  “I’ll take it steady,” Bryce said, wincing as her ribs pulled and ached. “I don’t have much choice in the matter.” She accepted the paperwork and tried not to be too obvious in making a hasty exit.

  “Feel better,” Dr. Hudson said. “And take it easy.”

  “I just want my life to get back to normal, and these frequent hospital trips aren’t helping me do that. It’s nothing personal, Dr. Hudson. I’ve had great treatment here, but I’d rather get back to my life and put this all behind me.” Bryce shook the doctor’s hand. “Thanks for everything.” She ducked her head at the doctor’s compassionate stare and slipped out of the room as quickly as her injuries would allow.

  She closed the door behind her and paused to find her bearings. A woman rushing down the corridor brushed past Bryce a little too closely and caught her side. Pain lanced through her, and she sagged against the wall for support. Bryce breathed in harshly as she tried to control the pain. Sweat beaded on her forehead, and her rebellious stomach pitched. Bryce spotted a sign for the restroom and made her way toward it as quickly as possible, barely making it inside before she threw up in the sink. Every heave of her stomach pulled at her damaged ribs and made her head pound. Finally, with nothing left in her stomach to throw up, Bryce clung to the sink and willed the shudders to cease. Her legs felt like rubber as she ran water into the sink to clean it and then took a handful to swill out her mouth.

  She looked at herself in the mirror. Her eyes were drawn instantly to the scar cutting through her brow. Her hair was missing a patch at the front where the hair had been shaved off to remove the glass and debris that had sliced into her forehead. The rest of her hair wasn’t much longer, but the bare patch made her feel exposed. Her eyes looked bloodshot. Bryce was no longer surprised by the pale face she saw, marred by shadows under her eyes. She tried to conjure up a smile, but it didn’t look convincing. She looked older than her thirty-one years.

  “Still as handsome as ever,” she muttered and roughly took a cap out of her pocket and pulled it on. She slanted it to cover the left side of her face. She’d been told the damage there would fade in time to leave a white ragged scar, but Bryce didn’t like the looks it generated from well-meaning people. She needed nobody’s sympathy.

  Her legs finally steady, Bryce left the bathroom to carefully walk out of the hospital without anyone else knocking her down. Once outside, she breathed in the fresh air and squinted up at the sky.

  Back to normality, she thought despairingly.

  Like I’ll ever know normal again.

  *

  “Dad, you really didn’t have to drive me to the job today. I could have driven myself there.” Scarlet Tweedy regarded her father fondly. Victor Tweedy just grinned at her then returned his eyes to the road.

  “I was in the neighborhood,” he replied.

  Scarlet laughed. “No, you weren’t. You’ve just driven miles out of your way to come pick me up.”

  “I just wanted to see you, to spend some quality time with my daughter before you start working for that slave driver boss of yours.” His eyes held a twinkle that just made Scarlet chuckle even more.

  “Really? I’ve heard tell that my boss is a real teddy bear at heart.”

  “Don’t you believe it. State your source.”

  Scarlet smirked. “Grandma.”

  Laughing, he shook his head. “You can’t believe a word that comes out of that crazy old lady’s mouth.”

  “That old lady gave you a perfect landscaping duo that you have been raving about since you joined forces, so she can’t be all that crazy.”

  He pondered this a moment then nodded. “True, she always says that things happen for a reason, and look what happened. Her neighbor finally gets that wreck of a yard cleared up, and I get my own team of professional landscapers from it. Then you came from Illinois, finally back home to Columbia, and got to move straight in with one of them.”

  Scarlet settled back in her seat and enjoyed the heat from the sun bathing her through the windshield. “I can’t believe my luck on that. Monica is a great roommate, and she hadn’t shared with anyone for ages after Juliet moved out. It was fated.”

  “And you’re perfectly suited. You both…dress alike.”

  Scarlet shook her head at her dad’s hesitancy. “Dad, I’ll never understand how you can find my being gay so easy to live with but you’re frightened to use the Goth word.”

  Her father shifted in the driver’s seat. “I just don’t want you getting hurt because of how you dress. It’s bad enough worrying about someone hurting you because you’re gay.” He let out a big sigh. “I’ll never understand why someone would chase you down because you just happen to wear black. I’ve read about it happening.”

  “It’s a crazy world, Dad.” Scarlet looked down at herself and tugged at a loose thread on her T-shirt. “I do, however, dress down for work so you should be able to worry less. I haven’t been chased for years. At least”—she shot her
father a cheeky grin—“not in the way you worry about!”

  He rolled his eyes. “That’s my girl.” He glanced over at her T-shirt. “What’s Epica?”

  “One of the bands I listen to.”

  “Would your mother have liked them, do you think?”

  Scarlet hesitated and thought back to the woman she’d known for so few years. She and her father still mourned her loss keenly. “I think she’d have found the lead singer striking. She has Mom’s vibrant shade of red hair.”

  He reached over and stroked her red locks. “You follow your mother for her beauty, my girl.”

  Scarlet smiled at the compliment. “That’s just as well, Dad, because you’re starting to go bald, and I really don’t need to inherit that trait from you.”

  His laughter made Scarlet smile. She was so glad she could make her father happy when they both still felt the sorrow at her mother’s death. Scarlet had barely been ten years old, the time when a girl needs her mother to walk her through the pitfalls of puberty. Scarlet eyed her father fondly. They hadn’t done too badly just the two of them. She decided to lighten the mood.

  “So, have you got all my paint ready? Picked up the rollers and brushes I asked for? Got me my own stepladder so I can reach the ceilings just right?”

  “I got everything like you requested. I know all too well how an artist likes her own tools.”

  “I’m a painter and decorator. The only artistry I perform there is to wipe up the spills off the ceiling molding.”

  “And yet your grandma was adamant you’d turn your talents to watercolors and not drip dry gloss and emulsions. Maybe she’s not so crazy after all. She keeps telling me she wants to invest in your oil paintings. She’s certain that’s where your future lies.”