Silver Lake Secrets. Alison Stone

turned on his heel and hiked up the incline. The icy snow crunched under his boots. He lost his footing once and had to put his hand down to catch himself. At times like these, he wondered why he hadn’t moved south, away from the harsh winters of Western New York.

      He climbed behind the wheel of his cruiser, cranked up the heat and squeezed the cool leather of the steering wheel. He stared straight ahead at the swirling snowstorm.

      This couldn’t be happening.

      Hard to imagine that now, eight years later, Nicole had met the same fate as his brother—both their lives snuffed out in horrific car accidents.

      * * *

      Brett plodded through the six inches of fresh snow covering the front walk leading to Miss Mary’s small ranch. He wrapped his gloved hand around the black metal railing, steeling himself against the onslaught of emotion clogging his throat. Notifying families of accidents—possibly fatal—was never easy.

      Brett took off his hat and tucked it under his arm. He pressed the cracked doorbell and waited. And listened. He drew in a deep breath and let it out, trying to even his emotions.

      Nicole’s grandmother had been confined to a wheelchair recently, the reason, as he understood, Nicole had returned to Silver Lake. A sense of anticipation flooded his gut and made him antsy.

       Patience.

      Navigating a wheelchair through the small house would take a little extra time. He blew out a few short breaths. The moment Miss Mary opened the door, her life would be changed. Forever. No going back. He ran a hand across his short-cropped hair and mentally rehearsed the few feeble words of comfort he planned to offer.

      The door creaked open. Brett glanced down, anticipating Miss Mary’s sweet face looking up at him from a wheelchair. The same sweet face that, a lifetime ago, made Sunday-school lessons fun. To his surprise, a little boy with hazel eyes, a splash of freckles across his nose and a quizzical expression on his face appeared in the doorway. Something distant, like a forgotten memory, whispered across his brain.

      “Hi, mister.” The little boy’s voice snapped Brett back to the moment.

      Brett crouched to the level of the boy. “Is your grandma home?” The word grandma came out as a question.

      The boy glanced over his shoulder but didn’t open the door more than a foot. He was probably cold in his superhero pj’s and bare feet. “My Gigi’s home.”

      “Your great grandmother?”

      The little boy nodded slowly.

       Of course.

      “Can you get her?” Brett forced a smile, his lips and cheeks frozen from the elements.

      Footsteps sounded down the hall and Brett narrowed his gaze.

      The door flew open. A wash of confusion mixed with relief swept over him. Dressed in gray sweats, with her long, wavy brown hair flowing over her shoulders, Nicole Braun glared at him, the annoyance in her gaze matching her tone. “Can I help you?”

      * * *

      Max’s brother stood at her door.

      Nicole braced her hand against the door frame, pinpricks of anxiety sweeping up her arms. An officer at the door with his hat tucked under his arm was not a positive development, especially when the officer happened to be the older brother of her deceased boyfriend. She swallowed hard and her eyes drifted down to her son.

      She nudged Ethan’s arm. “Run and tell Gigi I’ll be back in a few minutes with her tea.”

      Ethan glanced at the officer with wide eyes. Her little man was at the age when a man in uniform was automatically a hero. “Aw, Mom,” he groaned. “Can’t I stay?”

      Nicole’s gaze landed on the man standing on her porch. Flecks of gold touched his brown eyes, just as they did in her son’s.

      Just like Max’s eyes.

      She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear then crossed her arms in front of her and stifled a shudder, thankful she could blame it on the arctic wind whipping in through the open door.

      The officer’s unreadable expression did nothing to quell her rioting emotions. Had he uncovered her secret? Nicole placed a possessive hand on Ethan’s shoulder. “Go.” Impatience and dread weighed heavily on her chest.

      Once her son was out of earshot, she leaned her hip against the door frame and forced a curt tone. “Can I help you?” She made a big show of letting her gaze drop to his name tag. “Chief Brett Eggert.” But she knew exactly who he was.

      Who his family was.

      Who his brother was.

       Or had been.

      Nicole glanced over her shoulder to make doubly sure Ethan had followed her instructions. She didn’t want him to overhear their conversation.

      “Nicole.” He tipped his head in greeting. “It’s me, Brett. Max’s brother.”

      “I know who you are, Chief Eggert.” She made sure her voice oozed with indifference.

      A hint of confusion creased the corners of his eyes. “You can call me Brett.”

      She crossed her arms and sighed. “Okay, what do you want, Brett?” Despite her snarky attitude, her nerves hummed with apprehension. She had no idea why he was here—but she wasn’t about to show any weakness in front of an Eggert, a member of the family that had run her out of town eight years ago.

      Brett seemed to do a mental shake and something flittered across his eyes. “Were you in an accident this evening?”

      She slowly shook her head. “I don’t even have my...” She was about to say the word car, when it hit her. Cold icy fear pumped through her veins, matching the chill on her flesh. “My friend Missy Flowers borrowed my car.” Her eyes widened. “Has there been an accident? Is she okay?” Instinctively she sent up a quick prayer for her friend.

      But why was he asking her if she had been in an accident? If Missy was okay, he would have known Nicole wasn’t driving her own car. Her stomach pitched and her mind scrambled with the possibilities. Nothing made sense.

      Nicole stepped back and held out her arm, suddenly forgetting all the reasons she shouldn’t invite this man into her home. “Come in.” The words rasped in her dry throat.

      “Is Missy okay?” she asked again, her impatience growing each time he didn’t answer her question.

      Brett stepped into the foyer, his broad shoulders filling the narrow space. His silence ramped up her panic.

      Dear Lord, let Missy be okay, she repeated in her head. Please, please, please.

      “We pulled your vehicle out of the lake this evening.”

      “And Missy...?” Blackness darkened the periphery of her vision. She flattened her palm against the flowered wallpaper. “Is Missy okay? I let her borrow my car.” A shrill tone laced the edges of her words. She fisted her hands at her side, resisting the urge to reach out and throttle him. Demand some reassurance.

      His somber expression gave none.

      “I’m sorry,” he finally said, his voice gruff. “No one was in the car.”

      Nicole’s brow furrowed. “No one? How can that be? Where’s Missy?” The busy wallpaper swirled and the ground heaved underneath her.

      This wasn’t the first time an officer had notified her of a traffic accident. The night the police officer came to her door to tell her Max had been killed in a wreck was imprinted on her brain. She’d never forget that night and the subsequent tailspin it had sent the rest of her life into.

      Dragging her hand along the wall, she tottered to the kitchen. She found her purse hanging on the back of a chair. Her pulse