Ways to Read the Mortician's Daugther Book 3 3 Heartbeats Away

  Table of Contents

Championship Page

Books past C.C. Hunter

Three Heartbeats Away

Acknowledgments

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Affiliate Iii

Chapter Four

Chapter 5

Affiliate Half dozen

Chapter Vii

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Affiliate 10

Chapter 11

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Xiii

Affiliate Fourteen

Chapter Xv

Affiliate Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter 19

Chapter Xx

Chapter Twenty-1

Chapter Twenty-2

Chapter Xx-3

Epilogue

Reader Letter

About the Author

Copyright

Shadow Falls Series

Born at Midnight

Awake at Dawn

Taken at Dusk

Whispers at Moonrise

Chosen at Nightfall

Shadow Falls Afterwards Dark Serial

Reborn

Eternal

Unspoken

Almost Midnight (a drove of Shadow Falls novels)

Midnight Hour

Fighting Back, a Shadow Falls Novella

The Mortician'due south Daughter serial

One Foot in the Grave

Two Anxiety Under

Three Heartbeats Away

Other Books past C.C. Hunter

This Heart of Mine

In Another Life

For more information: www.CCHunterBooks.com

The dead carry their secrets with them…

At to the lowest degree until they end upward at Riley Smith's door. Her latest spectral visitor is a murdered helpmate with a need for revenge, and not necessarily for the person who killed her. Never heed that killer is about to strike over again. Riley'due south adamant to help, merely is missing Hayden, the hot, ghostly male child who's always had her back.

Living, breathing Hayden is awake, which means his spirit isn't effectually to flirt with Riley anymore. Worse yet, the "real" Hayden doesn't retrieve her. Their connection had been and so strong. Did his feelings for Riley just disappear into the ether?

As Riley gets closer to finding the bride's killer, other secrets are revealed: secrets that changes everything Riley thought she knew virtually her parents. But before she tin completely unravel the mystery of her past, Riley will demand to escape the murderer that threatens her future.

Thanks to:

Trayce Layne for the wonderful spot-on edits. To my agent, Kim Lionetti, for always having my back, and Darlene Dixon for the awesome covers. To my formatting angel Emily Tippetts, and Hannah Lindsey a copy editor guru. Thank you all for making my publishing dreams possible.

Nor can I forget my family unit for the beloved, the laughter and the support. And what would my life be without my friends. Friends who listen to my woes and wows. Friends who take the time to walk, wine, text, electronic mail, and call.

And finally to the fans, who transport emails, post reviews, and send messages and permit me know that my stories affect their lives.

Thanks all for being part of my tribe. Yous keep me honest, sane, and fill my lives with joy.

"If you aren't going to talk, only leave. All that claret is ruining my ambition." I plop the quart of ice foam on the table.

My spoon, glazed with a sparse coat of water ice, drops to the tile flooring with a frozen clink. The precipitous sound vibrates through the kitchen and frays a few more than of my nerves. And I don't accept very many left.

I expect up at the expressionless helpmate who's been standing silently in front of me for 5 minutes.

"It is kind of a lot, isn't information technology?" Her tone rings sarcastic equally she glares downward at the forepart of her gown.

My gaze follows hers to where the knife protrudes out of her chest, and I choke down a toe-curling scream. I should be used to seeing crap like this, just I'm not.

The chill that comes with the expressionless has officially turned my blood to slush. While I tin can nonetheless move, I pop up from the chair, recap the quart of Rocky Road, and shove it dorsum into the freezer—which, by the fashion, is warmer than the kitchen.

For some reason, this ghost is colder than the residuum. I've been helping the dead pass over for a year and eight months, merely I'yard notwithstanding non spirit-savvy enough to know what that ways.

Terminal week, she showed up claiming she has info about my mom, who died when I was 4, but the dead bride will only talk if I promise to help her. Problem is, she won't tell me what kind of help she needs until I give my word. I'm guessing it has to do with whoever stuck that ten-inch knife in her heart, just then again, her killer might already be in jail. I can hope, right? Finding murderers is fashion higher up my pay grade. Specially considering I don't get paid.

"What do y'all need help with?" I enquire. Over again.

"So that boy in the hospital broke your heart, huh?" She smiles as if my pain makes her airheaded. "Isn't that your fourth quart of ice cream in two days?"

What is she? The ice cream constabulary? "That isn't what we need to be talking about," I say, when what I want to say is, Doesn't look every bit if your dearest life turned out so well, either. Just I'chiliad not a smartass.

Well, I am. I'thou sort of a cupboard smartass.

But she's right almost the boy. He broke my center. When I met Hayden, I idea he was a ghost, but it turned out he was only in a coma. Which explained why his spirit always felt warmer than the others. The "real" Hayden woke up in the hospital 2 days ago and doesn't call up me. How could he forget? How, when nosotros spent hours bonding, kissing, sharing secrets? How, when he saved my life twice and I'thou pretty sure I had a hand in saving his? Isn't that memorable?

Bridezilla moves closer. Ice forms on my lips.

"Was that other daughter who showed up his girlfriend?"

I refuse to answer. Hayden never told me about his girlfriend, Brandy. Which is why I'm pissed at him. Yeah, I constitute out he'd dated her, but considering he never mentioned her—always—I only assumed information technology wasn't serious. I just assumed when he woke up, we'd be together. That he'd dearest me like he said he did.

The spirit'south silver-blond hair, hanging in loose curls, sweeps over the knife, and the tips of her hair soak up claret, becoming heavier.

She props a hand on her hip with mental attitude, and with the knife poking out of her chest, she comes off similar a real badass. And while I might exist a closet smartass, I don't take a badass os in my trunk. But I fake information technology pretty skilful sometimes.

She makes a hissing audio. "I demand your hope you'll help me."

"I don't make promises before I know what they include. So either start talking or start walking." I spot Pumpkin, my orangish tabby, hiding and shivering behind the garbage tin can. Ghosts aren't his thing.

To escape the freezer-burn feeling, I move to pick the spoon upwardly off the floor and drop it in the sink. The wooden block displaying 10 of our sharpest knives steals my attention, and the prototype of the knife in the bride's chest fills my caput.

I wouldn't exist so quick to send her packing if I wasn't pretty sure she was bravado smoke nigh having Mom info. She undoubtedly heard me talking nigh all my unanswered Mom questions.

Questions I'k hoping to go answers to today when Kelsey and I go on a road trip to a certain artist's gallery where one of my Mom's paintings is on exhibit. I'd plant six paintings by that same artist—signed simply every bit Sam—in our attic. My mom had collected his work.

"Hope yous'll practise what I say or I'll take

everything I know most your mom dorsum to my grave." Obviously, the spirit thinks she needs to blackmail me into helping her. She doesn't. Helping the expressionless is what I do. Not all by pick, listen you. I didn't ask for this unpaid gig.

My next breath sends ice crystals into the air.

Shivering, I turn around and pull my arms into the sleeves of my navy sweater. "Who did that to you?" I gaze at the knife. "Is that what this is nigh?"

Her lips, a expressionless blue color, turn downward. "You lot're wrong, yous know."

"Wrong about what?" My teeth chatter.

"Everything you believe most your mom. Everything!"

The fury in her vocalisation sounds angsty and personal. "Did you know my mother?"

Her eyes tighten to slits. For the first time, I notice her irises are silver. Scary argent. And with her pinpoint black pupils, she reminds me of a ophidian. A venomous one.

She moves in and puts her face in mine.

I take one, two, three steps back. So I spotter in horror as she pulls the knife from her chest and holds it in front of me as if looking to give the bract a new dwelling.

Blood drips from the tip, freezes midair, and so falls to the floor with tiny clinks.

At first the spirits were non-kinetic; they couldn't move annihilation. So no real damage could come to me. Just my last ghost had been able to move things. He claimed it was only when he was really angry, and this spirit seems pretty pissed. What if she can motion a existent pocketknife correct into my chest?

The doorbell rings. It must be Kelsey.

I await at the bride. "Leave." I push the word from my frozen lips. "Don't come back until yous're willing to talk. And threatening me won't work."

Worried she'd use my fearfulness against me, I pretend I'm all sunshine and roses. Yet as I move to the door, I imagine the hurting of a knife plunging into my dorsum.

See why I don't like this gig sometimes?

A clanking-clattering sound echoes in the kitchen. Flinching, I look back just as Pumpkin comes hauling ass beyond the tile, slides over the woods flooring, so darts under the sofa. He probably knocked over the trash can again.

I stop in front of the door and take deep breaths to rid myself of panic. Kelsey doesn't know nearly my connections to the dead, but she'due south darn skilful at reading my emotions. The knock sounds over again.

I open the door. "Sorry, I…" Information technology'due south not Kelsey.

"Hello Riley." Mrs. Parker, Hayden'southward mom, stands in my doorway with warm sprays of sun spilling in around her.

"How-do-you-do," I manage, all the same frosty.

She looks as nervous as I feel. "I haven't seen you lot in a few days."

"Uh, yeah, I've been…had stuff to do." Like imagining your son swapping spit with Brandy.

She offers an I-don't-believe-you nod. I remember she suspected I was hurt when Brandy showed upward in Hayden'south infirmary room and tongue-kissed her son. The same son whom I've been falling in love with for the last few months.

The worry in her gaze grows intense, and I feel it bounciness from her eyes to my heart. "Is Hayden okay?"

"Healthwise, he'due south fine. It'south just…his spirits are down."

Okay, that hurts. Hurts considering I care. And I shouldn't. I take to allow him go. "Why is he downward?"

"He tried to walk, and his leg muscles won't hold him. The doctors explained he needs physical therapy, only my son'south never been big on patience. He's worried he'll never play sports over again. And I think he'due south bored and needs people his own age."

I can tell she's pushing me to go see Hayden, but…I don't think he wants to come across me. Besides, he has Brandy. And beingness effectually him stings like a lemon-doused papercut because he's my everything and I'm his…nothing, and, well, staying away feels like a really adept idea.

"I thought his friends would be up at that place all the fourth dimension now." I tug at my sweater sleeves equally the thought of him beingness lonely tugs at my heart.

"Everyone's busy." Her tone hints at annoyance, and I share information technology. "Jacob and his family are away for the weekend, and Brandy'due south parents are friends with his parents, and then she'south gone, as well. Y'all were so skilful at beingness there for me these last three weeks, I thought perchance—"

"I'm going to visit a gallery with a friend today." I don't know what alibi I'chiliad going to requite her tomorrow.

"I understand." She looks downwards, then up. "I hate to enquire, but I need your assistance, Riley."

"Me?"

"They think he'll come home from the hospital in a few days. But he'll take physical therapy three times a week, and he can't drive. I had to get a job or I'd lose the firm." She wrings her hands some more. "My husband and I have been separated for over a calendar month. We're getting a divorce, and he hasn't been prissy about the financial situation."

"I'yard lamentable," I say, only I'm really non. Not about the divorce. Hayden told me he caught his stepdad cheating on his mom. It was what he and his mom had been arguing about when he tore out of his house and had the wreck that left him in the blackout.

"It's been a long time coming." She blinks abroad the emotion in her eyes. "Anyway, I got lucky when the law firm I worked for several years back had an opening. But they'd only take me back if I'd work full-fourth dimension and if I'd start immediately. Information technology's a nine-to-half-dozen chore, and someone has to exist at that place for Hayden."

"Surely, Jacob or Brandy could—"

"He wants yous."

He wants you lot. He wants yous. Her words band in my ears. My middle opens up, and I swallow to go on the tears from climbing up my sinuses. Did Hayden remember me?

"Me? He said that?"

She nods. "I'll pay y'all, of course." She puts a hand over her heart, lending emotion to her words. "Please say you'll do information technology."

A shutting car door sounds behind her and is followed by Kelsey's footsteps tapping upwards my walkway. Mrs. Parker looks dorsum. "Hi Kelsey."

"Hi." Surprise flashes in her expression. "How's Carter?"

"He'south…" Mrs. Parker holds up a hand. "He's awake. But he wants to be called Hayden now."

I remember Hayden telling me that Carter was actually his soccer coach's proper name, and when his mom married him, Hayden got the nickname Carter'south boy. The "boy" got dropped, and he kept the nickname Carter. 1 he was proud of at i fourth dimension.

Mrs. Parker turns back to me. "Think about information technology and text me. And if yous get dorsum from the gallery in time, get come across him. I'k supposed to run across with my boss to go caught upward on their new clients." She hugs me really tight, then leaves, taking a clamper of my middle with her.

I go back inside. Kelsey follows. The deadly cold lingers in the air. We barely get into the living room before she asks, "Think about what?"

I confirm the kitchen is ghost-free before answering. "Mrs. Parker wants me to drive Hayden to his physical therapy treatments."

Kelsey's mouth drops open. "You aren't going to exercise information technology, are yous?"

I shrug.

She cocks her head and gives me her explain-this-shit expression. I get a lot of those from her. "Yous said you felt awkward hanging with him considering of Brandy."

Aye, I told Kelsey almost Brandy and Jacob being at the hospital the day Hayden woke up. I even told her—the lie I told everyone else—that my merely connection to Hayden was that nosotros attended the aforementioned summertime camp years ago. Unlike anybody else, Kelsey isn't buying information technology.

"She needs assistance." Function of me wants to ditch Kelsey and the art gallery and go see Hayden. To kiss him the way I wanted to when he woke upward. Then I want to yell at him for not telling me about Brandy. If he'd told me he had someone, someone serious, I'd have resisted his charm. Held off his kisses. I wouldn't accept fallen in love with him.

Maybe I should've confronted him when I found out, just at the time I was and then afraid of him dying, I couldn't permit myself experience even a petty betrayed. Ah, simply now he's alive and apparently in love with someone else.

As much as this stings, my Hayden issues take to look. The trip to the gallery is im

portant, as well.

I simulated a smiling to Kelsey, who is even so studying me like she'due south trying to meet inside my head. Not that she really wants to. It's non pretty. "Ready?"

"Information technology'south just…weird. Non normal." She points a finger at me.

"What's weird?" She's going to take to be specific, because my whole freaking life is creepy and wacky and not even shut to normal.

"Your and then-chosen connexion to Hayden. His mom asking you to assist. The fact that your house is colder than an Eskimo'south popsicle." She hugs herself. "And that." She motions to the floor. "That is stranger than shit, likewise."

I look downwardly and gasp. The knives from the wooden holder are on the tile. I call back the clattering noise from before. Since Pumpkin was behind the trash can, I don't call back he's the one who knocked them off. Especially because the way they've fallen, they nigh make a center.

Which means I have some other ghost who can motion things. Which means she really can pocketknife me in the dorsum. Which means… Shit!

"You don't accept to practice this," Kelsey says when I park correct in front of the gallery.

I'm gripping the wheel so tight my fingers are white and numb. Are the answers I want in there? Do I really want them? I try to look abroad, but I can't. The building is painted yellow and green. A welcome sign hangs from the red front door, only I don't feel welcome. That door feels like the lid to Pandora's box.

I sigh. "What if you lot're correct? What if Sam'due south my father?"

Kelsey unclicks her seatbelt. "Don't listen to me. I just tossed that out at that place as the worst-case scenario."

"No. You tossed information technology out there because you think he looks like me in that website picture. And with my dad existence and so secretive… I hateful, what if the worst case is the correct example?" Dread coils up in my abdomen.

"Look, whatsoever you lot larn, you deal with it." Kelsey gives my shoulder an I-got-your-dorsum squeeze. "And you'll be better off knowing it. The truth volition set yous free kind of shit. Some very wise prophet said that."

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