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  I DREAM OF SPIDERS

  Copyright 2019 © Elle Keating

  This book 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 events, locales, or persons living or dead, is coincidental.

  All rights reserved. In accordance with the US Copyright Act of 1976, the scanning, uploading, and electronic sharing of any part of this book without the permission of the publisher constitute unlawful piracy and theft of the author’s intellectual property. If you would like to use material from the book (other than for review purposes), prior written permission must be obtained.

  Editing: Kerri Hampton and Mary Yakovets

  Formatting: Integrity Formatting

  Cover design © Arijana Karčić, Cover It! Designs

  Table of Contents

  Also by Elle Keating

  About the Author

  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

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Chapter Thirty

  Epilogue

  Also by Elle Keating

  The Dangerous Love Series

  Thrill of the Chase

  Cut to the Chase

  Wanting More

  Back to the Start

  Feels Like Falling

  Standalone

  Keeping His Commandments

  About the Author

  Elle Keating is the author of romance novels with sexy heroes and fierce females. Her first book, Thrill of the Chase (Dangerous Love, #1), was published by Forever Romance’s digital imprint, Forever Yours, in 2015. Cut to the Chase (Dangerous Love, #2) soon followed. Most recently, Elle self-published Wanting More (Dangerous Love, #3), Back to the Start (Dangerous Love, #4) Feels Like Falling (Dangerous Love, #5) and the standalone novel, Keeping His Commandments.

  When Elle isn’t torturing her heroes and heroines (don’t worry, there’s always a happily ever after), she is a public school administrator and enjoys spending time with her husband and 3 children in New Jersey. For more on Elle and her books, visit ellekeating.com.

  Chapter One

  Griffin

  Trent didn’t lie or even exaggerate the truth when he told me he lived in East Bumblefuck, Pennsylvania.

  With a population of under two thousand, the town of Quarry Hill is at least three hours away from any major city. Surrounded by miles of woods, lakes, and mountains, one can easily let the Deliverance vibe set in. But I don’t mind it. I like how secluded this town is because here no one except my best friend, Trent Reddick, knows the name Griffin McGuire. No one here is privy to my past or what happened in Philadelphia. And I need it to stay that way.

  “So how do you think your interview went?” Trent asks as he rounds his car.

  “You tell me. You were half the interview committee,” I say, sliding into the passenger seat.

  “Like I said before, the interview was just a formality. You got the job, shithead. You start next week. That’s if you still want it.” Trent turns the key in the ignition and grins. The ’72 Mustang I’m sitting in is his new pride and joy. I’m not into cars, but I can see why he’s captivated. The low hum of the recently souped-up engine promises a sweet ride in a rather dull town.

  I look over at Trent, who still has a smirk on his face. We’ve only known each other for three years, but he’s the best friend I’ve got. He’s also the strongest motherfucker I’ve ever met and loyal to a fault. “So, what do you hicks do for fun out here? Tip cows? Play chicken with tractors? Dance in abandoned warehouses?”

  “Does this mean you’re really going to move here?” With his wide eyes and a smile that takes up most of his face, Trent looks younger than his thirty-six years.

  “Looks like it,” I say with a shrug. “I guess the next thing I need to do is find a place to crash.”

  Trent reaches over to the backseat and hands me a blue folder. Inside are printouts from a realtor. Three apartments and one single family home. “I went ahead and did some research on the off chance that you took me up on my crazy offer to move to the middle of nowhere.”

  I understand why Trent is attached to Quarry Hill. He grew up here. His parents still live in town and his sister, Carol, is a teacher at the one and only elementary school around the corner from the hospital. But he is a single guy, and from what I have seen so far, there isn’t a slew of women under the age of fifty. The situation works for me because I’m not looking for a woman in the foreseeable future. With what happened in Philadelphia, I’m not sure if I will ever be ready to date again. An image of Miranda goes through my mind, and I curse under my breath. Even after a year just the thought of her makes me see red. “Where’s the closest property?” I ask, sifting through the printouts.

  “They’re all a few blocks from here and within walking distance of the center of town and the hospital.”

  I look out the window and see the one street that is considered the town’s hub. The view is like something out of a ’50s movie. There’s a post office, a police station, a corner diner, a bakery and a bar. A sign outside of Pete’s Pub advertises the deal of the night: All you can eat wings for $5 and dollar pitchers. How the hell does that place make money with deals like that?

  It seems like a quiet and quaint town, but for me, it’s still too crowded. I’m already going to have to deal with people for four twelve-hour shifts per week as a paramedic at the hospital. I don’t want to socialize any more than that. “Hey, I was thinking a little more off the grid. Have anything like that?”

  Trent looks at me like he wants to say something, but then he stops and puts the car in reverse and starts to drive in the opposite direction. “I think I may know of a place. But let’s stop off at my house so you can grab your truck.”

  Less than a minute later, Trent’s car is idling in front of his home while I slip into my vehicle. The second my engine roars to life Trent is pulling away from the curb, leaving me in the dust. I press my foot to the floor and tail him as close as I can. He’ll be sweating all the way to our destination knowing I’m just a few feet from his precious bumper. Serves him right.

  Thirty minutes later, Trent turns onto a tree-lined dirt road. About a half mile in I see a small log cabin with a massive lake behind it. We pull up to the cabin and exit our vehicles.

  “You’re such an asshole,” Trent grunts.

  I watch Trent zip up his coat and then wipe the sweat from his brow. I just give him a smirk and start walking. I hear him mumbling and uttering a few curse words under his breath. By the time he catches up to me, his grumbling has stopped but his scowl remains. And it’s fucking priceless.

  Trent clears his throat and says, “This was my uncle’s place. He died a couple of months ago and left it to me. Not sure why, though. We weren’t that close. He was kind of a hermit, only saw him on holidays growing up. My dad thinks he gave it to me because I was in the military and Uncle Greg had put twe
nty years in before he was honorably discharged.”

  As we draw closer to my potential living quarters, I notice the screen that encloses the front porch is torn and the steps leading up to it are crumbling. But the roof looks fairly new and the foundation, from what I can see so far, doesn’t have any obvious cracks that scream for me to abort. This could work.

  “Until this moment, I had no idea what I was going to do with this place. It’s all yours if you want to take it off my hands. But before you answer, let’s take a look. I haven’t been back here since we cleared out my uncle’s personal belongings. Hope we don’t find too many critters inside.”

  At six-foot-four and weighing over two hundred pounds, Trent is a fucking tank. He also has an obscene tolerance for pain, as I found out in Afghanistan. As a Navy medic, I’m used to blood and the coppery stench that accompanies it. I saw soldiers’ limbs blown off and throats sliced open. Rarely did I let the sight fester, and it never prevented me from doing my job. But when I saw Trent lying in that war-torn village, his renal artery partially severed due to the shrapnel sticking out of his thigh, I knew I had to work quickly. Even as I stitched him up and put pressure on a wound that I knew had to hurt like a bitch, the bastard never even winced. I was a nervous wreck the entire time, praying that the stiches would hold until we got back to base. A little over an hour later, Trent was lying on a table and surrounded by a medical team that was able to continue from where I left off.

  So, the fact that Trent is worried that he will encounter a mouse or some creature that has more of a right to be here than we do is comical. Trent has never verbalized it to me before, but I know the man is afraid of things that scurry. “Such a fucking sissy. Let’s go, princess,” I say, gesturing to the front door. Reluctantly, he opens the door and peers inside. I can’t help myself and give him a push, causing him to stumble into what appears to be the living room.

  “Fuck you, Grif,” he says, regaining his balance and looking around the room, no doubt scanning it for unwelcome visitors.

  The cabin smells a little musty, but a day of open windows will cure that. I glance around and notice the woodburning fireplace on the far wall and the original but well-kept hardwood floors. Because of the open layout, I’m able to see the tiny kitchen and the pea green appliances. The fridge and stove are definitely trapped in the ’70s, but there’s a stainless-steel dishwasher and a microwave on the counter that appear to be from this decade.

  “You’ll need to pick up a mattress and some kitchenware, but the rest of the place is furnished.” The tour of the single floor, one-bedroom home doesn’t take long. I’m pleasantly surprised to learn that the cabin has two bathrooms, one in the bedroom and another in the hallway, and a basement that doesn’t smell like it has fallen victim to water damage. I look above the fireplace. “I didn’t shut off the electricity or the gas, but you’ll need to call the cable company. My uncle didn’t even own a television,” Trent says, reading my mind. A flat screen would fit perfectly there. We make our way out the back door only to encounter a large lake with a dock leading out.

  I’m sold. This is home. I’ll be spending many mornings and evenings out here fishing and throwing back a few beers.

  “What were you thinking about for rent?” I ask.

  “Well, if you just keep up with repairs and take care of it, you can live here rent-free. It would be one less headache for me if I know that somebody isn’t letting it go to shit. If later, after you settle in with your job, you decide you want to live here permanently—well, we’ll just cross that bridge when we come to it. How’s that sound?” Trent asks.

  “I think you’re just happy to have a guy under the age of fifty to have a beer with on a Friday night and watch a baseball game.” I’m not one to get mushy. Those days of wearing my heart on my sleeve are gone. I learned my lesson the hard way. And that lesson is to never let your guard down.

  “You bet your ass I’m happy about that.” Trent slips a key off his key ring and hands it to me. “I need to get back to the hospital. I’m working the late shift tonight. But tomorrow I’m taking you up on that beer. Pete’s Pub looks pretty run-down, but his wings aren’t that bad and he just added another beer on tap which he, as you will find out, is immensely proud of.” Trent punches me in the shoulder. “I’ll call you tomorrow.” I nod and watch him walk to his car, but then he turns and asks, “Hey, you sure about this? I mean, we can look at some properties in town. Have you join the land of the living?”

  Trent means well. He even asked me to move in with him and share his bachelor pad. His place is definitely big enough to accommodate another dude. But I can’t and he knows why. Why I prefer my solitude these days, why I’m looking forward to having four-legged neighbors instead of nosy ones who have the ability to get into my business. But he also knows that I can’t cut myself off completely from the world. Because if I could, I wouldn’t have agreed to come to Quarry Hill and be near my best friend. “This…this is what I need right now,” I say. I’m not in the mood to explain and I don’t have to. He knows about Miranda, what she did, what they did.

  Trent sighs and then forces a smile. “Well, at least I have a fishing hole to come to.”

  “I’ll see you tomorrow,” I say, ready for this conversation to be over.

  “Oh, I almost forgot. Drive about ten miles south on Route 41 and you’ll come across a shopping complex. There’s a Target, a supermarket, and a few other stores you may want to hit up before it gets dark.” I look up at the sky and see that the sun is quickly dipping below the horizon. “You can’t see a fucking thing on these roads at night.” I give him a nod and he responds with a salute. Trent enters his car, obnoxiously revs the engine, and takes off.

  I look around at what will be my home. For the first time in over a year, I feel my body exhale. Out here in the middle of nowhere the air is crisp and clean. No one is honking his horn or telling me to get the fuck out of his way. No one knows me.

  As much as I want to relax and explore my surroundings, I decide to take Trent’s advice and head to the store. I imagine that these woods are abundant with deer and I don’t have the money to fix my pickup truck if one decides to dart out in front of me. I’m not poor, but I’m not living the high life, either. The combination of attorney’s fees and Miranda’s debts put a serious dent in my bank account. Luckily, the row home we owned in South Philly sold quickly and I am able to start over with the money I made from the sale. It isn’t much, but it will hold me over until I earn my first paycheck a few weeks from now.

  • • •

  Two hours and three stores later, I am back in my truck. I’m a shitty shopper. There’s no rhyme or reason to how I rip through a store, no order, no plan. Which is why it is now pitch-black outside. To make matters worse, the heavens have opened and I’m being pelted by the kind of rain that soaks you through in seconds. At least I have some groceries, a brand-new mattress and box spring, and some pots and pans to show for it. A few miles from my new abode, I flick on my high beams and stay alert as I round the bend.

  And that is when I see her.

  I grab the wheel and swerve to avoid her, which sends my truck into a ditch on the side of the road. I quickly get out. I’ll assess the damage later. The headlights from my truck are the sole source of light, but they are enough to slice the darkness and allow me to see the petite figure standing just fifteen feet from me. As I draw closer, I pray that she is unharmed. “Are you okay?” I ask. My eyes zero in on her bloodstained shirt, the tear in her black stretch pants and the crimson stains on her sneakers. “Miss, are you hurt?”

  Shaking her head, the woman hugs herself and takes a few steps back. Her hair is completely soaked and matted down; dirt and blood cake her face. Bright blue eyes look me up and down as she shivers. I don’t know if her body is trembling from the cold or if she’s scared. Holding up my hands, I say, “I won’t hurt you. Let me call an ambulance for you…the police…they can…”

  “No…no police!”


  I creep closer. It’s possible she’s going into shock. She’s covered in blood and could fall into a state of delirium from the blood loss.

  “Okay, no police. But let me help you. I’m a medic. I can take care of your injuries.”

  She follows my gaze and looks down at her bloody shirt. Her eyes widen, as if realizing for the very first time that she looks like she has just walked off the set of a horror film. She gathers the hem of her shirt and rips it off, leaving her standing there in a soaked through bra. No injury mars her perfect ivory skin. With her chest heaving, her breathing intensifying by the second, she throws the shirt to the ground. “No police! Just…stay away from me!” she screams.

  As I fear, she takes off running into the woods. I can’t let her go. She isn’t thinking straight. And she isn’t safe out here. She could succumb to hypothermia. Or attract a bear. I chase after her. She is about ten yards in front of me when I hear a loud scream and then a thud. Even over the pounding rain, I know that sound. When flesh and bone meet something they shouldn’t. I sprint faster and find the woman lying on her side. The rock beneath her skull is littered with droplets of blood that are quickly washed away by the rain. I crouch down next to her and feel for a pulse. I find it.

  All my training comes back to me. It tells me not to move her, that she may have a concussion, that I should call for an ambulance. But for whatever reason, I go against everything I was taught, what kept me and countless soldiers alive in battle.

  And replay her words in my head.

  No police!

  She’s in trouble. And whatever she has gotten herself into makes her fear the police. Is she afraid of getting caught for something she did? Or does she simply not trust the authorities? I can understand if it is the latter. At one time, my brother made me question who the good guys are in this fucked-up world.