Not now, p.1
Not Now, page 1
N O T N O W
(A Camille Grace FBI Suspense Thriller—Book 2)
K a t e B o l d
Kate Bold
Bestselling author Kate Bold is author of the ALEXA CHASE SUSPENSE THRILLER series, comprising six books (and counting); the ASHLEY HOPE SUSPENSE THRILLER series, comprising six books (and counting); the CAMILLE GRACE FBI SUSPENSE THRILLER series, comprising five books (and counting); and the HARLEY COLE FBI SUSPENSE THRILLER series, comprising three books (and counting).
THE KILLING GAME (an Alexa Chase Suspense Thriller—Book #1), LET ME GO (an Ashley Hope Suspense Thriller—Book #1), and NOT ME (a Camille Grace FBI Suspense Thriller—Book #1) are available as free downloads on Google Play!
An avid reader and lifelong fan of the mystery and thriller genres, Kate loves to hear from you, so please feel free to visit www.kateboldauthor.com to learn more and stay in touch.
Copyright © 2022 by Kate Bold. All rights reserved. Except as permitted under the U.S. Copyright Act of 1976, no part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed or transmitted in any form or by any means, or stored in a database or retrieval system, without the prior permission of the author. 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 it and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author. This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, organizations, places, events, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictionally. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental. Jacket image Copyright Vladimir Mulder, used under license from Shutterstock.com.
BOOKS BY KATE BOLD
ALEXA CHASE SUSPENSE THRILLER
THE KILLING GAME (Book #1)
THE KILLING TIDE (Book #2)
THE KILLING HOUR (Book #3)
THE KILLING POINT (Book #4)
THE KILLING FOG (Book #5)
THE KILLING PLACE (Book #6)
ASHLEY HOPE SUSPENSE THRILLER
LET ME GO (Book #1)
LET ME OUT (Book #2)
LET ME LIVE (Book #3)
LET ME BREATHE (Book #4)
LET ME FORGET (Book #5)
LET ME ESCAPE (Book #6)
CAMILLE GRACE FBI SUSPENSE THRILLER
NOT ME (Book #1)
NOT NOW (Book #2)
NOT WELL (Book #3)
NOT HER (Book #4)
NOT NORMAL (Book #5)
HARLEY COLE FBI SUSPENSE THRILLER
NOWHERE SAFE (Book #1)
NOWHERE LEFT (Book #2)
NOWHERE TO RUN (Book #3)
CONTENTS
PROLOGUE
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
PROLOGUE
The boys were unaware of how quiet the forest had gone in their presence. All they cared about was enjoying the day. School started next week, after all, and they wanted to milk every bit of fun they could from these last few days.
PJ led the duo through the forest as they quickly approached the mucky grounds of the swamp. Donald, or just "Donnie,” ran a bit behind him, raising a hand to swat away the branches that came sailing back at his face as PJ passed by.
"Not so fast!" Donnie said. "Keep it up and your ass will end up in the swamp!"
He said the word "ass" louder than the rest. They were ten years old and words like that could only be spoken out here in these familiar woods, away from parents and teachers.
"That's the point!" PJ responded.
They'd been out here thousands of times. When they were younger, they played ninja out here, battling with sticks as swords. Things were a bit more mature now, though. Now, it was all about seeing who could do the dumbest thing of all. And today's dumb thing was dipping a foot or maybe even a whole leg into the swamp waters.
They'd never been out quite this far, as the swamp loomed ahead somewhere. Of course, they'd heard all the warnings about the dangers that lurked deep in these woods, especially once you reached the swamp. Leeches. Snakes. Gators.
Jimmy Elridge, a kid from their rec-league soccer team, swore he'd seen a python out here one time.
But as a ten-year-old boy, wasn't the danger part of the fun?
Suddenly, PJ came to a stop. He stopped so abruptly that Donnie almost ran directly into his back.
"What is it?" Donnie asked.
"We're there. Look...right there. And you were right. I did almost fall into it."
The boys looked out to the swamp and Donnie was already thinking of the tales of bravery and exploration they'd be able to tell on their first day back at Hen Creek Elementary. He studied the swamp closely, wanting to make sure he got every detail right. It looked like a pure sheet of mud at the start, and then it became something more. It looked like what Donnie imagined a broken sewage line might spill out. It looked dark, like the stuff of legends where people were drowned in moats and eaten by large fish.
"I didn't think it would be this bad," Donnie said.
And this was just the edge of the swamp. The real danger lay ahead. The boys continued forward, stepping over cypress trees that had fallen to the ground, long ago victims of a hurricane. The fallen trees made a slow-moving river in the forest, a river that led straight to the swamp and into the muck.
The boys approached the edge of the swamp, to a place where a fallen log met the edge of the mud. The log lay on its side and this was the edge of the safe area. Once they stepped off the log, they'd be in the deep waters of the swamp.
"It looks pretty gross in there!" PJ said.
Donnie looked down into the murky waters. The muck was too deep for him to see a thing.
"You first?" PJ asked.
"Sure." Donnie hoped PJ couldn't tell just how scared he was. What had they been thinking? They didn't have to do this. They could still brag about it back at school.
"And be quick," PJ said. "I wanna get out of here before the snakes meet up with the gators and we get caught in the middle."
"Not funny."
Donnie's gaze roamed the sludge-green waters, the occasional lily pad and reed. Then, holding his breath and with his heart slamming in his chest, he dipped his toes in the water. He almost stopped to take off his flip flop, but it was too late. His foot was already going in.
His first thought was that the water was much warmer than he'd been expecting. Like, much warmer. There was also a lot of movement as tadpoles and God only knew what else went flitting against his ankle.
"Go to the knee!" PJ said, chuckling gleefully.
Donnie put more of his leg in. It really wasn't that bad. Hell, maybe he'd go in all the way to his waist. He'd have to explain the wet shorts to his mom, but he could—
His foot hit something. Something big and solid. Something that felt alive.
Donnie screamed and yanked his foot back. He moved so quickly that he tripped over the log behind them. PJ cackled with laughter, one hand clutching his laughing stomach and the other pointing at Donnie.
"You klutz! You should see yourself!"
"PJ, there's something in there! Get away. It might be a croc!"
"What? You serious?"
"Yes! Let's go, man!"
Donnie got to his feet and when he did, his eyes instantly went back to that murky water. He was sure there would be a croc or a python coming out of the water for them at any moment.
He did see something, but it was not a croc or a large snake.
It was something that seemed much less dangerous but looked a bit scarier.
It was a person.
A dead woman.
It bobbed to the surface of the water, having been disturbed by Donnie's foot. The skin was waxy and pale, the dead eyes nearly colorless, opened and looking up at the sky.
The boys shared one look, PJ nearly in tears, and then they ran.
Donnie let out a scream that tore through the forest, so horrified and panicked that those birds that had gone quiet in their presence took flight, the beats of their wings like little claps of thunder.
CHAPTER ONE
Camille Grace looked around her new office and smiled. It was a small office, located in the lower level of a branch of the FBI that tended to stay busy. Somehow, she’d ended up back in New Orleans, the shadow of her childhood just about an hour away. She’d been given this office with an apology, the HR department figuring she’d take it as something of an insult.
But as far as Camille was concerned, it was perfect. It was far away from everyone else, and it was quiet. Looking around and realizing she still had quite a bit of setting up to do, she looked back over the last few days and tried to make sense out of exactly how she’d arrived here.
When Camille left Alabama behind, she'd done it without any emotion. The worst of it had been leaving her boyfriend. Declan had put up a bit of a fight, but in the end Camille was pretty sure he'd been just as relieved as she was. She also thought the move brought on no emotion because there was some broken thing inside of her that had always known her path would lead her back to Louisiana.
Upping had been there, waiting for her like a bad habit she'd once dropped and was now returning to. There was a comfort to it, sure, but there was danger there as well. She was living in an apartment just outside of New Orleans, but Upping was less than an hour south and sometimes she could hear it calling.
She'd expected Director Milton at the FBI to throw some obstacles up when she'd requested the transfer, but he seemed okay with it. In fact, he'd acted like Camille had presented him with a gift. He'd hated to see her go, or so he said, but there were three current openings with the New Orleans field office, so it worked out great.
And just like that, just fifteen days after closing a case in New Orleans and briefly revisiting her place in Alabama, Special Agent Camille Grace was heading back to Louisiana. It was the place she'd been raised and the place where her entire life had been torn apart at the age of twelve.
The echoes of her previous life in Upping had hovered over her ever since she arrived. It's why she'd worked so hard to settle quickly into her new job. Somehow, she'd managed to acquire a small office in the basement of the field office. Never having had an office before, she took great pride in setting it up as she settled in.
Determined to make a good impression and get off on the right foot with her new partners, she'd even gone so far as to order a desk, a filing cabinet, and a small couch. Everything was a mess now, but soon it would be neat and tidy, totally unlike her.
She'd been a little surprised that the only one of her new coworkers she'd met so far was Assistant Director Marie McCutcheon. As the director's right hand, she was the one who brought Camille into the office. She'd been told that AD McCutcheon was the best thing to happen to the New Orleans field office in a long time. The woman was straight as an arrow and hard as a rock. Camille detested such analogies, but she'd quickly discovered that they were true. She was fifty but had the body of someone that hadn't hit forty yet. She carried herself with great confidence that was accentuated with the fact that she knew every man she passed did a double take. Yet somehow, she seemed to not let it go to her head.
The woman's absolute aura was why Camille had still not divulged everything about her past to McCutcheon. She didn't want to be seen as the new agent that dragged in a ton of baggage with her.
On her third full day in her office, which was nearly organized at that point, Camille found herself doing that same old balancing act again. She already liked McCutcheon quite a bit and she could tell the feeling was mutual, so she hated telling lies. So she did her best to simply omit information as McCutcheon once again brought up the fact that Camille had grown up just an hour to the south.
"You got much family out there in Upping?" McCutcheon asked.
"Some. A father and a woman that wasn't really an aunt but might as well have been."
"Ah, the unofficial aunt," McCutcheon said. "Those are the best kind. You been out to visit them at all?"
"Not yet. But I did see the not-aunt a few weeks back. I think she was actually one of the reasons it was so easy for me to decide to relocate."
"You all moved in to your apartment?"
Camille grinned and nodded. "Yeah. It's pretty easy when you don't have that much stuff."
McCutcheon shrugged. "Enjoy it. I have no regrets about my twenties, but I can tell you it's going to go by fast. Especially here. We've all heard great things about you, Grace. Even aside from the Sir Richard bust. I'll make sure you stay busy. New Orleans and the surrounding areas, as I'm sure you know, is never going to disappoint."
"Yes, I know."
"Well, I'll leave you to your office set-up for now. Hopefully I'll have something worth your while sooner rather than later."
With McCutcheon gone, Camille sat on her new couch, a couch that took up nearly the entire back wall of her office. She thought of her "non-aunt" Deanna Lewiston. She wanted to go see her soon because she hadn’t even told Deanna that she was living in New Orleans.
But she could do that later. She knew where she had to go. When she'd spoken to Deanna a little over two weeks ago, Deanna had told her the news about her father. He was sick and no one knew what he was sick with because the stubborn bastard wouldn't go to the doctor.
She'd come back here with such ease and it had felt...well, maybe not right but something akin to right. It had felt that way despite the fact that her father was still in Upping.
She had to go see him. It was the last thing she wanted to do. She could far too easily recall the horrors he'd caused, the way he'd tore their family apart. The way she'd been terrified of him for most of her life. There were scars from her childhood she’d not yet fully recovered from, and her father was at the base of them—scars that had also pushed her mother and sister away. Her father…the pig pen…the mystery around what had pushed him to certain actions.
But he was sick, and she was here.
Camille looked at her watch. Four-thirty.
"Later," she said. "Maybe I'll have some beer. Maybe that'll make it tolerable."
Speaking it out loud served as an odd form of accountability. And though there was nothing stopping her from leaving right then and there, Camille sat on the couch a bit longer. She wasn't worried about summoning up the courage to face him.
No, she was more worried about how she'd react to the mere sight of him.
So she sat on the couch and waited, once again feeling her hometown grumbling from a distance like a bad storm that was pushing in her direction.
***
The one godsend Camille got was that her father no longer lived in the house where she’d grown up. When he'd gotten out of prison several years ago, he'd moved into a small one-bedroom house at the back end of Upping. It was tucked into a half-circle of a clearing that was surrounded by gloomy-looking trees to all sides.
Like most of the houses and mobile homes on this stretch of rural Louisiana, the place was a rental. Camille knew all of this because she'd done some digging from her new office in the days leading up to the visit. So when she pulled her new-to-her car into her father's driveway at six o' clock on the same day she and McCutcheon had talked about the importance of "non-aunts," she was ready.
The six pack of beer would hopefully help as well.
She parked behind an old Ford pickup, the R worn off of the logo on the tailgate. She wasn't sure how to feel about the fact that she was not nervous when she stepped up to the porch and knocked on the door. If anything, it felt natural. Deep down, it felt like something she should have done a long time ago.
Yet when she heard footfalls and the sound of the door opening, there was a slight pang of nerves. But by then, it was too late. By then, her father was standing in the doorway, looking out at her.
Carl Grace had changed drastically and from one simple glance at him she could tell that Deanna had been right. He was sick.
He was a stout man, with a wide frame and a belly that had grown wide. His hair was gray and unkempt. His eyes were a bit watery and his skin was pale. It wasn't just the fact that his hair was a lot thinner than it had been the last time Camille had seen him.
It was the look in his eyes. They looked like the windows of a house that had been broken into. When Camille looked at her father, she saw every horrible thing he'd ever done to her or her mother, or anyone else for that matter, in his eyes. She saw the coldness there, the self-centeredness. She saw the latent rage and fire that had once resided there. Even if those things were no longer present, they'd done their damage.
Those eyes seemed to glisten as he studied her. Three seconds went by before he gathered what was happening.
