Pinky Promises (The Promises #1) Read online

  Copyright © Ciara Shayee 2018

  All rights reserved.

  The characters and plot of this book are entirely fictional. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental. Any other names, characters, incidents, and places are derived from the author’s own imagination. The author acknowledges the trademark status and trademark owners of any wordmarks mentioned in this work of fiction.

  No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, or by any information storage and retrieval system without the prior written permission of the publisher—except in the case of very brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other non-commercial uses permitted by copyright law.

  Edited by: Pamela Mosier

  Proofread by: Carole Long

  Cover by: Jada D’Lee Designs

  DEDICATION

  For my wonderful Little Nan,

  because you always believed in me.

  “Though she be but little, she is fierce.”

  William Shakespeare

  ~ oOo ~

  And for my Dad,

  for teaching me what true courage

  and strength looks like.

  THANK YOU

  To the wonderful fandom for supporting me

  with my very first story, and for teaching me so much

  about myself as a writer. Without you all, I never would have had the confidence to do this.

  To Fran, for taking me and my messy chapters under

  your wing.

  To my friends and family for sticking with me even

  when I was so engrossed in writing that I forgot about you.

  To Lizzie, for all your help and for your valued friendship—I hope, one day, we’ll finally get to meet up so we can spend a day eating junk in our pyjamas, talking about all our favourite books, and sharing writing tips.

  To Clo, for being a great help with all my many technical issues, and to Melissa, for all your help with the promotional stuff.

  To Carole, for being a wonderful cheerleader for this story from the very beginning, and for proofreading this mammoth book.

  To Jada, for creating the most beautiful cover design. You’re amazing!

  To Pam, for not only being my pre-reader, editor,

  and the person I turn to for help at all hours of the night and day, but also for being my very good friend. I’ll always be grateful to this tale for helping us find each other. One day, I’ll get to give you the big hug you deserve for putting up with me all this time.

  And to my boys, Gareth and Dakota, for loving me

  even when I’m at my most unlovable. You’re my loves, my life, and my home.

  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

  CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

  CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

  CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

  CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX

  CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN

  CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT

  CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE

  CHAPTER FORTY

  CHAPTER FORTY-ONE

  EPILOGUE

  COMING SOON…

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  Prologue

  Eastbourne Police Station—March 1st, 2004

  Hushed murmurs filled the space, which was decked out in police-man blue; the large symbol representing the Sussex Police stood front and centre. In preparation for the upcoming conference, a nondescript table draped with a blue sheet and accompanied by four chairs had been set up along with a cluster of microphones. An extensive gathering of journalists had been squeezed into the biggest room available, and the first row of seats sat only scant feet away from the makeshift dais.

  The air crackled with tension and curiosity. Sadness spread through the room when an audible sob came from behind the door off to one side.

  At this point, everyone knew they weren’t here for a happy announcement.

  The stony-faced superintendent finally stepped through the door. He was followed by three distraught men; two middle-aged while the third was younger. A teenager. Cameras clicked feverishly as the quartet took their seats, the officer to the left while the others sat together in a silent show of support.

  The first of the three men, Reagan Ashby, had one hand clenched on his thigh, while the other reached up every few seconds to tug his short crop of strawberry-blond curls. His blue-green eyes were filled with anguish and heartache, identical in emotion to the dark brown gaze of his sixteen-year-old son, Archie, and the grass-green of his childhood best friend, Peter Davies.

  As someone stepped forward to speak briefly with the journalists, the three men shared a resolute glance. It said everything words couldn’t.

  We’ll stick together.

  It’ll be ok.

  Ignore the cameras—get this done.

  We will find them.

  Then, it was time.

  All over the country, and in others surrounding England, people watched with abject horror as first Reagan, and then Peter, pleaded for information. They cried tears telling of their pain and heartbreak as they tried to convey just how much they longed for the crucial details upon which the case was hinged. Parents hugged their children close, unable to comprehend how Reagan and Peter must have felt as they stared into camera lenses and begged for the return of their much-loved girls.

  Millions tuned in to watch the conference in silence as Archie Ashby coughed, fixing his rich, dark, agonised eyes on the cameras, conveying more misery and anguish than many could bear to see. The look on his face turned hardened reporters and police officers to mush. Then, he spoke.

  “If you can hear me…I miss you, Indie Pie—I miss you, Gracie.”

  Only the sound of cameras clicking followed his statement.

  “Your cookies are still on the coffee table waiting for you,” he choked out a rasped breath, feeling as though his throat was closing. “I didn’t touch them, just like I promised. Grace, your hamster chewed through my controller wire again. You’re gonna pay for that when you get back.”

  Gazing down at his hands resting on the table-top, Archie felt them flex. Both girls knew the punishment for their hamsters chewing through his things; tickling. He was desperate to hear their panicked shrieks and delighted giggles. It had already been too long.

  They’d been gone a month. It felt like a lifetime.

  Archie reached into his jacket pocket to pull out a photo, holding it up after giving it a quick glance. An officer slid it into place on an overhead projector, casting it onto the wall behind the four men at the table. Three toothy grins shone brightly, bringing even the stonier people in the room to tears.

  “Ge
t your butts back here, squirts.”

  Everyone waited with bated breath as he sucked in air through his teeth, twin tears tumbling over his cheeks as he gritted out, “You pinky promised it would be the four of us together forever. You two, and me and Laker. The four musketeers, remember? You told me—” Archie’s stomach lurched, his words catching on the lump in his throat.

  Reagan reached for his hand gave their twined fingers a squeeze. “I’m okay, I’m okay.” He closed his eyes for a moment. When he opened them, they were glassy and leaking. “You pinky promised, and you told me you can’t break pinky promises.”

  His fierce statement was punctuated with a pained sob.

  Only a few more people spoke before the superintendent pulled the conference to a close. The men were escorted away from the flashing cameras and the calls of the nosy journalists. When the final cameraman was ushered from the room, he paused. Sombre eyes so dark they were almost black flashed with sadness for the families of the girls who’d been stolen away so cruelly, just two streets away from their homes. He took one last glance at the ‘MISSING’ poster on the wall near his head before leaving, memorising the faces of the eight-year-old girls.

  Where are you? What happened that day? Why didn’t you make it home from school?

  Little did he know, did anybody know, that the mysterious disappearance of Indie Scarlett Ashby and her best friend, Grace Daisy Davies, would go unsolved until well into the next decade.

  ~ oOo ~

  It’s odd, where a person’s mind can wander when they’re trying not to think about what’s happening to them. When they’re trying to ignore the bite of leather against their skin, the sting of a calloused palm against their leg.

  Over and over and over, a mind can switch off the pain while remembering the happiness of a previous life. Of a life left behind.

  Well, not left behind.

  Stolen.

  chapter one

  Two pale limbs stretched from beneath the thin cover, a strawberry-blonde head following close behind. Indie blinked hard, fighting tears as her long lashes swept over her drawn cheeks. She’d been awake already when the booming voice began yelling through the locked, barricaded door. With a soft, silent sigh, she rolled her head on the pillow to face her still-sleeping companion.

  Reluctance swirled through her like a dark cloud of mist; Grace looked so peaceful and calm with her eyes closed and face relaxed in blissful ignorance. As soon as she woke, it would crumble to make way for the tears, just the same as it did every day. It was the sole reason Indie hadn’t already woken her; instead lying in bed for the hour she’d been awake, cocooned beneath the falsely reassuring cave of their blankets. It hurt to lay so still, the welts on her back still fresh, but she hated pulling Grace from the pretend safety of her dreams.

  “Move it! I can hear your lazy asses are still in bed!”

  This time, Indie jumped in fright. Her sharp movements startled Grace awake. She let out a yelp and shot upright with her hands clutching the pale green quilt to her chest, her eyes flying around the room in momentary confusion. Within seconds, tears burst into her large, baby-blue eyes before tumbling over her cheeks as she fell into Indie’s waiting arms. The girls knew this routine like the back of their hands.

  “Good dreams, right?” Indie whispered softly into Grace’s auburn hair.

  “We were…” Grace breathed a drawn-out sigh, her lips pinched. “We were back there.”

  The reminder made them shudder. Memories of happier days and sunny smiles brought them more sorrow than joy. But it was better that way. Memories of better days were best buried – for now.

  “It’s all right, Gracie. You’re okay.”

  Five long minutes later, they untangled their arms and legs and sat up to face each other. Indie fixed sea-blue-green eyes on Grace’s teary blue and gently clasped her shoulders. “You’re with me, and you’re okay. We’re gonna go downstairs and get breakfast served, then do our chores so we can come back up here and be done with people. You hear me, Gracie?”

  Grace’s heart gradually slowed to a normal rate; her tears began to abate as her breath regulated. “You’re the best, you know that?”

  Indie’s slight grin pulled a watery smile from Grace, and that was when they knew they were as ready as they’d ever be to get up and start the exhausting day ahead. Grace unfolded her slim frame from the double bed, tugging on a grey sports hoodie to ward off the Montana chill as she headed for the small bathroom attached to their bedroom.

  Meanwhile, Indie exhaled a long breath and pulled herself together. It wasn’t just Grace she needed to reassure and comfort each morning, after all.

  “Well, hello there, little one,” she cooed, lifting the edge of the blankets to peer into the dark cavern below.

  A pair of wide, large eyes peered back at her, set in a small, heart-shaped face she knew from once upon a time.

  Indie smiled, beckoning the child to crawl up to her chest. Only once the little girl was nestled against her did she speak again. “Did you sleep well?”

  The only response she received was a slight nod against the curve of her neck, and a gentle sigh.

  “Ok, well, let’s go potty—then we’ll see about some breakfast.”

  Grace was just finishing up when Indie stepped into the bathroom with the child on her hip, their faces tipped toward one another. She couldn’t stop her lips curling up as she took in the sight of them together.

  “Morning, Marley. Did you have a good sleep?”

  Marley nodded, her lips curling up in a still-sleepy smile. Grace pressed a kiss to her mane of chocolate curls, passing the hairbrush from her hand to Indie’s so she could comb the knots from Marley’s hair. Indie set it down on the toilet tank, first letting Marley go potty before using it herself; then she set about washing their faces and hands. Marley had woken up somewhat by the time Indie got around to taming her curls and was contentedly toying with the ears of her beloved Mr. Bunny—a stuffed rabbit who’d definitely seen better days.

  “So, baby girl—braids or bunches?”

  Marley turned, cocking her head, not unlike a confused puppy. Indie smiled and leaned in for an Eskimo kiss.

  “Bunches, then.”

  Happy with the decision, Marley resumed her twisting of Mr. Bunny’s ears, sitting perfectly still while Indie unsnarled her hair before restraining it in two long bunches with a pair of hair ties—one white, one yellow—on either side of her head. Once the little girl’s hair was taken care of, Indie brushed the tangles from her own, almost waist-length, hair. It was one of the few joys she had left in life. It reminded her of better days as the brush tugged through her soft tresses. She had to force herself not to cry at the thought of the person who used to do this for her. Every morning, then again before bed. It was their routine; one they both cherished.

  As Grace called through that it was time to head downstairs, Indie was reminded it wasn’t ‘their’ routine anymore.

  Just hers.

  ~ oOo ~

  The pair trooped silently down the stairs with their arms looped together between their bodies. Marley clung to Indie like a limpet, her face buried in her neck. Indie’s eyes swept the area as they moved while Grace’s stayed firmly trained on the dark wooden floor underfoot. When they reached the kitchen, the older girls released simultaneous sighs. They were alone.

  “All right. Coffee. Sit.”

  Grace sat at the counter on a worn stool; she got to work weighing out ingredients while Indie busied herself making a fresh batch of coffee, pouring away the little that was left in the pot in lieu of making their own. No way would she risk drinking it.

  “What time is it?”

  “Uh, we have about half-hour ‘til the guys start getting down.”

  By then, just after six a.m., they knew it wouldn’t be long before a team of grumpy, sleepy men began arriving for their hot breakfasts. They’d need plenty of hot food to energise them in preparation for their tiring day out in the thick blanket of snow
. Indie continued talking to Grace and Marley—only the former offering any verbal answers—while she worked. She encouraged Grace to keep her head in the present instead of letting it wander into the past as it so often did. It was safer not to think of their past. At least not yet.

  The girls worked in tandem, talking in hushed tones until Grace ran upstairs to fetch jackets for them to wear. Once the fire had been stoked, the outerwear would be unnecessary, but until then, the extra layer was needed to ward off the cold let in by the draughty old house.

  It was just after seven and Marley had finished her first coaxed sips of milk when the men began taking their seats at the tables in the dining area. During the winter months there were considerably fewer mouths to feed, so Indie and Grace weren’t too worried they were a few minutes behind. They said their ‘good morning’s’ and handed out steaming cups of coffee at a leisurely pace. As usual, Indie did the majority of the serving. Grace hung back in the kitchen with Marley, whose grumpiness had begun to wane as she gradually became more alert. Indie’s habit of taking over the serving was just something she’d always done. It was all-but second nature to her, at this point.

  “Thankin’ you kindly, Indie.” One of the stable hands grinned and tipped his hat at Indie as she poured his third cup in ten minutes. “You sure make a mighty fine coffee.”

  Her lips curled upwards with her reply. “I have a lot of practice, Ryan. You lot go through coffee quicker than we can make it.”

  There were chuckles in reply all-around despite the early hour. She knew for sure then that the master of the house had left; nobody laughed spontaneously when he was in residence.

  A few minutes later, a quick glance at the clock reminded Indie that if the men didn’t get a move on they’d be running late all day. Experience told her there’d be hell to pay if the schedule went out the window, even if it wasn’t the men responsible who’d take the punishment. With a wince, she gently ushered the men from the tables and empty plates, shooing them toward the door where piles of worn work boots, jackets, and scarves were heaped.