Copyright © 2016 Monica Murphy
Excerpt from Never Let You Go copyright © 2016 Monica Murphy
Cover photographs © Marcos Appelt/Arcangel (couple),
Alicia Bock/Arcangel (ferris wheel).
Cover design www.isitdesign.co.uk
The right of Monica Murphy to be identified as the Author of the Work has been asserted by her in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.
Published by arrangement with Bantam Books,
an imprint of Random House, a division of Random House LLC,
A Penguin Random House Company
First published in this Ebook edition in 2016
by HEADLINE ETERNAL
An imprint of HEADLINE PUBLISHING GROUP
Apart from any use permitted under UK copyright law, this publication may only be reproduced, stored, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means, with prior permission in writing of the publishers or, in the case of reprographic production, in accordance with the terms of licences issued by the Copyright Licensing Agency.
All characters in this publication are fictitious and any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.
Cataloguing in Publication Data is available from the British Library
eISBN 978 1 4722 3720 0
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Table of Contents
Title Page
Copyright Page
About the Author
Praise for Monica Murphy
Also by Monica Murphy
About the Book
Epigraph
Author’s Note
Katherine
Katie
Katherine
Ethan
Will
Katherine
Ethan
Katie
Katherine
Will
Ethan
Katie
Katherine
Ethan
Katie
Katherine
Ethan
Katie
Katherine
Ethan
Will
Katherine
Ethan
Will
Ethan
Katherine
Katie
Will
Katherine
Ethan
Katherine
Ethan
Katherine
Katie
Ethan
Will
Katherine
Ethan
Katherine
Katie
Will
Ethan
Katherine
Ethan
Katie
Katherine
Ethan
Will
Katherine
Ethan
Will
Katherine
Katherine
Ethan
Katherine
Ethan
Katherine
Ethan
Katherine
Ethan
Will
Katherine
Katie
Ethan
Katherine
Katherine
Ethan
Katie
Katherine
Playlist
Sneak peek of Never Let You Go
His Reverie and Her Destiny . . .
Discover the Fowler Sisters series
Fall in love with the One Week Girlfriend series
Find out more about Headline Eternal
About the Author
Monica Murphy is the New York Times bestselling author of the One Week Girlfriend and the Fowler Sister series. A native Californian, she lives in the foothills below Yosemite with her husband and three children.
For more information, visit her at www.monicamurphyauthor.com,
on Twitter @MsMonicaMurphy,
or on Facebook www.facebook.com/MonicaMurphyauthor.
Just some of the reasons to fall for the emotional love stories of Monica Murphy:
‘Murphy is an incredible talent and continues to show that with each book she writes . . . Readers will be hanging on the edge of their seats wondering what Murphy has in store for this couple. A fantastic book that you simply must read!’ Romantic Times
‘Owning Violet owned me from the first page to the last. Ryder and Violet’s chemistry is off the charts! Read it, own it, love it’ Katy Evans, New York Times bestselling author
‘An emotional and heartbreaking storyline . . . Monica Murphy pulls the reader in and won’t let go’ The Reading Café
‘Monica Murphy succeeds in making a steamy romance between two characters with amazing chemistry and she turns a work of fiction into something so much more. It is a real, tangible, and beautiful thing’ The Life of Fiction
‘I chose this book to be the book. The perfect book that would make the world stop for a few hours and suck me into another universe completely. The perfect book that would make my heart race and stop all at the same time. This book is that book! This book is perfect!’ The Obsessive Reader
‘OH MY, Monica Murphy really does create the best anti-heroes . . . Having both Caden and Ryder in the same book is almost combustible . . . Stealing Rose is a full-steam-ahead, action-packed romance interwoven with finding yourself and your place in the world’ Book Angel Booktopia
‘I am completely and hopelessly in love . . . Stealing Rose made me remember exactly why I fell in love with this author’s writing the very first time’ Holly’s Hot Reads
By Monica Murphy
One Week Girlfriend Series
One Week Girlfriend
Second Chance Boyfriend
Three Broken Promises
Drew + Fable Forever (e-novella)
Four Years Later
The Fowler Sisters Series
Owning Violet
Stealing Rose
Taming Lily
Reverie Series
His Reverie
Her Destiny
Never Series
Never Tear Us Apart
Never Let You Go
About the Book
Eight years can disappear in an instant . . .
But their connection runs deeper than ever.
One look at Katie Watts, and Ethan is fifteen again – the boy who risked everything to save a terrified girl from her twisted kidnapper. Now Katie is grown-up – beautiful, composed and telling her story to the world. Ethan was once her guardian angel – and he wants to be sure that she’s still safe.
When they reconnect, it’s as different people – but Ethan wants Katie every bit as much as she wants him. Yet all he can do is savour every moment they’re together until she uncovers who he really is. Because her kidnapper – a convicted serial killer – is also Ethan’s father.
This addictive, spellbinding love story continues in Never Let You Go. And don’t miss Monica Murphy’s passionate One Week Girlfriend series, her sexy Fowler Sister trilogy and her breathtaking Reverie series for more emotionally rich, unforgettable romance.
He will cover you with his feathers. He will shelter you with his wings. His faithful promises are your armor and protection.
—Psalm 91:4
Author’s Note
Dear Readers,
This book tackles difficult subject matter, things I’ve been fascinated with for a long time. Since I was young I’ve read many true crime books (Ann Rule is a
rock star in that regard and she will be missed), spent endless hours watching Forensic Files and at one point believed the Investigation Discovery channel was made just for me.
I’m fascinated with murderers, specifically serial killers. Why do they do it? Is it a sickness? Do they become so arrogant as they continue with their horrible deeds that they become careless? How do you turn so desperate, so deranged that you kill people for sport? Or that you kidnap children to fulfill some crazed inner need?
I don’t understand it. I don’t think I want to. But I am fascinated. So when I told my editor that I had this idea for an “unconventional romance,” and then proceeded to explain my idea, she didn’t immediately tell me, “You’re sick and twisted and that would be a no.”
Instead, she said, “I love it,” and though maybe this means we’re both sick and twisted, I’m hoping that’s not the case. My goal was to create a couple that shares a very special—and unique—bond that no one else understands. In order to do that, I had to make them both suffer at the hands of the same monster.
This book deals with the rape of a child and I want to make that clear upfront. If this sort of thing disturbs you, please don’t read it. I’m not trying to glamorize this subject and I tried my best to handle it with sensitivity and care. Thanks to the stories written by Elizabeth Smart, Jaycee Dugard, and Michelle Knight, I received insight into what it’s like to be a kidnap victim and survive. These women are so incredibly brave for sharing their stories—they are true heroes in my eyes.
I also want to mention the National Center for Missing & Exploited Children. They work very hard to help in the search of missing children and to keep our children safe from harm. For more information, please visit www.missingkids.org.
I hope you enjoy Katherine and Ethan’s story. I hope you understand their struggle and see that though their love may not be conventional, it is true and real and gives them hope in a situation where they believed they were utterly hopeless. Many times as I wrote their story, they broke my heart. These are two people who are so deeply broken when they’re alone, that they only make sense when they’re together.
To me, those are the best kind of love stories.
Monica
The lights are bright and hot and I feel little beads of sweat form along my hairline. I don’t touch my face, though. I might ruin the makeup that someone just spent the last thirty minutes carefully applying, so I dip my head and wring my hands together instead, noting how clammy my palms are, though my fingers are like ice. A fitting contradiction, considering how I feel.
Nervous. Excited. Terrified. I make no sense. What I’m doing makes no sense, especially to my family.
I’m about to go on camera. Ready to tell my story.
Finally.
The reporter is one I’ve seen on TV since I can remember. She’s famous. Everyone knows her name. She’s pretty in that broadcast news way. Perfectly coiffed dark blond hair, bright blue eyes heavily made up. Slashes of peachy pink define her cheeks and her lips are a subtle berry color. She’s efficient and knows exactly what she wants. I can tell by the way she commands the room, by how fast the network employees do her bidding. She’s strong. Confident. Flawless.
Reminding me that I am most definitely not. All of my flaws mock me, remind me that I’m not perfect. At one point in my life I thought I was pretty close to it, when I was young and ignorant and believed myself untouchable. But perfect is hard to obtain. And once you lose all sight of it, it’s impossible to gain back.
Impossible.
“Are you ready, Katherine?” The reporter’s voice is soft and even and I glance up, meeting her sympathetic gaze. Humiliation washes over me and I sit up straighter, schooling my expression. I don’t need her pity. After feeling hollow inside for so long, unable to dig up even an ounce of bravery, unable to face . . . any of this, I finally feel strong enough and I can’t forget that.
Only took me eight years and my father’s death to make it happen, but I’m doing it.
“I’m ready,” I tell her with a firm nod. I hear Mom off to the side, murmuring something to Brenna, and I refuse to look at them, too afraid my strength will evaporate. They came with me, I told them I needed their support, but now I’m wondering if that was a mistake. I don’t want to hear Mom’s sobs while I’m trying to talk. I don’t want to see them watching me spill all of my painful, ugly secrets with horrified expressions and tears in their eyes.
Everyone’s shed enough tears over this tragedy that is my life. I should celebrate that I’m alive, not hide in the shadows. I haven’t been allowed to talk for so long and I feel almost . . . liberated. Yes, despite the awful things I’m about to reveal, I’m relieved. Free. From the moment I came home, Dad demanded our silence. Particularly mine. He was too embarrassed, too ashamed that he’d failed his daughter.
I heard him say that once, when he and Mom got into a huge fight pretty soon after I came back home. They thought I was sleeping safely in my bedroom but their yelling woke me up, not that I slept much back then. I still have a hard time. But I remember that moment like yesterday, it’s burned so deep in my brain. The despair in Dad’s voice, that’s what drew me out of bed first. That and my name being mentioned again and again, their voices rising.
I slipped out of bed and crept down the hall, my heart racing. I pressed my body against the wall of the hallway and listened, unable to turn away when I realized they weren’t just talking about me—they were fighting about me.
“You can’t keep her under lock and key,” Mom had said. “I know I was always the overprotective one, but I think . . . no, I know you’re taking it too far.”
“I failed her, Liz. I failed our baby girl and there’s nothing I can do to change that.”
But he could have changed that, if he’d just accepted me. Hugged me like he hugged my older sister, Brenna, without thought and with plenty of affection. If he’d stopped looking at me with so much shame and humiliation filling his eyes, as if I were some sort of mistake returned home to them, sullied and disgusting. I went from being Daddy’s girl to the daughter Daddy didn’t want to touch, all in a matter of days.
It hurt me then. It still hurts me now. And he’s been dead for over six months.
“We can stop taping at any time if you need a moment to compose yourself while you’re telling your story,” the reporter reassures me in her smooth, professionally comforting voice, and I smile and nod, thinking in my head that won’t be necessary.
I need to tell it, and I don’t want to stop, or come back at another time. I need to purge it from my soul once and for all.
More than anything, I need to set the record straight.
There have been endless reports on what happened to me. Countless one-hour documentaries devoted to my case. Two made-for-TV movies and about a bazillion true crime shows. My face was on the cover of People magazine when I was first found eight years ago. Wearing a drab gray sweatshirt and matching pants a female police officer gave me that were two sizes too big, my eyes full of tears as I stared at the camera while they escorted me out of the police station. They were taking me to the hospital so I could be examined.
A shiver moves down my spine at the horrific memory.
I kept that magazine, stashed away in a box. I saved it. My so-called claim to fame. Why I don’t know. Not like it documents a pleasant memory.
But it’s mine. My life. I can’t change it, no matter how much everyone who loves me wants me to.
People magazine wants to talk to me now, especially once they found out about this interview. They want to put my face on the cover again, but I haven’t said yes. I don’t think I will. Publishers want me to write a book about my experience, but I don’t think I’ll do it. This one time, I will tell my story from start to finish. The scheduled interview will air for one hour, but I’ve already been reassured that if I have more to say, the network will give me two.
Must be a slow week, but I don’t argue with them. I think I will take the two hours.
I have a lot to say. This is my time. My moment.
And then I will never speak of Aaron William Monroe in public again.
The sun broke through the wispy tendrils of fog right about the time we left the hotel. Its intense rays caressed my arms and warmed my hair and face as we headed west down the sidewalk, and I regretted wearing the bright red lifeguard sweatshirt Mom bought me last night at a gift shop. I’d begged her for it, pleading with big eyes and my hands together in mock prayer. She’d reluctantly agreed, griping about the price the entire time.
Despite my love for the outrageously red sweatshirt, it was bulky and would look really stupid if I tried to tie it around my waist.
But I was stuck with it.
The sky was this incredible blue that looked almost unnatural, like out of a painting. The wind was cool, bringing with it the scent of the ocean. Dampness lingered in the air, from both the Pacific and the fog, and I could feel it on my face, taking the edge off the heat of the sun. Pure, unfiltered joy seemed to wash over me and I couldn’t remember a time when I’d felt so excited.
Never again would I feel that same innocent excitement.
When we finally arrived, the boardwalk was as crowded as I’d ever seen it and the rides had only just opened. Immediately I launched in, begging Mom and Dad to let us go on our own, and I pulled out all the stops.
“Brenna gets to take off with her friends all the time!” The whine in my voice was unmistakable. I’d been pleading my case, claiming I was old enough and could handle it, but I sounded like a total baby.
“That’s because I’m fifteen, not a whiny little child like you,” Brenna said condescendingly, glancing over at her best friend, Emily, before they both started to crack up. I hated Brenna sometimes. Didn’t really like Emily much, either. They always picked on me. Made me feel dumb.
My best friend, Sarah, glared at the two of them along with me. We seriously didn’t need Brenna’s commentary to screw up what we wanted so desperately.
To hang out at the amusement park all day by ourselves, not having to tag along with Mom and Dad. Sarah and I were both turning thirteen next month, our birthdays only six days apart, and we were eager for a taste of independence.