Exclusive Excerpt: drowned secrets
Copyright © 2026 by Declan James Books
All Rights Reserved
Please Note: This is a prepublication preview. It may undergo changes before the final edition is published.
Chapter One
It's important to thrust the blade upwards. Not straight in. You could forget sometimes how solid a structure the rib bones could be. They're easy to break under pressure. Not so easy to penetrate. They're designed for a specific purpose. Protect the vital organs. But just a few centimeters could make the difference between life and death.
The killer knew this, of course. Necessary knowledge of the trade when separating meat from the bones. A patient father, so skilled at butchering it had almost become an art form to him. The killer had watched in awe from a stool until the day they were allowed to hold the knife themselves.
When the opportunity finally presented itself, the killer was ready. The woman fumbled with her phone as she tried to send a text. She swayed on her feet. She was probably too drunk to drive. The killer thought for a moment that it might be easier to just let her get behind the wheel. Run her off the road. Make it look like an accident.
That would be cleaner, of course. But far harder to hide the evidence if it worked. A paint scraping on a back fender. No telling who might drive close enough to make out a license plate or a face.
No. This was easiest of all. Quicker. More merciful. Because the killer knew exactly what to do.
The woman stumbled and dropped her keys. It was almost as if God Himself wanted this to happen. The killer was prepared for a fight. Instead, the woman never turned around. Never heard the killer's soft footfalls. The woman stood for a moment, pausing. Almost as if she understood what was about to happen on some preternatural level. But she never turned around. She never tried to run.
One swift movement. The killer used every ounce of strength in them. Every muscle in the body braced for that one, quick, upward movement. When it was time, the knife went in like butter.
Aim carefully, the killer thought. It didn't have to be precise. Just aim between the fourth and fifth rib.
The killer felt catlike. Quick and sure. Almost as if they were born for this moment. There was no hesitation. No second thoughts. Once committed to the task, the killer knew this would only end one way.
In. Out. The blade came out just as quickly as it went in. Easy. Lethal. Satisfying.
Except the woman didn't drop. Instead, she took a few steps sideways and walked away from her car as if she'd only forgotten something. Eight steps. That's all she took before the inevitability of her situation became clear.
All logic and reason ran out of her like the rivers of blood that had to be filling her abdomen.
The killer should have turned and ran. That was the plan. But it turned out to be too compelling a scene.
It might have been different if the woman had kept a straight path. Surely someone in the restaurant would have seen her from the window as she staggered by. She didn't though. Instead, she turned into the alley.
She coughed. A wet, bubbling sound. That's when the killer knew the knife likely severed the descending aorta. Father would be proud.
The woman still had her phone in her hand. For an instant, the killer felt a jolt of fear. Stupid not to check for that. Not to take it from the woman. But that too would leave breadcrumbs. It didn't matter though. The woman dropped it as her legs gave out from under her.
The killer heard the rattle of the woman's last breaths before approaching her. She couldn’t be left out in the open like this. Anyone walking by would see her. It didn’t take much effort. The killer simply grabbed her by the heels and dragged her into the shadows behind the dumpster. Filled to the brim with trash, the killer wondered if they had the strength to lift the woman into it. Wouldn’t that be something? She could be hauled away to some landfill by afternoon. The killer tried, but the woman was too heavy to lift. Her blood was pouring out of her now. So the killer hid the woman as well as possible in the shadows and under a pile of trash.
The woman's car was still unlocked. The killer was careful, wearing latex gloves and wiping the handle of the knife with a handkerchief for good measure. The woman hadn’t been carrying a purse. But inside the car on the floor of the passenger side, the killer spotted the woman’s stuffed, canvas bag. The killer opened the door and grabbed it. After a quick scan of the parking lot, the killer walked casually to the darkest part of the lot before disappearing into the shadows.
No need to panic yet. There was plenty of time. The killer drove west, away from what passed for a downtown in Blackhand Hills. Five miles later, the killer pulled to the side of the road just before the Sutter Road bridge. The narrowest part of Echo Lake shimmered in the moonlight below.
The killer opened the bag, heart racing. The woman had been adamant about what she carried in this bag. It had to be here. Sweat poured down the killer's back. All the contents of the bag spilled onto the passenger seat. The killer picked through them one by one then stuffed them back into the bag. It wasn’t here. Where could she have taken it?
The letter was the very last item in the bag. The killer smiled. Pen and paper? That's what you thought would save you? The woman’s words were nauseating. Childish, almost. This was drivel. The killer stuffed the letter back in its envelope and stuffed it and the rest of the woman’s belongings back into the bag.
There were headlights approaching from behind. Damn this town. No doubt the other driver would stop and offer to assist thinking the killer was having car trouble. Surely nobody would be out here on the Sutter bridge all alone in the dark unless something was wrong.
The killer scrambled out the passenger side door. Though the lake was narrow here, the killer knew it was also the deepest. The bag weighed nothing. The killer found a few rocks and stuffed them in the bag.
The headlights got closer. In another moment, the killer would be caught in those halogen beams. no more time to think. The killer hurled the bag over the bridge and watched it hit the water. It took two seconds for it to disappear under the gentle waves.
The killer turned, ready with a story to tell the approaching Good Samaritan. But by the time the killer walked around to the driver's side door, the other car had turned south, disappearing down County Road Nine.
The killer smiled. It was over. No matter what happened next, the woman could do no more harm.
Chapter Two
“The thing is, I kinda hate bourbon. No offense.”
Jake stood in front of Judge Jo Pike's open trunk. He'd just heaved her luggage out and set it on the driveway next to her. The two bottles of Blantons and two battles of Eagle Rare were still wedged next to her spare tire.
She wore a sheepish grin as she looked at him, clearly amused at her own bombshell revelation.
“But this was your idea,” he said. He felt his cheeks color. How had he read her so wrong? Had she been miserable the entire weekend?
She stepped forward and put a light hand on his arm. “I like the idea of bourbon. It was fascinating to see how they made it. It's an art form. All those family companies. A tradition handed down for generations. Plus, Bardstown is beautiful. I wouldn't mind going back. Um…with you.”
She was blushing. They'd spent three days together in Bardstown, Kentucky touring several bourbon distilleries. She'd sat through multiple tastings and never once let on that she hated the stuff.
“You weren't bored to death then?”
She let out a light, lilting laugh. It reminded Jake of wind chimes. Though he hadn't heard her do it yet, Jake was certain Jo would have a lovely singing voice. She went up on her tiptoes and planted a kiss on his cheek. At least, that was her intention. Jake turned toward her at the last minute and made it something a little more serious. He'd been wanting to do it for hours.
“I had the best time,” she said. “I mean it. We can do it again.”
Her eyes sparked. There were layers to her comment. Their first trip together as a couple. They'd been dating for almost six months, taking things slow and easy. When she suggested they take a vacation together, Jake hadn't been sure if he was ready. You never know how it would be with someone on the road.
As always, Jo quickly put him at ease. She was fun to talk to. She didn't push him on topics he'd rather not talk about. She had an infectious curiosity. He'd watch her make friends standing in line for the women's bathroom at two different rest stops.
“I wish we didn't have to go back to work tomorrow,” she said. “I should have taken the whole week off. You should have too.”
That he'd agreed to take three days off was a miracle in and of itself. Sheriff Landry's face had gone bone white when he asked for it. She reminded him he had something like sixty days of PTO accumulated.
“Then Blackhand Hills would come apart at the seams,” he said.
She laughed. “Maybe. But don't say it. You'll jinx us. Did you realize your phone didn't ring once in two days?”
“I shut it off,” he said. “I was actually thinking of leaving it at home. I told my sister and Meg where we'd be staying. If armageddon came, they would have called the hotel.”
Jo's smile widened, then faltered as she realized Jake wasn't kidding.
“Come on,” he said. “Let's get all of this inside. You sure I can't talk you into taking one of the bottles of Eagle Rare? You may not like it but maybe you'll have a guest who does.”
“A guest? You mean you. I'd say we're a little beyond that now. So yes, in that case, grab the bottle. I'll show you where I'll keep it.”
He felt awkward for a moment. He hadn't meant to suggest he'd be sleeping over. They really had been taking things slow.
He followed her inside. Jo lived in a newly built home on the shores of Echo Lake. Most of the longtime residents of Blackhand Hills resented the construction of a new subdivision here. But Jake had to admit the developer had done a good job. Jo's house had been one of the model homes. She bought it sight unseen nearly a year ago when she took the appointment to the Probate Court.
She led Jake down the foyer and into the kitchen. She had copper pots and pans hanging from hooks over the white marble island.
“Over there,” she said, pointing to a corner cabinet in her pristine white kitchen. She had a deep farm house sink with gold fixtures. A vase of freshly cut red and pink peonies sat in front of the window.
“Where did these come from,” Jake asked, smelling the flowers.
“Oh, Molly probably brought those in,” Jo said, coming to sniff the flowers as well. “My cleaning lady. That was sweet of her.”
Jake looked out at the side yard from the kitchen window. “Those arborvitae need some shaping. Do you have hedge trimmers in that shed? Next time I come over I'll take care of it.”
“I have a guy for that, Jake,” she said.
“Who'll probably charge you extra. It'll take me an hour and it’ll be done right.”
“I don't care if he charges me extra,” she said. “You don't have to do things like that for me. Honest.”
“What if I like doing those things for you,” he said. He meant to just think it. But something about Jo always made him speak before he could think. Was that a twitch in her smile? Had he made her uncomfortable? He hadn't meant to imply…
“If you must,” she said, still smiling.
“Do you want me to carry that upstairs for you?” he asked, pointing toward her luggage.
“Half of it's going into the washing machine,” she said. “Don't bother.”
She came to him. As he stood at the counter, she slid her hands up his chest and kissed him again. “I meant what I said. I had a really nice time this weekend and I wouldn't mind doing something like it again. Soon. But you need to relax. It's not a test.”
“I never said…”
“Jake,” she stopped him. “For a detective, you have a fairly terrible poker face. Ever since we pulled into the driveway you've been on edge. There are no wrong answers, okay? I'm not setting traps for you. This is just us.”
He felt his shoulders sag and hadn't realized he'd been tensing them. “I'm sorry,” he said. “I guess I'm really rusty at this.”
Rusty. That would imply he'd had other relationships where he'd taken weekend trips like this. The truth was, he'd never felt close enough or comfortable enough to do such a thing. The simple fact was, he had no idea how this worked.
“Me too. But we've been muddling through all right, I think. I have to admit. The fact that you turned your phone off for me? That's just…I can't even…”
He smiled back at her. “Relax. I'm not setting any traps for you either.”
He pulled his phone out of the pocket of his jeans and clicked it back on. He was about to try and say something charming, but the blasted thing started to ring.
Jo and Jake shared a look, then Jo burst out laughing.
“One second,” Jake sighed. He stepped away from Jo and punched the green button. He cleared his throat. “Is everything okay?”
His caller ID came up as Detective Erica Wayne, his counterpart in property crimes. Since he was about six years old, he'd only ever called her Birdie. A nickname her older brother, Jake's best friend, had given her when she was a toddler.
“Hey, Jake,” she said. “I was starting to worry. You haven't answered your phone all morning.”
“I uh…Jo and I just got back from Bardstown.”
The phone went silent for a moment. “Oh. That's right. I'm sorry. I don't mean to interrupt. But we've got a situation. Meg insisted I call you in. Are you home now?”
He looked at Jo. “More or less.”
“How soon can you make it downtown? The alley between the Golden Pagoda and the bakery.”
His stomach dropped. Sheriff Landry knew Jake wasn't due back in the office until morning.
“Maybe fifteen minutes,” he answered. “What's going on?”
Jo had read something in Jake's face. She walked over to him and mouthed a question. Trouble?
“Probable homicide,” Birdie said on the other end of the phone. “We have Jane Doe behind the dumpster under a pile of garbage. M.E.'s on the way, but she's been stabbed. Probably sometime last night. A sanitation worker found her.”
Jake instantly regretted his joke about Armageddon. This was bad. The downtown area Birdie described was smack in the middle of the heaviest tourist area. Early June was the peak season.
“Yeah,” he said. “Give me fifteen. Does anybody recognize her? Do we think she's local?”
“Jake,” Birdie said. “That's the thing. No wallet, no purse, no official ID. But I think I know who she is. And I think you do too.”
The strain in Birdie's voice set off alarm bells. “Birdie…” he started.
“I'm sending a picture of her,” she said.
He waited a beat before the text came through. Jake pulled it up and stared at the lifeless face of a woman he knew intimately. For an instant, he thought he might throw up.
“Is she who I think she is?” Birdie started.
“Yes,” Jake said. “I’m on my way.”