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    Butterfly
    Butterfly
    Butterfly
    Ebook340 pages

    Butterfly

    By Sharon Sala

    4/5

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    About this ebook

    A woman in the wrong place at the wrong time must rely on a tough-as-nails cop in this romantic thriller from the New York Times–bestselling author.
     
    Pregnant and homeless, China Brown isn’t a threat to anyone. But when she accidentally witnesses a murder, the killer attempts to silence her too. Although China survives, she loses the baby who meant more to her than her own life. Distraught and alone, she finds herself turning to an unlikely source of comfort.
     
    Hard-bitten Det. Ben English is on the case, and he thinks the victim—a celebrity photographer—was killed for the scandals his camera could expose. But there’s something even more intriguing to Ben than the secrets at the heart of the crime: the star witness. Undeniably drawn to China, Ben vows to keep her safe. But as they grow closer to each other, they also grow closer to the killer.
     
    “In a truly riveting story, Ms. Sala draws you in from the very beginning. She delivers main characters who will touch your hearts and quirky secondary characters who will intrigue you as you try to figure out whodunit.” —RT Book Reviews
    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherOpen Road Integrated Media
    Release dateMar 26, 2015
    ISBN9780795345272
    Butterfly
    Author

    Sharon Sala

    With over fifty books in print, award-winning author Sharon Sala, who also writes as Dinah McCall, still has to remind herself from time to time that this isn''t a dream. She learned to read at the age of four and has had her nose in a book ever since. Her introduction into romance came at an early age through the stories of Zane Gray, Grace Livingston Hill and Emily Loring. Her pride in contributing to the genre is echoed by the letters of her fans. She''s a four-time RITA finalist, Winner of the Janet Dailey Award, three-time Career Achievement winner from Romantic Times magazine, four-time winner of the National Reader''s Choice Award and five-time winner of the Colorado Romance Writer''s Award of Excellence, as well as numerous other industry awards. Her books are regularly on bestseller lists, such as the New York Times extended list, USA Today, Publishers Weekly, Waldenbooks mass market, and many others. She claims that, for her, learning to read was a matter of evolution, but learning to write and then being published was a revolution. It changed her life, her world and her fate.

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    • 5/5
      A truly entertaining story that is exciting and mystery and love encluded
    • 4/5
      This story kept me guessing " who done it" until the very end! Positively interesting story!

    Book preview

    Butterfly - Sharon Sala

    Prologue

    Detroit, Michigan

    July 13, 1980

    Sweat ran down the middle of six-year-old China Brown’s forehead as she crouched in the cool, dry dirt beneath the porch of her mother’s house. Inside, she could hear the murmur of voices and the occasional thud of footsteps as her mother and her stepfather, Clyde, moved from room to room. Every time she heard Clyde’s voice she shuddered. It was only a matter of time before he realized his favorite coffee cup was broken. She hadn’t meant to do it, but Clyde wouldn’t care that it was an accident. He didn’t like her any more than she liked him and seemed to look for reasons to reprimand her.

    Time passed, and she had almost drifted off to sleep when she heard a loud, angry shout, then the sound of running footsteps coming toward the door.

    China Mae, you get in here right now! Clyde yelled.

    China flinched. He must have found the cup. She’d wanted to hide the pieces, but she’d heard her mother coming and had tossed them into the wastebasket before bolting out the door. Now it was too late. They’d been found.

    China… so help me God, I’m gonna whip your ass if you don’t answer me!

    China held her breath. Answer Clyde? No way. He was gonna whip her ass no matter what. Why hurry up the inevitable?

    She heard another pair of footsteps—lighter, quicker—then the anxious tone of her mother’s voice.

    Clyde? What’s wrong?

    Clyde Shubert pivoted angrily, jamming a knobby finger into the woman’s face.

    I’ll tell you what’s wrong. That stupid kid of yours broke my favorite coffee cup.

    China heard her mother’s swift intake of breath and just for a moment thought about revealing herself. Sometimes Clyde took his anger out on her mother, too. But her fear was greater than her guilt, and she stayed immobile, closing her eyes and praying as she’d never prayed before.

    I’m sure it was an accident, Mae offered, and tried to placate Clyde with a pat on his arm.

    But Clyde would have none of it. He shrugged off Mae’s touch and cursed aloud before striding to the edge of the porch. China followed his path with a horrified gaze, watching the dirt sift down through loose wooden planks above her head, then blinking furiously when some of the dirt drifted into her eyes. Suddenly her nose began to tickle, and she pinched it between her thumb and forefinger, willing herself not to sneeze.

    China! You get yourself into the house this instant! Clyde yelled.

    China pinched her nose tighter as the urge to sneeze persisted.

    Please… Clyde… it’s just a cup.

    The sound of flesh hitting flesh was as abrupt as China’s exit from the house had been, and she knew without doubt that her mother had just been slapped. The need to sneeze disappeared, replaced by an overwhelming urge to cry. She did neither, instead curling tighter into a ball and wishing she could disappear.

    Today a cup. Tomorrow something else. You’re always excusing the little bitch. That’s what’s wrong with her! he yelled.

    Mae flinched, but held her head high. It wasn’t the first time he’d hit her. Doubtless it wouldn’t be the last. There were days when it shamed her that she’d let herself come to this, but she didn’t have the guts to leave.

    Don’t call my daughter names. There’s nothing wrong with her! She’s just a little girl.

    Clyde snorted beneath his breath. Yeah, and one of the skinniest, ugliest kids I’ve ever seen. You just keep her out of my face, you hear me?

    China bit her lip as she heard Clyde stomp back into the house. Ugly? She was ugly? Tears welled. She didn’t want to be ugly. Her thoughts began to race. Was that why she didn’t have any friends? Did the kids down the street think she was too ugly to play with?

    China… where are you?

    Mae’s voice startled her, and she almost answered. But a sense of self-preservation kept her quiet, and moments later she heard her mother go back inside.

    As soon as she knew she was alone, she rolled over onto her stomach and buried her face in her arms. Ugly. She hadn’t known she was ugly. Now it made sense why Clyde didn’t like her.

    Hot tears welled beneath her eyelids as she lay belly down in the dirt and buried her face in the curve of her arm, her thin little shoulders shaking with suppressed sobs.

    The neighbor’s yellow cat sauntered into their yard and started beneath the porch, then stopped short, hissing with displeasure as it saw China. Ordinarily she would have jumped and run away, but today she didn’t care. Nothing mattered anymore, not even the chance that old Scruffy might scratch her.

    The cat sniffed her bare feet, then the backs of her knees, then worked its way up to her face, sniffing and licking at the wash of wet, salty tears streaming down the side of China’s cheek.

    She gasped and jerked, raising her head too fast and bumping it on the underside of the porch. Scruffy hissed at the unexpected movement and scampered out the other side of the porch to disappear beneath a volunteer stand of Castor beans her mother let grow to keep the moles and gophers out of the yard.

    China held her breath, certain that the thump of her head against the underside of the porch had given her away, but when no one came running, she began to relax.

    Scruffy seemed to have forgiven her for frightening him and was already in the act of stalking a grasshopper that had landed on a nearby blade of grass. The big cat pounced, and she absently watched the demise of the grasshopper as it disappeared down Scruffy’s throat. The cat soon moved on in search of bigger game, leaving China alone with a sense of growing dread. Sooner or later it was bound to get dark, and when it did, she would have to come out. It was a sad but true fact that she was more afraid of the dark than she was of Clyde.

    She shuddered on a sob, then wiped her nose on the back of her hand and started inching her way through the dust toward the yard beyond. Just as she reached the edge of the porch, a small brown caterpillar dropped from a blade of grass and began inching its way toward the shade beneath the porch. China hesitated, then rested her chin on her hands, watching in fascination at the undulant movement of the tiny body—at the way it seemed to thread itself between the twigs and pebbles without disturbing a single grain of dust. It was so small. If she hadn’t been eye to eye with the little creature, she would never have known it was there.

    As she watched, a thought began to occur. If only she could become as small and insignificant as the lowly little worm, then maybe Clyde would never bother her again. And if she was as ugly as Clyde said she was, being invisible would protect her from offending people with her presence. It seemed like a good idea, and she even closed her eyes and tried to think herself small. But when she finally looked up, she was still China and the caterpillar was gone. She crawled out from under the porch and began dusting off the front of her clothes. Some things just weren’t meant to be.

    She made herself scarce for the rest of the afternoon until the sun began to set. Then, when the shadows in the yard began to lengthen and turn a dark, somber blue, she dawdled through the grass to the front steps and sat, waiting until the last possible minute before going inside to face Clyde’s wrath. The hinges suddenly squeaked on the screen door behind her, and she jumped and stood, wild-eyed and poised to run. It was her mother.

    China Mae, where on earth have you been? Mae asked.

    She shrugged and looked down at her bare toes, unable to come up with a suitable answer.

    Mae pushed the door open wide. Well, come on in then, she said softly. And go wash, she added. Your clothes are filthy. What have you been doing?

    Nothing, China mumbled and slipped past her mother on near silent bare feet.

    Mae reached for her child, trying to brush the wayward hair from her little girl’s face, but China was too fast. She was gone before she could catch her.

    As Mae eased the door shut, she cast a nervous glance toward the living room on her way to the kitchen. Clyde was intent on the evening news and unaware that China was back. All she could do was hope that the meat loaf and mashed potatoes she’d fixed would sidetrack him from going on again about a broken cup.

    Staying with Clyde bothered Mae’s conscience on a daily basis. It was one thing for her to tolerate Clyde’s abuse, but it shamed her that, by staying, she put China in danger, too. Yet leaving was even more frightening. She had no skills and a tenth-grade education, so her choice of jobs was never great. They needed Clyde’s paycheck to put a decent roof over their heads.

    Inside the bathroom, China pulled the little step stool out from under the sink and stepped up on it so she could reach the faucets. The old pipes groaned as she opened the taps, and she flinched, certain that Clyde would come bursting through the door at any moment and give her a thrashing. In her haste to finish, a goodly portion of the water dribbled down the front of her dress, mingling with the dust to make thin streaks of mud. She swiped at the streaks with the palms of her hands, which only made things worse, and then she had to wash her hands again to get them clean. By the time she got to the kitchen, her legs were shaking and her stomach was in knots. She slipped into her chair without looking up, but she knew Clyde was there—watching her, waiting for her to make another mistake.

    I thought you told her to wash up, Clyde growled.

    China ducked her head as Mae turned, nervously clanking a spoon against the inside of the bowl in which she was dishing up the potatoes.

    Mae saw the smudges on her little girl’s face and dress, then looked past them to the stiff set of China’s shoulders and sighed.

    She’s fine. As soon as she’s had her supper, I’ll give her a bath.

    Clyde muttered beneath his breath, satisfied he’d made his point.

    Mae set the last bowl of food on the table, then slid into her chair with a heartfelt sigh and gave Clyde a tentative smile.

    I made meat loaf.

    Clyde rolled his eyes as he stabbed at a roll. Hell, woman, I can see that.

    Mae frowned, then shrugged. The way she looked at it, she’d made an overture of peace. If he didn’t want to accept it, then that was his problem, not hers. She reached for China’s plate.

    Here, sweetie, Mama will fix your plate. Are you hungry?

    China dared to look up. The scents surrounding her were varied and enticing, and had she not been so certain that Clyde wasn’t through with her, she might have done justice to the meal.

    She sighed and then fixed a dark, anxious gaze on her mother’s face.

    Not really, she whispered.

    Speak up, damn it, Clyde yelled, and thumped the handle of his knife on the table, making the dishes and cutlery rattle.

    China flinched and moaned and gave her mother a frantic look.

    Mae’s frown deepened. I heard her just fine, she told Clyde. Help yourself to the meat loaf and please pass it on.

    Clyde grabbed the platter and defiantly slid over half the slices onto his plate before setting it back on the table with a thump. Then he reached across China’s plate for the bowl of mashed potatoes without caring that his elbow just missed hitting her in the nose. She started to slide out of the chair for a hasty exit when Clyde grabbed her by the arm and gave it a yank.

    You sit, he ordered, and then proceeded to spoon a huge portion of mashed potatoes onto her plate. You ain’t gettin’ up until you eat every bite.

    Mae reached for her daughter’s plate. Clyde, you’ve given her too much. That’s even more than I could eat.

    Clyde backhanded Mae, catching the edge of her chin with his ring and leaving an angry gash that quickly started to seep a thin ribbon of blood.

    China gasped as her mother cried out, then held her breath, afraid that Clyde would take umbrage with her response. Again she thought of the little brown caterpillar and wished she could just disappear.

    Clyde muttered an oath beneath his breath and grabbed a bowl of spinach.

    You got anything to say to me, whelp?

    China shook her head vehemently, her eyes wide with fear.

    That’s what I thought, he muttered, then slid a helping of the dark, juicy greens onto her plate as Mae turned away to staunch the increasing flow of blood. Clyde picked up China’s fork and slapped it into the palm of her hand.

    Eat!

    China looked up to her mother for help, which angered Clyde even more.

    Your mama ain’t gonna help you this time, he warned. You eat or so help me God, I’ll whip your ass until you can’t sit down.

    Mae pivoted angrily. You won’t touch my daughter.

    Convinced that if Clyde hit her mother again, he would kill her, China gave her stepfather a nervous glance.

    It’s all right, Mama, she said quickly. I can eat it.

    Across the room, Mae watched her baby girl and knew that, at that moment, China had more guts than she did, and it shamed her.

    China looked down at her plate, then up at Clyde as she stuck her fork in the top of the potatoes. An uneasy silence filled the room as she lifted a bite to her lips and then closed her eyes.

    Suddenly the back of her head exploded in pain as Clyde hit her with a doubled fist, driving her face into the plate of potatoes and spinach. She came up gasping for air as her fork clattered to the floor. In a panic, she began digging potatoes from her eyes and nose, knowing that to sit blind with the enemy was to taunt death.

    Now look what you did, you ugly little bitch, Clyde snarled, and yanked her up from the chair.

    No! Mae screamed, and dashed toward the table. But she wasn’t in time to prevent Clyde from dragging China from her seat and out of the room.

    China was sobbing now, certain she was going to die.

    I didn’t mean to break your cup. I didn’t mean to break your cup.

    But Clyde was beyond reason. He hit the bathroom door with the flat of his hand and shoved China into the shower stall.

    Mae was pounding on Clyde’s back with both hands, begging him to leave her baby alone, but he was mute to her pleas. He turned on the cold water faucet. Immediately water came spewing from the shower head and down onto his arms.

    In desperation, China kicked and screamed, begging for Clyde to stop, and in doing so, she accidentally kicked him in the eye. With a mighty roar, he grabbed her by the throat and turned her head up to the jets of chill water.

    I’ll teach you to mess with what’s mine, he yelled. I’m gonna wash that filth off your face if it’s the last thing I do.

    Clyde’s fingers tightened around China’s neck as her view of the world began to spin and then narrow dangerously. Water peppered into her eyes and up her nose, mingling with the tears and mashed potatoes. Choked sobs alternated with frantic gasps for air, and in her peripheral vision, she could just see an outline of her mother’s face and the footstool she was holding above her head.

    Then everything went black.

    One

    Dallas, Texas

    December 11th, Present day

    The baby kicked in China’s belly as she bent down to pick up her bag, a frightening reminder that she wasn’t the only person about to become homeless. George Wayne, her landlord, shifted nervously behind her as he stood in the doorway to the apartment, watching her gather her assortment of meager belongings.

    It ain’t my fault, you know. Rules is rules, and you’re more than three months behind on rent.

    China turned, the bag in her hand, her head held high. If you’d told me sooner that Tommy wasn’t giving you the rent money, I wouldn’t have kept giving it to him. I would have given it to you myself.

    George Wayne frowned. That’s what you say, but you ain’t got no way of provin’ that to me. For all I know, you both partied up the money, and when it was all gone, he split on you.

    China’s heart sank. The fact that Tommy Fairheart, the father of her unborn child, had disappeared from her life eight days earlier was secondary to the fact that he’d stolen every penny she had to her name when he left. That he had also kept the last three months’ rent money instead of paying George Wayne, as China had believed, was, as the old saying went, the last straw.

    She gave George a scathing look, pulled the front of her coat as far as it would go across her tummy and shouldered her bag. With her head held high, she moved past George in long, stilted strides, hoping she could get out of his sight before she started to cry.

    It was a long walk from the third floor of her apartment down to street level. She made it in record time. But her defiance died when she stepped out the door and turned to face the bitter bite of Texas winter.

    Again the baby kicked, then rolled. China placed her hand across the swell of her stomach and shifted the strap of her bag to a more comfortable position on her shoulder. Her mouth was twisted into a bitter grimace, her eyes flooded with tears, but there was determination in her voice.

    Don’t worry, baby. Mama will take care of you.

    Uncertain as to how that would yet come to be, she started walking. Her plan was to find a church. She’d seen several on the bus route that she rode every day to work. Maybe there would be someone there who could give her some temporary shelter. She had a job waiting tables in a barbeque joint. The pay wasn’t much, but the tips were good. All she needed was a place to stay until she could save up enough money for another apartment.

    For thirty minutes her hopes were high, but after more than a mile of walking and still no sign of any church, she began to get nervous. Her feet were so cold she could no longer feel her toes, and though she’d dressed as warmly as possible in sweatpants and a sweatshirt and two pairs of socks, her lack of gloves and the bite of the wind against her flesh was taking its toll. And, as if that wasn’t enough, to add insult to injury, it started to snow.

    Minuscule bits of something that felt more like sleet than snow stung her eyes. She squinted and ducked her head against a cruel winter gust that parted her coat. With shaking hands, she yanked it back over her belly, as if trying to shelter the child she was carrying.

    A garbage truck rumbled past her as she paused at a street comer to get her bearings. She told herself that the pain in her lower back didn’t matter. The buildings looked festive in their Christmas decorations, but she didn’t see anything that resembled a church. As she waited for the light to change, she couldn’t help but wish she’d paid more attention to the route the bus had taken instead of putting on her makeup and adding the finishing touches to her hair as she’d ridden to work each day.

    There’s got to be one around here somewhere, she said, and headed for a florist on the opposite side of the street to ask for directions.

    As she stepped inside Red River Floral and closed the door behind her, the strains of White Christmas filled the air. She leaned against the door to rest, letting the warmth envelope her.

    Hi, honey, can I help you?

    China’s focus shifted at the woman’s approach. She was broad and tall, and had the reddest hair she’d ever seen. It took China a bit to realize that a goodly portion of her height came from the highly teased hairstyle.

    Um… yes, I hope so, China said. I’m looking for a church.

    The redhead grinned. You lookin’ to join it or…

    No, China said. I’m sort of lost, and I thought someone there could help me. I saw plenty of them when I rode the bus to work, but now I can’t seem to find a single one.

    You ride the bus? the redhead asked.

    China nodded.

    Then why didn’t you just get back on that bus and ride it to the church?

    China shrank within herself. Admitting she didn’t have a dime to her name wasn’t something she was comfortable with, especially to a stranger.

    I missed it, that’s all, she said shortly. Can you help me?

    The redhead’s smile shifted slightly as compassion filled her eyes. Well, sure. We’ll get the phone book and take us a look. How’s that?

    China smiled. I would appreciate it, she said softly, and unconsciously patted the swell of her belly as she followed the woman to the back of the store.

    While they were in the midst of searching the yellow pages, a bell jingled, signaling the appearance of another customer, and this time a paying one.

    Excuse me just a minute, the florist said, and moved toward the customer, leaving China alone at the counter.

    She scanned the listings, one by one, trying to figure out where she was in accordance with the nearest churches. At this point she wasn’t in a position to be picky about denomination; all she wanted from them was charity. She was still looking at addresses when the florist and the customer came to the counter.

    Find what you’re looking for? the florist asked.

    China shrugged. I’m not sure. Are any of these churches nearby?

    The customer, a tall, well-dressed woman in her midthirties, gave China an impatient stare.

    I’m in a hurry, she said, eyeing the florist.

    Yes, I’m sorry, the florist said, and began writing the work order.

    Do you mind? the woman drawled, elbowing China out of the way in order to set her purse on the counter, then staring pointedly at China’s bag on the floor between them.

    The woman’s attitude was nothing more than another slap in China’s face, and for a woman who’d already had one too many blows to her self-esteem that day, it was one too many.

    China picked up her bag and headed for the door without getting the address she’d come for.

    Wait, honey! the florist called. I’ll be with you in a minute.

    China paused, then turned, the length of the store carrying the clear, quiet tone of her message.

    Thank you for being so kind.

    A frigid blast of wind and its accompanying sleet hit her squarely in the face, reminding her of why she’d sought shelter there. She’d wasted precious time and still didn’t know any more now than she had when she went in. She hesitated, considering going back inside, when she caught a glimpse of herself in the store window. Her hair was wild and windblown, her cheeks reddened from exposure. Her all-around appearance was bedraggled. With the bag hanging over her shoulder, she looked like the homeless people she often saw walking the streets. And in that moment, the bitter truth of her situation hit.

    She didn’t just look like one. She had become one.

    Two

    As the sun began to set, China was forced to accept the truth that pride did go before a fall. If only she hadn’t stormed out of the florist’s before getting the information she needed, she might not be in this fix. From that realization, self-pity moved her thoughts in another direction.

    If only her mother were still alive, she would never have gotten mixed up with a man like Tommy Fairheart. Her mother had always had a way of seeing through pretty words to the heart of a person. She’d left Clyde Shubert the day after he had nearly drowned China in the shower. She could still remember her mother apologizing to China over and over as they made their way to the bus station. The determination on her mother’s face had been fierce and her faith in men definitely over. Mae wouldn’t have been fooled by Tommy’s pretty words as China had been.

    China sighed as she stopped at a street comer, waiting for the light to change. She stomped her feet and stuffed her hands into the sleeves of her coat. Never would she take being warm for granted again.

    As she stood, her thoughts drifted back to Tommy. When they’d first met, he’d been so sweet. In the beginning there wasn’t anything he wouldn’t do for her. She

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