Forbidden With Me by Leigh Lennon

Forbidden With Me

Forbidden With Me by Leigh Lennon (With Me In Seattle Universe)
English | 2020 | Romance | ePUB | 2.7 MB

Wells Shanahan
I was a simple rookie cop in Seattle when I was both shattered and transformed by a horrific massacre. I was fighting for justice for a young girl who’s family was murdered before her eyes.
Years later, my world is turned upside down when a series of similar murders begin to haunt the Seattle area again.
Malia Strickland’s return in the midst of these crimes propels us right back into one another’s lives. She is no longer a little girl, but every bit a woman. I was her hero back then. Now I have the chance to be so much more.
My life never made sense but has purpose and meaning with Malia in it.
Malia Strickland deserves justice and the future that had been stolen from her so long ago. I’ve made it my mission to give her both, even if it means sacrificing myself.
Malia Strickland
My life was altered, in a span of minutes when my family was brutally taken from me. I only escaped with my life, because my hero pulled me from the horrific scene.
I spent eleven years away from the one place I loved so much. Now, it’s finally time for me to come back and face the demons that have haunted me. Going home not only resurfaces memories I’d rather forget, but it seems to trigger a whole new string of murders just like the ones that took my family from me.
More than ever, I need Wells Shanahan to save me from the past and what’s to come.
Wells has always been more than a hero to me. He’s my savior, my future, my everything. Can I convince him, that our forbidden love is worth fighting for?

I’m on the last step, the door moving with the wind of the outside. I have my piece drawn and my flashlight next to my gun as we had been trained. It’s simple—the elementary skills that kick in every time I’m back in this situation, and it’s the reason I can put on this uniform every day.

Matt’s just entered the home with our countdown. I’m in the zone, about to cross over the threshold, when a flash of light shines directly in my face. The strong frame of the person pushing out of the doorway causes me to crash into the brick of the house.

In my six-foot-four frame, it’s hard to knock me off my balance, and when I pull myself up to pursue the perpetrator, a loud cry of a child has me internally questioning protocol. In the glint of the street lamp, I take in a long inspection of the man running from the scene—short, spiky black hair, a frame larger than mine, taller than me, and black boots. Not much to identify, but when my gaze looks back up from where I have turned around, clearing the doorway for more perps, he’s gone.

The loud sound of a child’s voice calls out again. “Help me! Help me!”

Crossing the door frame into a larger foyer, I turn my head to the sizable room that houses a table with three bodies, one on the floor, her throat cut from one end to the other. The age of the girl, and the height has my race pulsing, thinking it’s Jules Montgomery. Running to her first, the hair is jet black, and Matt’s sister’s is blonde. Upon further inspection, this girl is younger, maybe fifteen. At the table, a young male, maybe twelve, lies face down, the same injury as before. Across from him is an adult female, maybe in her forties, sitting like the little boy.

The pleas continue, but I inspect the dining room, clearing it for other perps. It’s large, and with my flashlight, I believe they were sitting down for dinner. Milk is spilled, combined with blood, and the plates are stacked up on one end with a large casserole dish next to the mother.

Following the cries for help, I head through an open door to the back of the dining room as I finish clearing this space—my goal to make it to the sweet voice. “Mommy, Daddy.” It’s all the voice calls for. He or she seems to be younger, maybe under ten, but I can’t place if it’s a boy or girl. “Mommy, Daddy,” the child cries again, and I continue deeper, looking for both the young child and the dad he or she is calling for.

An oversized island in the kitchen separates the space, but in front of me is an adult male, the same age as the adult female. He lies face up with stab wounds in his stomach and chest. I guess this is the dad, and I estimate he has at least twenty puncture wounds. I have to sidestep the broken plates as glass and blood have been strewn throughout the entire space.

“Mommy, Daddy, Gracie, Cabe, Annie.” She’s telling me how many are in the house, and I’m still attempting to find the voice, as I clear the room, looking at the possibility of one more body.

Moving around the kitchen island, I make it farther to the back of this suburban home. The voice draws me closer and closer. A small door sits next to the refrigerator. “Mommy, please!” She draws her screams out. I’m almost positive this voice belongs to one scared little girl.

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