Novels by Audrey Coots

She saw Huntington only once after his incarceration, choosing to change the channel any time his old case was brought up. She had no further desire to dig into his mind, no further need to know anything about him. In that one glance, she’d seen his plastic surgeries fail him. His skin sagged unnaturally, too smooth and tight across his cheekbones and too loose at his neck. His lips looked like empty bags, and his eyes sagged in his face. Gone was his youth, along with his license to practice medicine and his freedom or access to anyone he could harm. He was effectively pinned down, and though the thought pleased her tremendously, she couldn’t help but the feel that it wasn’t punishment enough. But then, nothing would be. But when she watched her daughter, she couldn’t be entirely bitter. Whatever the man had done was his sin to carry, and she chose to let go of her anger. She tried, and most days she succeeded, to not think of him at all. Sometimes, when Ethan got that ha

The dress was tight around her middle, but Lydia thought it would be just fine. A Christmas Eve wedding, with a reception in her old little yellow house, quickly and tastefully thrown together with the help of her talented sisters. She sighed, content for a moment with absolutely every part of her life. As she looked around her bedroom- her old bedroom now, she supposed- she was thankful for the time she’d had here as a single woman. She was thankful for the prayers and the company of her neighbors, for the friendships and the memories she’d made. She hoped that the next family who lived here would find the same comforts. Choosing not to sell the home had given her so much comfort, and when she’d asked Sandra about the possibility of turning it into a safe home, a safe haven for some family in need, Sandra’s eyes had shone with pride. She’d taken Lydia into her arms and welcomed her to the family fully, solidifying Lydia’s feeling that she was in exactly the right place.

When she opened her eyes the first time, she was hanging upside down, and the car was a metal mass all around her. Inexplicably, she was wedged against one of the huge stones, the moss soft against her cheek as if the rock itself were cradling her body. She felt something warm dripping across her head, and she had just enough time to register the immense pain of her broken left arm before she blacked out again. When she opened her eyes the second time, she was in a sterile hospital room, monitors beeping unobtrusively next to her, Ethan’s head on the bed beside her hip. She didn’t wake him. She wiggled her toes and her fingers, noting the cast on her left arm and what felt like stitches on her fore head. She was sore and tired. Then, she remembered, and her hands flew to her stomach. Ethan’s head jerked up, and his sleepy but suddenly alert eyes found hers, relief washing over him. “Ethan,” she tried, her voice coming out in a choked whisper. She cl

When loud banging sounded at the bathroom door, she was mildly irked that one of the people staying in the house had crossed into her bedroom. It was a silent boundary that everyone had respected, up until now: this space was large, but even here they were crowded, with so many of them present and needing to stay indoors throughout the harsh, cold days. Her space was her space, and no one bothered her there. She called out, “Just a minute!” Hugging the stick to her chest, wanting to keep this secret her own for just a moment longer. But then the banging resumed, louder this time, and she jumped. “What?” she called, a tremor in her voice. “Come out, princess,” someone said, their unfamiliar voice sinister and quiet. She listened, her ears straining for any sound, but she found none. The house had never been this quiet. “Who are you?” she called, backing against the wall. She dropped the stick behind the trashcan an

The house was a flurry of activity. The three bedrooms were full of people, with eight intimidating guards swapping shifts constantly and the others taking their rest as they needed to, sharing the beds of the two smaller suites. Lydia found herself retreating to her own room often in the first couple of days, hugging a pillow and staring out the window, missing Ethan terribly. She considered the insanity of her life, that she was a journalist being hunted like prey by a crazy malicious doctor and his family for a story she didn’t even get a chance to write the way she wanted to write it; that she was now sitting in the bed of a handsome, powerful millionaire in a foreign country, watching the world swim past the window, knowing that her sister was doing something similar somewhere else because they shared a face. But after the first couple of days, existing in a house full of polite but distant strangers no longer suited her, and she began to ask questions. She learned th

Ethan showed her Iceland. He took her to get hot coffee and bought her a warm wool coat to brace her against the cold wind. His eyes lit up when she pointed at the sheep and laughed at the way they bounced away from her. He drove her past waterfalls by the dozens and stopped at his favorites, some with other people milling about in wander and some so vacant of human touch that she felt she’d been transported to another planet. She noted with interest the way other women viewed Ethan, took in his large frame and his muscular build, and she felt a tiny thrill as she reveled in her luck: this one was hers. There were many men in the world, many handsome and lovely men, but this one was hers. And what a man he was. She found herself watching him as often as she watched the beautiful scenery unfolding around her, and she basked in the glow she felt when she looked up and saw him watching her right back. His eyes followed her obsessively, but she felt no danger in them. She felt