Spotlight: A Little Getaway by Bonnie Traymore
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Publication date: October 9th 2024
Genres: Adult, Suspense, Thriller
A little getaway takes a deadly turn for Morgan and Kyle Murphy in this spicy suspense thriller about a marriage filled with passion, dark secrets, and suspicions.
Morgan Murphy has always longed for a romance for the ages. And she’s found it with the love of her life, husband Kyle Murphy—until their spicy marriage suddenly starts to cool off.
Is Kyle preoccupied and distant because of a problem with his development project? Or is it something worse? Could Kyle Murphy be…cheating? He’s hiding something, that’s for sure. And Morgan’s determined to find out what it is.
With the help of gal pal Carla Flores, Morgan tracks her husband’s movements, and the signs increasingly point to infidelity, the ultimate sin in Morgan’s book. When Kyle increases their life insurance and surprises her with a weekend getaway to get their mojo back, she goes on the offensive and hatches a plan to make him come clean about what’s been going on.
But before she can pull it off, Morgan’s attacked and nearly kidnapped, and Kyle vanishes from the resort without a trace. With no clue as to who took Kyle or why, she’s not sure who is the biggest threat: the shady investor he owes money to, the police, or the guys she hired to teach Kyle a lesson. With the clock ticking, she needs to find out soon.
Before they come for her, too.
Excerpt
ONE
Morgan
I smell death in the air. A briny scent with an undercurrent of decay, wafting in from the murky sea outside our sliding glass door.
“Kyle?” I call out again.
Nothing.
Maybe he went for a walk on the beach?
But that wasn’t the plan.
Something’s not right.
I close the door and lock it.
Where did he go?
A log pops in the fireplace, and I startle. This was supposed to be a romantic little getaway, but so far, things have been tense.
“I have a surprise for you, Morgan,” he said, about a week ago.
So here I am, in this little cottage on the beach that he picked for us, in the middle of nowhere, a few miles north of Monterey Bay. A chance to rekindle our marriage. Put some spark back into it. The resort, if you could call it that, is a series of separate units on a vast swath of beachfront land, one step up from a trailer park. I suppose it could be romantic under different circumstances, with the rugged beach outside our door and a cozy fire inside.
I have a bad feeling, though. I came out of the shower and saw a few drops of blood in the bathroom sink. I figured he’d cut himself shaving. And now he’s nowhere to be found. A chill runs up my spine. This place is getting creepier by the minute. Do I wait here like a sitting duck?
The office is on the other side of the property, and I’m not sure if anyone’s there at this hour of the night. It’s not that late. Just after nine in the evening. But even when we checked in, around noon, it took a good twenty minutes for the woman to come to the front desk and help us.
I don’t want to overreact, so I decide I’ll take the car and drive to the store.
Better safe than sorry.
We talked about the fact that I needed milk for my morning coffee. It’ll buy me some time, and when I get back, maybe he’ll be here, wondering where I’ve been. And if it turns out to be nothing, I can keep this little freak out to myself.
But we took his car, so I have to find the keys. I rush into the bedroom and look around. I thought I saw them on the dresser, but they’re not there.
His pants are draped over the back of a chair.
I check the pockets.
Nothing.
My heart starts to race.
I rifle through his carry-on bag.
No luck.
His cell is gone, along with his wallet. I wonder if he went out for provisions while I was in the shower? But the car is parked near the office, a few cottages away, so I can’t see if he’s taken it. I pick up the house phone and call the front desk, thinking maybe the attendant could check if the car is there. It rings and rings and nobody answers.
My heart races even faster. Rushing into the kitchen area, I survey the options. I grab the utility knife. With its five-inch blade, it’s the best option. This is a risky move. I’ll look like a psycho walking around with it if someone sees me, and the last thing I want is to call attention to myself. But the place seems deserted, so it’s unlikely I’ll be spotted.
Who comes to a beach resort in the middle of winter?
This was his idea, I remind myself.
And now I’m here.
Alone.
At a deserted resort.
Clenching the knife in my fist, I step out the sliding glass door and start making my way to the front office.
TWO
Morgan
The night is inky black. A bright crescent moon hangs in the sky, a bit too low. It sets me off balance, as if I’m dreaming. One of those realistic dreams, where everything seems normal.
Until it’s not.
Gentle waves lick the shoreline, ebbing and flowing in a rhythmic dance that slows my racing heart. I take a deep breath and rethink this. Perhaps he’s left me high and dry. Decided to skip out on me and disappear.
But I grip the knife in my hand, just in case.
I’m in danger.
I can feel it.
Someone comes at me from behind.
Instinctively, I whip my head around.
A black rubber mask hides his face and hair. He grabs my shoulders, spins me around, and stuffs a cloth in my face. It’s damp, with some kind of liquid on it. I struggle to breathe as he presses it against my nose and mouth. I feel myself starting to fade.
Summoning my strength, I elbow him in the gut. He stumbles, giving me an opening. I could stab him in the leg, but that won’t be fatal. He could get hold of the knife and use it on me. He’s much stronger than I am.
I propel myself forward, hike up my knee, whip around, and slam it into his groin. He lets out a guttural moan and releases his grip.
It’s not my first time.
I run for my life, realizing that I’m still clutching the knife in my hand. As I make my way to the office, I toss it into the bushes.
I whip open the door. Thankfully, they didn’t lock it yet.
“Hello!” I call out.
I press the bell, over and over and over.
Ding.
Ding.
Ding.
Ding.
A fifty-something man with a large frame and a lumbering gait rubs his eyes as he meanders out from the door behind the front desk.
“What’s so urgent at this hour of the night?” he says.
“My husband is missing,” I say, catching my breath. He eyes me, brow furrowed, as if he’s about to protest. “And someone just tried to kill me.”
His jaw drops and he stands there, immobilized.
“Lock the door!” I command, adrenaline coursing through my veins.
He fumbles around for the keys in a drawer.
I want to smack him. My eyes widen. “Hurry up!” I cry out.
He rushes over to the front door and locks us in, and I call for help.
***
“Tell me again what happened,” she says.
The officer is a sturdy-looking woman with short dark hair and a serious face. Maybe forty? A bit older than me. Her expression isn’t mean or menacing. More like determined. She told me her name, but it went in one ear and out the other.
I’m relieved it’s a woman, because I feel like she might actually believe me. I’ve watched a few Netflix documentaries recently about detectives who turn victims into suspects, and I can only hope I’m not the next one. As I said, we’ve been having marital problems, and that never looks good in a missing person’s case. Kyle’s car is gone, and so is he. That’s all I know about what happened to him, and I tell her so.
We’ve been over it once, but I start from the beginning.
“So, you came out of the shower. What time was that?”
“About nine o’clock,” I say.
“And then what happened?”
“I looked around and he wasn’t there. So, I called out to him and there was no answer. I checked the sliding glass door and it was locked from the inside, so I knew he wasn’t out for a walk.”
That’s a lie.
“I went to look for his keys, thinking that maybe he went out to get milk.”
The officer sits back and cocks her head to one side as she holds my gaze.
“For my coffee,” I offer. “We’d talked about the fact that I’d need to get it in the morning. I thought maybe he’d gone out to get it. To surprise me. But I couldn’t find his keys. And then I got nervous. I decided to go to the front desk and see if he’d taken the car, and if not, I was going to call for help.”
Her brow furrows. “I feel like I’m missing something here,” she says. “It’s nine forty-five now. He couldn’t have been gone for very long. If you couldn’t find the keys, why didn’t you wait longer? Why did you jump to conclusions? Why did you feel like something was wrong?”
My stomach sinks.
I swallow. “Um, I saw those drops of blood in the sink. Then I tried to call him, and he didn’t answer.”
Crap.
Another lie.
“I mean, the call didn’t go through. The cell service is spotty here. So, I headed to the office to see if I could get through to him. And to see if he’d taken the car somewhere.”
She nods.
I take a deep breath.
There’s an uncomfortable silence.
“And now his cell goes straight to voicemail.” She states it as a fact, not a question, but I answer her anyway.
“Yes,” I confirm.
“Now, tell me about this attacker,” she says.
I repeat what I told her the first time, more confident about this part. Someone tried to kill me, and I’m not letting them turn this around on me.
“And you didn’t see his face?” she says.
“No. He had on a black rubber mask. It covered his face and hair.”
“Eye color?” she asks.
I sigh. “It was too dark.”
She eyes me, one brow above the other, as if she’s skeptical. “And you fought the guy off?” She smirks. “Lucky break.”
I’m on the petite side, with a girl-next-door look that belies my inner strength. I’ve been told I look a little like Kristen Bell, and I know it’s hard to believe I could fight off a pro like the guy who tried to kill me.
“It’s not luck,” I say. “I’ve had some training.”
Her head tilts. I’ve become a curiosity to her.
“I learned my lesson. Years ago.” I take a deep breath and look away. Then I turn back to her. “But I’d rather not talk about that right now.”
That’s not a lie, and she seems to sense it.
She nods and her face softens, as if she understands me now. “We’ll take you down to the station, Ms. Murphy, and we can file a missing person’s report. After we’ve finished up our investigation. You live where again?”
“Saratoga. It’s about a two-hour drive. And I don’t have a car.”
“We’ll find a way to get you home. Don’t worry about that.”
But I am worried.
Because someone tried to kidnap me. This wasn’t a random burglary. Everything’s falling apart. I have no idea where Kyle is, and my life is in danger.
But one step at a time.
For now, the police are on my side.
And I don’t know how long that will last.
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About the Author
Bonnie Traymore is the Amazon Bestselling author of seven domestic/psychological thrillers. Her thrillers feature strong but relatable female protagonists who peel back the layers of suburban American life and give readers a peek inside. The plots explore difficult topics such as jealousy, infidelity, murder, and the impact of psychological disorders, but she also includes bits of romance and humor to lighten the mood from time to time. She's an active status member of International Thriller Writers and Mystery Writers of America.
Bonnie has a doctorate in United States history and has taught at top independent high schools as well as Columbia University and the University of Hawaii. Originally from the NYC area, she resides in Honolulu with her family.
Connect:
https://www.bonnietraymore.com/
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https://www.instagram.com/bonnietraymore/
https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/22411066.Bonnie_Traymore
