Take It To The Grave Bundle 1

The first 3 parts of this gripping psychological thriller available in this box set!

“I know your secret. I’m going to tell.”

As Sarah Taylor-Cox stares at the anonymous letter she’s just received, her body starts to shake with dread. She has everything to lose—a gorgeous husband, a beautiful new baby, and a picture-perfect house in the Hamptons. With family descending for her son’s christening, she must maintain her customary poise. But as the notes continue to arrive, the lies Sarah has built her life on are starting to crumble, one by deadly one…

This bundle comprises:

Take It to the Grave (Part 1 of 6) Take It to the Grave (Part 2 of 6) Take It to the Grave (Part 3 of 6)

by Zoe Carter

Take It to the Grave

Bundle 1

Zoe Carter

Table of Contents

Cover

Back Cover Text

Title Page

Take It to the Grave (Part 1 of 6)

Introduction

Dedication

Prologue

Chapter One: Sarah

Chapter Two: Maisey

Chapter Three: Sarah

Chapter Four: Maisey

Chapter Five: Sarah

Take It to the Grave (Part 2 of 6)

Introduction

Chapter One: Sarah

Chapter Two: Maisey

Chapter Three: Sarah

Chapter Four: Maisey

Chapter Five: Sarah

Take It to the Grave (Part 3 of 6)

Introduction

Chapter One: Maisey

Chapter Two: Sarah

Chapter Three: Maisey

Chapter Four: Sarah

Chapter Five: Maisey

Copyright

Take It to the Grave (Part 1 of 6)

Zoe Carter

It started with an anonymous note…

Sarah Taylor-Cox has the perfect life—a gorgeous husband, a picture-perfect house in the Hamptons and a beautiful baby, Elliot. Now the invites are being sent out for Elliot’s christening, and the Taylor-Coxes are determined the party will be the event of the year.

There’s just one chink in Sarah’s carefully constructed calm demeanor—her sister, Maisey, will be coming. The sisters used to be close, but now their lives couldn’t be more different. Surely, though, they will slip back into their old ways, and the party will go off without a hitch…

Then Sarah’s difficult relationship with Maisey is pushed to the back of her mind when she receives a note, one which makes her whole body shake with dread: I know your secret. I’m going to tell.

Part 1 of 6: A gripping new installment in this darkly compelling psychological thriller

Dedication

To Elle Rush, who made it happen.

Prologue

The clouds gather thick and furious, shutting out the sun.

The smell of ozone is intense, warning me more effectively than the grumbling thunder. A storm is coming—a big one, perhaps the worst we’ve had in years.

The thought of Elliot gets me moving.

Elliot, with his soft skin and plump cheeks, the darling dimples at his elbows. Just four months old.

An image of another baby, another time, creeps into my mind, but I push it away, stumbling on the damp sand. The nightgown my husband is enamored with twists and turns in the growing wind, tangling between my thighs. I long to tear off the slick fabric, but I don’t dare take the time. I have to find my child.

“Elliot!” I scream his name even though he is too young to answer.

The thunder makes a mockery of my cries, stealing my breath before I can try again.

It’s no use, anyway.

The beach is empty.

Waves throw themselves at the shore again and again, churning themselves into foam.

The ocean fizzes around my ankles and I climb farther up the shore to keep from getting dragged into the angry water. My foot comes down on a broken shell, but I ignore the pain as it cuts through the skin. The agony that swells in my chest at the thought of losing my son is far worse than the throb of my wounded heel.

I can’t lose him—he’s everything.

Please don’t hurt him. Not Elliot. He’s so innocent...

But all babies are innocent, aren’t they?

The rain, when it comes, is as enraged as the ocean, and I’m soaked through in an instant. I can’t bear the thought of my sweet little boy in this downpour. He doesn’t have his jacket. The image of Elliot, shivering and turning blue in his little sleeper, drives me forward. My eyes strain to see in the dim light, every breath I take ending in a cry for my missing child.

I can’t leave him out here; I can’t.

Then I realize the beach isn’t empty.

There is someone standing by the rocks, watching me.

Waiting for me...

“Elliot!”

My scream travels farther this time, echoing through the storm. Strength I didn’t know I had floods my legs, and I run faster.

As I picture my missing son and how wonderful it will feel to wrap my arms around him again, I give no thought to my own safety.

I run toward the dark figure on the beach.

Sarah

I tilt my head and let the sun caress my face, resisting the urge to close my eyes. Elliot burbles on my chest, and I stroke the soft blond down on his head.

“Lucky baby,” I whisper. “Look what a handsome man your father is.”

Sometimes it’s difficult to believe how lucky we both are. Warwick is the most beautiful man I’ve ever seen—it’s still hard to believe he’s my husband. He grins at me now, flashing the kind of teeth most people will never achieve without hours in a dentist’s chair. His father catches Warwick smiling at me and gives him a friendly nudge.

“Pay attention, son. We don’t want to burn the steaks.” My husband returns his attention to the grill. It’s a gorgeous day, perfect for relaxing on the veranda of our East Hamptons home.

Edward Taylor-Cox winks at me and the good-natured jostling between father and son continues. Though Edward’s hair is silver and the skin around his eyes crinkles when he smiles, he is still movie-star handsome. Warwick is destined to age well. I am a lucky woman indeed.

Lucky, lucky, lucky...

One of our maids breaks my reverie. “More iced tea, miss?”

I hadn’t noticed my glass was empty. This is the first truly nice weather we’ve had in weeks. Too bad House Beautiful couldn’t have come today, instead of last Thursday when it was raining. “Yes, please.” I hand Emily my sweating glass.

“She’ll have plain water,” Warwick’s mother says with a frown. “Too much caffeine is bad for the baby.”

“But I’m not—”

I was about to admit I’m not nursing, but close my mouth with a snap, nearly biting my tongue. Eleanor would remind me that breastfeeding is the best gift I could give my child, and while that may be true, she isn’t the one who has to fight with Elliot. I’m still trying, but if he prefers a bottle, what’s the harm?

Emily hesitates, holding my glass steady on her tray, as her eyes flick from Eleanor’s to mine. Feeling sorry for her, I decide to end the impasse. “Water would be lovely. Thank you.”

“And not too much ice, either. Cold water is bad for the system,” my mother-in-law adds, tucking her pristine platinum bob behind an ear.

Emily nods, anxious to leave the patio. “Yes, ma’am.” She performs an awkward little bow-curtsy combo before scurrying away, something she only does in deference to my mother-in-law.

The annoyance must have shown on my face, for Eleanor widens her eyes, the picture of innocence. “What? I’m only trying to help. You have to take care of yourself, Sarah. You’re a mother now.” She touches my baby’s head. “What a darling boy. He’s beginning to resemble Warwick more every day, don’t you think?”

“Yes, he is.” Privately, I think Elliot resembles me, especially around the lips and eyes. His coloring could have come from either of us. I’m blonde, as well, though my hair is a shade darker than my husband’s. Only time will tell whom Elliot takes after.

Be nice. She’s trying, and she’s been good to you—and your son.

“So we’ve agreed. Elliot’s christening party will be included as part of our summer gathering this year.” Eleanor plucks invisible lint from her white linen suit. She’s the only person I know who wears a suit in this heat, but I’ve never seen her perspire. My son has more visible pores than she does. “The guest lists should be compatible, so I don’t foresee any difficulties.”

The Taylor-Coxes are American royalty. Their East Hamptons home is even more luxurious than ours, and it’s close enough that it will be easy to shuttle Elliot back and forth during the party. Eleanor’s offer is meant to be generous, and certainly our friends will be impressed.

“If you’re sure...it’s a lot of trouble for you.” I hope my tone conveys the proper gratitude.

It could have been left at that. We could have enjoyed the gorgeous day, eating the glorious food Edward and Warwick grilled for us, and then stretched out for a nice long nap.

But of course Eleanor has to go too far.

“Your family must attend this time, Sarah—I insist.” Her lips purse into a moue of displeasure. Seeing her expression, Emily hurriedly hands me a glass of tepid water before vanishing into the house again. “It’s getting ridiculous. Why do they have such an aversion to us? People will talk.”

I shoot a pleading look at Warwick and his father, but they’re studiously ignoring us, piling steaming steaks on a platter. Once again, I’m left to fight my own battle.

“It’s not that. They’d love to meet you.” Taking a deep breath, I remind myself to be patient. It’s not Eleanor’s fault—my family situation must seem strange to outsiders. “They’re just very busy. I don’t even know where my sister is half the time. She’s always out of the country.”

“It’s not right we haven’t gotten a chance to meet them,” Eleanor says, her brow furrowing with a disapproving expression I am all too familiar with. “They weren’t even at the wedding, for God’s sake. What kind of people miss their own daughter’s wedding? If I didn’t know better, I’d think you were hiding something.”

I choke on a mouthful of water, soaking the collar of my sundress and narrowly missing my son, who gurgles in his sleep. “Hiding something? What on earth would I be hiding?”

Warwick stops joking around with his father. Their little haven by the barbecue falls silent. I can feel their eyes burn into me as they watch the show.

“Well, I certainly don’t know, do I?” Eleanor hands me a napkin. “You’ve always been so mysterious, Sarah.”

My cheeks grow hot. “I’m not mysterious. It’s just—”

“All right, all right, that’s enough.” Warwick comes over and plants a kiss on the top of his mother’s head. “At ease, Mother.”

She swats at him, but I can tell she’s flattered by his attention. Her Ice Queen exterior softens. Only her darling son gets away with mussing her hair.

Good. Maybe now she’ll lay off, let me get some rest. Maybe Warwick will have a heart and tell her I’m exhausted, that Elliot has been waking up every hour on the hour and when I try to breastfeed it takes him forever to latch on.

No such luck.

“Is what I’m asking so wrong? I’m merely trying to include Sarah’s family. I want us to get to know one another.”

“Of course not, Mother.” Warwick perches beside her on the lounge chair and pats her hand. “You’re being completely reasonable, as always.”

“You know I don’t like sarcasm, Warwick. Seriously, though, it’s only a party. It’s not like I’m saying they should spend the entire summer—”

Eleanor’s eyes gleam, sending my heart plummeting into my sandals.

Uh-oh.

“Yes, that’s perfect,” my mother-in-low crows, clapping like a delighted child. “That’s a fabulous idea. Your family will spend the entire summer here, with us. That will give us time to really get to know one another.”

The thought of my mother, waltzing around the Taylor-Coxes’ multi-million-dollar estate with a glass of gin in her hand, makes me feel ill. Before I can respond, Warwick leans across and squeezes my thigh.

Don’t panic, his eyes say. I’ve got this.

“That might be a bit extreme.” He laughs, showing his lovely teeth, and I pray he’ll be able to talk some sense into her. “I’m sure Sarah’s family already has plans for the summer. They’re very busy people, as she said. But how about a compromise?”

I’d begun to relax when he intervened, but now a chill slinks up my spine. I stare at him, attempting to communicate telepathically.

No, no, no! What are you doing?

“What if they come for the week of the christening? That shouldn’t be too arduous, should it?” When he smiles like that, a dimple appears in his cheek. Ordinarily I find it endearing, but not today.

The three Taylor-Coxes wait for my answer. My mind races, but I can’t think of a single excuse. Silently I sigh. I know when I’m beaten.

“Okay, I’ll ask. But I can’t promise anything. Like I said, I don’t know where Maisey is right now. She could be in outer Mongolia.”

Maisey. An image of my little sister drifts through my mind. She’s twenty-four now, a woman. Has it really been ten years since I’ve seen her? So much will have changed. Maybe it’ll be fun to have her around.

“They’ll come,” Warwick says with the certainty of a man used to getting what he wants. He slowly trails his fingers over my arm, caressing it in the way he knows I like. “I’m sure they’d love to see the baby.”

As if on cue, Elliot wakes up from his all-too-brief nap and shrieks, momentarily deafening me.

“Sounds like someone is hungry,” Edward says, clearly relieved to change the subject. “And he’s not the only one. Shall we eat?”

“In a minute, dear. We need to wait for Sarah.” Eleanor watches as I struggle to my feet, holding my wailing infant. Warwick rushes to help and guides me to the French doors with his arm around my waist.

Eleanor’s words make me freeze in midstep, as if she’d doused me with the ice water she refuses to let me drink. “I do hope you’re nursing him. It’s the best way to lose that baby weight, you know.”

I don’t miss Edward’s assessment of my postpartum figure. At least he has the good grace to blush when he notices me noticing.

“Don’t worry, darling,” Warwick murmurs. “I’ll make sure you get the best steak, cooked exactly the way you like it.”

He kisses my temple and opens the patio doors, and soon I’m alone in my cool, dim house with only my son to comfort me. Elliot’s cries quiet to whimpers, and I wonder if he wanted to get away from Eleanor as much as I did.

“Thank you,” I whisper into my baby’s ear. “I owe you one.”

* * *

It’s a relief to remove the diamonds from my ears that evening. I wince at the stab of pain from my swollen lobes. It echoes the dull throb from my breasts, which are suffering the agony from another hopeless skirmish with my son.

He isn’t rejecting you. Some babies weren’t meant to nurse. At least he’s eating, that’s the important thing.

As I tuck the large gemstones into my dresser drawer, wishing yet again that my husband would let me wear something more discreet, I don’t hear him come up behind me. I move to hide the empty bottle, but it’s too late.

“Oh, Sarah.” Warwick’s voice is heavy with disappointment. “I thought we’d agreed you were going to try.”

“I am trying.” I attempt to keep the defensiveness out of my voice and fail miserably. “It’s not working.” Tears sting my eyes and I duck my head so he can’t see my face.

“How hard can it be? Millions of women do it. I’ve heard there are women working on the rice paddies in China who squat to give birth, sling the baby around their shoulders, and keep right on working. Nothing to it. None of this indulgent one-week-in-the-hospital stuff.”

My mouth drops open. How dare he? Warwick knows I had a hard time with Elliot. The sparkle in my husband’s eyes tells me he is teasing, but I don’t care. The frustration and humiliation of the day are wearing on me. “Perhaps you should find yourself a Chinese rice-paddy worker, then,” I say, shoving past him. “I’m sure Eleanor would approve.”

He smirks. “You have a point. Mother’s a tad obsessed with appearances.”

And you always let her get away with it.

“A tad? That’s the understatement of the year.”

“And speaking of appearances...”

I stiffen. “Don’t start, Warwick. Please, not tonight.”

His hands roam over my body, paying extra attention to my swollen breasts. Never taking his eyes from mine, he moves closer for a kiss, silencing my protests. “You know I find you sexy at any size, darling. These are particularly delicious.” He gently squeezes each breast in turn and I bite my lip to keep from screaming. “But if you’re not going to breastfeed, perhaps we should talk about how you’re going to shed these last few pounds. How can I help?”

At his offer of help, my anger fades. The truth is, I can barely stand to look at myself these days. This sad, frumpy woman with the dark circles under her eyes—she isn’t me. I’d love to wear some of the gorgeous things in my closet again instead of these shapeless sack dresses.

“If you took Elliot for an hour in the afternoon, I could go for a walk along the beach. Maybe even swim a bit once I’ve regained my strength.” I adore my son with an intensity I’d never thought possible, but the idea of an hour of freedom makes my head spin.

He coaxes my sundress aside to kiss my shoulder. “Done.”

My joy is short-lived as he begins to work on the buttons, trailing kisses down my neck. I try to pull away, but he presses himself against me. His erection prods my thigh. “Warwick...don’t.”

The kisses stop. My husband gazes down at me, looking wounded.

“But it’s been three months. I need you. I’m not sure how much more of this I can take.”

“I’m sorry, but I’m not ready.” The reality is worse—I’m terrified. Elliot’s birth was incredibly painful. What if my son ruined me? I can’t bear to find out. But, like any man, my husband has needs. If I can’t satisfy him, he’ll search for someone who can. With Warwick’s looks, the search won’t take long.

“The doctor said it’s fine. You’re just scared, which is understandable.” His face brightens. “Wait here. I’ve bought you a present.”

Before I can tell him that yet another gift isn’t necessary, my husband disappears into the closet, returning with a large gold box.

My heart sinks. The box is distinctive, unmistakable. There’s no doubt where it came from.

This isn’t a gift for me at all.

Doing my best to seem thankful, I open it to find a red velvet corset, complete with garters and stockings. I’m so exhausted I can hardly hold my head up. The skintight costume presents a challenge that makes me long to curl into a ball and sleep.

A dimple appears in Warwick’s cheek as he watches me open his present. At times like this, he resembles an imp. A kinky, twisted imp. “Maybe this will get you in the mood.”

Doubtful. Still, what choice do I have? I don’t want my husband to be miserable. And it has been three months. He’s waited long enough. “Give me a minute.” I do my best sashay to the dressing room, hoping it’s sexier than my usual waddle. Sure I’m tired but children are tiring—everyone says so. It’s not like taking care of Elliot will get easier as he gets older. If we’re going to get our romantic life back on track, there’s no better time to start.

I try to convince myself of this as I wriggle into the corset. It’s every bit as uncomfortable as it looked, and it’s doing not-so-nice things to my new figure. My breasts protrude until I feel like an overstuffed sausage. Sexy is not the word I’d use to describe it.

Releasing my long hair from its clasp, I fluff it around my shoulders and endeavor to act more confident than I feel. When I open the door, I’m relieved to see my husband has dimmed the lights. This will help with the illusion.

Warwick waits for me on the bed, his toned body gleaming. He licks his lips when he sees me, and reaches for my hand. “Darling, you are good enough to eat. Come here.”

I feel a moment of panic. I can’t do this. It’s too soon.

His expression is so eager, so hopeful. He’ll never understand how I feel. My husband has counted the days until we can be together again. I should be grateful he still finds me this attractive when I gave birth a few short months ago.

Seeing my hesitation, his smile falters, and I do the only thing I can to keep him happy. I go to him, summoning the memory that has always kept me safe.

When Warwick touches me, I am transported to another place.

I’m a little girl again, wearing a patterned sundress instead of a corset. I sit cross-legged in a field of daisies, watching while my father shows me how to make a chain of the blossoms, his dark head bent over the project. Once the crown of flowers is finished, I will wear it in my hair and spin in the sunlight, proclaiming myself Queen of the Meadow.

My mother smiles when she sees what we’re doing, and says she’d like to have one once we’re finished with mine. She spreads a blue blanket on the ground and unpacks our picnic basket as Maisey crawls nearby, cooing and pulling up fistfuls of grass.

As my beautiful husband invades my body, my mind drifts further and further away.

Maisey

“Say ‘Ah,’” I said, pulling my mouth into an exaggerated O and crossing my eyes in an attempt to relax my young patient. It worked. It gave me a slight headache, but it worked. The little boy sitting on the examination table giggled, and his mother smiled briefly. She held the boy’s baby brother, and for a moment I was distracted. The skinny legs pumping in his mother’s arms reminded me of another baby, another time. I shook my head, surprised by the unexpected memory. I returned my focus to my young patient. Arinya, the Thai nurse I’m training, smiled. She was tiny, slender and so stunning, with dark brown eyes and long dark locks that should have looked sweaty and lank and tangled in this heat, but didn’t. Not for the first time I envied not only the length of her glossy hair, but her built-in air-conditioning that didn’t allow her to wilt in the humidity.

I grinned, then winked. “Ahhh.” I tried again, crossing my eyes harder (cue stronger headache), and the little boy obediently opened his mouth, his shoulders shaking in mirth as he tried to copy me. I used the tongue depressor to quickly scan his throat and tonsils, and nodded as I disposed of the thin wooden stick, not for the first time thinking I should have bought shares in that tongue depressor factory—we went through so damn many of them.

“His throat looks good and healthy, no spots, no redness,” I told Arinya, who quickly noted the details on the boy’s medical chart.

I winked at the boy again. “Good job, dude.” I reached for him, tickling his ears as I gently felt around his throat, easily locating his lymph nodes. I chuckled as the kid squirmed. “Hey, you have to sit still,” I told him, tickling him some more, and his mother laughed as he let loose with a peal of giggles.