CONTENTS

  Prologue

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  About the Author

  Acknowledgments

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, business, events and incidents are the products of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental. All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  Any trademarks, service marks, product names or named features are assumed to be the property of their respective owners, and are used only for reference. Namely: Barbie, G.I. Joe, Jabba the Hutt, The Goonies, Polaroid, Boeing, Holly Hobbie, Nike, Woodford Reserve, The Limited, Aerostar, Tupperware, Uber, Cheshire Cat

  Their Little Lies

  1st Edition

  Copyright © 2024 by Jennifer Naumann

  Cover: Najla Qamber Designs

  AISN: B0D92T3N9L

  Library of Congress Control Number: 2024916280

  www.QuinnAvery.com

  For my badass friend, DeDe

  PROLOGUE

  The girl was acutely aware they were running for their lives as they darted barefooted through the forest. If they dared to stop, they would die. She was sure of it. At least as sure as any 6-year-old could be.

  Although her parents didn’t allow her to watch horror movies, she knew he intended to hurt them in a bad way. A way from which they would not recover. She had seen her share of movie trailers with monsters like Freddie Kruger and Jason Vorhees to understand this was The End. They could not outrun him. The way he remained close behind no matter how fast they ran, she was convinced he possessed an extraordinarily inhuman power, just like Freddy and Jason.

  There would be no escape.

  The girls clutched each other’s hands as they navigated through the dense trees. Matching braids, one golden blond and one tawny brown, slapped against their backs with every stride. It was a cool summer evening, cold enough to warrant a sweatshirt or a light coat. Their skin pricked painfully with goosebumps beneath the identical flannel pajamas her friend’s mommy had sewn.

  With thoughts of her friend’s mommy, tears sprang from her eyes, and snot filled her sinuses. Fire and bile blazed up her throat. Her friend’s mommy was the most gentle person she’d ever encountered. She baked them gooey chocolate chip cookies and helped them make fun crafts. She played dress-up with them sometimes. Bought them Barbie dolls and accessories from the thrift store that were in near-perfect condition. The vision of the kind woman lying still on the floor, blood smeared across the corner of her slack mouth, was more horrifying than the girl could take. She wanted to curl into a ball and cry herself to sleep.

  The rigid weeds stung like little needles against the pads of their feet. The aroma of a campfire penetrated the darkness from a bonfire nearby. She wished she was home in her bed instead of blindly running through a forest with the man yelling after them.

  Beyond the frantic huffs of their breaths and the snap of fallen twigs beneath their feet, the pounding of his footsteps behind them were the only sounds to be heard.

  Something deep down inside the girl pushed her to keep going.

  She could finally see the road she was certain they came in on when her friend tripped over a branch and fell forward. She tried to help her crying friend back to her feet, but it was too late. He had caught up to them.

  With one fleeting glance at the feral look in his eyes, the girl could not move. Her brain commanded her feet to run, but they remained motionless. Although her lungs longed for air, they would not fulfill their duties.

  His eyes narrowed on her little friend. “What did you see back there?”

  She was too young. Too sweet. Too innocent.

  “Close your eyes,” the girl told her friend.

  The girl braced herself, flinging her arms out at her sides, making herself as big as possible to protect her best friend from harm. Just then, the dark shadow of another person appeared behind him. Was it someone who had come to save them or someone who wanted to help him? Could it be her mommy?

  Next thing the girl knew, a knife pierced her without a sound, cutting through her skin with the ease of melted wax.

  Shock rattled her to her core. She didn’t believe anyone would actually hurt her or her friend.

  All at once, her head became lighter than air. Pain sliced through the knife’s point of entry, excruciating and deep.

  Another stab of pain rippled through the girl.

  She closed her eyes and slipped into darkness with the ease of going to sleep.

  CHAPTER ONE

  PRESENT DAY

  Josephine

  Adull pain begins to throb against the base of my skull as I pull into the driveway of my childhood home in Ames, Iowa. There’s nothing unordinary about the quaint neighborhood or the two-story bungalow I was raised in.

  At least from the outside.

  In the past several decades, the original 1970s brick accents and windows have been replaced, and the wood siding has been updated with white vinyl. Keeping the yard, landscaping, and the house’s facade in pristine condition has been a side hobby of my dad’s for as long as I can remember.

  It’s what happened within the walls of the house that churns my gut.

  Since Diane’s—my mother’s—unexpected death in my early 20s, my visits to Ames have lessened more and more with each passing year. While I’ve never been particularly close with my dad, I figured it was time to return as he’s in bad shape after complications from a dental surgery, and the house could most likely use some upkeep.

  It was also a foolproof excuse to leave the station for a while and clear my head after neglecting to properly close two related homicides. The black mark on my nearly perfect career was enough to make me consider an early retirement. My Lieutenant was gracious enough to allow me as much time as necessary to “get my dad’s affairs in order,” even though I suspect he knew the real reason for my requested leave. In hindsight, failing to pin two murders on a woman suffering from mental health issues was a rookie mistake. Maybe it’s a sign that I’m past due to hand in my shield and service weapon.

  I let my Australian Shepherd out of the car and reluctantly shuffle toward the landscaping to rummage through a patch of rocks in search of the hidden key. Behind me, my dog does his business on the lawn, perfectly trimmed to Frank Kelly’s standards. I have no idea who my dad hired to tend to the yard after he was sent to the nursing home, but part of me hopes Henry kills a decent section of the grass with the runs he tends to get after long car rides.

  “Can I help you?” a deep voice booms with irritation from behind me.

  Spinning around to defend my actions, I’m confronted head-on with the most significant chapter of my past.

  Rocco Giordano.

  A disconcerting blend of buried emotions re-emerges as we simultaneously take a second to acknowledge each other. My childhood friend has changed significantly since our last encounter. The bulky frame he earned from lifting weights in his teens and beyond has smoothed into leaner muscle mass. His cheekbones and strong jawline are more prominent with the transition as well. His expressive eyebrows, neatly trimmed beard, and dark hair—significantly longer than I’ve ever seen—have become threaded with silver strands. Faint crow’s feet surround his black-as-coal eyes, and a set of elevens accentuates the bridge of his intense nose. The only things to remain the same are his olive skin tone from his Italian heritage and his beautiful, full lips.

  I’m nearly knocked off my feet when recalling the power behind those fantastic lips.

  Our eyes lock. His eyebrows rise, and his mouth gradually quirks with a grin. I try not to imagine what kind of changes he sees in me. When I rolled out of bed this morning, I slapped my strawberry blond hair into a high ponytail and threw on a pair of joggers with an oversized hoodie.

  Although I stay in shape as much as my demanding schedule will allow, I’ve packed on some weight in my lower gut, and my skin is beginning to sag in baffling places. It’s so unfair how men naturally become more attractive with age while women frantically search for the right creams, gels, and supplements to retain any resemblance of their youth.

  “Jo! I can’t believe you’re here!” With a beaming smile, he removes his left hand from his tan cargo pants. My eyes catch on his bare ring finger when he waves said hand, inviting me in for one of his legendary hugs. “Get over here, you!”

  “Hey, Rocco,” I reply with a weak smile and an awkward step closer.

  There was a time I would’ve sprung into his embrace and buried my face aga
inst his worn-in ARMY t-shirt to inhale his familiar scent. I spent the better part of three years encased in the comfort of his arms. But it occurs to me that Rocco is one of few people alive who knows the reason I don’t like to return home. A strong urge to retreat inside without saying anything more seesaws down my spine.

  The truth is, I want nothing to do with Rocco Giordano.

  Before I can slip inside his waiting arms, a wiggling mass of merle fur darts in between us. I reach for Henry and miss, expecting him to start the usual protective growling bit he does when introduced to a strange man. Instead, he scales Rocco’s muscular legs, eager to lick his face.

  “Down, Henry!” I scold, successfully hooking my fingers beneath his collar.

  “He’s a sweetheart,” Rocco comments with a good-natured chuckle. “Beautiful coloring, too.”

  “He’s usually better behaved.” I squat to sink my fingers into Henry’s thick coat, finding comfort in the gesture. “He seems to like you better than most men.”

  His grin deepens. “What brings you back to Ames?”

  “My dad had a bad reaction to anesthesia, and he isn’t doing so well.”

  Rocco nods impatiently. “I know. I’ve been caring for his yard ever since he was moved to the nursing home.”

  I try my hardest not to react even though his misguided loyalty to my dad stings. When we were kids, Rocco always had my back. I was under the impression that he hated my old man as much as I did back when I wasted my time and energy giving him any thought.

  His brows scrunch together. “That happened months ago, Jo. What brings you here now?”

  My family’s dark secrets weigh heavily in the crisp October air as his dark eyes bore into me, awaiting my answer. He knows damn well I don’t care what happens to my dad.

  “You’re taking care of the lawn?” I ask, giving Henry one last pat on the head before returning to my feet and regaining my composure. I gesture to the longer hair slightly curling above his ears. “You’ve clearly retired from the Army. Are you living around here?”

  “I’ve moved home, actually.” With a sheepish look, he combs a hand through his thick hair, causing some of it to tumble over his forehead. I’m abruptly transported back in time, recalling the handsome 22-year-old who told me he was leaving to join the military. “I started caring for Nonna after Papá died a few years back.”

  A pang of sympathy stabs my heart as I touch his arm. His dad had been a kind, hard-working man who had been there for me at critical times when my parents had not. I may not be close with my dad, but Rocco could’ve given me the courtesy of letting me know his dad had passed away. “Oh, Rocco. I’m sorry to hear that. What happened?”

  “He had an aneurysm. Died during open heart surgery.” He reaches up, wrapping his hand around my wrist. My heart trips into an erratic handful of beats with the electric warmth of his skin on mine. “They gave him a proper veteran burial with the twenty-one gun salute and everything.”

  I squeeze his bicep. “He was so proud of you, Rocco.”

  “He loved you, you know. Shortly before he died, he called me a bonehead for not dragging you along and making you my wife when I left for Fort Moore."

  “He never quite grasped the idea of a woman becoming a cop,” I tease. We exchange equally sad smiles before I drop my hand from his arm. “I suppose I better head inside and assess the damage.”

  “It shouldn’t be too bad,” he tells me. “The cleaning service stops by every other Thursday, and I saw their van leave the driveway yesterday.” With a hesitant pause, his gaze skips over to my front door. “Did you stop for dinner on the way down?”

  Although I haven’t had anything to eat since early this morning, and my stomach rumbles with the mere mention of a meal, I need to end this unbearable reunion. “Henry was locked inside the car for three hours and needs to stretch his legs. He has an insane amount of energy—his last owners couldn’t deal with it, so lucky for me, they dropped him at the shelter.” I shrug. “I’m going to order something in.”

  Rocco winces and gives a shake of his head like I’ve announced I’m ordering cyanide. “There’s leftover tortellini in brodo back at my place. Nonna barely eats anything these days…it’ll take a week for me to finish it by myself. I’ll heat it up and bring some over.”

  The gnawing urge to withdraw and put more distance between us deflates with the mention of his Nonna’s famous dish from Bologna. “Damn it, Roc. You know I can’t say no to that.”

  And now I’m calling him by the name I used when we were in love. Double damn it.

  He eyes my vehicle. “Do you need help carrying anything inside first?”

  “I can handle the one little bag I brought,” I explain. “I’m only staying the night.”

  Disappointment briefly flashes through his eyes before he catches himself and throws me a flirty wink. “In that case, we better hurry and catch up before the night’s over.”

  As he walks away, I begin inventing plausible excuses to end the night early.

  After washing and drying the dishes, we head into my dad’s backyard and settle in lawn chairs around the fire ring. The yard behind the house seems twice as small, but I suppose the feeling is expected when a grown adult returns to their childhood home.

  It’s a pleasantly warm fall evening, the kind in which a person could stay up all night and remain comfortable in jeans and a sweatshirt. Stars twinkle far above the mostly quiet neighborhood, save for the chirp of crickets and the faint roar of a few college kids in one of the rentals down the street.

  Since my dad only partially replaced the 5’ fence separating our house from Rocco’s, the small hole I’d once communicated with Rocco through remains. Stomach lurching with the dark memories that hole resurfaces, I take a deep breath and inhale the lingering scent of burning leaves.

  My childhood was so messed up.

  Rocco had thrown Henry the ball so many times during dinner that my dog lazily stretches out on his back with a comical groan.

  “I don’t think I’ve ever seen him this tired,” I comment before chugging the remainder of the wine Rocco brought with dinner. I stand and give the house a quick glance. As much as I don’t want to spend the night in my old bedroom, it’ll burn less than revisiting my history with Rocco. “I suppose I should set up his kennel and let him settle in for the night.”

  “Eager to get rid of me already?” Rocco asks with one brow raised.

  I raise a brow back at him. “Do you want me to be honest?”

  “Absolutely.”

  Our gazes lock over the fire’s flames licking the sky between us. “Being with you makes me…uncomfortable. I’ve never told anyone about the messed up things my parents did when I was a kid, mostly because it’s something I’ve tried like hell to forget. You and your dad were the only two who knew, and I technically never told you, either.”

  “Nonna knows,” he reminds me with a bob of his head. “But neither of us would tell a soul.”

  Something inside me cracks a little with the empathetic expression etched on his face. “If I’d known you moved back, I probably wouldn’t have made the trip down.”

  “Is this old mug that difficult to look at?” he teases, scratching his beard.

  “You know what I mean.”

  “I guess I don’t.” With a huff, he sets his empty wine tumbler on the ground and stands, rubbing his hands together. “I’m sorry I make you feel that way, Jo. I was so damn excited when I found you in the yard. It was almost like no time had passed since we stood in the same spot and said our last goodbyes. I didn’t imagine we’d go this long without seeing each other again. I was looking forward to hearing what you’ve been up to these last couple of decades. Since that clearly isn’t going to happen, I’ll show myself out. But first, there’s something I want to give you.”

  I grind my teeth together as he approaches me with a cautious expression. A flurry of good and bad memories unleashes as he hovers over me, too close for my comfort. The teenage girl lingering deep down longs to drag him close and rekindle the love we once shared. The wiser, more experienced part of me wants to shove him back and run.

  My heart races when he extracts a plain square envelope from his back pocket.