Broken Heart (An Ivy Pane Suspense Thriller—Book 2)

By Laura Rise

When a ruthless killer targets distance runners, police officer Ivy Pane, a former FBI agent recovering from a serious injury and acclimating to small town life, must relearn everything—including her marksmanship—to bring the predator to justice before another innocent life is lost.

BROKEN HEART (An Ivy Pane Suspense Thriller—Book 2) is the second novel in a new series by mystery and suspense author Laura Rise. The series begins with BROKEN LIFE (Book 1).

A captivating and harrowing crime thriller series featuring a complex and tormented female protagonist, the Ivy Pane series will keep you on the edge of your seat with constant action, suspense, surprise twists, and a relentless pace that will have you staying up all night to find out what happens next. Fans of Karin Slaughter, Robert Dugoni, and Rachel Caine are sure to fall in love.

Future books in the series are also available!

• Language: English
• Publisher: Laura Rise
• Release date: Apr 24, 2024
• ISBN: 9781094384276

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B R O K E N   H E A R T

(An Ivy Pane Suspense Thriller —Book 2)

L a u r a   R i s e

Laura Rise

Laura Rise is author of the IVY PANE mystery series, comprising five books (and counting); of the BREE NOBLE mystery series, comprising five books (and counting); and of the TORI SPARK mystery series, comprising five books (and counting).

An avid reader and lifelong fan of the mystery and thriller genres, Laura loves to hear from you, so please feel free to visit www.laurariseauthor.com to learn more and stay in touch

Copyright © 2024  by Laura Rise. All rights reserved. Except as permitted under the U.S. Copyright Act of 1976, no part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed or transmitted in any form or by any means, or stored in a database or retrieval system, without the prior permission of the author. This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return it and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author. This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, organizations, places, events, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictionally. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

BOOKS BY LAURA RISE

IVY PANE SUSPENSE THRILLER SERIES

BROKEN LIFE (Book #1)

BROKEN HEART (Book #2)

BROKEN TRUST (Book #3)

BROKEN PATH (Book #4)

BROKEN PROMISE (Book #5)

BREE NOBLE SUSPENSE THRILLER SERIES

EMPTY SOUL (Book #1)

EMPTY HOUSE (Book #2)

EMPTY HEART (Book #3)

EMPTY ROAD (Book #4)

EMPTY EYES (Book #5)

TORI SPARK FBI SUSPENSE THRILLER SERIES

AMIDST THE DARKNESS (Book #1)

AMIDST THE RUINS (Book #2)

AMIDST THE ASHES (Book #3)

AMIDST THE SHADOWS (Book #4)

AMIDST THE LIES (Book #5)

CONTENTS

PROLOGUE

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

CHAPTER NINETEEN

CHAPTER TWENTY

CHAPTER TWENTY ONE

CHAPTER TWENTY TWO

CHAPTER TWENTY THREE

CHAPTER TWENTY FOUR

CHAPTER TWENTY FIVE

PROLOGUE

Beneath a canopy of stars, Anna Martinez set foot on the familiar woodland path, her heart racing in anticipation. The middle-school PE teacher had garnered local fame for her charity marathons. Running was not just a hobby for her; it had become an integral part of her identity.

Alright, let's do this, she muttered to herself, taking a deep breath before breaking into a steady jog.

As Anna's feet pounded the dirt trail, the solitude of the woods enveloped her like a comforting embrace. The rustling leaves and the distinctive chirps of crickets served as her soundtrack, each sound harmonizing in nature's symphony. For a brief moment, the chaos of her daily life ebbed away, replaced by the serenity of her nocturnal ritual.

Running is my sanctuary, she thought, feeling her muscles warm and her breathing steadier. No matter what life throws at me, I can always find solace here.

As Anna ventured farther into the night, the familiar sounds of the woods continued to accompany her – the rustling leaves and chirping crickets now as much a part of her as the blood coursing through her veins.

Sweat trickled down her forehead as her heart pounded in unison with her swift footsteps. Suddenly, a rustle in the trees rang louder, sharper than the natural ebb and flow of the forest, causing her to halt in her tracks. An icy shiver curled down her spine, her breath hitching in her chest.

H-Hello? she called out. Her voice bounced off the surrounding foliage and returned to her as an echo.

Must be a deer, Anna whispered to herself. The woods were full of creatures, after all. She picked up her pace again, her breaths coming in short gasps as she pushed herself faster. She had to make up for the interruption.

Anna's shoelace came loose, flapping against the ground like a defeated flag. She slowed to a stop, reluctantly bending down to retie it. As she fumbled with the knot, an unsettling feeling crept up her spine, sending chills through her body.

Someone there? she called out hesitantly, her voice barely more than a whisper.

No response. Just the leaves rustling above and the distant chirping of crickets. She tried to ignore the sense of dread that threatened to overwhelm her.

Get a grip, she muttered to herself under her breath, straightening up and turning around to face the darkness.

But as she looked closer, she saw it – the shadowy figure emerging from behind a tree, moving silently towards her.

Who are you? What do you want? she demanded, her voice wavering despite her best efforts to sound brave.

The figure didn't respond, only continuing its slow advance.

The darkness seemed to swallow her whole, leaving her breathless and voiceless. In a futile attempt to scream, Anna's mouth contorted in terror, but nothing more than a choked whimper escaped. Her legs, which had served her so well over countless miles, betrayed her now as she stumbled back, desperate to flee.

Stay back! she gasped, her voice barely audible. But the stranger didn't heed her warning.

In an instant, the stranger lunged at her, tackling her to the ground with brute force. The damp earth beneath her offered no comfort as she writhed in pain, struggling to break free from the merciless grip of her assailant.

Let me go! she managed to cry out, her voice raw and strained. She fought back, pushing against the weight, pinning her down, clawing at their arms. Yet it was all to no avail – her attacker was relentless, overpowering her every move.

Please, she whispered, desperation dripping from her words. I don't know who you are or what you want, but please, just let me go.

Anna knew she couldn't give up; she had faced loss and heartache before, and this time would be no different. Channeling memories of Ivy and her unwavering determination in the face of adversity, she drew upon her own inner strength.

Get off me! she shouted, aiming a fierce kick towards the stranger's leg. The impact sent a jolt of pain through her foot, but she was rewarded with a grunt from her assailant. Still, the man — she was pretty sure it was a man, although it was too dark to make out any of his features — fought on, and the two of them grappled on the forest floor.

Then, to her horror, his rough fingers closed on her throat.

The stranger's grip only tightened, crushing the breath from her lungs as she struggled in vain. Amidst the primal dance of predator and prey, Anna's world began to fade, her vision clouded by a growing darkness.

Help me, she whispered into the void, her voice trembling with equal parts fear and determination. Her plea echoed through the night, joining the chorus of crickets and rustling leaves, as if nature itself were bearing witness to her desperate struggle for survival.

Anna's attacker began to drag her away from the familiar path. Her heart pounded in her chest; she could feel the blood pulsing through her veins with each frantic beat.

Let... go! she managed to gasp out, mustering every ounce of remaining strength and twisting her body violently in an attempt to break free. The stranger's grip held firm, his fingers digging into her flesh like iron shackles.

You're not going anywhere, he sneered, the hoarse words dripping with menace. The voice was unfamiliar, distorted by the chilling darkness that surrounded them.

Summoning her rapidly dwindling reserves of energy, Anna reached up and clawed wildly at her attacker’s arms. She prayed that her fingernails would find purchase on their skin, collecting any trace of DNA that would prove useful to the police if, god forbid, she didn’t make it out of this. She didn't know if she was successful, but it was all she had left.

Get off me! she rasped, her voice barely audible above the cacophony of night sounds. The stranger merely grunted in response, tightening their grip around her wrist.

Enough! he growled, his voice tinged with frustration. You're wasting your time.

Anna's vision blurred, her surroundings threatening to dissolve into an amorphous haze. With each ragged breath, she fought to maintain consciousness, knowing that succumbing to the darkness would mean certain death. In a desperate bid for survival, she struggled to commit every detail of her attacker to memory - the rough texture of their clothing, the overpowering scent of sweat and something metallic, the height that loomed above her own.

Please, she choked out. Why are you doing this?

There was no response. Her attacker only leaned harder on her throat, increasing the pressure.

As the seconds ticked by, Anna's strength waned, her body trembling. Her legs, once the source of her power as a runner, now felt like dead weight, limp against the forest floor. Her eyes began to sting from the strain of trying to see through the thick darkness. The scent of damp leaves and the faint rustle of the wind in the trees closed in on her.

The fabric of time seemed to stretch as the air grew thicker, the world tilting on an axis only she could feel. The grip on her throat tightened further, forcing a gasp from her lips as her head swam with dizziness.

Anna looked past the shadowed face of her attacker, fixing her eyes upon the stars visible behind the branches above. The night sky glittered with silent stars, like hundreds of celestial witnesses to her terror.

In a moment that seemed to take an eternity, blackness took over Anna’s vision, and the sky faded into nothingness.

CHAPTER ONE

The early light of the morning sun spilled through the half-open blinds, casting slanted stripes of gold across the bare walls of Ivy Pane's bedroom. She sat on the edge of her bed, the tape in her hands making a rasping sound as she wound it tightly around her left wrist, coiling upward to encase her knuckles in a protective embrace. The ritual was familiar, each precise movement betraying neither hesitation nor self-pity. Her right arm lay inert beside her, its stillness alluding to battles past and a future forever altered.

Ivy flexed her left hand, feeling the secure grip of the tape against her skin, the slight give that allowed for movement without compromising safety. It was a delicate balance she'd come to master since the injury—a testament to her relentless adaptation. The sheriff had seen something in her, a resilience that transcended physical limitations, when he gave her the detective badge. It wasn't out of pity but respect for her intellect and tenacity that she now bore the weight of a shield. Yet every morning, as the sun rose, Ivy faced her own personal adversary before stepping out to confront the ones lurking in Brookside's underbelly.

Pushing off from the bed, she stood, her shadow stretching long and solitary across the floorboards. Moving to the center of the room, Ivy began her solitary sparring session, throwing sharp jabs into the air with her dominant left. Each punch cut through the silence, the exhalation of breath punctuating her focused intent. The muscle memory of her training meshed with an inherent determination that had been forged in the crucible of life’s relentless trials.

Her right arm dangled uselessly, but her eyes held a fiery resolve. The disability was just another opponent to outmaneuver, another challenge to subdue. Ivy's gaze followed the invisible lines of attack, anticipating and countering, her body swaying with the rhythm of an internal battle hymn. There were no sounds of gloves against a bag, no coach shouting instructions—just the soft thuds of her bare feet shifting position and the steady cadence of her breathing.

In the quiet of the morning, with the dawn light as her witness, Ivy Pane danced alone with her shadows, each movement a silent scream against the constraints of flesh and bone. The room itself seemed to bear witness to her plight, the space where comfort should have dwelled now suffused with the stark reality of loss and the ever-present hum of desperation.

As the minutes ticked by, sweat beaded on her forehead. This was more than exercise; it was an affirmation of her existence, a declaration that she would not be defined by what had been taken from her. For Ivy, every punch thrown was a refusal to submit, every drop of sweat a tribute to the sister who vanished and the mother who faded away long before death claimed her.

She drove her left fist through another unseen barrier. The world might see her as diminished, but Ivy knew the truth—she was not broken, merely remade. And within these four walls, beneath the watchful eye of the morning sun, she honed the weapon she had become.

When she had finished her workout, she stepped out into the kitchen, where the morning light spilled over the formica countertops and cast a warm glow on the aging linoleum. Her father was already there, hunched over a steaming cup of black coffee.

Morning, she offered, reaching for the box of cereal on top of the fridge.

Didn't hear you come in last night, he murmured, his voice gruff with disuse.

Was working late, she replied, keeping her tone neutral as she poured the cereal into a bowl, the dry clatter a counterpoint to the simmering tension.

Her father eyed her bandaged arm, the thick veins on his hands standing out as he gripped his mug. You should be resting that arm.

Ivy shrugged, pouring milk with her good hand. Can't afford to get soft.

They ate in silence then, the distance wider than the kitchen table could measure. The ghosts of her mother's laughter and her sister's cries seemed to seep from the walls, echoes of a past that refused to die quietly.

With the remains of her breakfast left untouched, Ivy stood up, her chair scraping harshly against the floor. Her father didn't look up, his attention seemingly captured by the depths of his coffee as if answers lay hidden at the bottom of the mug.

Got to head out. Practice at the range, she announced, grabbing her jacket from the back of another chair.

Be careful, he said after a moment, his voice low, almost reluctant.

Always am. The words were automatic, but they carried a weight that pressed on her chest as she turned away.

Stepping outside, Ivy felt the crisp morning air kiss her cheeks, a stark contrast to the stifling atmosphere she left behind. The path to the car was familiar, each step imprinted with memories of a childhood spent navigating the minefield of her father's moods and her mother's unpredictability.

She got into her car, the engine coming to life with a roar that drowned out the whispering doubts that always seemed to linger whenever her family came into play. As the vehicle pulled away from the curb, she glanced at the rearview mirror only once, catching a glimpse of the house—her former refuge, now just a shell housing the remnants of broken dreams.

The route to the indoor shooting range was a blur, every turn and stop sign navigated on autopilot. Her mind wasn't on the road; it was back in that kitchen, tangled in the thorny underbrush of her family's history. But with each mile she put between herself and that house, the more the tightness in her chest eased, replaced by the growing focus on the task ahead.

Training was more than preparation; it was a cleansing ritual, washing away the residue