Deadly Sommer: Nora Sommer Caribbean Suspense - Book One

by Nicholas Harvey

  Deadly Sommer

  Nora Sommer Caribbean Suspense - Book One

  Nicholas Harvey

  Contents

  Foreword

  1. A Truth Best Unknown

  2. One Foot in Front of the Other

  3. Open Door

  4. No is Not an Option

  5. Almost a Day Off

  6. A Heavy Weight

  7. I Know Him

  8. Counting on Both Hands

  9. No More Missing Women

  10. See No Evil

  11. A Sign

  12. Apathy

  13. Indian Creek

  14. Talking Underwater

  15. Terminator in a Bathing Suit

  16. Hear No Evil

  17. Assumptions

  18. Navy SEAL

  19. Face to Face

  20. Nooks and Crannies

  21. Vibrations

  22. Engaging Smile

  23. Contrary to Propriety

  24. Speak No Evil

  25. He’s Not a Violent Man

  26. Star Witness

  27. Locomotive

  28. Speechless

  29. Tenuous Links

  30. Throw Him a Bone

  31. Fish in the Boat

  32. Joan of Arc

  33. A Basket Full of Eggs

  34. Do No Evil

  35. Lock Up Your Sailboats

  36. Upside Down

  37. Body Parts on Ice

  38. Suppressed Emotions

  39. Paper Moon

  40. Worded Out

  41. When Life Sucks Too Bad

  Acknowledgments

  Let’s Stay in Touch!

  About the Author

  Copyright © 2021 by Harvey Books, LLC

  All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the publisher except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  Printed in the United States of America

  First Printing, 2021

  Cover design: Covered by Melinda

  Cover photograph of model: Drew McArthur

  Cover model: Lucinda Gray

  Editor: Andrew Chapman at Prepare to Publish

  Author photograph: Lift Your Eyes Photography

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner unless noted otherwise. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental. Casey Keller kindly provided her permission to use her name in a fictitious manner.

  Dedication

  If you look up ‘moral compass’ in the dictionary, there'll be a picture of Woody Smith. Well, there should be.

  When I first arrived in America as a 21-year-old, with two suitcases and a dream of furthering my career as a race car driver, Woody and his lovely wife, Terry, took me in like a stray dog. From that day on, I've received far more from the man than I could ever return.

  His relentless example of kindness and morality is the benchmark we should all strive to achieve.

  Thank you, my friend.

  Foreword

  Why would an Englishman, living in the Florida Keys and basing his stories in the Cayman Islands, choose a 19-year-old Norwegian woman as his protagonist? I didn’t. Nora chose me.

  Her character first appeared in book four of my AJ Bailey series, Ghost Mountain, which deals with the difficult subject of human trafficking. The story features several girls from islands in the Caribbean, and to expand the international flavour, I added one from Europe. One of my best friends is from Finland; we share a similar sense of humour, and I always intended to introduce a Finnish character into my series. But the role in Ghost Mountain was a smaller part, so I decided to save my Finnish character, and went with Norwegian.

  I built a backstory for young Nora with a normal and happy childhood that turned tragically sideways. She now had a dark secret in her past that propelled her into a life on the run, where she fell victim to the bad guys. Her determination and strength at the end of the story played a key role in the book, so much so that my bit-part character left with a perfect breadcrumb to pick up in a later book.

  Nora became so much more than I’d envisaged. She returned in Queen of the Island Skies, where she and AJ formed a close bond, and then again in Spanish Bay Reef, where she had a major role. I loved writing Nora. Her dry and forthright manner, brilliant humour and willingness to run straight into a fight was captivating. We authors often talk of our characters writing themselves. It may sound pretentious, but it’s absolutely true. I hear AJ, Reg and Nora in my head. Their actions are obvious to me, like a close friend or teammate would be. I provide a situation, and they react. Often, the storyline I planned changes as I realise Nora or AJ wouldn’t handle it that way.

  When I decided to start a second series, I wanted to pull a character from AJ Bailey’s world; someone my readers already knew. To maximise the biggest marketplace, my best move would be to pick a male character and place them in the US. I wrestled with the decision for some time until I finally succumbed to the irrepressible draw of Nora. I knew she was the one in my heart, but how could I build complete novels around someone who doesn’t like to talk? Dialogue is the backbone of most stories.

  The answer came from a joint project with three other fine authors and friends. All part of the Tropical Authors group, we decided to write a fun novella, taking a new protagonist on an adventure to the locations, and with the characters, we all wrote about. The best way was to write in the first person, giving the protagonist's perspective. When I finished my part of Graceless, lightbulbs went off in my head. I should write Nora in the first person.

  She’s intelligent, thoughtful, with a slightly dark view of the world, so writing from her perspective would open up endless possibilities. And it has. Finding Sommer is the novella I penned to explain how the rule-breaking Norwegian finds her way from AJ’s stories into her new role in the Royal Cayman Islands Police Service. Another favourite character, Detective Whittaker, takes on the challenge of mentoring Nora. He sees her potential, as I did.

  The series has an edgier vibe, and leans more into suspense than AJ’s books, which are mystery adventures. I hope you enjoy reading Nora Sommer’s tales as much as I love writing them.

  1

  A Truth Best Unknown

  Olivia watched the young woman leave with the disheartening feeling they’d never meet again. She had no way of knowing how true that would be.

  Seeing any student drop out was heart-breaking. There was always a story. A reason. Something insurmountable in the young person’s life. Or seemingly insurmountable.

  They had talked for an hour, and while she understood and sympathised with the girl’s plight, she hated the unravelling circumstances that had brought them to this point. A catch-22, a no-win situation. For either of them.

  Returning to her desk, Olivia shifted her focus back to the task she could now attack with new information. Usually, she loved problem-solving. Delving into the details, analysing data, and finding solutions. But tonight’s problem held no joy. No satisfaction.

  It didn’t take her long to see the discrepancies. A pang of fear raked through the professor’s body like a chill wind. It was one thing suspecting a study had been compromised, but staring at cold, rock-hard proof sent a shockwave through her.

  Olivia sat back in her chair and nervously chewed the temple tip of her eyeglasses. There was no way of unknowing the facts before her, leaving only two choices: ignore them, or d
o something about it. Ignoring them was unimaginable, unethical, and a myriad of other terms she couldn’t live with. Acting meant challenging a senior, tenured professor, and the study he had personally overseen. That could be career suicide. But this was bigger than her career.

  Olivia checked her watch. It was 10:55pm. She had long since been the only one left in the science wing of the university. A school she had put her heart and soul into for the past twelve years. The University of St Petersburg was a small, private university nestled on the peninsula in western Florida that formed the city of St Pete. She loved living here. She loved working at the school. Now, having stumbled across these irregularities, all that would change. She sighed and wished ‘irregularity’ was the right word. But it wasn’t. This was no innocent oversight. She had no idea how far up the food chain this went, but she suspected the top.

  Plugging a USB memory stick into the computer, Olivia began copying files. She figured later, at home, she would highlight the areas of interest and contradictions, but for now the pertinent files would do. Rubbing her temple, waiting on another file to save, she realised how dog tired she felt. She closed her eyes and drew in a long, even breath. Tonight had been a long run night. She opened her eyes and looked at her gym bag on the floor, untouched. Her strict marathon training had taken a back seat to a bigger problem.

  A sound resonated from behind her, and she quickly turned, startled. The air conditioning had kicked on again, and the ducting groaned as cool air once more surged through the vents. The time between cycles had been getting longer and longer since the sun went down, and Olivia chastised herself for being so jumpy. Outside her office, the hallway was dark; the lights having automatically turned off after five minutes without movement.

  Turning back, Olivia right clicked the next file, selected copy, then dropped it onto her memory stick and watched the two-tone green bar work its way across the window on the screen. She looked towards the dim hallway again. Something was different. Getting up from her chair, she walked over to her doorway and checked both ways. The lights flicked on as the motion sensor picked up her movement. The hallway to her office fed a series of similar offices used by various professors and assistants. They all had windows facing the car park, as she did. On the opposite side were the doors into several laboratories. Olivia looked down the hall to her right. At the end, another hallway ran perpendicular, giving access to the exterior door, and in the opposite direction, more labs deeper in the building. That hallway light was on. Someone else must be in the building.

  Gathering up her shoulder bag, Olivia hastily copied one more file before shutting down her desktop computer. She stuffed a handful of papers from her desk into the bag and grabbed her keys. She tried to convince herself it was probably a student who’d left something behind, but her heart still pounded in her chest. There’d been no sound of a door opening and closing, yet someone had tripped the motion sensor in the entry corridor. Maybe they came in quietly? The thought did not calm her nerves. Remembering her gym bag, she stepped back across the room and scooped it up by the strap. As she locked her office door and walked down the hall, Olivia’s legs were shaking. Reaching the end of her hallway, she tentatively peeked around the corner, then whipped her head in the other direction. She realised the last time she’d taken a breath was in her office, and she gasped, mocking herself for being so ridiculously paranoid.

  The night air was warm and dry, the mild winter a far cry from the Florida summer. Sounds from the city gave her comfort as she strode across the well-lit car park to her BMW. The thought occurred to her, as she opened the car door, that perhaps someone had been leaving the building, rather than entering. She looked all around. There were only two other cars, and neither were occupied. Probably students who were carpooling or sleeping over. Regardless, she decided, getting in the car and locking the doors, she was on her way home where a glass of wine and a good night’s sleep awaited.

  From the car park, Olivia took Roosevelt Boulevard a short distance to Interstate 275 and headed south. It was 16 miles to her house on Treasure Island, but the cross-city commute still took 30 minutes, even late in the evening. She drummed her fingers on the steering wheel, still consumed by the new knowledge she’d uncovered. She looked at the time; it was 11:26pm. Tapping the phone controls on the steering wheel, she hesitated before selecting the speed dial number. He’ll be asleep, she thought, and cursed herself for not calling earlier to set his mind at ease. She hit the button and the sound of the phone ringing came from the BMW’s speakers.

  “Hey,” came a man’s sleepy voice after six rings.

  “I’m sorry it’s so late, hon,” she apologised. “I’m on my way now.”

  “Okay,” he replied, and she heard him yawn. “Find anything?”

  “Pour me a glass of wine,” she said. “I’ll give you the brief when I get there.”

  “Yeah, okay,” he mumbled.

  “You won’t believe it,” she couldn’t help adding.

  “Really?” he said, with a mixture of surprise and disappointment in his voice.

  “Really,” she replied. “I’ll be there in twenty. I’m halfway down 275. Love you.”

  “Okay, see you in a while,” he muttered, and the line went dead.

  Olivia smiled and pictured her husband asleep on the couch, oblivious to the last three innings of the baseball game on the television. Wine, husband, and sleep, she thought, feeling slightly guilty for missing the most important one from her earlier list of upcoming necessities.

  Exiting 275, she drove down 5th Avenue until it narrowed, then turned south on 58th to Central, where she turned right. Central Avenue would become Treasure Island Causeway, a series of bridges island hopping across the bay towards Gulf Boulevard, the coastal road serving the island communities and beaches on the gulf. Olivia always felt like she was home the moment she left the mainland across the first short bridge to the South Causeway Isles. She crossed over Park Street, where the road narrowed down to one lane each way, and could see the streetlights illuminating the pale concrete pavement of the bridge ahead. What she didn’t see was the box truck approaching from Sunset Drive, a narrow bay-front street on her right.

  The impact was sudden, loud, and devastating. All the air was pressed from Olivia’s lungs as the truck shovelled the BMW across the road into the central dividing wall. The considerable mass of the truck buckled and crushed the passenger door deep into the driver’s compartment as the car was bashed across the lane. Olivia’s body whipped to the right, then viciously snapped back when the car was pinned against the wall. Her head smashed the driver’s side window, and the dislodged passenger seat shoved her midriff hard against the driver’s side door.

  The ear-splitting sound of crumpled metal, engine revs and glass shattering disappeared as quickly and suddenly as it had begun. Olivia wafted in and out of lucidity and fought to stay awake. Her face hurt and felt wet, but she didn’t remember having a drink with her. Where did the water come from? Maybe it wasn’t water. There was pain, but it seemed far away, almost disconnected. She knew something was terribly wrong with her right arm, but dare not look. Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad if she didn’t see the injury. Her legs felt numb and heavy, and something rested on her lap. She tried moving and a sharp pain shot through her ribs, causing her to wheeze. White balloons hung limply all around and somewhere in her hazy mind she realised they were deflated air-bags. The more she came around, the worse the pain ascended from every corner of her body. Her ears were ringing and her head throbbed.

  She heard a distant car door with a surge of relief and hope. Help was already here. It was likely a passer-by, but at least an ambulance would be called, and even in her dazed state, she knew an ambulance was needed. She couldn’t move her head, but from the corner of her eye she could see the buckled front of the truck embedded in the side of her lovely car. Hopefully the driver was okay, she thought, her concern quickly turning to anger. It was his stupid fault. Something annoyingly hissed from the t
wisted metal. Damn it, she thought, I just paid off the loan. And my insurance rates will go through the roof.

  She heard someone scrambling along the wall on her left, and she looked over as best she could. They must have been using the roof for balance as she heard several thumps above. A shadow blocked the streetlight.

  “Thank you,” she attempted to say, but all that emanated was a raspy wheeze.

  Whoever it was didn’t say a word, but she sensed his presence and picked up a slight scent of his cologne. Olivia felt a prick in her left arm amongst the building pain from every limb, and her heart began to race. One moment she had been uncomfortable, yet calmly accessing the damage, and the next, her heart was beating out of control as though she were terrified. The person leaned across her and his shoulder knocked her face, causing a sharp pain in her broken nose. Her heart rate continued to escalate, seemingly out of control, and an overwhelming feeling of panic consumed her. Olivia felt the man pushing and moving things around her, and wondered how any of that was helping to get her out of the wreckage. The weight lifted from her lap and the man withdrew from the broken side window, dragging her shoulder bag with him. Her heart pounded, ready to explode as her head spun and nausea suddenly consumed her. She felt herself passing out and desperately fought to stay conscious, but she couldn’t hang on. Then everything stopped, and her heart wasn’t racing anymore.