The Devil's Game

by Daniel Patterson

  Her eyes misted over as he said it. “I plan to be right here with you, James.”

  James was happier this morning than he had been in a very long time. He looked forward to spending his life in Harmony, ministering to its people.

  And loving the woman sitting across from him.

  * * *

  I hope you enjoyed reading The Devil’s Game! If you like clean and wholesome mysteries, edge-of-your-seat suspense, and twists you won’t see coming, then you may enjoy One Chance, the first book in the Penelope Chance Mystery series. Turn the page for a short excerpt.

  One Chance Excerpt

  Two Crimes. One Suspect. No Alibi.

  A small-town cop struggles to stay true to her faith as she investigates the most challenging case of her career—one that will bring up dark memories from her own past.

  Not much happens in Franklin, Florida, and that’s just the way Officer Penelope Chance likes it. So when she gets the call about an attempted murder and learns her brother stands accused of the crime, her blood runs cold.

  Penelope believes her brother is innocent, but she’s going to have a hard time proving it when he can’t remember the events clearly himself. What starts out as a hit-and-run quickly turns into a murder mystery that leaves Penelope questioning herself and the people around her.

  How far will Penelope go to prove her brother’s innocence? Can she find the strength in her faith to uncover the truth . . . no matter the cost?

  Continue reading and find out . . .

  CHAPTER 1

  Friday, October 5, 2012, 6:15 p.m.

  Franklin, Florida

  How did he get himself into this mess?

  He could have been inside Ricky’s Pub having another beer. He could have been home watching TV. He could have been anywhere but here if he’d just used his head.

  Muffled sounds of people laughing, glasses clinking, and a pool cue cracking against a cue ball taunted him. Like white noise, the sounds usually soothed him, but not tonight.

  “Is it done?”

  The gruff voice that sounded suddenly from the darkness of the parking lot made him jump. He sucked in a deep breath and turned around. “I don’t want—” His voice cracked, and he started over. “I don’t want t’ be a part of this.”

  He didn’t want to appear weak—not to this guy, but that’s what he was. Pete Lamb ran away from life’s problems through alcohol, and now he wanted to run away from this problem as well.

  The hooded man’s face was dark and featureless, but it was him. His icy-blue eyes ripped through Pete, radiating hatred and torment. As the silence stretched, the realization that his actions would have consequences sank in.

  You do bad . . . you pay for it. You try to do good . . . you pay for it.

  A black cloud reached out and grappled with the moon for possession of the twilight sky and darkness pressed down on Pete.

  “We had a deal.” The gruff voice was only a hoarse whisper now, but somehow that seemed more threatening.

  “We did, but you didn’t tell me it was—”

  “You were paid,” the man interrupted, and then glanced around the parking lot.

  Pete reached behind his back and placed a hand on the Colt revolver tucked into his waistband. Was violence the answer? Would that solve his problem? Pete released his grip on the gun. He was in enough trouble as it was.

  The man eyed Pete and took a step closer. His breath was foul with the stench of whiskey and cigarette smoke. “I hired you to do a job, and I followed through on my end.”

  A shiver crept up Pete’s spine, and he shoved his hands into his jacket pockets. “I . . . I’ll give it back,” he stammered. How? He didn’t know. The money was gone. He had dug his own grave. “I can get it all back to you by—”

  “I don’t want it back!” The man interrupted, his voice was like a growl now. He glanced around the parking lot once more and then whispered, “I want you to stick to your end of the deal.”

  Pete looked in the direction of the pub door. Maybe if Ricky or anyone else heard, they could come and save him. He needed saving, but no one would hear. How many nights had he spent in that pub, drowned in his drink and the music, oblivious to the reality outside the four walls? No one would hear, and no one would come.

  He forced his voice to sound hard and finally said, “I’m done.”

  “You sure about that?”

  It wasn’t a question. It was a challenge. He knew it, but couldn’t accept it. Wouldn’t accept it. What he’d done already was bad enough.

  “I’m sure,” he said and turned and walked away, just like he did with all his problems.

  “Suit yourself.” It was the final thing the man said.

  This was one man you didn’t turn your back on and Pete half-expected a blow from behind or maybe a shot—something that was a punishment fit for the low-life he had become. How had he sunk so low?

  An elderly man walked his dog across the street and paused at the end of the block. For a moment Pete hoped the man would be someone who could save him, but there was no saving left for a person like him.

  Not anymore.

  CHAPTER 2

  Forty-five minutes later.

  Pete Lamb kept walking and didn’t look back.

  The farther he walked, the more he dared to hope there wouldn’t be repercussions for going back on his word, but it would most likely get him killed.

  He headed west on Main Street until it ended and then turned right onto County Road. His home was just a half-mile away now.

  The approaching night was fresh, the stars just beginning to make their appearance. It smelled green. That was the only way he knew to describe it. His senses were clearer than they had been for a long time, and his heart felt light.

  He would be home soon, where it was safe and warm. His sister, Patty would be relieved to see her brother wasn’t drunk for a change—well, not as drunk as he normally would be by this time—and she would have supper on the table.

  The sound of a car approaching from behind brought him back to the present.

  He glanced over his shoulder and moved to the dim, graveled edge of the road. There was no mistaking the rumble of the engine or that dark blue paint job with the flames. The headlights of the truck fell on him and elongated his shadow. But before he could even think to react, the truck hit him from behind and tossed his body into the air.

  When Pete hit the ground twenty feet ahead, gravel scraped against his cheek. His skin went numb before it flamed up and burned. A sharp pain spread through his chest and he couldn’t feel his fingers.

  He raised his head and watched the red taillights rage against the evening sky. The edges of his vision were blurred. He blinked, trying to focus his eyes.

  He gasped for air.

  The taillights grew larger.

  He tried to push himself up, but he was too late. The truck’s rear bumper struck the side of his head. His body went limp, and white spots danced before his eyes.

  The truck skidded to a stop, and the engine revved like an angry bull ready to charge.

  He had to do something.

  If he stayed there, he was going to die.

  The truck’s engine revved again.

  He wanted to live.

  He rolled to his right as fast as he could. The spinning made him nauseous, and the effort made his chest burn. He tumbled through the loose gravel at the edge of the road and threw himself into the ditch. His whole body screamed in protest.

  The truck stopped just above him, and the glow of the brake lights was ominous in the dark—a warning. Then, with one last roar from the tailpipes, the truck sped away.

  Spots danced around the edges of his vision and darkness fell over him like a soft blanket. He tried to fight it at first—slipping into unconsciousness and then clawing his way out, but did he really want to live?

  What did this world matter anyway?

  What could he still do that was good?

  This was it, his punishment—the p
rice to pay.

  Pete Lamb let go . . . allowing the darkness to suck him in until there was nothing left.

  CHAPTER 3

  Friday, October 5, 2012, 6:15 p.m.

  Franklin Police Station

  Thirty-two-year-old Franklin, Florida Police Officer Penelope Chance leaned back in her chair and pulled her long, honey blonde hair into a high ponytail. She had just finished the paperwork for the vandalism case at Little Lulu’s sandwich shop on Orange Avenue.

  Two young men had been harassing the owners off and on since they opened three weeks ago. Last night they broke a window and painted swastikas on the front door. Not the type of crime their little community saw very often. Although Ben and Lulu Weinberg, the shop owners, were quiet and subtle, their detractors were not. Subtlety is rarely a trait displayed by people ruled by hate. The teens that tagged the shop bragged about doing their part to purify the community.

  She shook her head.

  Franklin was a small town of about six thousand people. It was originally established as a stopover between Gainesville and Orlando when the railroads came through in the late 1800s. Recently the population had been growing due to the pristine small-town atmosphere and their proximity to Gainesville. This growth had revitalized the Main Street neighborhood, which was good for the town, but brought with it some challenges.

  Judge Dirksen would hear the case on Monday. The two young vandals would most likely face a fine and be sentenced to community service—beginning with helping clean up the sandwich shop and install a new window. Perhaps spending some quality time with Ben and Lulu would show them that these shop owners were regular, hardworking people who made a delicious turkey sub and deserved respect.

  Penelope leaned forward and placed her elbows on the metal desk, palms together. “Dear Lord,” she prayed softly. “Thank You for allowing me to serve the good people of this town and bring peace to my community. Help me to be content with my job and my life and to leave final judgment up to You. Amen.”

  With the exception of a suspected double homicide twenty-three years ago, nothing big happened in tiny Franklin, Florida. The police department employed one chief, six officers, and one part-time dispatcher. That was more than enough in this quiet, primarily rural area of the state. Most of Penelope’s cases were relatively minor incidents. In spite of her prayers, the truth was that sometimes she wished something bigger would cross her desk, something to get her blood pumping and give her brain a good workout.

  A few moments later, her desk phone rang. Judy Preston, the dispatcher, had gone home for the night, and Penelope answered the call. “Franklin Police Department. This is Officer Chance.”

  “Hello ma’am,” the man said, “I need to report a stolen car.”

  Another one?

  Earlier that morning, someone stole Mrs. Briggs’ cherry red 2005 Buick. After assuring Mrs. Briggs that she would do everything in her power to get her car back, Penelope had issued a “be on the lookout” bulletin and then spent the rest of the morning driving around town looking for the car without success.

  “Okay,” she said, searching for a pen. “Let’s start with your name and a description of the vehicle.”

  “My name is Kyle Fredericks. My car is a burgundy, 2010 Buick Regal.”

  Another Buick? Why Buicks?

  She jotted down Kyle Fredericks’ information and asked for the address. Mr. Fredericks was at home on East River Street. She told the man she would be there in a few minutes to start an investigation. Before she completed the call, Officer Jim Saunders began lurking around her desk.

  CHAPTER 4

  At forty-five, Jim Saunders was the town’s oldest officer and a teddy bear of a man. Originally from Savannah, he was known throughout the department as the Georgia Peach. His crew cut, white-blond hair, and his handlebar mustache worthy of a Mississippi River boat gambler gave him a likable, but take-charge-when-necessary look. Everybody knew Saunders would give you the shirt off his back, but since he wore a size 3XL, it likely wouldn’t fit you.

  “What’s up, Saunders?” Penelope asked, hanging up the phone.

  “Well,” he said in his thick Georgian accent. “I’m not sure, but I’m thinkin’ we may have a pair of runaways.”

  “How do you think we have a pair of runaways? We either do or we don’t.”

  “Well, because it might be a kidnapping instead.”

  “Go on . . .”

  “I think you know the girl. It’s Missy Clark. Seen you in the park across the street talkin’ to her and that Tommy Pruett, so I figured you might know what’s goin’ on.”

  “Yeah, I know those two. They’re good kids, but in too much of a hurry to grow up.”

  “Parents say they haven’t seen her since she left for school yesterday. I already checked with Mr. Dobson down at the grocery store, where Missy works after school. He says she was there sure enough and left at seven-thirty last night. ‘Course, he also seems to think she stole two hundred dollars from her register. He wasn’t gonna say anything, but when he heard she might be missin’, he thought it was better to say so.”

  “Missy stole from her register? That doesn’t sound right. She never seemed like the type to do that.”

  “All I know is he said her drawer came up two hundred dollars short, and now her parents say they haven’t seen her in more than a day.”

  “She won’t answer her cell phone?”

  “They didn’t let her have one.”

  “Have they tried calling her friends?”

  “Yup. They all say they haven’t seen her since school let out yesterday.”

  “You’ve talked to Tommy’s parents?”

  “Tommy’s parents don’t seem to be all that interested.”

  “So, how does any of this relate to a kidnapping?”

  “Well, Tommy turned eighteen a couple of months ago. Missy is still seventeen.”

  “That’s right.”

  “And her parents want her back and him thrown in jail. They’re making a pretty big fuss about it on the phone calling him a kidnapper and a few other select things.”

  “Kidnapper? They’re boyfriend and girlfriend.”

  “I know, I know. It does seem kind of . . . excessive.”

  Young hearts do foolish things. “Let’s find them first,” she said. “Maybe we can sort this thing out.”

  “We don’t have to like the law—”

  “We just have to enforce it,” Penelope finished for him. “Tell Missy’s parents that we’ll put out an Amber Alert. Then get on the computer and check Missy’s social media accounts to see if there’s anything to suggest where they went.” She stood and hurried out the door. “I’m headed over to East River Street to check on another auto theft,” she said over her shoulder.

  * * *

  I hope you enjoyed this short excerpt from One Chance. Want to find out what happens next? Pick up your copy of One Chance today

  - or -

  Read an extended preview in the Kindle Store.

  Also by Daniel Patterson

  The Penelope Chance Mystery Series:

  One Chance

  A small-town cop, Penelope Chance struggles to stay true to her faith as she investigates the most challenging case of her career . . . one that will bring up dark memories from her own past.

  Another Chance

  After solving one of the toughest cases of her career, Officer Penelope Chance is looking forward to her life getting back to normal. But when this small-town cop gets the call that her fiancé has been shot, her world is blown apart.

  Missed Chance

  Coming Next.

  The Armour of God Adventure Thriller Series:

  The Tyndale Code

  The Tyndale Code is non-stop adventure thriller intertwined with mystery, intrigue, and a conspiracy that stretches back to the time of King Henry VIII.

  The Codex

  Plunged together into an icy world of death and darkness, Zack and Sydney make a discovery that will rock the biblic
al and archaeological community. But will they make it out alive to share their discovery?

  Stand Alone Novels:

  The Devil’s Game

  One part thriller, one part suspense, The Devil’s Game is the story of a young pastor whose work takes an unexpected turn when a man shows up claiming to be the devil himself.

  About the Author

  Daniel Patterson is the bestselling author of One Chance. Before turning his attention to writing, Daniel spent his days working as an executive in the Internet industry. A San Francisco native, Daniel currently resides in Southern California where he is busy working on the next book in the Penelope Chance Mystery series.

  To learn more about Daniel Patterson, his current projects and upcoming releases, visit him on his Facebook page at:

  www.facebook.com/DanielPattersonAuthor

  Meet Daniel Patterson

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  Acknowledgements

  Once again, God has blessed me with an amazing group of people to help me complete the book you are holding in your hands. And once again, I have the honor and privilege of thanking those people here.