Storm Season

by Erica Spindler

  January 15, 2014

  London, England

  0300 Hours

  I STAND OVER HIS BED. He sleeps with one arm tossed over his head. I recognize the position; my father, his brother, also slept in this way, careless, with abandon.

  He is quiet, no snoring, just deep, rhythmic breaths.

  I want him to see. I want him to know. I rub my shoulder, warding off the pain from the ghost of a bullet that lodged against my scapula, courtesy of the blonde ice queen. I’ll never forget, and she knew that would be the case. But I will leave her alone. I have learned a hard truth in the past few months.

  Not all scores are meant to be settled.

  But some, some beg for closure.

  I slide his covers down with the end of my weapon, and lean close, so I can whisper in his ear.

  “Oncle Pierre. Time to wake up.”

  #####

  About the Authors

  Erica Spindler

  Erica Spindler is the New York Times and International Chart bestselling author of 30 novels and two eNovellas. Published in 25 countries, her work has been lauded as "terrific twisted tales" "white knuckle rides" and "must-reads for suspense fans."

  A Romance Writers of America Honor Roll member, she received a Kiss of Death Award for her novel FORBIDDEN FRUIT, won the prestigious Daphne du Maurier Award for excellence for her novel BONE COLD and was a four-time RITA® Award finalist. In 1999, Publishers Weekly awarded the audio version of her novel SHOCKING PINK a Listen-Up Award, naming it one of the best audio mystery books of 1998.

  Erica’s new novel, JUSTICE FOR SARA, will hit bookstore shelves August 6, 2013.

  Erica lives just outside of New Orleans with her husband and two sons. Become a fan of Erica's at her website: EricaSpindler.com or follow her on Facebook at Facebook/EricaSpindler.

  More Titles from Erica Spindler

  *indicates a Stacy Killian/Malone Series

  2013 DON’T LOOK BACK*

  2011 WATCH ME DIE*

  2007 LAST KNOWN VICTIM*

  2005 KILLER TAKES ALL*

  2004 SEE JANE DIE* (re-released 2009)

  2001 BONE COLD* (re-released 2010)

  Stand Alones Novels:

  2013 JUSTICE FOR SARA (August 2013)

  2010 BLOODVINES

  2009 BREAKNECK

  2006 COPYCAT

  2003 IN SILENCE (re-released 2009)

  2002 DEAD RUN (re-released 2011)

  2000 ALL FALL DOWN

  1999 CAUSE FOR ALARM

  1998 SHOCKING PINK

  1997 FORTUNE

  1996 FORBIDDEN FRUIT

  1995 RED (re-released 2008)

  eNovellas:

  2011 Slices of Night

  2012 Storm Season

  What They’re Saying About Erica Spindler

  "Filled with more twisted, dark paths than an ancient cemetery, WATCH ME DIE is a thriller guaranteed to chill your blood and set your teeth on edge." ~Lisa Jackson, #1 New York Times Bestselling Author on WATCH ME DIE

  "Get ready to stay up all night...The latest Erica Spindler has arrived and it's time for another pulse-pounding, page-turning, absolutely can't-put-it-down, roller-coaster ride of a read!" ~Lisa Gardner, New York Times Bestselling Author of LIVE TO TELL, on BLOOD VINES

  "Filled with well-developed, multidimensional characters, Spindler's latest boasts fast-paced action and emotional tension...the intricately woven plot makes this novel a sure winner for readers who like to keep guessing all the way to the end." ~Romantic Times on BREAKNECK

  Excerpt from

  JUSTICE FOR SARA ~ Erica Spindler

  Katherine McCall stood at the broken front gate and stared at the words that had been spray painted in black across the yellow, clapboard siding. Simple. Ugly. A warning.

  We know u did it.

  No surprise there. Kat shifted her gaze. The once sunny yellow had turned forlorn. The white trim was peeling, the gardens overgrown and overrun by weeds. She pictured the gingerbread cottage as it had been the last time she’d seen it, ten years ago. White picket fence, gardenias in bloom, their fragrance potent in the June sun.

  Her sister Sara’s cottage. Her first home, her pride and joy.

  As it had turned out, the only home Sara would ever own.

  Regret and grief washed over Kat, as piercing as a fresh wound. If she hadn’t been such a selfish little shit back then, maybe Sara would be alive today. Maybe her murderer wouldn’t have had the opportunity.

  Kat reined in her thoughts, the regret. She couldn’t change the past, no matter how hard she fought accepting it, no matter how far or fast she ran from it.

  Being back in Liberty was an acknowledgement of that.

  Kat unlatched the gate and stepped through. She’d thought she would never return. She had promised herself she wouldn’t.

  Yet, here she was. The scene of the crime. The place her life had come to a bloody, screeching halt.

  She started up the walkway, heartbeat quickening. Breath coming fast and thin. Kat forced herself to keep moving, to put one foot in front of the other. She reached the porch steps. Three of them, though it could have been a hundred by the way she dreaded climbing them.

  She did anyway. Crossed to the front door. With unsteady hands, she fit the key into the lock, turned it and stepped into the foyer.

  Her gaze went to the spot where she’d found Sara. In a crumpled heap, blood pooled around her body.

  Kat stared at the floor, unable to tear her gaze away. The blood had subtly stained the honey-colored wood, creating a faint but permanent shadow.

  Or was that her imagination?

  The doorbell sounded.

  Startled, she jumped, then hand to her chest, peeked out the sidelight. A man. Dark hair. Good looking. Holding up a badge.

  The sight of it knocked the breath out of her.

  “Miss Katherine, I’m afraid you’re going to have to come with me.”

  “Ms. McCall? Sergeant Luke Tanner. Liberty P.D.”

  Kat gazed at him, suddenly seeing the resemblance. Now, there was a name she had never wanted to hear again. “Any relationship to Chief Stephen Tanner?”

  “His son.”

  “Perfect.” The sarcasm slipped past her lips before she could stop it. “Sorry, your dad and I have some uncomfortable history together.”

  “Funny, he and I do as well.”

  She surprised herself and smiled. “How can I help you, Sergeant Tanner?”

  He motioned to the graffiti across the front of the house. “I heard you’d had some trouble already, thought I’d stop by and check it out. Probably just kids, but I want you to know we’ll be keeping a close eye on the house.”

  “I appreciate that, Sergeant Tanner.”

  He stopped when he reached the stairs and turned back to her. “I don’t know why you came back to Liberty, Ms. McCall, but little towns have long memories. People don’t forget. You’d be wise to keep that in mind.”

  She watched him drive off. How could she not? She had the longest memory of them all.

  #####

  Alex Kava

  Alex is a New York Times bestselling author of psychological thriller novels. Her Maggie O’Dell series, comprised of eleven books along with her two stand-alone novels have been widely praised by critics and fans. They have appeared on the New York Times and USA Today bestseller lists. Her books have been published in twenty-six countries and have hit the bestseller lists in Australia, Germany, Poland, Italy and the UK.

  ONE FALSE MOVE was selected as Nebraska’s 2006 One Book One Nebraska. In 2007 Alex was awarded the Mari Sandoz Award by the Nebraska Library Association. Whitewash made January Magazine’s list of best thrillers for 2007. Exposed, Black Friday and Hotwire received starred reviews by Publishers Weekly.

  She also has co-authored two short stories in the anthologies: First Thrills, edited by Lee Child (After Dark, co-authored with Deb Carlin) and Florida Heat Wave, edited by Michael Lister. A Breath of Hot Air, co-authored with Patricia Bremmer i
s on KINDLE and NOOK.

  Alex's latest thriller STRANDED is slated for release July 2013.

  Alex writes full-time and lives in Omaha, Nebraska and Pensacola, Florida. She is a member of International Thrillers Writers. Become a V.I.R. Member (Very Important Reader) at Alex's website: http://www.alexkava.com to win prizes or follow her on Facebook at Facebook/AlexKava.books

  More Titles from Alex Kava

  Maggie O'Dell series:

  2000 A Perfect Evil

  2001 Split Second

  2002 The Soul Catcher

  2003 At The Stroke of Madness

  2006 A Necessary Evil

  2008 Exposed

  2009 Black Friday

  2010 Damaged

  2011 Hotwire

  2012 FireProof

  2013 Stranded (July 2013)

  Stand Alone novels:

  2004 One False Move

  2007 Whitewash

  eNovellas:

  2011 Slices of Night

  2012 Storm Season

  Anthologies:

  2007 Thriller: Stories to Keep You Up at Night (edited by James Patterson)

  2010 Florida Heat Wave (editied by Michael Lister)

  2011 First Thrills (edited by Lee Child)

  What They’re Saying About Alex Kava

  "Kava seems to get better with every book."~The Omaha World Herald

  "Maggie O'Dell could be Jack Reacher's long-lost twin" ~Lee Child, NYT Bestselling author of 61 HOURS

  "The question of how such widely disparite outrages might be connected is ingenius." ~Kirkus Reviews

  "A sizzling plot, achingly real characters, and government officials working their backsides off to save their backsides, all strike as lethally as lightning." ~Starred Publisher's Weekly on HOTWIRE

  "Kava spins a plot with significant political ramifications, combining nonstop action and lethal danger...plausible enough to leave readers wondering about the line between truth and fiction." ~Booklist

  Excerpt from STRANDED

  ~ Alex Kava

  "He seemed to be a genuinely kind man – when he wasn’t killing.”

  -- Helen Morrison, M.D. referring to Ed Gein

  in her book My Life Among the Serial Killers

  Chapter 1

  Outside of Manhattan, Kansas

  Off of Interstate 70

  Monday, March 18

  He was still alive.

  That was all he needed to think about. That, and to keep on running.

  Noah could smell his own sweat, pungent and sour . . . and urine. He still couldn’t believe he’d pissed himself.

  Stop thinking. Just run. Run!

  And vomit. He’d thrown up, splattering the front of his shirt. He had the taste in his mouth. His stomach threatened more but he couldn’t afford to slow down. How could he slow down with Ethan’s screams echoing inside his head?

  Stop screaming. Please stop.

  “I won’t tell. I promise I won’t tell.”

  Noah’s lips were moving even as he ran. Without realizing it, he was chanting the words in rhythm with the pounding of his feet.

  “Won’t tell, won’t tell. I promise.”

  Pathetic. So very pathetic.

  How could he just run away and leave his friend? He was such a coward. But that admission didn’t slow him down. Nor did it make him glimpse over his shoulder. Right this minute he was too scared to care how pathetic he was.

  Suddenly his forehead slammed into a branch. A whop and thump.

  Noah staggered but stayed on his feet. His vision blurred. His head pulsed with pain.

  Don’t fall down, damnit! Keep moving. Run, just run.

  His feet obeyed despite the dizzy spiral swimming inside his head threatening to throw him off balance. It was so dark, too dark to see anything other than shades of gray and black. Moonlight flickered patches of light. It only contributed to the feeling of vertigo. This time he ran with his hands and arms thrashing in front of him, trying to clear the path. He used them as battening-rams, making sure he didn’t slam into another low-hanging branch.

  Twigs continued to whip and slash at him. Noah felt new trickles down his face and elbows and knew it was blood. It mixed with sweat and stung his eyes. His tongue could taste it on his lips. And his stomach lurched again because he knew some of the blood was not his own.

  Oh God, oh God. Ethan, I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry.

  Don’t stop. Don’t look back. Can’t help Ethan. It’s too late. Just run.

  But still, his mind replayed the events in short choppy fragments. They should never have rolled down the car window. Too much beer. Too cocky.

  Too frickin’ stupid!

  They’d spent the first weekend of spring break partying before they went home. They hadn’t been on the road long and Ethan had to take a piss. Now Ethan was dead. If he wasn’t dead he’d soon be wishing he was.

  Noah’s lungs burned. His legs ached. He had no clue what direction he was running. Nothing mattered except to run away as far and as fast as he could. But the woods were thick with knee-high brush. The canopy above swallowed the sky, except for those rare streaks of moonlight showing him glimpses of the rocky ground beneath his feet, jagged mounds that threatened to make him stumble.

  And then he did trip.

  Can’t fall, can’t fall. Please don’t let me fall.

  He tried to catch himself, arms flailing like an out of control windmill. He went down hard. His knees thudded hard against a rock. Elbows were next. Skin scraping. Pain shot through his limbs and still his mind was screaming at him to get up. But his legs wouldn’t obey this time. And suddenly he heard a snap and rustle, soft and subtle.

  No, it wasn’t possible. It was just his imagination.

  Now footsteps. Someone coming behind him. The crunch of leaves. More twigs and branches snapped and crackled.

  No. Not possible.

  He had told Noah that if he didn’t tell, he’d let him go. Noah had promised. And so had the madman.

  Footsteps. Close now. Too close to be his imagination.

  Why isn’t he letting me go? He promised.

  And why in the world did he ever believe a madman?

  But he seemed so ordinary when he knocked on their car window.

  Somehow Noah picked himself up. Wobbled and ignored the pain. Demanded his legs to move. He limped at first. Then started to jog. Pushed harder. A chuff-chuff exploded from his mouth. His lungs were on fire. Faster. Tears streaked down his face. A high-pitched whine pierced his ears. It echoed through the trees. A wounded animal or one ready to attack? It didn’t matter. Nothing could hurt him as much as the animal chasing him.

  Should have never rolled down the car window. Damn it, Ethan!

  “Who’s going first?” the madman had asked with a smile that looked almost gentle and insane at the same time. So calm but with eyes of a wolf.

  Oh God, and then he cut Ethan. So much blood.

  “I promise I won’t tell.”

  “Run. Go on now. Run.” The man had made it sound so natural, almost soothing.

  “Go on now,” he’d repeated when Noah stared like a paralyzed deer caught in the headlights.

  And now he realized the high-pitched scream was coming from his own throat. He could feel it more than hear it. It came from somewhere deep and vibrated along his ribs before escaping up and out his mouth.

  He had to shut up. He’d hear him. Know exactly where he was.

  Run. Faster.

  Mud sucked at his bare feet. Shirt, jeans, shoes and socks – all a cheap exchange for freedom. He knew his bruised and battered soles were cut open and bleeding, scraped raw by the sharp rocks. He blinked hot tears.

  Don’t think about the pain. This is nothing compared to what’s happened to Ethan.

  He needed to concentrate on running, not the pain. Not his skin that was slashed and the bruises.

  How far did these woods go?

  There had to be a clearing. He had run away from the interstate, away from the r
est area, but there had to be something more than trees? Maybe a farmhouse? Another road?

  He didn’t hear the footfalls behind him anymore. No branches cracking or leaves crunching. His chest heaved and his heart jackhammered. He slowed just a fraction and held his breath. Nothing. Just a breeze. Even the birds had quieted. Had the madman turned back? Given up? Decided to honor his promise?

  Maybe one was enough for him tonight?

  Noah chanced a look back over his shoulder. That’s when his foot caught on a fallen log and sent him sprawling. His elbows slammed into the rock and mud. The impact rattled his teeth. White stars flashed as his skin ripped on the palms of his hands.

  He tried to stand. Fell back to his knees. The foot that had caused the fall, burned with pain. He looked back at it and grimaced. His ankle was twisted and his left foot was at an unnatural angle. But it wasn’t the pain that sent panic throughout his body. It was the fact that he couldn’t move it.

  He stopped himself. Held his breath again as best as he could. Waited. Listened.

  So quiet.

  No sounds of traffic. No birds. No rustle of leaves. Even the breeze had been frightened to silence.

  He was alone.

  Relief swept over him. The madman hadn’t followed after all. The last wave of adrenaline slipped away and he dropped back onto the ground. He sat up with his legs outstretched, too weak to even touch his swelling ankle. In the moonlight he didn’t recognize his own foot. It was already ballooning, the bruised skin split open. His breathing still came in gasps, but his heartbeat had slowed to a steady drum.

  He wiped a hand over his face before he realized he was only smearing blood with more blood. He brought down his hand in front of his eyes and saw how the skin on his palm had been peeled away.