by Debra Webb
A killer with nothing left to lose...
Afraid or not, Detective Bobbie Gentry has a monster to confront. The pain of losing her family and nearly her life to a criminal’s vile hunger is still fresh, but now the landscape is different. Now she’s not alone. Now she has Nick Shade to trust. Nick treats the terror of his past with vengeance. He’s dedicated his life to hunting serial killers, and he’d give his last breath to save Bobbie. When a string of killings bloodies Savannah’s elite society and causes cold cases to resurface, Bobbie is captured in a city more haunted than Nick’s inescapable nightmares. And as the murderer strikes close, Nick and Bobbie will need to become even closer if they’re going to survive.
Praise for the novels of Debra Webb
“A hot hand with action, suspense and last, but not least, a steamy relationship.”
—New York Times bestselling author Linda Howard
“Debra Webb’s name says it all.”
—New York Times bestselling author Karen Rose
“Compelling main characters and chilling villains elevate Debra Webb’s Faces of Evil series to the realm of high-intensity thrillers that readers won’t be able to resist.”
—New York Times bestselling author CJ Lyons
“A well-crafted, and engrossing thriller. Debra Webb
has crafted a fine, twisting thriller to be savored and enjoyed.”
—New York Times bestselling author Heather Graham on Traceless
“A steamy, provocative novel with deep, deadly secrets guaranteed to be worthy of your time.”
—Fresh Fiction on Traceless
“Debra Webb’s best work yet. The gritty, edge-of-your-seat, white-knuckled thriller is peopled with tough, credible characters and a brilliant plot that will keep you guessing until the very end.”
—New York Times bestselling author Cindy Gerard on Obsession
“Interspersed with fine-tuned suspense...the cliffhanger conclusion will leave readers eagerly anticipating future installments.”
—Publishers Weekly on Obsession
“Webb reaches into our deepest nightmares and pulls out a horrifying scenario. She delivers the ultimate villain.”
—RT Book Reviews on Dying to Play
Also by Debra Webb
The Blackest Crimson
No Darker Place
A Deeper Grave
Look for Debra Webb’s next novel
THE LONGEST SILENCE
available soon from MIRA Books.
For additional books by USA TODAY bestselling author Debra Webb, visit her website at www.debrawebb.com.
Debra Webb
The Coldest Fear
As a parent, I can think of few things more terrifying and heartbreaking than having my child in pain or suffering with a serious illness. In fact, I try particularly hard not to think of those other things—the death of a child or having a child go missing. So very many children go missing each year and far too many are never found. This book is dedicated to all those who know this unspeakable fear. My prayers are always with you.
Contents
Quote
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
Chapter Twenty-Six
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Chapter Thirty
Chapter Thirty-One
Chapter Thirty-Two
Chapter Thirty-Three
Chapter Thirty-Four
Chapter Thirty-Five
Chapter Thirty-Six
Chapter Thirty-Seven
Chapter Thirty-Eight
Chapter Thirty-Nine
Chapter Forty
Chapter Forty-One
Chapter Forty-Two
Chapter Forty-Three
Chapter Forty-Four
Chapter Forty-Five
Excerpt from The Longest Silence by Debra Webb
“Always do what you are afraid to do.”
—Ralph Waldo Emerson
One
Savannah, Georgia
Tuesday, October 25, 5:20 p.m.
Life had been difficult for Allison Cortland, particularly the past thirty-two years.
She stepped, one by one, out of her shoes. The grass was cold even with the setting sun doing all within its power to extend a little lingering warmth and light as it dropped behind the trees on this late October day. The task was an impossible one. There would never be enough light to chase away the cold, cold darkness encompassing Allison’s small world.
Shouldering out of her jacket, she let it fall to the ground as she stared out over the still water. Her father-in-law had given Allison and her husband this lake house forty years ago as a wedding present. He claimed he had lost the desire to visit this special place after his wife died. Allison hadn’t understood at the time. The water, the dense woods and the lovely cottage-style home were so peaceful, how could anyone not feel happy and serene here?
In time she had learned the harsh, painful truth that some losses could not be healed by anything in this big wide world.
The crisp breeze sent goose bumps spilling over her skin as she tossed her elegant silk blouse to the ground and reached for the side zipper of her trousers. Her husband often teased her about her obsession with beautiful clothes. Edward showered her with exquisite jewelry and she had always appreciated his generosity, yet there was something cold about jewels. Give her silk and cashmere any day.
But nothing—absolutely nothing—took that deep chill from her bones. Not once in these past thirty-two years had she felt truly warm. She lifted first one foot and then the other from the legs of her pants, leaving the light gray wool twisted on the grass. Reaching behind her, she unfastened her bra and let it fall. Her panties followed that same path. Her nipples stiffened in the cold air. Not even the many lovers she had discreetly taken over the years had been able to warm her.
On this night thirty-two years ago Allison Hall Cortland’s life had drained from her body, no matter that her traitorous heart had continued to beat. She dipped a toe into the icy water. Closing her eyes she put one foot in front of the other, stepping into the water.
All these years, no matter how much alcohol she consumed, no matter the various prescription medications she tried, nothing ever expelled the aching nothingness that had invaded her very soul. For any parent there existed no greater agony, no more devastating blow than losing a child. It was unquestionably the coldest fear that haunted every mother’s heart.
The chilly water rose above her chest, washed over her shoulders and lapped at her chin. All these years she had muddled through this cold, empty life for him. Her husband needed her. They had
faced the horror, as best they could, together. They had survived together. Despite the ways in which each of them had privately struggled to conquer their pain, they had slogged through the months and years...together.
As if Fate was determined to land one last, shocking blow, two weeks ago the handsome young man to whom she had said “I do” forty years ago was diagnosed with terminal cancer. The numerous specialists could do nothing more. Her husband had a month to live, possibly more, probably less.
Allison sucked in one last breath of crisp night air before the water engulfed her face. If only the bastard had possessed the courage to take his vile secret with him to his grave.
But no. He’d had to confess his sins...he’d had to plead for her forgiveness.
She wasn’t like the others. She couldn’t go on knowing this awful thing and she damned sure could not forgive him. The idea of muddling through another single day with this new weight on her heart was unimaginable.
He had stolen the only reason she had bothered to go on at all.
Allison stopped holding her breath and welcomed the rush of death.
Two
Atlanta, Georgia
Friday, October 28, 2:30 a.m.
The simple definition of fear according to Merriam-Webster: “an unpleasant emotion caused by being aware of danger; a feeling of being afraid.” Bobbie Gentry hadn’t felt that emotion for her personal safety in 309 days. It wasn’t that she no longer sensed danger or felt afraid, she did. The sense of danger that haunted her was always for the welfare of others.
As a detective with the Montgomery Police Department she encountered plenty of opportunities to fear for her well-being. Cops felt the cold, hard edge of fear on a daily basis. But it was difficult to fear death when all that mattered most in life was gone and the small steps she had dared take toward building a new one had been derailed.
A psychopathic serial killer known as the Storyteller had murdered her husband and caused the deaths of her child and the partner she loved like a father. Nearly a year later she had learned to some degree to live with the unthinkable reality and, wouldn’t you know, along came another crushing blow. A second serial killer had devastated her life all over again. A fellow cop she dared to keep close was brutally murdered a mere two days ago. His killer had left a message for her: This one’s just for you, Bobbie. The same killer almost succeeded in taking the life of her uncle, the chief of police.
Bobbie sucked in a deep breath. How did she muster the strength to keep going? Revenge? Justice? She’d gotten both. The world was free of two more heinous killers and still it wasn’t enough. The expected relief and satisfaction came but the hollow feeling, the emptiness, remained her constant companion. But there was the tiniest glimmer of hope. A fragile bond had formed between her and the man who’d helped her stop the two monsters who had destroyed so many lives, including hers. The development was completely unexpected, but surprisingly not unwelcome.
Nick Shade had given her something she’d been certain she would never again feel: the desire to live for more than revenge...for more than merely clipping on her badge each morning. Now he needed her help—whether he would admit as much or not.
Those who knew of his existence called him the serial killer hunter. Nick was unlike any man Bobbie had known. Brooding, intense, impossible to read and yet deeply caring and self-sacrificing. At twenty-one he had discovered his father, Randolph Weller, was a depraved serial killer with forty-two murders to his credit. Since ensuring his father was brought to justice, Nick had dedicated his life to finding and stopping the vicious serial killers no one else seemed able to catch. Like Bobbie, he’d stopped feeling much of anything beyond that driving need for justice a very long time ago. Maybe that was the bond that had initially connected them—the thin, brittle ties of utter desolation and desperation. Two broken people urgently attempting to make a difference that neither of them could completely define nor hope to quantify.
Yet they’d found something together. Something that felt real.
Whatever they’d found had gone up in smoke three days ago when Randolph Weller escaped the Atlanta hospital treating him for an alleged heart condition. Nick was determined to do whatever necessary to find him—including risk his life. Since Bobbie refused to give up on him or that tenuous bond that had developed between them, she had to find a way to give him the backup he needed.
Her search had brought her well beyond her jurisdiction in the middle of the night to the one person who might know how to find Randolph Weller. Her chief as well as her lieutenant were not happy about her decision.
Sometimes you have to do what you have to do no matter the cost to career and relationships.
Bobbie stared up at the big house perched on a hillside well above the street. Towering trees blocked the moonlight, casting long shadows across the lush landscape. She chugged the last swallow of cold coffee, her third cup since leaving Montgomery, squared her shoulders and tucked the empty container back into the slot on the console. She reached down and checked the backup piece strapped just above her ankle. The truth was it really didn’t matter how far out of her jurisdiction she’d come since she wasn’t in the Peach State in an official capacity.
In fact, there was a strong possibility she would no longer have a place in the department after the actions she’d taken in the past six hours. She’d barely reached the Montgomery city limits when the blue lights in her rearview mirror forced her to pull over. The chief had sent two uniforms chasing after her with orders for Bobbie to report in ASAP or face suspension. There hadn’t been time to convince her overprotective uncle that she had no choice. So she’d offered her police issue Glock and her detective’s shield to the officer who’d pulled her over and told him to consider her on suspension. The officer had refused to take her weapon or her badge, but she felt confident the message had been adequately relayed to the chief.
Bobbie wasn’t backing down until this was done. She would do all within her power to hunt down Weller, the killer who had orchestrated five murders as well as the attack on the chief himself in the past seven days, with or without the department’s blessing.
A caffeine burst shuddered through her system. No more wasting time. She’d wasted too much already. Judging by the home’s dark windows the attorney she’d come to Atlanta to see was either gone or in bed. A smart man would have disappeared the moment he heard the news of his client’s stunning escape.
Bobbie grabbed her Glock from the passenger seat and climbed out of the car. She tucked the weapon into the waistband at the small of her back and took care to close the car door quietly. She’d long ago set the interior lights so they didn’t come on when a door was opened. Just another one of those cop things. Right now she was counting on the decade of cop experience she’d built with MPD to keep her instincts sharp despite the lack of sleep and the utter desperation clawing at her.
Lawrence Zacharias was the one person on earth who knew most, if not all, of Randolph Weller’s secrets. He lived in this multimillion-dollar mansion in one of Atlanta’s most affluent neighborhoods, Ansley Park. The community was listed on the National Register of Historic Places and was filled with overpriced homes from charming century-old bungalows to newer, mega mansions like this one. Bobbie hadn’t been surprised Zacharias lived so lavishly. She gazed up at the two-story brick. The tasteful landscape lighting ensured that, no matter the hour, passersby would never miss the full impact of the luxurious estate. More than a dozen limestone steps glowed a ghostly white in the moonlight, providing an eerie path to the towering double front doors that appeared better suited to a small castle.
Zacharias was without doubt Atlanta’s most well-known attorney. Fourteen years ago his representation of serial killer Dr. Randolph Weller had put him on the map. If anyone had the slightest inkling where Weller would go after his escape, it would be his trusted attorney. Bobbie intended to get
from the man what the FBI and local police apparently could not.
According to the many text messages she’d received from her chief, she wasn’t thinking straight, which might be true to some degree. She hadn’t slept more than a minute here and there in better than forty-eight hours until she’d pulled over on Interstate 85 at ten-thirty last night. Recognizing that the safety of everyone else she encountered on the road was greatly compromised by her need for sleep, she’d parked at a truck stop with the intention of catching a twenty-or thirty-minute nap. She’d awakened two hours later to the sound of a semi’s air horn. She’d cursed herself the rest of the drive for losing so much time, but she’d done the right thing. Like soldiers, cops fully comprehended the risks of going too long without sleep. Concentration and focus went first. Cognitive impairment only worsened as the hours passed. Even after the extended nap, she was running on empty. But it couldn’t be helped. Stopping wasn’t an option.
She pressed the doorbell and listened as the classic chime echoed through the house. No lights came on. No swishes or clatters of the owner stirring. She glanced back down at the street where she’d parked her Challenger. Nothing moved in the near darkness. Not even the distant sound of interstate traffic that wound around the city detracted from the atmosphere of beauty and wealth cocooning the elegant homes. A soft breeze kicked up, sending a handful of autumn leaves scattering across the cobblestoned porch, the deep russets and browns reminding her of all the shed blood she’d seen this week.
So much blood.
After another stab of the doorbell garnered no response, Bobbie reached up to give the door a firm knock. As soon as her knuckles hit the solid slab of wood, the right side of the looming entrance swung inward. Her Glock was in her hand before she’d mentally ticked off all the reasons the door might have been unlocked and ajar. She eased closer and listened. Quiet. Dark, except for the moonlight filtering over her shoulder and through the open doorway.
Taking a deep breath and then holding it to ensure she didn’t miss the slightest sound, she stepped inside, weapon held at the ready. In the last house she’d entered under similar circumstances she’d discovered a rotting corpse. She barred thoughts of Steven Devine, the cop who’d fooled her and everyone else for an entire month. As hard as she tried to tamp down the memory of his hand on her breast...of him ripping open her jeans, she couldn’t quite accomplish the feat. Sorry bastard. Weller had commissioned Devine to do his dirty work. He’d murdered one of the few remaining people who’d owned a piece of Bobbie’s fractured heart.
