The Ultimate Mystery Thriller Horror Box Set (7 Mystery Thriller Horror Bestsellers)

by Perkins, Cathy

  Tara glanced up at her mom.

  Kay held both hands in front of her, ringing them like a wet towel. “Barry. Tara knows that Chase Bowden is in the old bomb shelter. She even knows it’s behind the bookcase. I think we should fill her in on what’s going on.”

  “You would. She’s your daughter!” Barry spat out the last word like it was a disease.

  Tara slid forward in the chair. “Dad, I…”

  “Shut up! I’m not your dad.”

  Kay screamed, “Barry!”

  “Well, I’m not!”

  Riley watched Tara closely. He had known this, of course, but had never mentioned it to the little girl he had known for so many years.

  The blood rushed from Tara’s face. She sank back in the chair. “Mom?”

  Kay knelt next to the chair, dropping her head into Tara’s lap. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry,” she wailed, her voice muffled against Tara’s thighs.

  “Mom, what is he talking about?”

  Kay cried and shook her head, keeping her face down and clutching Tara around the waist.

  “Kay was screwing around when we got married. I didn’t realize it until she got pregnant, but that was undeniable proof.”

  Tears slid from Tara’s eyes as she held her mother’s head in her lap. “I don’t understand.”

  “I’m sterile!” Berry snarled.

  Tara tried to lift Kay’s head, but her mother only buried it further into her lap and wailed louder, her back shaking as she cried uncontrollably.

  “Why didn’t you tell me?” Tara asked.

  “It’s not about you,” Barry yelled. “She loved you, and I tried. But now you’re out of it!” Barry aimed the gun at Tara’s head and stepped in closer.

  Tara tightened instinctively.

  Riley stepped into the room holding his gun at his waist. Barry was losing it. He couldn’t wait any longer.

  Barry spat foamy saliva as he continued. “Pierre left a buried treasure that is unfathomable, and I’m not sharing it with an illegitimate bitch that won’t get out of my miserable life.”

  Riley took two steps into the room. It was dark out now, but the light in the room made him look deathly white. The dull gray of his coat and fedora seemed to suck the color from his skin. Tara saw Riley out of the corner of her eye, and turned to look at him.

  “Drop the gun!” Riley ordered.

  Barry spun around, his finger tightening on the trigger as he searched for his target. The gun bellowed and the .357 jumped in his chubby hand, broke free of the loose grip and fell to the floor.

  The slug punched a hole in the wall about seven feet from Riley. He glanced over at it as powdered sheetrock floated in the air and gradually settled onto the beige carpet.

  Riley stared at Barry, holding his gun on the terrorized man. “I can’t believe you did that.”

  Riley stepped forward, and Barry backpedaled frantically. His foot hit Kay’s legs and he stumbled over them, landing on his back. He pushed himself up and kicked desperately, trying to free himself. He ended up with his back pressed against the desk, his eyes and mouth wide open.

  Riley stopped near the .357. “Tara, pick up the gun.”

  Tara gently pushed Kay off her lap and picked up the gun by Riley’s feet. She shook uncontrollably. “I can’t use it,” she whispered, rubbing tears from her eyes.

  “Just hold it until Bowden’s freed,” Riley told her. He pointed his gun at Barry. “Now, you get up and open the cellar.”

  Barry swallowed and clambered to his feet as sweat beaded on his forehead. He wobbled to the bookcase, using the wall for support. It only took him a couple of seconds to pull out the two shelves and swing the case open.

  “Now remove the board and lay it by the wall,” Riley commanded.

  Barry followed the directions and stepped back.

  Riley shook his head. “You’re not done yet. Open the steel door.”

  Barry glanced at Riley. “I might get shot.”

  “At least there’s a chance that you won’t,” Riley said, leveling the gun at Barry’s head.

  Barry bent over the door and heaved. He propped it against the wall and stepped back. Nothing happened.

  Riley called down to Bowden. “Chase, come on out. I’ve got things under control up here.”

  Bowden poked his head cautiously out of the hole, his gun clearing the floor at the same time as his head. He quickly scanned the scene, then he bounded up the last few steps and into the room. He snatched the .357 that dangled from Tara’s fingers, and held both guns in his hands.

  He backed away, giving himself some room. Tara stood motionless, gazing at the space behind the bookcase. Barry stood next to Kay’s prostrate body as she sobbed loudly.

  “Okay. This is better,” Chase said, coming down off the adrenaline rush that had hit him when the door opened. “So, what happened?” He looked at the white ghost standing next to him.

  Riley slid his gun into its holster. “Barry and Kay shut you in. I think Kay is just following Barry’s lead. Tara didn’t know about the cellar or that they hid the painting. Barry was ready to kill her.”

  Barry fat head snapped up. “Now wait a minute. I never would have done that. I just wanted some cooperation.”

  Riley stepped forward, the gray coat swirling around his legs. “I should slaughter you like a pig.”

  Barry backed away, bumping up against the desk, and Kay screamed.

  “You’re scaring them,” Bowden explained to Riley.

  “So what? He was ready to shoot Tara.”

  Chase pushed the Glock into his shoulder holster. “I heard a shot.”

  Riley jerked his thumb at Barry. “The prick took a shot at me.”

  That made Bowden smile. “That seems to be popular.”

  “Funny.”

  Chase flipped the cylinder open and checked the cartridges. The .357 had five rounds left. He snapped it shut with a flick of his wrist.

  “Any ideas on who killed Adam?” Everyone looked at him when he asked the question.

  Riley pointed at Barry. “He’s my first choice, but I don’t have hard proof.”

  Barry slid his fingers around the solid handle of the kitchen knife that Kay had laid on the desk. He gripped it tightly and shoved himself away from the desk and right at Bowden.

  The long, steel blade flashed as Barry raised it over his head.

  “No!” Tara screamed as she dove at him.

  Bowden reacted instinctively. Without aiming, he pointed the Colt and pulled the trigger. The explosion of gunpowder was deafening. Blue smoke and flame belched from the barrel and the heavy slug smashed into Barry’s chest just before Tara reached him, wrapping her arms around his waist.

  Barry took another step forward, the knife blade cutting down in a long arch as he stretched out. Tara’s weight drug him down.

  As the knife reached him, Bowden swept the blade aside with his left arm, feeling the steel edge slice through his bicep. He brought the gun down as Barry fell against him, smashing the barrel on the back of Barry’s head. It connected with a hollow sound, like someone striking a melon, and all three fell in a pile.

  Chase pushed at the heavy weight trapping his legs as Tara rolled free. He pulled his knees up and shoved his foot into Barry’s midsection. It squished into the soft belly, sinking several inches before striking a harder surface, and he could push the heavy man off him.

  The man rolled free, his left arm swinging wide, his right arm trapped beneath his body.

  Chase rolled onto his knees and looked down at Barry’s white face. The eyes were open, staring blankly at the ceiling. He recognized that look. The life behind the eyes was gone and they more closely resembled marbles. Barry Miller was dead.

  Kay screamed and crawled across the floor to collapse beside Barry. She dropped her head onto his stomach and wailed loudly.

  Bowden looked at the knife hanging loosely from his arm. The blade had penetrated about two inches into his bicep, just missing the bone. He stuff
ed the revolver into his waistband then gently gripped the knife. It slid easily under his guidance. He dropped it onto the floor and slid his coat off as the wound started to hurt.

  He bit his lip and gripped the sleeve that covered his injured left arm, and pulled. The seams gave near the shoulder. He gripped it a little lower and gave another tug. It was almost off and he reached over the shoulder and gave one last tug. The sleeve slid down his arm and off his hand. He looked at the gaping wound. Blood rolled over his arm and dripped onto the floor.

  He clinched his fist and curled his arm, checking his range of motion. Everything seemed to be working. He folded the sleeve into a square, pressed it against the wound, then took a second to look around.

  Tara sat on the floor staring at her mother and father. Her face was white and her eyes wide. Two tiny droplets of blood dotted her cheek. She reached up with the back of her hand and wiped her face, causing the droplets to become thin red lines.

  Kay stopped wailing, but continued to cry over Barry. She hadn’t looked up yet.

  “Now what?” Riley asked, rocking uneasily onto one foot.

  Chase sucked in a deep breath, held it, and then let it out slowly. “I guess I’ll call Detective Cooper.”

  He looked at the phone, then down at his hand. He wondered how he could dial without bleeding all over the place. He needed something to tie the compress into place.

  “Tara?”

  She looked slowly away from her parents.

  “Can you find some way to tie this on?”

  She stared at him for a second and then nodded once. He figured she was still in shock.

  She struggled to her feet, using the wall for support. Once she was standing she took a couple of deep breaths and staggered from the room.

  He stood up and stepped behind Kay. “I’m sorry,” he said to her.

  She didn’t acknowledge him and he sat on the edge of the desk.

  A moment later Tara came in with a handful of gauze and a roll of tape. She tore several strips of tape off the roll and hung them from the edge of the desk.

  “Sorry about…” He paused as he thought about the best way to put it. Nothing came to his mind and he finished by saying, “…Barry.”

  Tara folded the gauze in silence. She lifted his hand away from his arm, ripping the bloodied compress out of his hand and discarding it on the floor. She slapped the new compress over the wound and plastered it down with the tape.

  Bowden gritted his teeth under the rough treatment but refused to say anything. Tara stepped away when she finished, and he picked up the phone.

  It rang once on the other end before Cooper answered. “Detective Cooper.”

  “It’s Chase Bowden.”

  “What are you, psychic? They just dropped the AFIS return on my desk. You were right. The prints came back to Adam Fonck.”

  Bowden bit his lower lip. The information was useless.

  Cooper broke the silence. “You can say ‘thank you’, but don’t say ‘I told you so.’”

  Bowden nodded thoughtfully, completely aware that Cooper couldn’t see him. “Look, um, I called to tell you that Barry is dead.”

  “Barry…?”

  “Barry Miller. Adam’s uncle.”

  “Suicide?”

  “No. Look, um, just come out to the house.”

  There was a long pause before Cooper spoke. “Should I bring anybody? The M.E.?”

  “Not yet. Bring a couple of patrol units to contain the scene. Maybe take statements.”

  “All right. I’ll be there in thirty.”

  Bowden hung up the phone. “We need to secure the room, now. Tara, will you take your mother into the living room?”

  Tara knelt beside Kay and gently lifted her away from Barry’s body. Kay turned her head away and meekly allowed her daughter to lead her out.

  Looking over at Riley, Chase pointed towards the door that the two women had just walked through. “Yell if they come back in.”

  Riley nodded and Bowden ran down into the cellar. He turned the penlight on to help him find his way to the painting and then carried it back to the office. He closed the steel door and the bookcase, then checked the hallway. Both women were out of sight, so he carried the painting up to Flavio’s bedroom. He slid the painting into the closet and draped a sport coat over it, then went down to the living room.

  He sat in the leather recliner, and looked at the mother and daughter sitting on the couch. Riley stood in the hallway watching Tara.

  The room was dark, lit only by ambient light coming from the kitchen and dining area. It was furnished with forest green furniture and accented with purple-framed paintings hung against warm, off-white walls. He noticed the dark hole of the fireplace and decided that a fire would take away some of the emptiness, but he didn’t know where the woodpile was. The silence was broken only by the ticking of a clock on the mantle.

  He sighed and rubbed the back of his neck with his right hand. His movement caught Tara’s attention and she glanced over at him.

  “Flavio had a boat. The Treasure Trove?” he asked.

  “Yes.”

  “Is that the boat in the painting?”

  Tara glanced at the floor, then back up at him. “I don’t know. Does it matter?”

  “I thought that there might be a clue on the boat. The painting might be leading you to the boat, not to the shore.”

  Kay answered. “Yes. That’s The Treasure Trove, but the boat is gone. It was gone long before he made the painting.”

  That surprised him. He glanced over his shoulder and looked at Riley. The ghost shrugged his shoulder.

  If the boat was gone, why paint it in such detail? Why would the inside of the boat be important enough that people could recognize it as The Treasure Trove? He scratched at the stubble on his face as he asked himself the questions.

  Tara stood up and put her hand on her mother’s shoulder. “Do you want something to drink?”

  Kay shook her head.

  “I’ve got to get some air,” Tara said as she crossed the living room.

  Riley stepped aside and Tara walked past him. She opened the front door and stood on the porch, looking down the driveway.

  Bowden pushed himself out of the recliner and walked towards the front door. He stopped when he was able to see Tara. She hadn’t put on a coat, but stood out in the cold wearing the red turtleneck and the black slacks. The wind whipped through her hair making it dance around her head.

  Riley walked up behind Bowden. “I feel sorry for her.”

  “So do I.”

  “She’s learned a lot about her family today; none of it good.”

  “She’ll manage.”

  Riley sighed. “You’re cold.”

  Bowden turned to him and smiled. “You can’t let it get to you. I learned that a long time ago.”

  “So you just let it go?”

  “It’s call ‘compartmentalizing.’ The psychs came up with that term. A beauty, huh? It’s where you put different problems and emotions into different boxes. They tell me I’m good at it.”

  Riley shrugged. “There are some things you don’t want to be good at.”

  “I know what you mean, but I was forced to learn.”

  He turned away and looked at Tara. She wrapped her arms around herself and shivered.

  Riley kept the conversation going. “Through work?”

  “Kind of. I was in Israel, with my wife, between assignments in that area. She was killed when a car bomb exploded at the market. She was getting our dinner and never came back. The market was three blocks from our flat. I walked down there and found her…what was left of her, anyway.”

  “I’m sorry. When was that?”

  “Fifteen years ago. We’d only been married one year and we’d been separated most of the time because of my job. I had a two-week furlough and flew her to Israel to be with me. She was young; about Tara’s age… twenty-one.”

  “And never in love again?”

  He glanced at R
iley, and then back at Tara before answering. “I snapped. I crossed into Syria and went to several houses where there were known terrorists. I killed six of them before crossing back into Israel. They covered for me; said that the killings were in retaliation to the car bombing. It was true, of course. They just implied that the Israeli government did it.”

  “Then they sent you to get help? Made you talk to a psychiatrist?”

  “That’s when I learned to put my emotions into little boxes, and store them away.”

  A car turned up the driveway, its headlights probing the blackness between the road and the house. He glanced at his watch. Twenty minutes since he’d called Cooper. The detective had made good time.

  The car stopped in front of the house and Tara stepped off the porch and approached it on foot. Bowden opened the front door and looked out, wondering why the two marked units hadn’t arrived.

  Tara was standing next to the driver’s door when it opened. A young man stepped out. Bowden squinted into the darkness, realizing that it wasn’t Cooper. The man suddenly grabbed Tara and threw her into the car, followed her in and slammed the door. The tires spun in the gravel as the back end swung towards the house.

  12

  Bowden grabbed the Glock, but stopped, releasing the grip. The vehicle was the same black Honda Civic that had followed Andre earlier in the day. He spun back into the house and grabbed his coat off the floor. A set of keys hung next to the door. The dominant key belonged to a Toyota, and Bowden ran for Tara’s car.

  He jumped into the white Toyota as the Honda hit the street. The engine roared to life and he stomped on the gas pedal. Gravel shot up behind the tires as the back end broke free and he raced down the driveway. He hit the street, turned left and saw the taillights of the other car about three blocks ahead of him.

  The speedometer climbed rapidly, quickly passing the 35 mph speed limit and slowing its ascent as it neared 65. The distance between the two cars closed until Bowden was sixty feet behind the Honda. He could see Tara in the passenger seat flailing wildly. Her arms came up over her head several times as she vended off blows delivered by the driver. She had moved so that her back was against the door and she kept kicking the driver around the head, shoulder and arms.