Deadly Dozen: 12 Mysteries/Thrillers

by Diane Capri

  “About an hour ago,” Cade said. “I wasn’t even there, Sloane. I didn’t get to say goodbye.”

  My body stiffened, my hands unable to grip the wheel any longer. I pulled the car over. Cars whizzed past at high speed, but life had just slowed to a stop for me.

  “I’m sorry, Cade. Are you okay?”

  For the next several minutes, I offered a comforting ear, listening to Cade reminisce about some of the best memories he’d shared with his father. He mentioned everything from fly fishing to the time his dad taught him how to ride a bike. It was his way of dealing with the loss. At the end of the conversation, he didn’t ask me to come back. He just said he didn’t know who else to call, and he thanked me for listening.

  The car idled. I squirmed in my seat, taking my seatbelt off and then putting it back on again. I didn’t even know why I sat there. It wasn’t my father who’d died, but what a difference our short time together had made. Cade had surprised me; he wasn’t like other guys. It usually took me months, sometimes even years to form a lasting friendship with someone—man or woman. But he’d become just that—my friend. And I didn’t have too many close ones.

  A text message popped up on my phone. It was Lucio: Boss needs you to come home right away.

  I replied: Why?

  Lucio said: Talk about it when you get here. Giovanni asks how long you’ll be.

  Being under someone’s thumb had never worked for me, even when it came to Giovanni. In the time we’d known one another, he’d always allowed me to lead my own life. But lately something had changed. It wasn’t a control issue; it was something more, like he was watching out for me as if he had to. Maybe his sensitivity was heightened because of what happened to Daniela. I wasn’t sure.

  I had a decision to make. I thought about continuing home, and I thought about Cade. He was suffering, and I owed him a lot. I was sure he wouldn’t have seen it that way, but he’d accepted me, treating me like an equal on the case when few others would.

  I texted Lucio: I have unfinished business here. Giovanni will have to wait.

  And then I called Cade.

  “I’m not letting you go through this alone,” I said. “I’ll see you in an hour.”

  I steered the car to the next exit and then turned around. On the drive back to Jackson Hole, I thought about my life, what I wanted, what I needed, and where I was going. I didn’t know, really. All I could see was the day in front of me and where it would take me: back into the life of a new friend.

  THE END

  #

  For updates on Cheryl and her books:

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  About the Author

  Cheryl Bradshaw is a USA Today Bestselling Author.

  Born and raised in Southern California, Cheryl Bradshaw became interested in writing at a young age, but it was almost two decades before she put pen to paper. In 2009, Bradshaw wrote Black Diamond Death (Book One: Sloane Monroe series). Within six weeks it entered the top 100 in two different categories and remained in the top 100 for over a year. Since that time, Bradshaw has written four additional novels in the series, with a sixth to be released in 2014.

  In 2013, Bradshaw introduced a new paranormal thriller series: Addison Lockhart, the first book titled Grayson Manor Haunting.

  Bradshaw is the founder of IWU on Facebook, a writers group with over 2,000 members. In August 2012, Bradshaw was named one of Twitter's seven best authors to follow. In 2013, Bradshaw's novel, Stranger in Town, was chosen as a Shamus Award finalist in the category of best P.I. novel of the year. She was the only female nominated in her category.

  You can contact the author through her website.

  ALSO BY CHERYL BRADSHAW

  Black Diamond Death, (Sloane Monroe Series #1)

  Murder in Mind (Sloane Monroe Series #2)

  I Have a Secret (Sloane Monroe Series #3)

  Sloane Monroe Series Boxed Set (Books 1-3)

  Whispers of Murder (Novella)

  Grayson Manor Haunting

  Echoes of Murder (Novella, coming soon)

  Afterword

  What you have just read is a work of fiction, but unfortunately, the type of kidnapping described in the novel exists in the world today.

  According to recent statistics, more than 800,000 children under the age of eighteen are reported missing each year. That amounts to almost 2,200 per day. What I am about to say might be a bit hard for you to read, so if you are sensitive, I’d advise you to stop reading now.

  Similar to what I wrote about in Stranger in Town, children are sometimes taken by illegal agencies. They put the children up for adoption or for sale. Kidnappers working for the agency may even be asked to find a specific type of child. But that’s not all.

  Children are sometimes taken for their organs. In society today, people can even search the internet for a broker and pay a price for the organ they desire. It’s hard to believe, but it’s true, and it’s a multi-million dollar criminal industry, surpassing all others in profitability, even drug smuggling.

  In many countries children are even sold into prostitution, many men preferring young, white, blond girls. Boys might also be taken for breeding purposes. Over a million children are bought and sold across international borders every single year. Most are sold into the commercial sex trade.

  Human trafficking is horrific, but nonetheless real. To learn how you can help prevent these crimes, check out the Operation61 website.

  BREAKING STEELE

  A SARAH STEELE THRILLER

  AARON PATTERSON & ELLIE ANN

  Copyright © 2012 by Aaron Patterson and Ellie Ann

  StoneHouse Ink

  Boise, ID 83713

  http://www.stonehouseink.net

  First eBook Edition: 2012

  Second eBook Edition: 2013

  Cover design by © Cory Clubb

  Get updates on new books and way cool deals. Now you will not get bugged with a ton of emails, just when a new book comes out and such. You can sign up here: http://eepurl.com/tQWHb

  For Soleil, you are so strong and beautiful.

  And yes, you’re still my favorite daughter.

  The mind can break and be lost forever, but if the will breaks it comes back stronger.

  PROLOGUE

  LIGHT FILTERED THROUGH THE slats in the wood. Car headlights shone through the barn walls, moving like fingers tracing words on the sawdust-covered floor. Tracy Mulligan cried silently as she lay bound and gagged, hanging on to the last thread of life. She clung to a hope that someone would find her, but with each passing car and each passing day, her hope was replaced with dread. This was the end.

  “God, help me.” Her strangled voice sounded strange in her own ears, as if from someone else, someone from beyond.

  Her prison was so small that she couldn’t even sit up. She was locked in a grain box that smelled of rotten corn, rat droppings, and urine. Her own urine. It felt like the top was closing in on her. With each of her movements, the sides touched her, pushed and scraped, making the small space feel like the jaws of a monster. Tiny holes in the planks let in comforting rays of light.

  Her legs and hands were duct-taped, and an old T-shirt was stuffed into her mouth with more tape wrapped around her head. Every time she moved, the tape tugged on her scalp. She’d once had long, blonde hair, but now it was short and ragged. He had cut it all off. It had almost been the worst part, feeling those scissors on her head, making her look as ugly outside as she felt inside. After that, she knew there was no going back to how things were before. He’d taken everything away. Even her hair.

  She just wanted to sleep, to forget for a moment this waking nightmare.

  Why me? Please, God, I don’t want to die.

  But then the agonizing thought returned. God wouldn’t help her. This was her fault. Tracy never thought the guy she chatted with, and yes, even flirted with online would ever do this.

  The tall man called himself Hank.
She met him on Facebook and added him to her friends list. He was so nice and always remembered little things—things she had forgotten she had even mentioned. He had this way of making her feel like the only girl in the world. He told her he was seventeen, but it turned out he was in his forties.

  Tracy’s heart froze when she heard the all-too-familiar sound of footsteps, and then the beads of light disappeared as a figure stood above her, covering her with shadow.

  No, not again. Please, not again.

  The lid burst open. Light blinded her and all she could see was a handing reach out and pulling her out of the cramped space. She struggled and squirmed, but knew it wouldn’t do any good. He had her. And when he was done, she would be thrown back into the dark hole until he felt the need to pay her another visit.

  “Washday, my love.” His voice was so smooth, yet had a tinge of hate laced through it like a snake wrapped around a tree. “You know what today is?” He looked into her eyes as if searching for something.

  She shut her eyes and swallowed a whimper. She wouldn’t give him any sign she was there. He’d have her body, but not her soul.

  “It’s your birthday.” He laughed. “And I have a special treat for you.”

  It wasn’t her birthday. What was he talking about?

  He cut away the tape from her hands and legs and Tracy slumped to the ground. Her legs were numb. They started tingling, coming back to life. She thought hard about running again, but the last time she ran, he broke her nose.

  How long had she been here? She couldn’t remember. It felt like years, but that couldn’t be right. It had been enough misery to fill a lifetime.

  She watched Hank fill the horse trough with cold water from a garden hose. He whistled as he waited for the tub to fill up. She hated washday. The water was cold and he would stand there and watch her with that evil grin on his face.

  He half looked at her, mumbling and picking at his fingernails. She didn’t know she could despise anyone as wholeheartedly as she did him.

  “You know, my pet, you’ve been a good girl—most of the time. But one thing still bothers me. You don’t look at me with the love and respect I know I deserve. Do you realize who I am?” His tone turned darker as he walked over to where Tracy sat in the dirt.

  “I’ve given you everything. My heart, my soul … and in return, you whine and cry like a spoiled little brat!” Grabbing the tufts of hair left on her head, Hank pulled her to her feet. Dragging her to the metal tub, he stripped her down and tossed her in like a rag doll. The water took her breath away. She choked and gagged on the T-shirt that tried to work its way down her throat.

  “You want your birthday present?” His voice softened as he pulled out a small black stun gun. Holding it in his hands, he looked at her with a creased brow. “You make me sad, so sad, my sweet Tracy. I love you and you act like I’m the bad guy. And frankly, I’ve grown tired of you.”

  Tracy struggled to get out of the water, but it was too late. With a hit of the trigger, the gun emitted a charge of blue electricity and he jammed it in the side of her neck.

  Electricity surged through her body. The shock of the charge made her brain freeze and her muscles spasm. She tried to move, she needed to move, she had to move, but when she tried as hard as she could to run, her foot barely moved an inch.

  It took a moment for her to realize what was going on. Her body convulsed and twitched. The pain took over her mind. She tried to think, but everything was going dark.

  He moved. He was pushing her under, forcing her down.

  Her back arched and the gag jammed itself deep into her throat. This was it, the end—she was going to die and the last thing she heard through the water was his voice, muffled as if it came through another world. “Tracy, sweet, sweet Tracy…”

  CHAPTER ONE

  I JOLTED AWAKE TO the sound of my phone ringing. Disturbing the stillness of night, the ringtone sounded twice as loud as it usually did. I fumbled for the lit phone screen on my side table to see who had disturbed my much-needed rest.

  UNKNOWN flashed on the caller ID. I swore softly. Usually I’d ignore such calls, but now that I was mentoring some inner-city girls in self-defense, I always had to be ready if they needed me.

  “Hello,” I answered, my voice deep and groggy. I cleared my throat. “Hello?”

  A soft laugh came through the receiver.

  “Angela? That you?” I asked. She was the girl I mentored who was most likely to end up drunk and stranded at a party.

  Silence.

  I waited another moment. When nothing else came through the line, I sighed and hung up.

  Mysterious phone calls no longer perturbed me. They were all in the line of duty. Every attorney I knew received them. It was the oldest trick in the book. I swear lawyers back in the Wild West had received telegrams with heavy breathing stop heavy breathing stop heavy breathing stop written on them. I flipped on my lamp and took out my field notes. I wrote the date and time of the phone call to use for reference. I’d been getting more calls than usual since I’d been on the State vs. Williams case.

  I put away the notebook and flopped back on my pillow. Closing my eyes, I relaxed under the blanket. The smell of my new air freshener wafted to me. I could hear the soft tick-tock of the grandfather clock in my living room. I shifted to my other side. Dangit. The caller had woken me up and I couldn’t fall back to sleep.

  There was no use fighting it. I’d always been nocturnal. On nights before big events, like the court date tomorrow, I’d pop an Ambien so I’d be rested.

  I got up, wriggled my feet into some slippers, and made my bed. It was an old habit. The foster care system had taught me there were few things in life you could control, but a made bed was one of them.

  Then I went after my case notes. I’d seen the pictures of Tracy Mulligan, but they still shocked me with their brutality every time. I rehearsed how I could explain them to the jury. With just enough details, they would feel a visceral reaction at the torture she went through, but add too many and they’d feel like it was superfluous.

  I never had nightmares while I slept. No, they came when I was awake. Reality haunted me more than any fiction could. All I could think about was Tracy. The police discovered her hanging from the rafters in an old barn. He had electrocuted her and hung her body afterwards as if she were his trophy. The murderer, Hank Williams, was caught at the scene of the crime, and ever since then, he’d all but mocked the case, as if he knew something nobody else did. He was rich, the only son of a real-estate tycoon, owner of Williams, Inc., he was powerful, and he lawyered up with four of the best defense attorneys money could buy. But still, I had enough proof to lock him away, or get him much worse. Then why did I feel like I hadn’t prepared enough?

  I took a drink and splashed some cold water on my face. Come on, Sarah, you have a good case. Let it go and trust your instincts. You’ll nail this guy to the wall. I would not lose, no matter how many lawyers he hired. Williams was going down for murder one way or another.

  And if he doesn’t go down, I’ll do him in myself. It was the dead of night, but I still covered my face with my hands, embarrassed. I shook the thought away. This was what happened to me at night. I became something different. Wild thoughts that I held back during the day came rushing to me like kids to an ice cream truck. They surrounded me—memories of what had been done to me as a kid, plans of what I could do to get revenge on people who escaped justice, and even detailed images of what I would do to them. It was the feral side of me, the side I kept locked up.

  Who was I really—the successful, happy attorney or the wild, angry vigilante? Even I didn’t know.

  CHAPTER TWO

  I DUG INTO MY oatmeal as I also dug into the morning paper. It was my ritual.

  The paper regularly ran a front-page article on the case. It often mentioned my name, Sarah Steele, the up-and-coming assistant district attorney. I smiled at the photo splashed on the front page. It was of me pushing my way through reporters,
looking down to keep from tripping over a cameraman.

  First, I noticed how long my blonde hair was getting. I was due for a cut. Second, I noticed how it seemed like the camera was pointed more at my legs than my face. At first I felt offended, but then I had to concede that it was a nice shot. I worked out almost every day, either with the girls at the dojo or running around the lake. Exercising got my mind off things—work, friend drama, my mom, my latest screwup with a boyfriend—but most of all, the constant storm of memories trying to drown me.

  I did not look much like the average ADA, with my blonde hair and light blue eyes. My looks had led to many deadbeat ex-boyfriends. I had thought that by the time I was twenty-eight, I would be married, with three bratty kids running around and a rodent dog. So much for plans.

  I scanned the rest of the article. It went into the nature of the crime and told a little about me and how I was a foster-care-system-brat-turned-successful-attorney. It had only been two years since I graduated, and being young and a woman didn’t exactly make me target number one for a high-profile job. But I was tough, and even when I wasn’t, I faked it. This business did not allow me to be off—ever.

  This case had me worried, though. Hank Williams and his group of sharks always sat with smug looks on their faces, making me think they had something up their sleeves. I mentally scanned what we had on him and shook my head. We had an overwhelming amount of evidence, but that’s what worried me.

  It was too easy.

  We had the body, with trace evidence still on her and in her. We had his DNA and his prints on the stun gun he used to kill her. The police picked Hank Williams up just south of town at an abandoned farmhouse in foreclosure. He was asleep next to a tub full of bloody water. The neighbor had called the police. It was about as open and shut as it could get.

  I sipped my green tea with a hint of honey and breathed in its steam. Drinking it made me feel clean inside. I never went a morning without it. By the end of the day I needed thick, black coffee, but I always wanted to start fresh.