by Mary Stone
Winter’s Redemption
Winter Black Series: Book Three
Mary Stone
Copyright © 2019 by Mary Stone
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
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To my husband.
Thank you for taking care of our home and its many inhabitants while I follow this silly dream of mine.
Contents
Description
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Winter Black Series by Mary Stone
Acknowledgments
About the Author
Description
He’s killing again. He’s killing Winter...over and over.
The Preacher—the sadistic serial killer who slaughtered Winter’s parents—has come out of retirement, leaving the bloody evidence in his wake. Special Agent Winter Black has spent her entire life preparing for this moment, and she intends to see it through—no matter the cost. When she’s taken off the case, that cost just might be her FBI career.
She doesn’t care.
Winter won’t stop until she ends the man responsible for destroying her family. And since she isn’t sure who she can trust anymore, she plans to do it alone.
It doesn’t take Winter long to discover that The Preacher isn’t after just another victim.
He’s after her. And he won't let anything get in the way of his sadistic plans.
Welcome to book three of Mary Stone’s debut crime fiction series. If you love a page-turning thriller with nail-biting suspense, Winter’s Redemption will keep you guessing until the end.
Grab your copy of Winter’s Redemption to find out if Winter can stop the killer who took everything from her and solve the disappearance of her little brother.
1
Tala Delosreyes outlived her mother’s dire predictions.
At only ten, Tala’s mother had wholeheartedly believed she’d never survive childhood. Even as a very young girl, she was too fearless and headstrong. An adrenaline junky, many had claimed. Tala rode BMX bikes all the way into her late teens, even racing in a Red Bull competition, and never broke a bone.
After surviving her teens and early twenties, Tala’s mother’s optimism didn’t increase. She tearfully claimed that her daughter would die young if she joined the New York Fire Department at the ripe old age of twenty-five. Tala survived 9/11. And not only that, she was one of the lucky few firefighters to experience no devastating health effects in the years after that terrible day.
Even then, Tala’s mother warned her that she’d never live to see forty if she joined the Washington, D.C. Metropolitan Police Force. At forty-one, Tala was awarded a Medal of Valor for preventing an active shooter incident near the Washington Mall. The President of the United States personally presented the award as her mother sobbed into a tissue beside her.
Tala’s mother stopped making predictions after that.
She shouldn’t have.
“Got any plans after work?”
Braeden Carpenter never seemed to take no for an answer, but not in a creepy way. He was too cute to be creepy, with those big brown eyes and that earnest face. But, unfortunately for Braeden Carpenter, Tala had what she’d always considered a very firm rule. She didn’t date co-workers.
But the man in front of her was tempting.
“No plans that involve you, Brae.” Tala shot him a bright smile to take the sting out of her words, putting on her heavy coat. She tugged her thick braid out of the back and picked up her purse. “I have a date with my mom. She’s luring me home with beef kaldereta. Says I don’t have enough time for her lately.”
Braedon picked up his own bag and followed her toward the doors of the station. “I’m pretty sure I like beef kaldereta,” he said, hope in his voice.
Tala laughed, the sound snatched up by the December wind and flung away. “You wouldn’t know kaldereta from kawalie, and you know it.”
He grinned, unashamed. “Maybe I’m an expert in Filipino food.” She raised a skeptical eyebrow, and he laughed, lifting a shoulder in an easy shrug. “I know it’s got beef in it. Besides, if your mother makes it, I’m sure it’s great.”
“Maybe next time,” Tala promised, realizing after she said it that she’d meant it. “My mother is afraid of change. I’ll have to ease her into the idea that I might bring a man home to dinner.”
She reached her aging Durango and pulled her keys out of her pocket with fingers that already felt numb. The nighttime temperature had dropped into the low thirties, but the wind made it feel colder. Brae was parked next to her, but he made no move to go to his truck. He stepped closer so that his broad shoulders blocked the chilly gusts.
“Maligayang Pasco, Officer Delosreyes,” he wished her in Tagalog, butchering the accent adorably.
He gave her the cute, dimpled grin that had been making her toes tingle since he joined her unit in June as he leaned forward to kiss her. She didn’t have time to back away or question whether she wanted to kiss him. She was too busy noticing how warm and firm his lips were. And remembering how long it had been since she’d broken up with Josh. Two years ago? Three?
Brae’s lips only touched hers for a moment before he backed away and winked. “Maybe when you’re back from vacation, we can talk about that dinner.”
“Maybe we can,” she responded, feeling a little out of breath. “Merry Christmas.”
Some co-workers, Tala thought on her way home, maybe weren’t such bad dating prospects. She had a feeling that even her mother would agree when it came to Braeden Carpenter.
2
I wandered around the apartment, getting a feel for the gal who lived there. I took my time, enjoying myself, but there was a pep in my step that hadn’t been there for a while. A certain anticipation. Coming out of retirement had been a good idea.
I picked baby Jesus up from his little cradle in the crèche and held him up so I could see him better with my bifocals. His porcelain face was perfect and serene. Children had such purity. The boy ones, anyway.
The blue eyes of the Lord’s son looked back at me, and I didn’t see any judgment there. He knew that I was on a mission. I knew he approved.
I set Jesus down in his cradle and moved on. No Christmas tree, I noticed, but a police officer’s schedule likely didn’t allow for very much time spent at home. Maybe she had family nearby. She had a pretty place, but it didn’t look like a home. There were a few pieces of tan-colored furniture, a TV, and a coffee table. None of what my momma would have called knickknacks or personal things. Except the crèche.
That
meant she was probably religious. Not that that would save her.
I wandered down the hallway, running my gloved fingers down along the wall. No family pictures. But I knew the gal was a loner. I’d been watching her for a couple of days now. Learning her habits. Getting a feel for what she was like.
The joint in my shoulder snapped and popped as I reached up to the cheap apartment light fixture and unscrewed the globe. The LED bulb inside took just a couple of twists before it was loose enough so that the light went out. Working by feel, I screwed the plastic fixture back into place.
Then, I headed to her room. That was where all the joy would happen. I couldn’t wait to unbraid all that gal’s pretty dark hair and spread it out on her pillow. I wanted to see if it was as soft and shiny as it looked. “But if it is disgraceful for a woman to have her hair cut off or her head shaved, let her cover her head,” I preached to the woman’s picture sitting on the nightstand. Then looked away. Religious or not, she was a sinner. Just like the rest of them.
And just like the rest of them, she would pay her retribution.
I dropped the old canvas tool bag I’d slung over my shoulder on the floor and sat down on her bed. It was all covered up with a nice, colorful quilt. I gave the mattress a couple of test bounces. It was built so solid that the headboard didn’t even bang on the wall. How many other men had this knowledge too?
Sinners. I was so tired of them.
It had been a while since I’d baptized a sinner. My old pecker wasn’t what it used to be, but at least the neighbors wouldn’t hear me when I gave it the college try. “Smite them with my sword,” I murmured as I unscrewed her bedroom lightbulb. “Baptize them with my holy water.” Even knowing the good Lord wouldn’t approve of such musings, I chuckled at my humor, but only for a moment.
The scrape of a key drew my attention. I was glad my eyes had adjusted to the darkness of the apartment, and I stepped into an even darker corner as the slight squeak of the door told me it was being opened.
My heart jumped up into a double-time beat, and to my dismay, I actually got a little nervous. It had been so long since I’d fulfilled one of my missions, but I didn’t like the feeling of insecurity running through me. I didn’t like it at all.
I sat down on a nearby chair, the wood only creaking a little underneath me.
Having the calling was like riding a bike, I reminded myself. The know-how would all come back to me as soon as I got started.
The buttons on the gal’s security pad beeped as she punched in her code. I grinned. She’d probably paid a boatload out of her measly cop salary to get the thing installed. But when the person breaking into your place had worked for twenty-six years as a security alarm technician, all the keypads and buttons and cameras in the world wouldn’t do you any good.
I pulled my pistol out of my tool bag and set it on the nightstand next to me. I wouldn’t need it unless she’d changed up her routine in the last day, but it wouldn’t hurt her none to see that I had it.
That done, I waited for her to come to me.
Listening hard, I heard the rustle of her coat and a click that was probably the door of the closet closing where she hung up her cold-weather things. The thunk and clatter of her belt hitting the table. I’d watched her for a couple days now. She was a creature of habit, always dropping her work things at the door before she came in the bedroom to change into something more comfortable.
Today was no different.
I pictured her opening the fridge. Heard the clatter of bottles. Inhaling a calming breath, I could almost see her leaning over to grab a beer.
I’d punish her for that later. It was unladylike for a woman to drink alcohol.
She drank Miller Lite. The same brand as me. When I’d seen her making the purchase at the local grocery store, I’d known she was to be my next target. It was just another sign. Just like that pretty dark hair she wore in a braid. She was meant to be punished, and God had chosen me to do it. He wouldn’t have put her in my path if that truth wasn’t so.
The fridge door closed. I closed my eyes in response, inhaling a noiseless breath. I heard a hissing pop as she opened up the bottle. She’d be taking a long, thirsty drink right now, that dark head tipped back. But it wasn’t her tanned, slightly foreign-looking face I was seeing in my mind.
It was Winter’s. My girlie’s.
3
The end of Tala’s workday always tasted like hops and fizzy bubbles.
She allowed herself one beer a night and damned the calories while she let go of the worries of the day shift. The weight of her belt around her waist loosened. The weight of a mostly thankless job shifted off her shoulders. Today, those worries slid away a lot easier. She was still seeing Braedon’s dimples. Still feeling the imprint of his lips on hers.
She licked her lips to see if the kiss had lingered but tasted only beer.
Tala set down the bottle on the counter and undid the buttons on her uniform. She pulled the tails free from her waistband, leaving the shirt to hang open on either side of the white tank top she wore beneath.
It was only five-forty. She had time to change into a pair of comfy leggings and a t-shirt and do her nightly yoga routine before she headed to her mom’s house for dinner at six-thirty. The dress code at Mom’s was lax. Mom didn’t care if she looked like a bum, as long as Tala showed up.
The first niggling feeling that something was wrong didn’t hit Tala until she went to flick on the hallway light. Nothing happened.
She moved the light switch again. If the bulb had burned out, she would have seen it flash. Or didn’t the new LED bulbs do that? Not letting the burnout dim her mood, and even thinking it was probably yet another electrical issue that the building maintenance would take six weeks to get to, Tala headed down the dark hallway to her room.
Her bedroom light wouldn’t turn on either.
It wasn’t a power outage. The fridge worked. Had a breaker blown somewhere?
Unease crept over her, but she pushed back the childish stab of fear she felt in the darkness.
Stupid winter months with their early sunsets. Stupid light-darkening curtains. It was black as pitch in her bedroom. She fumbled in the darkness for her bedside lamp. Finding the switch took her a second, and she knocked a picture frame off her nightstand by accident. It hit the carpet with a soft thud just before she registered the rustle of movement behind her.
She had no time to react.
A spasm of pain hit between Tala’s shoulder blades just before a sharp cramp locked her muscles. A quiet grunt of air escaped her lips as the rest of her limbs seized, and she felt something catch her as she fell toward the floor.
She recognized them for what they were…callused hands.
Having your body taken over in what felt like one giant charley horse made thinking hard. The mind was funny that way. She’d been tazed during police training three times, and the effects on the body were unmistakable.
Even as she fell, she remembered the instructions she’d learned that terrible day. Your body stiffened as it tried to absorb fifty-five thousand volts of electricity—not lethal, but highly unpleasant—and most people were completely incapable of doing anything but mentally freaking out until the tazer was turned off.
Tala was disappointed to realize that she was no exception.
Seconds ticked by in agony as one long electrical shock gripped her. Ten. Twenty. She started to think this was it. Her heart would explode. There was no way her body could withstand this kind of torture. Just as she prayed for the end to come quickly, the stun gun was turned off with abrupt suddenness.
“Fuuuck,” she groaned. Even the sound was involuntary.
Hard hands hooked beneath her armpits as she twitched and jerked and tried to get her motor skills to cooperate.
“Ladies shouldn’t swear.”
The comment was made without any inflection at all. Almost casual sounding, with an accent that labeled her attacker as a man from the deep South.
�
�I’m gonna have to punish you for that, Winter.”
Winter?
Tala tried to speak. She really did. She knew she needed to communicate. Negotiate. Plead. Cry. Something. Anything to buy her more time, make herself more human to this monster.
But when she opened her mouth, sounds she didn’t recognize escaped her lips.
“Shhh…” her attacker soothed, his voice barely a breath of air. “Eternal life is nothing to fear. I will save you from the sins of the earth and release you into heaven.”
This man was crazy.
She opened her mouth again, willing all her strength into a single word.
“Please…”
When the prongs affixed to her back lit up again, her body twisting and her teeth grinding together at a fresh onslaught of electricity, Officer Tala Delosreyes knew her time on this earth was truly over. And she realized something else. She wasn’t going to die in the line of duty. She was going to die—a predator’s victim—in her own home.
4
It was beginning again.
Like a poisonous spider, The Preacher had finally crawled out of whatever dark hole he’d tucked himself into in the decade since he’d destroyed her family.
In the darkest hours of the night, just before she would wake drenched with sweat, Winter sometimes saw her mother’s face. Jeanette’s dark blue eyes were always wide in surprise and accusation, staring back into Winter’s.
