The John Milton Series Boxset 4

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The John Milton Series Boxset 4 Page 1

by Mark Dawson




  The John Milton Series: Books 10-12

  John Milton Thrillers

  Mark Dawson

  Contents

  Blackout

  Prologue

  I. Four Days Earlier

  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

  Part II

  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

  Chapter 39

  Chapter 40

  Chapter 41

  Chapter 42

  Chapter 43

  Chapter 44

  Chapter 45

  Chapter 46

  Chapter 47

  Chapter 48

  Chapter 49

  Chapter 50

  Part III

  Chapter 51

  Chapter 52

  Chapter 53

  Chapter 54

  Chapter 55

  Chapter 56

  Chapter 57

  Chapter 58

  Chapter 59

  Chapter 60

  Chapter 61

  Chapter 62

  Chapter 63

  Chapter 64

  Chapter 65

  Chapter 66

  Chapter 67

  Chapter 68

  Chapter 69

  Chapter 70

  Chapter 71

  Chapter 72

  Chapter 73

  Chapter 74

  Chapter 75

  Chapter 76

  Chapter 77

  Chapter 78

  Chapter 79

  Chapter 80

  Chapter 81

  Chapter 82

  Chapter 83

  Chapter 84

  Chapter 85

  Chapter 86

  Chapter 87

  Chapter 88

  Chapter 89

  Chapter 90

  The Alamo

  I. Sunday

  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

  II. Monday

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  Chapter 38

  Chapter 39

  Chapter 40

  Chapter 41

  Chapter 42

  Chapter 43

  Chapter 44

  Chapter 45

  Chapter 46

  Chapter 47

  Chapter 48

  Chapter 49

  Chapter 50

  Chapter 51

  Chapter 52

  Chapter 53

  Chapter 54

  Chapter 55

  Chapter 56

  Chapter 57

  Chapter 58

  III. Tuesday

  Chapter 59

  Chapter 60

  Chapter 61

  Chapter 62

  Chapter 63

  Chapter 64

  Chapter 65

  IV. Wednesday

  Chapter 66

  Chapter 67

  Chapter 68

  Chapter 69

  Chapter 70

  Chapter 71

  Chapter 72

  Chapter 73

  Chapter 74

  Chapter 75

  Chapter 76

  Chapter 77

  V. Thursday

  Chapter 78

  Chapter 79

  Chapter 80

  Chapter 81

  Chapter 82

  Chapter 83

  Chapter 84

  Chapter 85

  Chapter 86

  Chapter 87

  Chapter 88

  Chapter 89

  Chapter 90

  Chapter 91

  VI. Friday

  Chapter 92

  Chapter 93

  Chapter 94

  Chapter 95

  Chapter 96

  Chapter 97

  Chapter 98

  Chapter 99

  Chapter 100

  Chapter 101

  Chapter 102

  Chapter 103

  Chapter 104

  Chapter 105

  Chapter 106

  Chapter 107

  Chapter 108

  Chapter 109

  Chapter 110

  Chapter 111

  Chapter 112

  Chapter 113

  VII. Saturday

  Chapter 114

  Chapter 115

  Chapter 116

  Chapter 117

  Chapter 118

  Chapter 119

  Epilogue

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Redeemer

  Prologue

  I. The First Day

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  II. The Second Day

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  III. The Third Day

  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

  Chapter 39

  Chapter 40

  Chapter 41

  Chapter 42

  Chapter 43

  IV. The Fifth Day

  Chapter 44

  Chapter 45

  Chapter 46

  Chapter 47

  Chapter 48

  Chapter 49

  Chapter 50

>   Chapter 51

  Chapter 52

  V. The Sixth Day

  Chapter 53

  Chapter 54

  Chapter 55

  Chapter 56

  Chapter 57

  Chapter 58

  Chapter 59

  Chapter 60

  Chapter 61

  Chapter 62

  Chapter 63

  Chapter 64

  Chapter 65

  Chapter 66

  Chapter 67

  Chapter 68

  Chapter 69

  Chapter 70

  Chapter 71

  Chapter 72

  Chapter 73

  VI. The Seventh Day

  Chapter 74

  Chapter 75

  Chapter 76

  Chapter 77

  Chapter 78

  Chapter 79

  Chapter 80

  Chapter 81

  Chapter 82

  Chapter 83

  Chapter 84

  Chapter 85

  VII. The Eighth Day

  Chapter 86

  Chapter 87

  Chapter 88

  Chapter 89

  Chapter 90

  Chapter 91

  Chapter 92

  Chapter 93

  Epilogue

  A word from Mark

  Also By Mark Dawson

  In the John Milton Series

  In the Beatrix Rose Series

  In the Isabella Rose Series

  In the Soho Noir Series

  About the Author

  Acknowledgments

  Blackout

  Prologue

  JOHN MILTON tried to figure out what had woken him up.

  He couldn’t.

  He opened his eyes and immediately wished that he hadn’t. Bright light flooded in, exploding little detonations of pain in the front of his head. He squeezed his eyes shut again. The pain remained, reduced to a dull throb that pulsed behind his eyes. He felt awful. His skin was clammy. He felt sick.

  Milton tried to remember.

  What was it?

  What had woken him?

  A raised voice.

  Yes, that was it. He was sure. Someone had screamed.

  He opened his eyes again. He was flat on his back, lying on a bed. His head was turned to the side, and he could see the bedside table a few inches away. Beyond that was a bureau upon which was positioned an old-fashioned television. He tried to push himself upright. The pain flared and he felt an almost overwhelming urge to be sick. He fought it back, propped himself up on his elbows, and raised himself enough that he could look around the room.

  It was a plain space, on the small side, and decorated in neutral colours. There were two single beds with a bedside table between them. Milton’s bed was a mess: the sheets were sodden and bunched around his legs, and the pillow was on the floor. The other bed was untouched, save a scattering of banknotes that had been cast across it. Milton saw a bottle on the bedside table. The label said Grasovka Bison Grass vodka. The bottle was almost empty and lying on its side. The neck was over the edge of the table and, as Milton looked down, he saw a puddle on the tiled floor.

  He started to feel uneasy.

  What had happened here? He couldn’t remember. He tried to recall what he had been doing the previous night, but he couldn’t. It was as if his memories were obscured by a thick shroud and, despite his best efforts, he could not move it aside. He closed his eyes again and furrowed his brow, trying to remember where he was and how he had gotten here. It was hopeless.

  He reached further back. He remembered arriving in Manila, checking into a hotel—this one, yes? Yes, he thought it was—and then walking to a bar. He remembered Jessica. She had been there, just as she had promised she would be. He remembered how beautiful she was and how little she had changed in the years since he had last seen her. He remembered that they had talked, but not what about.

  And, after that… nothing.

  Everything else was hidden behind the shroud.

  His heart sank. He knew what must have happened. There was only one explanation, but the thought of it made him sick to the pit of his stomach. He had been drinking. Must have been. After days and then months and then years of sobriety, he’d thrown it all away and gone back to the bottle. He thought of the men and women that he had met in the program, the rooms around the world in which he had listened to their stories and shared some of his, and he felt ashamed.

  He had let them down.

  He had let himself down.

  He needed to find a meeting.

  He carefully swung his legs around and over the edge of the bed so that he could put them down and, careful not to step in the vodka, he gingerly pushed himself up to a sitting position. His whole body ached and he thought, again, that he was going to vomit. He steadied himself and, easing himself to a standing position, looked around the room once more. He saw another vodka bottle on the floor in the corner of the room. This one had been broken, the heavier base standing upright while the neck lay horizontally across the tile. There were two glasses near it, both shattered, tiny fragments catching the light that slanted in through a gap in the curtains.

  Milton saw that the door had not been closed properly. It was on an automatic mechanism, but it needed to be pulled in order for it to close all the way. He crossed the room and opened the door fully. Heat washed into the room. It was bright and stifling outside. He peered up into the sky; the sun’s position said that dawn had been three or four hours ago. There was an empty parking lot, with weeds forcing their way up between cracks in the asphalt, and beyond a row of parched palm trees loomed the swoop of an overpass. The traffic was loud, and fumes hung over the road in a vapour that Milton could taste against the back of his throat.

  He closed the door and turned back into the room again.

  Where was he?

 

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