Blake Pierce is author of the bestselling RILEY PAGE mystery series, which includes seven books (and counting). Blake Pierce is also the author of the MACKENZIE WHITE mystery series, comprising four books (and counting); of the AVERY BLACK mystery series, comprising four books (and counting); and of the new KERI LOCKE mystery series.
An avid reader and lifelong fan of the mystery and thriller genres, Blake loves to hear from you, so please feel free to visit www.blakepierceauthor.comwww.blakepierceauthor.com to learn more and stay in touch.
Copyright © 2017 by Blake Pierce. All rights reserved. Except as permitted under the U.S. Copyright Act of 1976, no part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed or transmitted in any form or by any means, or stored in a database or retrieval system, without the prior permission of the author. This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return it and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author. This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, organizations, places, events, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictionally. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental. Jacket image Copyright Dimedrol68, used under license from Shutterstock.com.
PROLOGUE
When he made his way out across the vacant lot, dawn was burning off the last of the night. The slightest bit of rain had fallen the night before, creating a mist of fog that crept along the ground. He walked slowly, methodically, as if he did this every morning.
To all sides were the foundations of houses – houses that would never be finished. He supposed the frames had gone up five or six years ago, only to be left abandoned when the housing crisis hit. For some reason, it enraged him. So much promise for a family and a builder, only to end up failing miserably in the end.
Against the fog, he looked gaunt – tall and thin, like a living scarecrow. His black overcoat blended perfectly with the light gray wisps. It was an ethereal scene. It made him feel ghostlike. It made him feel legendary, nearly invincible. He felt as if he were a part of the world and it, a part of him.
But there was nothing natural about his presence there. In fact, he had been planning this for weeks. Months, really. The years that had come before had really just ushered him along, pushing him toward this moment.
He walked through the fog and listened to the city. The hustle and bustle lay perhaps a mile away. He was in a forgotten part of town, decrepit, a part of town that had suffered economic collapse. So many dead hopes and dreams littered the fog-strewn ground.
It all made him want to burn.
Patiently, he waited. He paced back and forth with no real purpose. He walked along the edge of the empty street and then into the construction area among the skeletons of houses that never were. He stalked about, waiting for another figure to show itself in the fog. Knowing that the universe would send it to him.
Finally, it appeared.
Even before the figure came fully into view, he could sense it through dawn’s weak light and the slithering fog. The figure was feminine.
This was what he had waited for. Destiny was being knitted together right before him.
With his heart thundering in his chest, he stepped forward, doing his best to seem natural and calm. He opened his mouth and started to call for a dog that was not there. In the fog, his voice did not sound like his own; it was thin and wavering, like a phantom.
He reached into the pocket of his long coat and withdrew a retractable dog leash that he had purchased the day before.
“Sweet Pea!” he called out.
It was the sort of name that would confuse a passerby before they had time to really even give him a second glance.
“Sweet Pea!”
The figure of the woman came closer, stepping through the fog. He saw that she had her own dog, taking it for its morning walk. It was one of those small pretentious dogs, the sort that looked more like a rat. Of course, he knew this about her. He knew just about everything about her morning schedule.
“Everything okay?” the woman asked.
He could see her face now. She was much younger than he was. Twenty years, at least.
He held up the empty leash and gave the woman a sad sort of smile. “My dog got loose. I’m pretty sure she came this way, but I don’t hear her.”
“Oh no,” the woman said.
“Sweet Pea!” he yelled again.
At the woman’s feet, her little dog lifted its leg and peed. The woman barely seemed to notice. She was looking at him now. Something very close to recognition filled her eyes. She tilted her head. An uncertain smile touched the corners of her mouth. She took a tiny step backward.
He reached into his other coat pocket and wrapped his hand around the handle of the hammer he had hidden there. He brought it out with a speed that surprised even him.
He struck her hard on top of the head with it. The sound it made in the quiet lot, in the blanket of fog, was almost nothing. Thunk.
Her eyes went glassy. When she collapsed to the ground, the traces of that small smile were still at the corners of her mouth.
Her little dog sniffed at her and then looked up to him. It gave a pathetic little bark. He stepped toward it and growled lightly. The dog peed a little more, backed away, and then went running out of the lot, its leash dragging behind it.
He pocketed the hammer and the useless leash. He then looked down at her body for a moment and slowly reached for it, the only sound left that of the dog’s barking, echoing endlessly in the rolling fog of morning.
CHAPTER ONE
Avery sat the last of the boxes down on the floor of her daughter’s new apartment and felt like crying. The moving truck had pulled away from the curb downstairs five minutes ago and there was no going back now: Rose had an apartment of her own. Avery felt the pit growing in her stomach; this was completely different than her living in a college dorm, where there were friends at every corner and the security of the campus police.
Rose would be living alone now. And Avery still hadn’t accepted it. A very short time ago, Rose had been endangered because of Avery’s last case – and that was something that Avery still harbored massive guilt over. To have Rose now out on her own after such an ordeal felt irresponsible on Avery’s part. It made her feel like a failure as a mother. It also made her very scared for her daughter. And that was saying something, coming from a decorated Homicide detective.
She’s eighteen, Avery thought. You can’t hold onto her forever, especially when your grip on her was loose, if not non-existent, during her formative years.
How had Rose grown up so fast? How had she become such a beautiful, independent, and driven woman? Avery certainly couldn’t take credit for it, as she had been absent for most of Rose’s life.
All that aside, it made her feel proud