A WINTRY KILL

THE KILLING SEASONS

JK ELLEM

Copyright ©

28th Street Multimedia Group & JK Ellem

A Wintry Kill is work of fiction. All incidents, dialogue and all characters are products of the author’s imagination and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to persons living or dead is entirely coincidental. All rights reserved. In accordance with the U.S. Copyright Act of 1976, the scanning, uploading, and electronic sharing of any part of this book without the written permission of the publisher is unlawful piracy and theft of the author’s intellectual property.No parts of these books may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system or transmitted in any form or by any means, without the prior permission in writing of the publisher, nor to be otherwise circulated in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published without a similar condition, including this condition, being imposed on the subsequent purchaser.

© Copyrighted Material 2024

www.jkellem.com

All rights reserved

A WINTRY KILL

1

A QUIET CHRISTMAS

Carolyn Ryder had never put much thought into Christmas, but as she glanced at Clayton Morelli, who was sitting up in bed next to her, she knew it would be different this year.

Special. That was it. Special.

Under the thick duvet, they entwined their legs while the small wood-burning stove in the corner glowed and crackled, filling the room with a thick, cozy heat.

The small house she now called home was in a secluded part of Erin’s Bay, just north of the township, along a quiet stretch of beach road.

Each morning, this was their time together. Before Clay headed off to work as chief of police in town, he would get up, brave the cold winter chill, light the fire, make coffee, and return to the warmth of the bed with two steaming mugs.

Morning walks along the beach—if the weather permitted—or snuggling up under the covers when it was too cold outside as it was now, this bright and chilly morning, was their typical start to the day.

“You know you can get all the news you want off your cell phone,” Carolyn said.

Clay turned the page of the newspaper he got delivered each morning. “I know. But I like the feel of paper in my hands.” He peered sideways at her. “Call me old-fashioned.” He returned to whatever he was reading.

Carolyn sipped her coffee, enjoying these intimate, special moments in the morning.

Special.

There had been nothing special in Carolyn’s past each time December rolled around. She had spent almost every Christmas either working or alone. And on those rare occasions when she had returned to her hometown of Willow Falls to spend Christmas with her sick mother and sister, Jodie, it had always seemed so awkward, forced even, like a charade. Then, as if that time of year couldn’t get any more depressing, her mother had died last year just before Christmas.

Carolyn had never been one to embrace the festive mood during the holiday season as others had. She hadn’t even bothered putting up a tree in her apartment in Salt Lake City when she used to live there.

Now, with someone special to share it with, Carolyn had dipped her toes into the annual tradition, even though Thanksgiving was more important to her. She had decorated the interior of Clay’s house, not with gaudy, plastic decorations, but with handcrafted ornaments she had found in a delightful gift store in town. The tree she had sourced from a local Christmas tree farm and decorated with hanging scented dried fruit, pieces of driftwood she had found during her beach excursions, fresh pinecones, and small bundles of cinnamon sticks tied together with bright red ribbon. A tree was a living thing. So why have something made of wire and plastic? She wanted something authentic and natural.

“What do you have planned today?” Clay asked, folding the newspaper and setting it aside. He edged closer, one hand wandering up her thigh under the covers.

Carolyn shrugged, ignoring the creeping hand. “Thought I’d go into town and get a new hair color from the drugstore.”

Clay frowned. “Your hair looks fine.” The hand crept higher.

Carolyn pulled at a few loose strands. While her hair had now grown back, it didn’t have the luster and shine it once had. “Fine?” she said, poking his foot under the covers with her big toe. “That’s all you have to say?” The creeping hand paused.

She was never one to be wrapped up in her own looks, but the therapy had thrown her around, and she just wanted to look how she used to.

“I meant very fine,” Clay added. He tried to nuzzle into her, but she pushed him away.

“Shouldn’t you be getting ready for work?”

Clay raised an eyebrow. “We could be quick.”

Carolyn shook her head. “Tonight.”

“You promise?”

“I promise.”

“Okay,” Clay relented, pulling back the covers and rolling out of bed before heading for the bathroom.

Carolyn pulled the covers over herself and sighed. A few more minutes—that’s all she wanted. Then she would get up, make them breakfast, and see what the day would bring.

She was in a good place at the moment. But as she lay there, warm and snug, she wondered how long this new life of hers, free of demons, monsters, and dark thoughts, would last.

2

SLAVE

“You can have me if you don’t touch my daughter. All three of you can do whatever you want to me. I don’t care. I won’t resist. You have my word. I’ll give in to you and do whatever you ask me to do.”

“My husband is away in Atlanta at a sales conference. You told me you already know that. It’s Friday today. He’s not back until Christmas Eve on Monday. You’ll have the entire weekend. The nearest neighbor is half a mile away, and we’re five miles from Erin’s Bay. The property is secluded and private. No one will hear a thing; I promise you.”

She had a point, Preston Hood thought, this woman, Susan Edison, thirty-five, mother to their only child, Molly, husband to Roy. College educated, Harvard graduate… blah, blah, blah. The mother was smart but failed to realize that posting her family itinerary and planned vacations on Facebook could be used against her.

The nearest neighbor was half a mile away, and the ranch home sat on ten secluded acres. That’s why they had picked this family.

Hood rubbed his chin. The proposition was enticing; he had never been propositioned like this before.

Sure, the woman in New Jersey three days ago had promised she would do anything, but she had done so between sobbing moans and cries of desperation. Anyone with a knife pressed to their throat promised you anything. Susan Edison was not begging and pleading, reduced to a crying, blithering mess. Her voice was matter-of-fact, as if she were negotiating down the sticker price for a new family SUV. For her, it seemed transactional.

“I’ll comply; I won’t resist. I’ll be your slave. Do whatever you want. But here’s the deal: my daughter lives. You don’t touch her at all.”

Hood had not seen the child. She was still asleep in her bedroom. According to the woman, the child had come down with a cold and had taken medication that made her drowsy. Just as well. He didn’t feel like wrangling a five-year-old and the mother.

“You must not harm my daughter. And she needs her medication. She’s asthmatic. The prescription is on the refrigerator. One of you can go to the drugstore in town and bring it back. That’s the deal. That’s the only deal.”

“Jeez, Hood,” Billy Granger exclaimed, who was behind him. “It sounds like a good deal. The entire weekend. I’ve never had a bitch as classy as this. And it’s Christmas. You promised.” Billy glanced at Nick Costa, who was standing next to him, for moral support.

“That’s right, Hood,” Nick said. “You promised something special for Christmas after we’ve done all our deliveries.”

“That’s right,” Billy parroted, bobbing his head like one of those stupid car dash ornaments. “You promised Nick and me. Something special, you said.” He pointed his knife at Susan, where she sat on the bed, her hands and feet tied. “And this bitch will give it to all of us.”

“Shut the hell up!” Hood said. “The pair of you.” He looked back at the woman. Why not? This was the fifth house they had made a delivery to in the last two weeks, and it was Christmas, after all. What better way to reward himself and his crew?

“But if you touch my daughter in any way, and if she doesn’t get her medication,” Susan said, “Then I’ll fight you with everything I have until my last dying breath.”

“We’re going to kill you, anyway,” Hood said.

Susan’s gaze softened, and so did her voice. “A few minutes of utter violence compared to an entire weekend of having your own slave?” She raised a questioning eyebrow, and something stirred inside Hood.

He spoke over his shoulder. “Billy, grab the prescription off the fridge. Go straight into Erin’s Bay, get the meds, then come right back here. Take the family car, not the pickup. If anyone asks, tell them you’re a family relative picking up the script on behalf of Mrs. Edison, who has fallen ill.”

“Why me?” Billy moaned, rolling his eyes.

Hood spun around so quickly that Billy didn’t have time to duck the punch aimed at his face. He went down onto one knee, blood dripping from his nose.

“Because I said so.” Hood stood over Billy, ready to kick the shit out of him if need be. Billy wiped the blood on the back of his hand, then looked up at Hood, a murderous glare in his eyes. He got to his feet. “Okay. I’ll get the medication.”

“And no detours either,” Hood warned. “Don’t talk to anyone in town unless you have to. Don’t stop for anything. Get in and get out.”

Billy nodded. “You’d better not start without me,” he whined, pinching his nose with his fingers.

Hood smiled. “You heard the woman. We’ve got all weekend. We’re gonna party like it’s 1999.” He stood over Susan with a gleam in his eye. “And I don’t intend on wasting one minute of it.” He glanced at Nick. “Nick, go to the pickup and grab the Santa sack.” He tossed Costa the keys.

Nick and Billy left the bedroom together.

“Tell me who you are. At least do that,” Susan said.

Hood removed his striped red and green elf hat—the same hat all three of them wore. He licked his lips as he regarded her. God, she had a tight little body, and seeing her wrists and ankles bound only heightened his arousal. By the time Monday rolled around, not even the best trauma surgeons in an ER would save her.

“Why? Don’t you know?” he said. “We’re Santa’s little killers.”

3

CAROLYN

“She’s sick. Susan is,” Billy said to the pharmacist as he handed over the prescription. “Molly, her daughter, needs the medication, and I told Susan that I’d get it for her.”

On the other side of the counter, the pharmacist took the prescription and studied the details.

“I’m Susan’s cousin,” Billy added, his head down, the bill of the ball cap he was wearing pulled down so that the security camera on the wall behind the counter couldn’t capture his face.

The pharmacist looked up. “Cousin?”

“That’s right. Just in town visiting Susan while Roy’s away for the weekend.” Billy thought he’d throw that detail in and add to the credibility of his story. There was another security camera perched above the front door.

The pharmacist’s smile made Billy relax. “Okay. It will take me a few minutes. We’ve got it in stock out the back.”

Keeping his head down, Billy moved off to the side and began browsing a shelf of laxatives. There were only two other people in the drugstore: an old, hunched woman with a walking cane perusing the vitamins aisle and a tall, rakish woman with shoulder-length brown hair who was in an aisle a few rows over. Neither of them had noticed Billy when he walked in.

Billy shoved his hands deep into his pockets and looked around. What was taking the pharmacist so long? He had disappeared into a small room behind the counter.

Billy had already wasted enough time trying to work out that creepy damn car he had driven here. It made no sound at all, and he wasn’t even sure if the engine was running. When he first approached it in the Edisons’ driveway, it had unlocked itself like it was alive, like it knew he was approaching. Once inside, the dash lit up like a Christmas tree.

Billy glanced at the front door, praying no one else would come in. It was late morning, but the town was quiet—no traffic at all. Apparently, Erin’s Bay had some nasty shit that went down a few months back—a few murders. Billy smiled. There will be a few more added to that list come Monday.

The skin at the back of Billy’s neck prickled, and he glanced up.

The woman with the brown hair—where was she? He whirled around to see her standing closer now, one aisle away. She had moved toward him without him noticing. She had her back to him and seemed preoccupied with boxes of hair color. Was she looking at him before? He wasn’t sure. It felt like her eyes were on him just a moment ago, but when he looked up….

No, he was just a little jumpy.

The old woman with the walking cane shuffled out of the drugstore.

Billy chewed his bottom lip. He needed to get back to the others. And they better not have started without him. Still no sign of the pharmacist. Christ, why was he taking so long?

The pharmacist came out of the storeroom carrying a white paper bag, placed it on the front counter, and gestured toward Billy. “All ready, and I’ll put it on the Edisons’ account.”

The pharmacist gave Billy a look he didn’t care for. What he would give to put a bullet between the pharmacist’s dopey-looking eyes. Billy snatched up the bag and was about to say something uncomplimentary, then decided against it. Hood would kill him if he drew any attention to himself.

Keeping his head down, he rushed out of the drugstore, wrenched open the car door, and climbed in. Again, the back of Billy’s neck prickled, and he looked up through the windshield—right into the eyes of the brown-haired woman. She was standing by the front window, staring right back at him with an expressionless face, her blue-gray eyes boring into him.

“Stupid bitch! What the fuck are you looking at?” he said under his breath before putting the car in reverse, backing out of the parking space, and speeding down the main street.

The woman standing at the drugstore window watched as the pristine white Tesla drove away, then she turned and headed back to the counter.

“Hey, Carolyn,” the pharmacist said. “I thought I saw you back there before. Is there anything I can help you with?”

“No, I’m good, Frank. I was just browsing. Who was that guy before?”

Frank shrugged. “Beats me. He had a prescription for Susan Edison. Ventolin for her daughter, Molly. She’s asthmatic. He said he was her cousin and was picking it up because Susan was sick and couldn’t make it into town.”

Whoever the guy was, he sure was fidgety—nervous looking, too. She had enough experience to know when someone was trying to avoid security cameras.

Carolyn drummed her fingers on the counter. “Susan Edison, you said? The name sounds familiar.”

“She’s lovely, and so is her daughter Molly. They live a few miles out of town on acreage. Husband’s a salesman for some big tech company. I think he’s away for the weekend.” Frank shook his head. “Come to think of it, it is strange that Susan didn’t come in and pick up the refill herself. She called yesterday to make sure we had it in stock, and I told her we did. Then she said she would drive in today and collect it herself. As far as I could tell, she sounded fine and healthy when she rang.” Frank shrugged. “Maybe she came down with some bug. There’s one going around at the moment.”

“Maybe she did.” Carolyn could see that something was troubling him. “What’s wrong, Frank?”

He waved her off. “It’s nothing.” He paused. “The guy’s nose. His nostrils had dried blood around them.”

“Maybe he just had a nosebleed?” Carolyn offered.

“No, there’s more to it than that,” Frank said. “His nose looked swollen, as though it had been broken,” Frank said.

“Broken? Like recently?”

“I wrestled throughout my college years, and I know what a broken nose looks like, especially one done recently.”

Something tugged deep inside Carolyn. She looked over her shoulder at the drugstore door and then at the vacant space on the curb where the Tesla had been parked moments before. “Is that so?” But that’s not what puzzled Carolyn the most about the guy. It was the fact that as she watched him leave the store, she was certain she saw the outline of a gun tucked behind his back under his shirt.

4

WHITE CHRISTMAS

Standing by the window, Hood looked out. “What’s taking Billy so long?” He turned back to Costa. “Where’s the Santa sack?”

“In the hallway,” Costa replied.

“And you checked everything is in there?”

Costa nodded. “Spare cable ties, pliers, tin snips, wire cutters, two hacksaws, a tree saw, spare duct tape, and the electric circular saw we took from the last place.”

“Good. What about the gifts?”

“In the cooler, in the back of the pickup truck,” Costa replied. “Do you want me to get them?”

Hood shook his head. “Not yet.” They had left Susan Edison tied up and gagged in the bedroom.

“Do you want me to check on the kid?” Costa offered, licking his lips with a hot little gleam in his eyes.

“I don’t want you going anywhere near that child,” Hood said. He knew full well that adult women like Susan Edison were not to Costa’s taste. He preferred them much younger—like five-year-old Molly Edison. In New Jersey, at another home, Costa couldn’t control himself. He acted too soon with the family’s twelve-year-old daughter… before Hood could stop him.

“I need the girl alive,” Hood said. “Her mother may want to check up on her. But don’t worry; you will get the opportunity.”

Costa smiled and nodded, but Hood didn’t like the unhinged look he had.

Hood glanced out the window and saw the white Tesla pull into the driveway. “About time.” Moments later, Billy walked in carrying a white paper bag.

“What the hell took you so long?” Hood asked.

“Dumbass pharmacist took his sweet time.”

“And no one followed you?” Hood said, taking the bag from Billy.

“No. I did what you said. In and out.” Billy rubbed the back of his neck. “You didn’t start without me, did you?”

“Would we be standing here if we had?” Hood replied.

“So, what now?” Costa asked.

“The kid is still sleeping,” Hood said. “I checked on her before.” He handed the paper bag back to Billy. “You go into her bedroom and make sure you don’t wake her. Put the new refill on the nightstand.”

Billy took the bag. “And then?”

Without replying, Hood walked past a massive floor-to-ceiling Christmas tree—its branches drooping with decorations; the tree was growing out of a mound of wrapped presents. Next to it was a CD player sitting on a shelf. He ran his fingers through the CDs stacked next to the player and plucked one out. He inserted the disk into the player and pressed play.

Bing Crosby’s White Christmas filled the room. “This song always gets me in the mood.” He turned back to the other two. “Billy, I want you to go out to the pickup and grab the gifts. Nick, I want you to get the woman ready.”

Hood nodded in time to Bing’s crooning voice. “Then we’re gonna bring our unique brand of Christmas cheer to the Edison family.”

5

THE COOLER

Following the directions given by the pharmacist, Carolyn followed a dirt road that skirted the western side of the Edison property.

After she parked, she made her way through the forest, moving east until she reached the tree line. The ranch home, a sprawling stone and gabled affair, sat in a wide clearing. Christmas lights lined the eaves and twisted around the columns of the front porch. An inflatable Santa sat in a garden bed near one of the front arched windows, and three topiary reindeer, topped with snow, grazed motionless along a pebble drive that curved past the front entrance where the white Tesla was parked. The front door was wide and made of solid wood with iron fittings, and a massive Christmas wreath hung from its center. Closer to Ryder was a barn with a large pickup outside. Patches of snow and frost covered the ground.

The drapes were all drawn, and everything looked quiet. The barn would provide ample cover, blocking her approach. After that, it was no-man’s-land all the way to the front door.

Carolyn paused for a moment. Perhaps everything was fine, and the young man in the drugstore was indeed a cousin sent to town to pick up a prescription because Susan Edison was ill.

But something was niggling at her. The way the young man had acted in the drugstore—like he was going to rob the place. And the gun that was concealed under his shirt. There’s nothing wrong with carrying a gun if you have the permits to do so, like the Glock 19 she now carried, snug in its holster on her hip under her shirt. But what harm was there in taking a closer look just to make sure the Edison family was safe?

Leaving the safety of the tree line, she made her way to the barn, angling herself behind its bulk to hide her approach. At a side window, she peered inside. It was too gloomy to see anything.

She edged her way around the side, making sure the pickup truck now hid her movements. Reaching the tailgate, she looked inside the bed. It was empty except for a large plastic chest cooler with a swing-up bail handle.

She glanced at the house—still no movement.

Turning her attention back to the cooler, she reached in and pulled it toward her. It wasn’t empty. There was a certain weight to it, as if there was something inside.

She pulled the handle down, then lifted the lid a few inches. Her stomach twisted, and she swallowed hard, then closed the lid. Every muscle, every nerve ending in her body tightened as she squatted down, drew her gun, and made sure a round was in the chamber. Standing, Carolyn edged around to the front of the truck.

The home's front door opened, and a man stepped onto the porch, the same man she had seen in the drugstore. She ducked down, backed away from the pickup, and moved toward the barn.

Halfway between the house and the pickup truck, Billy stopped and looked around. The air was frosty, and the ground was hard, skinned with a brittle layer of frost the sun hadn’t melted.

His eyes tracked to the trees past the barn, thinking he had seen movement. But only dark shadows lingered through the gaps in the trees. He had a distinct feeling he was being watched. His mind went back to that woman with piercing eyes in the drugstore. Was she watching him while he waited for the prescription? And had she followed him and stood at the window looking at him as he got into the car? Who was she? She didn’t look like a cop. She wasn’t dressed like a cop, either. Perhaps just a nosy bitch.

Billy trudged on toward the pickup.

At the tailgate, he reached in, then stopped and glanced at the barn. One door was open, a yawning wedge of darkness beyond. Since they arrived a few hours ago, he hadn’t gone inside and searched the barn. Maybe there was something valuable inside—something he could take. He glanced over his shoulder back at the house. He wouldn’t be long; he’d just take a quick look inside the barn and see what he could find.

At the barn, he stopped. Maybe he should go back, grab the cooler, return to the house, and get the party started. He rubbed his chin. The temptation was too great. He pulled the barn door open some more. It was dark inside. He’d only be a few minutes. Do a quick search, then grab the cooler and go back.

Billy stepped into the barn. Dusty shards of light cut through the windows, and shadows hunkered in the corners. There were workbenches lined with tools and bales of hay stacked in one corner. The air was musty and cold, and the dirt floor was hard.

The base of his neck prickled, just as it had done in the drugstore. Seconds later, the back of his skull exploded in numbing pain, and darkness smothered him.

6

PITCHFORK

Billy woke on the dirt floor to find a woman standing over him, a pitchfork in her hands, the sharp points of the four metal tines just inches from his throat.

“You make a sound, and I’ll run this through you.”

Billy blinked hard. It was her, the bitch who had been watching him in the drugstore.

His head ached from where she had cracked him on the back of the skull with the heavy wooden handle of the pitchfork.

He went to move his hand to rub his head, and the woman thrust the sharp points of the pitchfork closer.

“Don’t move. I’m warning you.”

“Okay! Okay, lady!” Billy could feel his gun pressed into the small of his back from where he lay. If he moved so much as an inch with his hand—to go for his gun—she would skewer his throat before he could even get his fingers under his shirt to draw it, let alone point and shoot her. “What do you want?” Billy groaned.

The woman inched closer, and Billy felt the sharp points press into the hollow of his throat. “The cooler,” she whispered, pure black venom in her eyes. “In the back of the pickup truck. Explain.”

Explain? Oh, jeez. She had looked inside the cooler. Panic rose in Billy’s throat, a throat that was about to look like Swiss Cheese.

“Look, lady, it isn’t what you think.”

Her wild eyes floated even wider from her face. “It isn’t what I think!” She snarled like a rabid animal. The skin bowed inward as the sharp tines pressed deeper into Billy’s throat, almost piercing it. “It looks exactly like what I think,” she said. “Where is the rest of her… the child?”

Billy swallowed hard; sweat trickled down his face. There was no way of not telling the woman. “There is no rest of her,” Billy stammered, his eyes looking down at the sharp steel spikes under his chin. “P… Please. I… didn’t⁠—”

“Shut the hell up,” she snapped. The woman’s face tightened. “Why?” she demanded, as though there could be a logical explanation for what was in the cooler.

Billy’s chin trembled. “It’s… it’s what we do. We leave gifts behind—gifts taken from others we’ve visited. We take… you know… you saw it.”

Billy could see the boiling rage building in her eyes. She grasped the pitchfork shaft tighter. He had to go for his gun or die. He tilted to one side and lifted a buttock off the dirt floor.

“Where are the mother and daughter? Susan Edison and Molly, where are they?” The pitchfork withdrew a few inches from Billy’s throat, and he gave a thankful sigh.

“They’re okay. Safe. They’re alive inside the house. No harm has come to them.”

The woman glanced away and seemed to contemplate this for a moment. Billy slid one hand back along the ground toward his back, where his gun was.

Her eyes came back to him. “Who are you?”

Despite his predicament, Billy gave a slight smile. “We’re Santa’s little killers.”

The woman frowned. “How many of you are there?”

Billy’s hand made it around to the base of his spine. His fingers fumbled under his shirt, and he felt the cold metal of his gun. “There’s just three of us.”

That dark well of despair that threatened to consume Carolyn Ryder so many times in the past now rose again in front of her. Like the fathomless black hole it was, she could feel its relentless pull, drawing her toward its yawning mouth, its stone circular edge scarred by her fingernails from when she had last clawed her way out and into the light.

“Wrong!” she shrieked and thrust the pitchfork deep into Billy’s throat, then leaned all her weight on it, driving his torso down and flat in the dirt. Billy’s eyes bulged from their sockets, and he gave a wet, gurgling gasp as blood poured from his mouth. Still, she kept her weight on the pitchfork and heard the crack as the sharp metal tines pierced the vertebrae, then punctured out through the back of his neck, impaling his neck into the dirt floor like an insect pinned to a corkboard.

His tongue lashed about inside a mouth-filled pool of blood, and his arms and legs flapped about like a fish wriggling on the end of a fishing spear until he was motionless and silent, his dead eyes staring blankly up at her.

She left the pitchfork where it was, buried in his throat, and stepped back. “There’s only two of you,” she said, her chest heaving. The image she had seen—the source of her pure, molten anger before—returned, but the savagery of what she had just done had quelled it. Inside the cooler, packed in ice, was a collection of severed hands and feet. However, a small foot sitting on top, cut above the ankle, wearing a pink Converse sneaker with pink glitter laces would remain etched in her mind forever.

Carolyn waited a few more minutes for her rage to subside some more, then pulled out her cell phone. She should call the police, Clayton Morelli. These guys were insane and barbaric. There was no telling what they would do when the police arrived—maybe butcher the mother and daughter. No, calling Morelli wasn’t an option. She couldn’t risk the two remaining psychopaths killing Susan Edison and her daughter at the first sign of the police. There wasn’t time.

If they were going to be saved, she was going to have to do it on her own.

7

CRAVING

“I swear I’m gonna kill him this time,” Hood said, pacing around the living room. “Where the hell has he got to now? He just had to go to the pickup truck and grab the cooler. That was it.” Even though it had only been ten minutes, he couldn’t understand why Billy hadn’t returned.

“I can look,” Costa offered, licking his lips with that expectant gleam in his eyes he had when an opportunity to satisfy his craving presented itself.

Hood pointed a finger at him. “See what’s taking Billy so long. And don’t take any detours.”

Costa left the living room a little quicker than Hood liked.

Hood resumed his pacing. They had the entire weekend, but he didn’t enjoy hanging around a place any longer than necessary. Anyone could turn up, a family friend, neighbor, or anyone who knew the Edisons, and then they’d wonder what these three strange men were doing on the property. An inkling of regret crept into him about accepting Susan Edison’s offer.

He needed to check on her as well and make sure she was still securely bound in the main bedroom. The home had two wings: a west wing, where the main bedroom and adult living spaces were located, and an east wing, where Molly’s bedroom was, along with guest rooms. If the woman made any noise, at least her daughter’s bedroom was far enough not to wake her.

Hood headed out of the living room, the soft croon of Bing Crosby echoing in his ears.

Costa paused along the main hallway at the T-junction between the east and west wings and looked down the passageway toward Molly’s bedroom. He pictured her tucked up nice and snug in her bed. Could he risk it? The corners of his mouth twitched, and his tongue thickened. Maybe he’d just take a little peek. It would only take a few minutes. He glanced over his shoulder, back toward where he had just come from. No one would see, least of all Hood. And if he did question him upon his return, he would say he went to the bathroom.

Licking his lips again, he turned and began walking down the passageway toward Molly Edison’s bedroom.

Moments later, he opened her bedroom door and looked in. The room was dark, except for the glow of a teddy bear lamp on the nightstand. A tuft of blonde hair peeked out from under a thick comforter.

Costa could feel his arousal. Shutting the door behind him, he tiptoed toward the bed, aware of something carnal and uncomfortable unfurling inside him.

He couldn't explain his urge for young children. He knew others deemed it unnatural and said it was not part of God’s design for humanity. But to him, it felt very natural—as natural and necessary as breathing. People just didn’t understand. How could they? It wasn’t an acquired taste, something you tried to see if you liked or not. It was in his DNA, buried within the fabric of his existence… put there by God himself. So why ignore it when⁠—

A faint female moan came from under the comforter, and the small shape hidden beneath shifted.

Costa froze, one hand outstretched. Christ, he hoped he hadn’t woken her. He watched as the peaceful rise and fall of the hidden shape resumed as Molly Edison settled back into her sleep. Perhaps she was having a dream, maybe a nightmare.

He bent down and peeled back the bottom edge of the comforter, exposing a small pale foot with cute little toes. The leg was smooth and supple, the skin flawless, and covered with fine blonde hair, and it looked like a porcelain doll. A breath caught in his throat, and he almost had to force himself to breathe again. His mind could only imagine what the rest of her must look like. She was five. The girl in Raleigh, NC, had been eight.

I’ve been good. I deserve this. It’s my Christmas treat.

He peeled back the comforter some more, exposing the young girl’s buttocks under a pair of purple panties. The bottom of her nightgown had ridden up to her waist, and she was lying face down.

Costa was hard now, like concrete, the urge so fierce, so intense that he felt like a volcano about to erupt. One grubby hand, the fingernails dirty and cracked, reached out toward the top of the girl’s panties, his breath coming in shallow, short pants like a rabid dog.

His hand stopped mid-air, and his face slumped into a landslide of confusion and disbelief as he felt the cold, hard metal of a gun barrel against the base of his skull. Then, he heard a voice behind him.

“Go ahead,” a woman said. “Make all my Christmas wishes come true.”

8

KIWIFRUIT

“Where is my daughter?” Susan Edison asked. She sat on the edge of the bed, her legs and feet still bound.

Hood closed the door behind him. “She is safe, like I promised. No harm will come to her. She’s sleeping.”

“And her medication?”

“There’s a new refill from the drugstore on her nightstand.”

“Show me.”

Hood thought about it for a moment. It wasn’t an unexpected request, but he didn’t have time. “I’m not going to untie you and take you to your daughter’s bedroom if that’s what you’re asking.” He rifled inside his pocket, then held up the drugstore receipt Billy had given him. “This will have to satisfy you. They charged it to your account this morning.”

Susan peered at the receipt, then nodded.

Hood rubbed his chin as he watched her. Young, lean, with a killer bikini body—a woman who, in his wildest dreams, would never give him so much as a second look in the street other than to hurry in the opposite direction.

“You’ve kept your end of the deal.” Susan raised her bound hands toward Hood. “Now untie me, and I’ll keep my end.”

Hood had intended to come in here and kill her straight away, deciding against a weekend of sexual depravity, even though it would be a welcomed distraction. But he had a bad feeling about this place, that if they hung around here too long, they were going to get caught.

But now, with her standing before him, barefoot, wearing tight jeans and a skimpy shirt, offering herself to him to do whatever he commanded without complaint or resistance, he changed his mind again.

Taking a switchblade from his back pocket, he flipped it open, then cut the cable ties around her ankles and wrists. He was bigger and stronger than her. If she resisted or tried to escape, he would kill her on the spot—snap her elegant, long neck like a chicken’s.

Susan rubbed her wrists, then pointed to the wingback chair in the corner. “Sit down.”

Hood frowned.

“Sit down,” she commanded, her voice firmer.

There was something sensual about being told what to do by a beautiful woman. He sat down in the chair, his eyes never leaving hers.

Susan undid the top button of her jeans, then inched down the zipper. Next, she wriggled the waistband down past her hips, then thighs before stepping out of them and kicking them aside.

Hood’s tongue flicked out like a snake’s as he watched. It was like his own private strip show, promising more—much more—to come.

Next, ever so slowly, she slipped off her shirt and tossed it aside.

Hood swallowed hard, uncertain if this Harvard-educated housewife hadn’t been a Vegas stripper in a past life.

His eyes trickled from her face down to her lacy pink bra, then to her matching bikini panties, both made of a translucent material that revealed her dark nipples and cleft of her womanhood. A low moan escaped his mouth as he took it all in. No, he had made the right decision to stay.

My God, she had a wonderful body. Smooth, supple skin. Firm breasts—not floppy-big or boyish-small, either—just natural, not silicone.

He pictured her on all fours, himself behind her, a hand on each of her hips, riding her like a rodeo horse, smashing her head into the headboard of the bed as he climaxed.

Susan curled a finger toward him. Come here.

Hood leaped out of the chair.

She reached out, and he flinched. “Stand still!”

Hood obeyed, leaving his hands by his sides.

Her hands found the top button of his pants and undid it, then pulled the zipper down with a dramatic, hard tug.

Hood felt her warm, delicate fingers slide inside, then down, exploring, searching, then grasping.

“Ah,” she said with a smile. “There you are.” Her fingers wrapped around his swollen manhood and then began stroking him like a dairy maid milking a cow’s long, rubbery teat.

Hood closed his eyes and let out a groan.

“Oh, you like that, do you?” Susan crooned, an innocent, child-like smile on her face.

“Yeah, baby,” Hood whispered, his eyes still closed. “You’re a bad, bad girl.”

“That’s right,” she said. “I’m a bad, bad mommy who needs disciplining.”

Hood let out a sigh, his smile now consuming almost all his face.

“Can’t ignore these two guys, can we?” she said in a teasing voice.

“Yeah,” he said dreamily. Oh, mama. Mr. Edison was sure one lucky bastard.

Dropping her hand lower, she then brought it up from beneath, and in her palm, she cupped both of his dangling⁠—

Paralyzing fingers of pain engulfed Hood’s testicles as Susan’s fingers snapped into a tight fist—crushing them like two over-ripe kiwifruits. She gave them a savage twist away from his body.

Hood’s eyes shot open, and he screamed like a prepubescent girl. A wave of sickness radiated out from his core and engulfed every muscle fiber. He tried to back away, but his body had turned to jelly. Susan held him in place, then wrenched his scrotum, stretching it away from his groin like a piece of elasticized pizza dough.

“You sick motherfucker,” she said, twisting him even harder.

Tears ran down Hood’s face, and he sank to his knees, all his strength gone. A river of nausea clawed up his throat. He was going to throw up, the pain so intense, so inhuman.

Susan followed him down until they kneeled, facing each other in prayer.

Hood’s head began spinning. Then, with a blinding scream, he lashed out. Not a deliberate motion, but something in his body spasmed out of its own volition in a last-ditch effort to stop the sickening wave of pain.

Then came another cry. His or hers? He wasn’t sure. The death grip on him released, and Hood tumbled forward onto his hands and puked. He blinked hard, and everything came back into focus. Susan Edison lay on her back, blood streaming from her nose and mouth.

Hood staggered to his feet, his crotch on fire. “I’m g… gonna k… kill you last,” he said. He wiped the vomit from his mouth. “But first, I’m gonna do your daughter and make you watch. Break her. Rip her in half.”

Susan rolled up into a low crouch, her face streaked with blood, and like a feral alley cat, launched herself at Hood.

Before Hood could react, she was screaming like a banshee and on him, clinging to him, her arms wrapped around his neck, her legs twisted around his waist, fingers clawing at his face, and her nails gouging at his eyes and mouth. “You will not touch her!”

Hood spun around, but he couldn’t get her off him. She was like a creeping vine, locked in a deadly embrace around his torso. Hot pain raked across his face as she clawed at his cheeks. It felt like a hot wire had been dragged across the surface of one eyeball, searing it with pain. Ribbons of bloody skin clung to her fingernails as she plowed his face.

Hood spun, then got one arm between their pressed torsos and pushed outward with his elbow.

Susan came loose, and he hefted her away like a rag doll.

She cartwheeled through the air, glanced off the bed, then slammed into the wall. Dazed, she looked up as Hood lumbered toward her, his face shredded red, the gleam of a blade in his hand.

“I’m gonna kill you. I’m gonna cut your tongue out first so you don’t scream. It’ll make a nice Christmas present for the next family. Your tongue first.” Reaching Susan, he grabbed a fistful of her hair and dragged her to her feet, the blade inches from her eyes. “Gonna cut other pieces off you, too.” The tip of the blade dropped to her breasts. “These will make delightful gifts, too.”

A gunshot.

Hood froze, then looked over his shoulder. It had come from somewhere deep within the home. Then another gunshot boomed out.

He dropped Susan to the floor, staggered to the bedroom door, pulled it open, and stumbled out.

9

ONE TO GO

Hobbling down the hallway, Hood came to the junction that split the home into two separate wings. He turned down the passageway that led to Molly Edison’s bedroom—and saw a body.

Lying face down was Nick Costa, a chunk from the back of his head missing. Farther back, with a gun in her hands, stood a woman. She had a manic look in her eyes and an unhinged smile as she caught sight of Hood. The gun arced up toward Hood, and a shot rang out. A chunk of drywall next to his head exploded in a cloud of plaster, wood, and dust. Hood cowered, his mind trying to play catch-up to what he was seeing. As he watched, the woman stepped over the body and took aim again.

Another shot rang out, and Hood turned and ran. A bullet struck his shoulder from behind, propelling him into the wall. His brain switched into gear, and he lurched forward, running as fast as he could in the opposite direction, ignoring the flesh-ripping pain in his groin and now shoulder.

The corner of the wall exploded just as he cleared it and stumbled into the main hallway. Reaching the front door, he threw it open and almost fell down the front steps. The pickup truck sat near the barn where they had left it. With one arm dangling by his side, he shambled across the clearing toward the truck, cursing as he went. He should have drawn his gun and shot the woman, but everything unfolded so fast that she hadn’t given him a chance. Whoever she was, she wasn’t taking any prisoners. Nick was dead, and Billy was most likely too. And if she caught him, she was going to kill him like the others.

Carolyn was about to take another shot when a woman came staggering around the corner in her underwear, her face bleeding.

“Molly,” she cried, desperation in her face. “Where’s Molly?”

Carolyn lowered her gun. “She is safe.” The woman must be Susan Edison, Molly’s mother.

“What happened?” Susan said, looking at Carolyn. “And… who are you?”

A young girl’s cry pierced Carolyn’s words before she could explain.

“Molly!” Susan screamed, pushing past Carolyn and ignoring the body on the floor. She stumbled toward her daughter’s bedroom.

Molly was sitting up in her bed, tears streaming down her face.

Carolyn watched from the doorway as Susan rushed to her daughter. “It’s okay, baby, you’re safe. It’s okay,” she said, holding Molly tight and stroking her hair. “I’m here.”

Carolyn checked her gun. Two down. One to go.

Still clutching her daughter, Susan turned to Carolyn. “Thank you.”

“Did they hurt you?”

Susan shook her head. “He tried, but I fought him off.”

Carolyn nodded. “Call the police. Do it now.”

“Where are you going?” Susan gave a confused look.

“Two down, one to go,” Carolyn said, then left.

10

JUST ONCE

Without breaking stride, Carolyn leaped over the body and kept going until she reached the open front door. Out onto the porch and down the stairs she went, then stopped.

Hood was wrenching at the pickup truck's driver’s side door handle. He looked up with wild panic in his eyes.

Carolyn pulled out a set of keys—keys Nick Costa had given her when she had pointed a gun at his head. Now, she dangled them in front of her like a zookeeper dangling a piece of meat in front of a wild animal. And that’s what they were, the three of them—wild animals.

Two down. One to go.

Hood screamed, then kicked the locked truck door before shambling away like a zombie. He was making toward the ill-conceived safety of the forest on the opposite side. It wasn’t too far, and she could easily catch him on foot and rein him in like a stray steer. The image of what was inside the cooler and the drawn-out pain and suffering it would have entailed came to mind.

Easy. Too easy.

Glancing back over his shoulder, Hood gave her a fearful glare and shambled faster. She could shoot him in the back, she guessed. But that would be difficult to explain.

Taking her time, she walked to the pickup, unlocked it with the remote, then took the cooler from the bed, placed it in the passenger side footwell, and powered the seat forward so it wouldn’t move.

She climbed into the driver’s seat and then turned the ignition. The big V8 roared to life before settling into a guttural purr. In the side mirror, Hood was growing smaller, and she smiled.

Two down. One to go.

Turning the wheel hard, she hit the gas pedal. The pickup lurched forward, then fishtailed into a tight, skidding circle, the meaty tires churning up plumes of dirty snow. She rode the tight turn around, then straightened the wheel as the shrinking figure of Hood slid across her windshield and into view. Like the front sight of a pistol, she jostled the steering wheel side-to-side until the bobbing shape in the distance was dead center in the wide bullnose hood of the pickup. Then she settled into her seat.

Would Clay and the police arrive before she got to Hood? She hoped so—for his sake. Yet part of her wanted them to arrive after it was too late. Ben Shaw’s words came floating back to her. Carolyn, there is the law, and then there is justice. And they are two different things. She pressed the accelerator, and the pickup responded like an untamed beast, eating up the distance as it roared across the lumpy ground.

A light smattering of snowflakes hit the windshield, and the wipers kicked on.

Hood reached the tree line and vanished into the murkiness beyond.

Carolyn hit the brakes, and the pickup slewed sideways to a halt. The enormous engine snarled, a beast that would not be denied. She scanned for an opening in the wall of trees and spotted a gap between the trunks just wide enough for the pickup to fit through.

Turning the wheel, she hit the gas and aimed for the opening. It was a narrow forestry track. It reminded her of another place and another time. Only this time, she was in the pickup truck running down the monster.

She made it through and plunged into a soapy, eerie half-light. Branches raked the truck's sides as it pushed aside everything in its path. Hunkered behind the wheel, Carolyn peered left and right. She kept the headlights off; the sound of the engine was already enough to warn Hood she was coming.

She slowed to a stop and stared through the windshield, then through the side windows. Where was he? He couldn’t have gotten⁠—

Glass exploded all around her, and Carolyn ducked down behind the wide dash as bullets slammed into the driver’s side of the pickup.

Then, a pause. The person was reloading.

She scampered across the seat and tugged the passenger side handle, then kicked open the side door and tumbled out. A ghostly fog smothered her as she dropped from the cab into a bed of thick ferns that closed over her.

Another volley of gunshots echoed through the cold air, but this time, only a few hit the side of the pickup. Most of them careened off into the trees. On her stomach, Carolyn crawled through the thick undergrowth of Bracken ferns and away from the gunfire. Reaching a wide tree trunk, she slithered around its base.

Again, another pause in the shooting, another reloading. How many magazines did he have? Carolyn checked her own gun on her belt.

Fifteen in the clip, minus what she had sunk into the man who had been in Molly’s bedroom and had shot at Hood, plus one spare mag in a pouch on her left hip. More than enough. Hood was panicking. His shots were wild and uncontrolled.

Two down. One to go.

She edged around the tree. The pickup truck sat idling, the passenger side door open, a layer of low mist drifting around its tires.

Then she heard the sound of a siren, in the distance but getting louder.

She waited.

Ten seconds.

The siren grew louder.

Twenty seconds.

The ferns to her right shifted, and a man stood, his gun raised. He stepped toward the pickup, his back to her.

Like a wraith, Carolyn rose and brought her own gun up, aimed at his leg, then applied light pressure on the trigger.

Ten feet from the truck, Hood fired and continued firing into the driver’s side until all that could be heard was the repeated click of the trigger on the empty chamber.

Hood edged forward, then peered into the empty cab.

Carolyn saw a branch at her feet, raised her foot, and stepped hard on it.

Crack.

Hood whirled around, and Carolyn pulled the trigger.

11

YOU FIRST

Reaching through the open door, Carolyn turned off the ignition, then went around to the passenger side and grabbed the cooler.

Hood lay on his back, one pant leg soaking red. Blood had soaked through the sleeve of his shirt from where she had shot him before. She just wanted to bring him down, immobilize him, nothing more. The hand of his good arm clawed toward a fallen branch.

Even now, he was trying to fight back.

Carolyn sat the cooler next to him, then stood back.

Hood’s eyes darted to the cooler, then back to her. His mouth twisted into a snarl. “You dirty bitch. I don’t know who the hell you are or what you want, but I’m gonna kill you, beat you to death with—” His fingers reached, then curled around the thick branch. “—beat you to fuc⁠—”

Carolyn stepped forward and brought her foot down hard on his wrist. There was a snap, and Hood screamed out in agony.

“The police are on their way,” Carolyn said. “But you could try. Then I’d save the taxpayers the cost of a prison cell for you. Catch my drift?” She kicked the branch away, then squatted down next to the cooler and opened the lid.

“Who was she?” She pointed to the child’s foot, which lay on top of the pile.

“You broke my fucking wrist!” Hood whimpered, clutching his hand to his chest.

“Who was she?” Carolyn yelled.

Hood’s eyes raged at Carolyn, but no words came. Instead, grim-faced and teeth gritted, he struggled to sit upright and got to one knee, then two. “Go to Hell,” he whispered, his lips curled in a defiant sneer.

“You first.”

Hood’s eyes shifted sideways to behind Carolyn to where the words had come from. Not Carolyn’s words—someone else’s.

The deep booming sound echoed out through the forest before Carolyn could turn around, get her gun up, and aim it at the person behind her.

The top of Hood’s head—from the nose up—spun off in a meaty, bloody frisbee of skull bone, flesh, cartilage, and hair. He tumbled half-face down onto the frozen ground.

With her torso twisted around, the front sight of Carolyn’s gun settled right between the eyes of Susan Edison, who was holding a smoking shotgun.

Susan, now dressed in jeans, winter jacket, and boots, lowered the pump-action shotgun she was holding, then marched past Carolyn and nudged Hood’s lifeless body with her toe.

She gave a satisfied nod, then turned back to Carolyn and said, “Three down, none to go.”

12

NOT HAPPY

The Erin’s Bay Police Department was a squat, one-story cinder-block building with a small parking lot out front and holding cells at the back. It sat on the fringe of town, away from the vibrant coffee shops, fashion stores, bars, and eateries on Main Street.

It was after six in the evening, and Chief of Police Clayton Morelli sat at his desk, trying to contain his anger from the mess that had landed in his lap courtesy of Carolyn Ryder. He was tired and hungry and had spent the afternoon out at the Edison property playing second-fiddle to other local police and state law enforcement officers who were also called in. Erin’s Bay was his patch of turf, and he didn’t like being shoved aside by other departments.

Carolyn should have called it in before she went all gung-ho. She wasn’t FBI anymore. She was just a public citizen, and as such, she was subject to the same rules as everyone else. Yet, somehow, he knew she didn’t see it that way. Did he mind her carrying a gun in public? It’s a free country, and given her past, he couldn’t blame her. But the Carolyn Ryder he had kissed this morning before he left for work wasn’t the same woman who greeted him in front of the Edison home. Her eyes were clear and focused, but behind them, he thought he had glimpsed something unhinged lurking there—a stalking, retaliatory demon that was prowling her inner self.

She blinked as though breaking from a spell. Her face softened, and that unhinged, predatory gaze vanished. To say he was a little scared of her at that moment would have been an understatement. He had never seen her like that, nor did he ever wish to again. Sure, they had argued over the months since she had moved into his place in Erin’s Bay. But what he had witnessed today made him concerned about what he had indeed welcomed into his home and bed.

Taking his now cold coffee, he went into the back-office area where Todd Levine, a twenty-two-year-old rookie, and Marvin Tanner, a fifty-seven-year-old seasoned Erin’s Bay police officer, were waiting for him.

Levine’s eyes gleamed with excitement. “So, she got them? Santa’s Little Killers? Carolyn caught them?”

“Take a breath, Levine,” Tanner said. “You’re likely to give yourself a stroke.” He nodded at Morelli. “That right, Clay? She got them?”

It had been six hours since they got the call from Susan Edison, and all three of them had rushed over to the property, followed by a contingent of officers and detectives from the Nassau County Police Department, who were still there, crawling all over the home and surrounding forest.

“If you call three people dead, a pickup truck shot to hell, private property damage, and the police commissioner chewing out my ear for the last twenty minutes asking how all this could have happened right under my nose—then, yes. It looks that way.” He rubbed his eyes. “But we haven’t identified them, especially since two of them have almost no heads left.”

Levine grinned. “She’s like a female Dirty Harry.”

Morelli shot Levine a look that would melt granite.

Levine rolled his eyes.

Leaning against a filing cabinet, Morelli flipped open his notebook, in no mood for any of his team glorifying what Carolyn had done. “So, this is what we know so far. Three men wearing elves’ hats held Susan Edison and her daughter Molly captive inside their own home. While Molly was asleep in her bedroom, Susan Edison was bound by the other three. God knows what they intended to do to her, but it looks pretty obvious. Carolyn ran into one of the perps at the drugstore in town, got suspicious, followed him back to the Edison property, and….” Morelli paused, his anger rising again. “Failed to notify police.”

Tanner rocked back in his chair. “Where are the bodies now?”

“At the morgue with Winter.”

“And there’s no way of identifying them until then?” Tanner asked.

Morelli shook his head. “The facial damage was too much on two of the bodies. The one found in the barn is what Jay is focusing on first. It shouldn’t take long before she can get prints and DNA and match them to the other crime scenes.”

“And Ryder?” Tanner asked, a light smile on his lips.

Morelli scowled at him. “In the interview room waiting for⁠—”

“Not for much longer.” Just then, Alice Munroe slipped into the room. Alice was the department’s dispatcher and all-around office administrative guru. Alice, in her sixties, had no qualms about telling Morelli what she thought and often chastised him when needed.

“What?” Morelli asked, scrunching his face. On the car trip back to the station, Carolyn had already informed Morelli about everything that had happened, but he still wanted to conduct a formal interview with her.

“She’s not waiting around for much longer,” Alice said. “She’s been waiting for two hours as it is.”

Morelli pushed off the filing cabinet. “And she can wait⁠—”

“Clayton Romeo Morelli!” Alice exclaimed. “You should be ashamed of yourself for treating poor Carolyn like a suspect. She single-handedly apprehended three vicious murderers.”

Tanner and Levine exchanged looks. Tanner mouthed, Romeo?

Morelli caught their exchange. He had told no one in the office—except Alice—the unfortunate middle name his mother had given him. “Well, I wouldn’t say she apprehended them,” Morelli replied, his eyes on Tanner and Levine. “More like a judge, jury, and executioner.”

Tanner stifled a laugh while Levine giggled behind his hand, then whispered. “Romeo?”

“Can it, the pair of you,” Morelli said. He turned back to Alice, who gave him a bemused look. His shoulders slumped. “Okay,” he said. “Take her to my office and tell her I’m coming. I need to take a leak first.”

No sooner did Alice and Morelli leave the back-office area than Tanner turned to Levine and said with a flourish of his hand, “Wherefore art thou Romeo?”

Both men burst out laughing.

13

PREDATOR

Alice placed a cup of coffee on the desk in front of Carolyn, then squeezed her arm. “Is there anything else I can get you, honey?” she asked with a warm, motherly smile.

Morelli, who was sitting in his chair opposite, shot Alice a questioning look. “I wouldn’t mind a fresh cup of coffee.”

Alice shrugged. “Sorry, this was the last Keurig pod,” she said, gesturing to the steaming cup now in Carolyn’s hands. “And Driftwood Bakery shut hours ago.” She turned her attention back to Carolyn. “How was that piece of angel cake? I added a special cream cheese frosting this time.”

Carolyn smiled up at Alice. “It was great, thank you, Alice. And thanks for the coffee.”

Morelli eyed the few remaining crumbs on the small plate in front of Carolyn, and his stomach growled. With all the commotion in the last few hours, he hadn’t eaten since breakfast. “I wouldn’t mind a piece of cake myself, Alice,” he said.

“Carolyn just ate the last piece,” Alice replied with a dismissive wave. “You left her waiting for so long in the interview room that I felt sorry for her.” She squeezed Carolyn’s arm again. “Glad you liked it, hon. You’re a hero in my books.”

Alice slipped out of the room, but not before giving Morelli one of her trademark haughty looks.

More than a little irritated, Morelli glanced down at the statement in front of him he had taken from Susan Edison. “So, according to Susan Edison,” he looked up to see the Carolyn of old, the one he had kissed this morning, looking back at him, “the man who had shot at you when you arrived on foot in the forest, turned his gun on Susan.”

Carolyn nodded. “Like I said before, Clay, and what Mrs. Edison can confirm, he took her from the home, threw her in his pickup, and fled. He intended to kill her.”

“And the shotgun?” he asked. “How do you explain that?”

“It was already in the pickup truck, I imagine. Susan said he had stolen it from the house and stashed it there to use later.”

Morelli rubbed his chin. Susan Edison had said something similar—not exactly the same—but similar. “And you shot him?”

Carolyn shook her head. “I returned fire. He shot at me first when I found the pickup pulled up in the forest. He was dragging Susan out and had a pistol in his other hand.”

“And Susan Edison somehow broke free?”

“That’s correct. He saw me and got distracted just for a moment. She saw it as an opportunity to escape, then took cover behind the pickup, and he started firing at her. He shot up the truck pretty good, trying to kill her. Then he turned his attention to me and started firing at me. I returned fire.” She held Morelli’s gaze, her expression trapped between a confident smile and a defiant smirk. “I didn’t know Susan had crawled back into the pickup and grabbed the shotgun.”

“And that’s when she shot and killed him?”

Carolyn nodded. “Self-defense, I’d say. After I shot him in the leg, he went down to one knee.”

“So, why didn’t you finish him off? After all, he was shooting at you. You were well within your rights.”

Carolyn sighed. “I wanted him alive, not dead.”

“That’s an enormous risk, isn’t it? Offering an armed perp who is still a threat the chance to kill you?” His eyes narrowed. “Not exactly out of the FBI manual, is it?”

Carolyn shrugged. “I never read the manual.”

Morelli looked down at Carolyn’s detailed statement. “And that’s when he saw Susan Edison approaching with the shotgun.” He looked up. “You said she warned him to drop his gun?”

“Yes. He turned toward her and raised his gun at her. That’s when she shot him. Self-defense, like I said, Clay.”

What puzzled Morelli was the fact that the shotgun blast had blown half the man’s head clean off. Susan Edison had shot him up close, not from a distance. He had taken the shotgun into evidence, and he found it was loaded with the larger buckshot shells, not pellet-like birdshot. There was also his broken wrist. Maybe he had fallen during the firefight. But he doubted that. To Morelli, it didn’t seem like self-defense, and Carolyn was not being honest. It was like the two women had concocted a different scenario about what really happened out there in the forest.

“Did you think you could take them on your own?” Morelli said, wanting to vent some of the frustration he had been feeling and get off his chest what he had been thinking. “Thought you could save mother and daughter without my help? Go off on another crusade of yours, like you did with Sam Pritchard?”

“Oh, please,” she said, her voice low and tainted with contempt at what he was suggesting. Calm and reasonable Carolyn suddenly vanished, replaced by the harsher, predator-like alternate he had seen when he first arrived at the property. “I made a judgment call not to wait for the police until I knew the situation and what was at stake.” She leaned forward, a prowling restlessness in her eyes. “And let me tell you, it was a judgment call I’m more experienced than you at making.”

The verbal punch took some of the wind out of Morelli’s ego, but he didn’t let it show. “Is that so?” However, he knew it was so. She was ex-FBI and had encountered and beaten some of the worst murderers imaginable. Not that she had ever reminded him of that fact. Until he had met her a few months ago, he was a small-town sheriff dealing with all the small-town indiscretions and townsfolk squabbles Erin’s Bay offered.

“You’re ill-equipped to deal with such criminals,” Carolyn continued, cool-eyed and straight-faced.

Morelli gritted his teeth. “My town used to be a quiet place until you showed up. Now, we’re getting all sorts of crazies here.”

Carolyn laughed. “I didn’t bring these three killers here. You said they started in Boston, worked their way down through Connecticut, then New Jersey, before shifting east to Long Island, bypassing New York.” Carolyn sat back and folded her arms. “The world is changing, Morelli, and you need to change along with it. Monsters are everywhere. You just can’t see them.” She stood and stabbed the table with her finger. “This town’s got history, a dark history, every town has. You and Erin’s Bay aren’t immune to it.”

“What dark history?” Morelli scoffed, unsure what she was talking about.

Carolyn headed toward the door.

“Hey, we’re not finished,” Morelli said before standing and bunching his hands into fists. She was as intoxicating as she was infuriating. “Will you be home later?” He let out a sigh, realizing how weak he had just sounded. But that was typical of her—no compromise. She wasn’t pigheaded or anything like that, just… more driven, determined. Not all the time. Just when she had sunk her teeth into something, even if it meant risking her life.

Carolyn shrugged. “Maybe.”

“But how will you get back?” he asked. He had impounded her car and also taken her gun into evidence.

“I’ll figure it out. And if I come back, I’ll be sleeping on the sofa.”

“But… it’s Christmas time. I was going to make you a nice dinner and everything. Got it all in the refrigerator. Then later… I thought….” He looked sheepishly at her.

Carolyn raised an eyebrow. “You thought what, Clay?”

“I thought we could… you know.”

Carolyn stifled a laugh. “Fat chance there, Freddy.” And with that, she flung open the door and stormed outside.

14

WE NEED YOU

“Don’t leave,” Alice Monroe pleaded, looking up as Carolyn walked past the front counter, through the side door, and headed for the front doors.

“You belong here,” Alice said, a tinge of distress in her voice. She hurried through the side door and caught up with Carolyn in the foyer. “Look, sorry, I was listening in.” She gave a thin, guilty smile.

Carolyn didn’t say a word; she just stood there, still bristling from her run-in with Morelli.

“I know what you meant about all towns having a dark history,” Alice continued. “I told you about Lacy in Colorado, where I used to live.” She gave a deep sigh. “Some bad things happened there that Clare and I did not know about.”

“Clare?” Carolyn remembered when she first met Alice what she had told her about the town of Lacy.

“The sheriff,” Alice said. “Clare Decker.” Reaching out, Alice touched Carolyn’s arm, her eyes searching her face. “My God, you remind me of Clare in so many ways. She’s a little older, though.” Alice stepped closer and lowered her voice. “Everything would have gone to Hell in a handbasket if it weren’t for her—and this guy who helped her.”

Carolyn cocked her head. “Guy?”

“Some drifter who turned up at the right time. A good person he was. Good to her, too.”

Tears formed in Alice’s eyes, and a twinge of regret rose inside her as Carolyn watched her. Maybe she had been a little harsh on Morelli, yet he needed to face reality. Evil was everywhere, often hiding in the most serene, unexpected places. Erin’s Bay was no exception. The past six months had proved that. She just hoped the town didn’t have evil lurking like Ravenwood, another town Carolyn had the displeasure of visiting. Like a thick, black molasses that slid undetected through the sewers and drains, Ravenwood felt like it had an undercurrent, a malevolent texture to it that drifted in the periphery, just out of frame, but always there.

“Please stay,” Alice implored. “You and Clayton are good together. I can see it. And….” Alice’s voice caught in her throat. She reached out and hugged Carolyn, then whispered in her ear. “This town needs you. We need you. He needs you.”

Carolyn felt her insides turn to mush, and she hugged Alice back. Finally, they broke their embrace, and Alice wiped the tears from her eyes. “Look at me,” she said, berating herself. “Getting all emotional.” She threw a warning finger at Carolyn. “Just think of all my wonderful cakes you’d be missing out on if you were to leave.”

Carolyn laughed. “That’s true.” She liked Alice, liked her a lot. Perhaps she had overreacted before, talking all doom and gloom. Pritchard had followed her here to Erin’s Bay that summer. There was nothing she could have done about it. And Joel Renner, the author who had lived in the cottage along the clifftops, was just, well… an anomaly.

“I’ll stay, Alice,” Carolyn said.

Alice’s face lit up. “Good. I’m glad. Merry Christmas.”

Carolyn liked it here despite what had happened. And Erin’s Bay wouldn’t see another murderous killer of the likes of those two monsters, Pritchard and Renner, again.

15

A STRANGER IN TOWN

“Evening,” the young man in his mid-twenties with blond hair and intense blue eyes said. He was tall and well-built, wearing a thick checked shirt, padded jacket, blue jeans, and hiking boots. He had a warm, friendly smile.

“Hi,” Bronte Perkins replied, looking up from behind the cash register, somewhat surprised. She hadn’t heard the man come into Something Fishy, the diner overlooking the fishing trawlers and pleasure crafts down by the boat harbor in Erin’s Bay. The place was almost deserted except for an out-of-town family of five having an early dinner and Bill and Hank, two local fishermen, who were enjoying a quiet beer and gossiping about the latest town news.

“Bronte?” the man said, his blue eyes flicking to the name tag pinned to her chest. “This is your place. You’re the owner?”

“Gosh, no!” Bronte said. He had the most intense blue eyes she had ever seen. Heat rippled across her cheeks. The guy was not from around here. Too good-looking for one, like one of those blond-haired shirtless Abercrombie & Fitch models that used to grace billboards and store windows everywhere she had seen during one of her rare trips to Manhattan before the world went all woke. Most of the rich kids that came here during the summer were pale, pig-faced, and sweaty and frequented the trendy restaurants and bars in the center of town. God forbid they should stray down to the waterfront and walk into something as banal as a diner. Something Fishy was where the good working-class townsfolk came to eat and drink—not preppy out-of-towners.

“I just work here,” she replied, blinking hard. No, he wasn’t an apparition.

His grin spread to reveal a row of perfect white teeth. And those eyes! They turned a pure glacial blue, and for only the second time in her life, Bronte Perkins, nineteen, living at home, and recently dumped by her jackass boyfriend, Brad, felt the bottom of her heart drop away like on the Hollywood Tower Hotel ride she had ridden at Disneyland when she was a kid. The first time was when Chad Morgan asked her to go to the school dance in fifth grade when she was eleven. No one had come close since then, not even Brad. But, hey, the pickings were slim in Erin’s Bay for her age group.

“You’re not from around here, are you?” Bronte asked. Don’t twirl your hair. Don’t you dare twirl your hair! A little voice inside her head shrieked at her as she stood rooted to the floor, beguiled by this Nordic prince.

“No, not really.”

“Well, take a look.” She held out a laminate menu. “The kitchen closes in thirty minutes, so you’ve just made it in time.” I wonder what he likes to eat.

The man looked down at the menu but didn’t take it.

“If you need any help, just let me⁠—”

“Sorry, I wasn’t looking to eat. I’m just passing through town.”

“Oh,” Bronte said, folding the menu and placing it back under the cash register. Just passing through. She sighed on the inside. Why is it always the way?

He rocked back on his heels. “I’m looking for someone. A friend of mine. She’s been traveling around these parts. Her name is Allie. Maybe you’ve seen her? She’s about your age, with shoulder-length brown hair.” He paused. “Not as pretty as you, though.”

Bronte felt like her face was on fire. She gave a bashful grin. “That’s nice.” And for a moment, she thought about rushing down to the drugstore, buying a box of Clairol, and switching from a blonde to a brunette. With a sliver of jealous pleasure, she shook her head. “Sorry, I don’t know everyone in town. I’ve lived here all my life, though, but… Ellie, you said?”

“Allie,” he corrected her without malice.

“Sorry, but the name doesn’t ring a—” Bronte paused, mouth gaping. “There was a woman my age a few months back,” she said. “In the summer. She was an out-of-towner but had moved here for a while. Then, she suddenly upped and left just before the fall. But her name was Ellie, not Allie. I’m sure it was Ellie.”

The man gave a curious smile. “Maybe I got it wrong.”

Bronte doubted he got anything wrong. Especially when it came to remembering a woman’s name or face, he just exuded that type of smoldering confidence. Not pretentious, not arrogant. A subtle but very alluring undercurrent she had read about in Rom-Com books that, in Erin’s Bay, she had never witnessed for real.

“Ellie, you said?”

Bronte nodded. “There’s a small apartment around the back that the owners rent out. It’s empty now, but she lived there. Her name wasn’t Allie. It was definitely Ellie. Ellie Sutton. But like I said, she left town and vanished at the end of summer. I only met her a few times. She used to come in here and sit in the corner with a laptop. Kept to herself.”

The man seemed to ponder this momentarily as though he was rearranging things inside his head, sorting facts from fiction into a different pattern. “Ellie Sutton,” he said, his mouth mulling over the vowels.

Watching him now, coldness rippled across Bronte’s arms. Had she said too much? Revealed something that perhaps she shouldn’t have to this stranger? Maybe this guy was Ellie Sutton’s ex, someone she had broken up with? And—riddled with jealousy and vengeance—he was now trying to track her down. Yes, that was it! Ellie had changed her name and fled from this guy.

“Look, mister,” Bronte said, feeling uncomfortable now, “maybe it wasn’t her, the girl you’re looking for. We get lots of people passing through here, and to be honest⁠—”

“Thank you. You’ve been a big help.”

Cold, skeletal fingers of regret scraped across Bronte’s heart as his eyes turned a dark shade of blue-gray. “But I didn’t catch your name,” she blurted. At least if she had his name, then she might⁠—

“That’s because I didn’t give it to you,” he replied, backing away from the counter. He gave a creepy little bow like a funeral usher, then swept out through the front door, leaving in his place a chilly slice of wintry air where he had just been standing.

For a few moments, Bronte did nothing. She just gazed out through the glass door and into the darkness where the stranger had disappeared.

16

THE DARK

Outside the police station, snow fell, and in the distance, the town twinkled like a Christmas tree, postcard-perfect bathed in the warm glow of fairy lights that outlined the storefronts and spiraled around the trees that lined the streets.

Carolyn took a moment to wrap her scarf around her neck and slip on her woolen cap. Looking up, she paused. Across the street, a young man stood on the opposite footpath as if he had just turned the street corner, seen her, and stopped. Mid-twenties, blond hair, with pale, chiseled features. He was staring right at her. Like he had recognized her—not in a good way. Not in a friendly way, but in a bad way.

She blinked like a camera shutter, her mind committing him to memory: six-two, athletic, checked red shirt under a padded dark jacket, jeans, and dark brown boots.

The young man pivoted and then ducked back behind the corner of the building and vanished from sight like an animal, going about its business in some wooded grassland only to be startled by a predator, then having the instinctual presence of mind to scurry away.

“And who might you be?” she said to herself as she turned up the collar of her jacket and began walking away into the darkness.

It’s her. It must be.

Pulling back from the corner of the building, he found a side alley and plunged into the darkness. The darkness was his domain, away from the light. He was a nocturnal creature by habit, not compulsion.

Yes, it was her. It had to be. His heart raced. He remembered her face from the newspapers a few months back. Carolyn Ryder. She had been in Ravenwood. It was she who had been involved in finding and then killing the notorious Sam Pritchard.

And now she was here, in Erin’s Bay. Was it a coincidence? He was here looking for someone. The girl who had also been in Ravenwood around the same time, on Halloween night, when Sam Pritchard and Dylan Cobb had gone on their murderous rampage. The same girl who had walked into his family’s hardware store and asked if they sold cell phones. The same girl who said her name was Allie. Now, he knew that wasn’t her real name. It was Ellie. Ellie Sutton. Maybe that wasn’t her real name either.

Was there a connection between Ryder and the girl he so desperately wanted to find? He didn’t believe in coincidences. The universe and all its hellish celestial bodies didn’t move like that.

I’m just passing through town. That’s what he had told the dumb whore back in the diner. That was then—before he had spotted Carolyn Ryder. This was now. The universe, his plans, and his mind were always in a constant state of flux—ebbing and flowing, molding and reshaping.

The only constant was the killing. Like breathing, he needed it to survive.

He glanced toward the rectangular opening of the alley. She was here. In this town. Carolyn Ryder. Maybe she could lead him to Ellie Sutton. They knew each other.

He closed his eyes, and in the dark, he smiled. He had all the time in the world, enough time to stay in Erin’s Bay for a while.

His eyes opened. “Carolyn Ryder. You will do nicely—for now,” Aamon Jessop whispered to himself.

Turn the page for Carolyn’s next adventure in

A DARK KILL

Book #1 in the Erin’s Bay Thrillers

Ex-FBI discovers her hometown is full of hidden killers.

“Monsters are everywhere.

You just can’t see them.”

Spring has returned to Erin’s Bay, bringing with it something dark and sinister. Someone has followed Carolyn Ryder back from Ravenwood to the peace and tranquility of the town she now calls home. An unfamiliar killer hides in the township, fixated solely on her.

Chief of Police, Clayton Morelli, doesn’t believe Carolyn, thinks that she is overreacting when she tells him about the town’s past. Undeterred, Carolyn finds an unlikely ally in the head-strong Abigail Brenner, a young, brash woman who knows all too well about Erin’s Bay's buried secrets and evil history.

It’s going to take all their courage, strength and cunning to defeat what’s coming for them.

“This town’s got history, a dark history, every town has. Erin’s Bay isn’t immune.”

The seasons come and go, but true evil never leaves.

CLICK HERE TO:

Get your copy of A DARK KILL

If you want to know more about Abigail Brenner, who features in A Dark Kill, then I recommend you read Hidden Justice as either a prequel to reading A Dark Kill or reading it after to fill in some backstory. It will give you plenty of insights into the dark history of Erin’s Bay, and the events that happened before Carolyn arrived.

While Hidden Justice is part of my No Justice series, readers can also enjoy it as a complete standalone novel.

Turn the page for a preview of Hidden Justice.

It’s not what you hide, it’s who you hide from… For two years, Annie Haywood has lived in the small picturesque town of Erin’s Bay on Long Island, thinking she was safe. Until now…

Abigail Brenner is also hiding her own secrets, the whereabouts of her missing father, Edward Brenner, is not one of them. He disappeared three years ago, took his sailing boat out one day on the calm blue waters of Erin’s Bay, and was never seen again. Without the influence of her father, some say Abigail Brenner has turned in to a wild, uncontrollable little rich girl who’s just biding her time until she can access her trust fund and the family fortune. Others in the town just want her dead.

But someone is lurking amongst the wind-swept dunes at night, watching and waiting. And there are strange lights in the night sky above the lighthouse on Moors Island, a desolate, uninhabited rock that holds dark secrets of its own.

Then there is Ben Shaw, a stranger in town. He started out from the boardwalk on Coney Island, and kept heading east until Abigail Brenner offered him a ride.

Hidden under the surface of this seemingly idyllic community of wealth and privilege lies an undercurrent of jealousy, greed, and burning revenge.

There is no justice in this town. But justice is coming…

CLICK HERE TO:

Get your copy of HIDDEN JUSTICE

The Killing Seasons Universe

There are many characters and locations mentioned in the four books that make up The Killing Seasons, which are linked to other books I have written.

If you want a complete, immersive experience, then I recommend you also read the other books in the ‘Universe’ diagram. For example, Carolyn Ryder is the heroine in American Justice, Book #3 of my No Justice Series. If you want to know more about her back story, and Sam Pritchard, then you should read American Justice. You can read each book in my No Justice series as a standalone, and Ben Shaw is the main character in the series.

A Summer’s Kill takes place in Erin’s Bay, which is also the location of Hidden Justice, featuring Ben Shaw where he first encounters the villain, Dylan Cobb. There is a nice little story arc starting with Hidden Justice, then Raw Justice, and ending with Final Justice that you can follow. This arc will bring you back into the beginning of A Fall Kill if you wish to know more about Ben Shaw’s journey and how he came to be in Ravenwood in this book.

Beatriz Vega, Carolyn’s computer genius sidekick, also features heavily in my standalone crime thriller, Murder School.

Haley Perez, who is in A Fall Kill, is one of the main characters in my Ravenwood Series, set in Ravenwood, which you can also explore, starting with the first book, Mill Point Road.

Or, you can simply choose to just read the four books in The Killing Seasons and none of the other recommendations. However, if you are curious as to the origins of some of the other characters mentioned, their stories and past encounters with Sam Pritchard and other villains in The Killing Seasons, I have created this Killing Seasons Universe diagram for you to follow.

Download my full-length thriller NO JUSTICE

(Book #1 in my No Justice Series) for FREE Today!

DOWNLOAD YOUR FREE BOOK HERE

Young man helps desperate woman from being bullied off her ranch by a ruthless small-town family.

In the small town of Martha’s End, Kansas, trouble is brewing. Two feuding families, the McAlister’s and the Morgan’s have been in conflict for generations, and Ben Shaw, a young and good looking man, soon finds himself caught in the middle.

With the Morgan family patriarch, Jim Morgan, ruling the town with his three sons, and dark and sinister things happening on the Morgan ranch, Daisy McAlister, the last of the McAlister family bloodline, is in need of help. But with his unique skillset and mysterious past, Ben Shaw may be the one to tip the balance in her favor.

Will justice be served in this town or will it take a higher power? Find out in this suspenseful thriller novel.

Books by JK Ellem

Ravenwood Series

Book 1 - Mill Point Road

Book 2 - Ravenwood

Book 3 - The Sisterhood

Book 4 - An Unkindness of Sinners

The Killing Seasons

Book 1 - A Winter’s Kill

Book 2 - A Spring Kill

Book 3 - A Summer’s Kill

Book 4 - A Fall Kill

Book 5 - A Wintry Kill

The Erin’s Bay Thrillers

Book 1 - A Dark Kill

No Justice Series

Book 1 - No Justice

Book 2 - Cold Justice

Book 3 - American Justice

Book 3.1 Fast Justice –A Ben Shaw Road Trip Thriller #1

Book 3.2 Sinful Justice –A Ben Shaw Road Trip Thriller #2

Book 3.3 Dark Justice –A Ben Shaw Road Trip Thriller #3

Book 4 - Hidden Justice

Book 5 - Raw Justice

Book 6 - Final Justice

Stand Alone Novels

All Other Sins

Audrey Kills Again!

Taxi Man

Murder School

Deadly Touch Series

Fast Read - Deadly Touch

Octagon Trilogy (DystopianThriller Series)

Prequel - Soldiers Field

Book 1 - Octagon

Book 2 - Infernum

Book 3 - Sky of Thorns

Boxsets

No Justice Box Set 1

Deadly Touch, No Justice, Cold Justice

No Justice Box Set 2

American Justice, Hidden Justice, Raw Justice

Ben Shaw Road Trip Thriller Box Set 1

Fast Justice, Sinful Justice, Dark Justice

Octagon Box Set

Soldiers Field, Octagon, Infernum

A PERSONAL FAVOR FOR ME!

Thank you for investing your time and money in me. I hope you enjoyed my book and it allowed you to escape from your world for a few minutes, for a few hours or even for a few days.

I would really appreciate it if you could post an honest review on any of the publishing platforms that you use. It would mean a lot to me personally, as I read every review that I get and you would be helping me become a better author. By posting a review, it will also allow other readers to discover me, and the worlds that I build. Hopefully they too can escape from their reality for just a few moments each day.

For news about me, new books and exclusive material then please:

Follow JK Ellem on Facebook

Follow JK Ellem on Instagram

Subscribe to JK Ellem’s YouTube Channel

Follow JK Ellem on Goodreads

Follow JK Ellem on Bookbub

Visit JK Ellem’s Website

JK Ellem was born in London and spent his formative years preferring to read books and comics rather than doing his homework.

He is the innovative author of short chapter, Hitchcock-style adult thrillers in the genres of crime, mystery, and psychological thrillers which have multiple plot lines that culminate in explosive, unpredictable endings that will leave you shocked.

In 2022 he was accepted into the Curtis Brown Creative, Writing Your Novel in Six Months course which he undertook in London while working on his manuscript for future submission.

He splits his time between the US, the UK and Australia.