Dead Sleep

By L. Kay Bryden

The remote, isolated town of Red Hills, Colorado, is about to feel the full force of its first snowstorm of the winter, and something evil has blown in on the winter wind.
Still coming to terms with the loss of his wife and unborn son, retired homicide detective Kaden Hudson is called from retirement to head a task force appointed to find the maniac thats leaving a trail of bodies in his wake. Partners with fellow detectives Brynnah Jaymeson and Jayson Weissen and six others from neighboring jurisdictions, the team set out to apprehend the killer, but one by one the task force is being eliminated, and the body count continues to rise. Throughout the investigation, Kaden and Brynnah simultaneously uncover clues that lead them both in a direction neither saw coming and that leaves Kaden questioning his very sanity.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Trafford Publishing
• Release date: Feb 8, 2013
• ISBN: 9781466979031

L. Kay Bryden

L. Kay Bryden has enjoyed writing for well over three decades now. In 2011 she published her first novel, The Keeper, followed by The Prophet: Collector of Souls. Now she introduces her third thriller, Dead Sleep. Lisa resides in Bridgeville, Delaware, with her husband and her beloved menagerie, working on her next novel.

Book preview

CHAPTER ONE

T he sign that read WELCOME TO RED HILLS—Population 1,286, and marked the town limits, was now lying face down, almost completely covered with snow. The only thing still visible which would even indicate the sign had ever existed were the wooden posts that once held it in place, sticking up, a few inches above the snow. The only reason they still showed at all was due to the fact that the sign had been snapped off and was now lying on the hillside, support posts up, and the roadside drifts hadn’t been pushed into piles which completely covered the posts yet. The downed sign was most assuredly another casualty of the snow plows diligently at work cleaning the roadways of the first substantial snowfall of the season. But the sign was only one of many casualties in Red Hills. The winter was just beginning and there were many more casualties yet to be discovered.

This first winter snow had already been falling for well over six hours, depositing a thick layer of dense, moist precipitation, which now covered roof tops, cars, trees, and the ground. Everything was quickly becoming unidentifiable, and the storm had already left a heavy blanket of white as far as the eye could see. The accumulation, along with abnormally strong winds, visually altered the landscape. The local news station’s last report stated that the snow was expected to fall for several more hours. As far as weather predictions, there were several more fronts moving in right behind the current storm, and at that time, there appeared to be no end in sight. Red Hill’s was in for a long, hard winter, and the snow storm that was blowing through was just a dusting compared to what was to follow.

The distant valley looked like a barren, untouched, uninhabited wasteland. However, with the icicles hanging from branches and rooftops, as well as the glitter of ice prisms in the sunlight, this particular wasteland more resembled a breathtaking, winter wonderland. With the addition of the snow-covered mountain summits in the distance, it seemed that no view on earth could match the visual splendor. But beneath the beauty lay an ugly reality. Beneath the pristine white snow was an area riddled with very real, very ugly danger.

The storm front that had moved in was now crippling. The department of transportation had already called in extra crews to clear the roadways, bridges, and parking lots. However, due to the accumulation which already covered the ground, the continued flurries, and the wind, it was becoming an unmanageable, if not impossible task, making travel next to impossible and keeping the extra help from reaching Red Hills to support the cleanup effort. Now, regardless of the diligence of the local road crews, almost every road looked untouched. Therefore, it was becoming just too treacherous to travel. All roads were becoming just too hazardous, not just the back roads, but most major thruways as well.

So far, several snow slides had occurred, and because of the consistency of the newly fallen snow atop the pre-existing powdery undercoat, there was cause for great concern of more slides. The conditions were excellent for that probability. Even with the grim circumstances, for the most part, no one in town seemed too put out by the weather. Most residents were accustomed to the unpredictable weather and, therefore, okay with it. The others were simply in a state of constant denial. But this season, for some inexplicable reason, everyone seemed determined to try and drive in the mess, regardless of the recently imposed state of emergency, the danger, or the threat of heavy fines. However, that wasn’t surprising given the ilk of the roughneck residents of Red Hills. In this small mountain town, everyone had long ago learned, and accepted, that snow was just an expected part of their winter, and living here meant one of two things: either you got used to it and learned to live with it, or you moved away.

Most of Red Hill’s occupants had come to live in the isolated Colorado town because it was isolated. That was its charm. The quaintness and breathtaking scenery were just added benefits, and those benefits are what kept the occasional passers-through there as well. Occasionally, the allure of Red Hills was so strong that the visitors just stayed. Red Hills had a mysterious way of getting into your blood and working itself into your very being, making you part of it, and it part of you. The individuals, who were resilient enough, became a part of Red Hills, and they were the ones who, if truth be told, deep down secretly looked forward to the winter and the snow. But there were a handful of others who dreaded the winter months, never getting used to the harsh mountain winters. Those who hated the snow, but stayed, were the individuals who had moved to the quiet western state, put down roots, and simply didn’t have an opportunity to, couldn’t afford to, or were just too damned old to leave. Still, they complained relentlessly every snow season about the weather, without fail.

Kaden was one of the residents who called this town his home because he had lived in Red Hills his entire life. But at the moment, the weather conditions, and the impending storms to follow, were the last thing on his mind. At that very moment, he was busy lying in a jail cell in the far most corner of the old sheriff’s office. It was a bit musty smelling, although he certainly wasn’t about to complain. Although at that very moment, he felt as though he were about to spontaneously combust. His body temperature was so hot that even an avalanche wouldn’t cool him off. He was certain, if an avalanche occurred, he’d just melt the snow. But other than feeling as though he were about to combust, he was perfectly content right where he was because, regardless of his current discomfort, he knew the reward and was willing to endure a little discomfort to reap the benefits. Although he didn’t dare complain, he couldn’t help himself from getting impatient. Patience wasn’t one of his virtues. He hated waiting.

Kaden lay quietly, listening. He was trying to hear the conversation taking place in the other room. He had shifted his position multiple times now and was, finally, although awkwardly, half reclined on the old army-green canvas cot. He had his leather jacket rolled up and pressed against his back to keep the cell bars from digging into his spine. He had his right arm raised above him, hanging, cuffed to the cell bars, which was the main reason he couldn’t shift his body into a more adequately comfortable position. There was only so far he could stretch while handcuffed to the bars the way he was. The fingers on his right hand were starting to tingle as a result of having that particular arm cuffed above his head for so long, preventing his blood from flowing, so he kept wiggling the fingers of that hand in an attempt to maintain some blood circulating. His left arm lay by his side with another set of handcuffs attached to his wrist but open at the other end.

He was growing increasingly impatient with each passing minute and more frustrated, agitated, and annoyed. If this continued, he was going to lose it. He was sick and tired of being continually interrupted. Brynnah had walked out, yet again, to answer the phone. It was just cruel and unfair torture. It seemed that every time Brynnah got back in the cell and resumed the slow, sensuous, seductive process of unbuttoning his shirt, the damned phone would ring again. It wasn’t like they could just ignore it. It was work.

Kaden had already anticipated a few interruptions due to the nasty turn the weather had taken and the current state of emergency, but he had no idea just how many. Where the hell were all the snowmobiles? Surely not everyone in the tri-state area lived without a snowmobile.

Kaden may have had other things on his mind at that moment, but he was still trying to listen to the conversation and the scanner. From what little he’d heard he knew that power lines were down and an avalanche had just buried the road through Eagles Hollow. Several of the main thoroughfares had been detoured because of the unpredictability of the mountain terrain and the possibility of more slides.

The weather, although not even close to Colorado’s standard for what constituted blizzard conditions, especially for that particular area, had made it impossible to have even five minutes of uninterrupted peace. No one was supposed to be on the roadways with the exception of emergency vehicles and road crews, but it was quite apparent that they were. So far, the accident toll was nine, but Kaden lost count when Brynnah had sauntered in the cell last time. One look at her had driven him to distraction. So far, the statistics rattling around in his brain were still somewhat accurate, but they wouldn’t remain that way long because each time she walked back in, he steadily lost the ability to retain even the smallest fragments of information.

But he was trying to keep his head about him and played back the statistics over and over in his head. So far, he knew that all the motor vehicle accidents were minor, most of which were simple fender benders. But there was one report that sounded pretty bad, and it concerned him just a little. It had just come across the scanner that a snowplow had collided with a truck, but it had occurred in Cedar Lake, and that was well out of their jurisdiction. Still, he continually listened for word on the status of that collision, but they hadn’t reported anything yet. He had long since lost track of the abandoned roadside vehicle toll. He knew two things were certain though. Old man Mackney’s towing service would be hauling in mad cash, and Jayson would be out in the snow, cold and really pissed. Kaden snickered.

That son of a bitch deserves to be out there in the damned storm, miserable, because he’s the reason things are going the way they are right now, or, in this case, not going.

Sergeant Jayson Weissen, lifelong, childhood, and undisputed best friend to Kaden, had been the one to reluctantly agree to patrol duty. Kaden had offered him an unrevealed bribe if he agreed to stay away from the station for a few hours on patrol, allowing Kaden some much-needed alone time with Brynnah. Jayson accepted the bribe. Kaden’s plan worked. However, now it was beginning to backfire. Kaden had anticipated a little bit of necessary interference from Jayson because he knew that when Jayson took patrol duty he’d be required to call in periodically, but Kaden thought that Jayson would be stuck out on the ice- and snow-covered roads assisting accident victims and abandoned vehicles for the better part of the day. He had failed to consider the fact that Jayson would be calling the station so frequently.

Normally it wouldn’t have bothered him, but at the moment, Kaden had other things on his mind, and so far, Jayson had become a nuisance. He hadn’t quit calling all morning. He was the main reason the phone never quit ringing. Actually, even with the harsh weather conditions and snow-covered roadways, he happened to be the only reason, surprisingly enough, that the phone hadn’t quit ringing.

Jayson had long since given up calling Brynnah and Kaden’s cell phones because he knew they wouldn’t answer. Instead, he began calling the station phone because he knew they had no choice but to answer. Jayson would laugh every time Brynnah picked up the phone because he knew it was pissing both her and Kaden off. But a bet was a bet, and Kaden never told Jayson he couldn’t call. Nothing had really happened that Jayson couldn’t handle on his own, but he still called the station in his juvenile attempt to aggravate them. And by the tone of Brynnah’s voice every time she answered, he knew it was working, just like he’d intended.

The office space where Kaden and Brynnah were holed up had once been the sole domain of local legendary sheriff, Hawk BlackFeather, now many years retired. A second stroke, seven years before, had not only put him in a chronic care facility, it ended had his career, leaving him virtually an invalid. But Hawk was a legend in those parts. He even had an area of the roughest, most inhospitable land in three states named after him. It was a pass that took more lives every year than the combined totals of every accident and natural death reported in a four-decade period. It was aptly named for its ruthless, rugged nature, and breathtaking beauty. It was an area the locals called BlackFeather Pass.

Today was the first day of an unusual weekend. Brynnah and Jayson both frequently picked up overtime shifts on the weekends, working out of BlackFeather’s old office. Both enjoyed working that area because it covered the beautiful southern end of Deep Lake and Falls Creek, as well as all of Red Hills. Along with the breathtaking scenery, it was usually pretty quiet, and the overtime was easy. They both liked it because it not only meant easy work the pay was very lucrative. When Brynnah and Jayson weren’t working weekends at the sheriff’s office, they both had regular jobs in town. They also worked homicide for Red Hills. They each had a nice office in the fancy, new multi-purpose traffic—domestic violence—homicide wing of the town hall building. New, meaning it had been built less than ten years ago. Although almost a decade had passed since its construction, most people in that area considered ten years new. Everyone in all three counties talked non-stop about the tallest, grandest structure in their little community. No one dared complain because with its construction came a vast number of jobs for the locals. Other than a one-man post office, a small airport, a diner, a school, a general store, a bar, a construction company, and the town hall building, Red Hills had little to offer as far as jobs went.

With a population of less than three thousand in Red Hills, and a combined total of twelve thousand residents in all three counties, there wasn’t much occupational diversity. For the most part, the inhabitants of the area were simple folks, most hunters and fishermen. The majority were long-time residents, most with deep Native American roots. They lived isolated, quiet, docile lives most of the time. The homicide department saw very few violent crimes, so each officer played multiple roles in the small community. Most of the deaths in the area were suicides or accidental deaths. Thankfully when Brynnah and Jayson worked the BlackFeather site, there was usually very little to do. They didn’t get much action, but they were occasionally called out to a bar room brawl, domestic dispute, ATV accident, drowning, hunting accident, lost hiker, or poaching incident, but overall, things were usually pretty quiet.

The picturesque mountain town of Red Hills was where Brynnah lived, where she’d grown up, where she attended school, and where her heart was inextricably and steadfastly affixed. Brynnah had moved to the small community with her mother when she was only four years old. Her mother met and fell madly in love with a Red Hills local, and the rest, for her, was history. The man her mother fell in love with and married was a pure-blooded, raven-haired Kiowa Apache Indian with beautiful chestnut eyes and glowing copper skin. He was a stark contrast to her mother’s blond beauty and fair visage.

Regardless of their obvious differences, it had