His True Love: True Detective Series, #1

By Lynn Chantale

In a small town, in a popular bar, beautiful women disappear. This could just be a coincidence, but private investigators, Carson, Matt and Nathalie don't believe in them. So they go undercover.

However, when one of the missing women turns up dead, the trio is disturbed to learn the woman bore a striking resemblance to Nathalie; they increase their efforts. When Nathalie disappears from the same bar, Carson and Matt will do anything to find her. 

*

Contains explicit descriptions of sex, strong language, and descriptions of violence.*

• Language: English
• Publisher: The House of Lynn, LLC.
• Release date: Mar 5, 2020
• ISBN: 9781393354413

Book preview

Prologue

Weeping, the kind which does its best to go unnoticed, filled the ominous silence. The constant whimper invaded the consciousness of the woman sprawled half on, half off the bed. With effort, the woman forced her heavy lids open and blinked in the frail darkness. She shifted, then toppled to the hard, packed earth with a grunt.

Gripping her pounding head, she sat cross legged on the floor and rested her back against the wall. She rolled spit around her mouth, in an effort, to loosen her dry, swollen tongue.. What the heck happened?

Sean? she croaked. Her voice was low and rusty from disuse. Had she passed out? They, she and her fiancé Sean, hadn’t even had that much to drink.

No Sean here, came a shaky singsong voice.

Had she passed out somewhere else? She shifted, moaning when her stomach shifted and slid like old grease on water. This isn’t funny, Sean. Finally, she looked upward.

Not home. Nowhere near home.

Weak sunlight filtered through the dingy mullioned glass block windows. From somewhere, a woman wept as if trying to do it in secret. The dirt floor was hard, and sported a colorful rug, a cot with a stingy mattress and rolled sleeping bag sat in one corner. While a toilet and shower, well more like a hose with a nozzle, occupied the other corner. At least that section of the room had an actual floor. The faint stench of sewage gave her an idea of what was supposed to go on there.

Definitely not at home.

Rough gray cinder blocks formed the walls and thick wood and bars made up the front of the cell. A soft, soothing alto sang an old Cyndi Lauper song, something about girls having fun.

She was not having fun. She wanted to go home. She didn’t want to be in this dirty, filthy hovel waiting for God knew what or even worse for whoever had grabbed her to come back and do what? Her heart pounded at the question.

The singing stopped and she went silent.

I know you’re scared. the voice called in a soft voice, but he won’t hurt you.

She didn’t answer. It could be a trap.

Yeah. he just stares and occasionally talks. Another voice added, also female.

I don’t think his cheese is completely sliced, said yet another.

Quiet weeping came from yet another.

She slowly rose to her knees. A chain rattling turned her attention to her ankle. A shackle was fastened there and led to a metal plate in the cinderblock wall. What the hell?

She tugged at the chain. It didn’t budge.

Don’t you just love the fashion accessory? One asked with hysterical laugh. It’s black and goes with everything.

Breathe, Agatha told herself. She had to stay calm. How many of us are there?

With you? Five, the singer answered. I’m Judith, by the way. She giggled a faint note of hysteria in the laugh. Do you know why the caged bird sings?

To keep from going crazy, the second woman tossed out. I’m Leslie.

Ruth, the third called

And our resident wailing wall is Heather, Judith said. She’s been here the longest..

Agatha, Agatha said. How do you know he won’t hurt me?

What’s the date? Ruth wanted to know.

Agatha squinted at her watch. It was a fancy Invicta that gave the date and time in three time zones. If her smartwatch hadn’t broken, she’d have been able to call 911 and get out of this mess. Monday August 4. She stared at her hand. Something wasn’t right.

The weeping crescendoed, then died away.

Two months, Judith mused. I’m supposed to get married this weekend. A laugh choked into a sob.

What was wrong with her hand? Between her head, the nausea and the women talking, she couldn’t concentrate. Do you think my fiancé has stopped looking for me?

C’mon, Judy, hold it together. Don’t go to pieces on the newbie. This was from Leslie. Someone will find us.

Before or after we die in this hellhole? Judith demanded. I’ve been here two months, and no one has found me.

Quiet sobbing bounced off the cinderblocks, before a creak overhead cut through the sound.

Shh, Ruth hissed. He’s coming.

Thump-thump-thump. Agatha stared at the exposed floor joists and followed the dull creaks and thumps with her eyes. If she leaned far to the left, she could just make out a set of rickety steps at the far end of the room.

Were they in a basement or cellar? It had to be a cellar since the floor was solid packed dirt and not concrete. She touched the wall. Cool, but not damp. She squinted at the mortar. New. She swung her attention to the bars and wood at the front of the cell.

The iron held a faint sheen or newness, same as the door. No warping or dullness to give it that old and neglected feel. She sniffed the air. The faint scent of fresh cut wood filled her nostrils. She sniffed again. Was that varnish she smelled?

Clomp-clomp squeak. Tension rose. Agatha tightened her hands into fists at her side. She held her breath as the footsteps came closer. His scent, a subtle woodsy pine, hit her first.

Good evening, ladies, he greeted. His voice was low and gravelly, like he’d been a chain smoking, hardcore drunkard all his life. I trust you’re giving our new edition the rules?

Why did you bring me here? Agatha demanded.

He moved closer, but his face remained in shadows. To keep you safe?

Safe from what?

He tilted his head and stared at her with a pleasant smile. From everything. As long as you’re here, you’ll be safe.

You let me out now! Agatha grabbed the bars, then screamed. She fell back as if stung.

The bars give a mild, yet unpleasant shock when touched, he informed her. I have had to make some unfortunate modifications in order to ensure your safety, isn’t that right, Leslie.

Drop dead you cray-cray mother-fucker, Leslie snapped.

He laughed and it was nearly as creepy as his smile. Leslie and I have a difference of opinion of what defines safety.

Agatha slowly made it to her feet. Leslie is right.

He frowned. You will see it my way. Had you truly been safe, a sexual predator would not have been able to slip you something in your drink. He moved so she could see him. I was the one who saved you from certain rape and humiliation. Not that hapless idiot you walked in with.

Agatha almost grabbed the bars again. Almost. She allowed her hands to drop to her side. What did you do to Sean?

He’ll wake with a hangover wondering why you’re not home. Her captor stood close to the bars. Just remember, I am the one who kept your dignity intact.

Agatha breathed a sigh of relief. Sean was alive.