Suitcases and Shadows

By Amy Waeschle

Ten years after a terrifying kidnapping ended in murder, can rookie FBI Agent Thomas Kamea unearth new clues and finally nail the killer?

 

Every cop has a case they can't let go of. The Nash case is rookie FBI agent Thomas Kamea's. Now that he's a federal agent, maybe the use of their resources plus the advances in technology will help him finally bring the murderer to justice.

 

Maybe then Cedric Nash's lifeless eyes will stop haunting his nightmares.

 

But little does Thomas know that the Nash case is a hornet's nest, and he's just kicked it wide open. Will Thomas be able to stay one step ahead of the crafty killer and bring this case to justice? Or will the killer succeed at staying hidden forever?

 

If you like the rich characters of Kendra Elliot and the suspense and noir of Jeffery Deaver, you'll love this FBI cold case short story.

 

Download this suspenseful mystery today!

• Language: English
• Publisher: Amy Waeschle
• Release date: Aug 31, 2020
• ISBN: 9781393468615

Amy Waeschle

AMY WAESCHLE is the author of Going Over the Falls and Chasing Waves, A Surfer’s Tale of Obsessive Wandering. She developed the Cassidy Kincaid missing series because she wanted a way to combine her love of Costa Rica with her passion for volcanoes and earth science. You can find out more about amy at goingoverthefalls.com.

Book preview

Chapter One

Honolulu, Hawaii, September 23, 1998

Cedric pulled his Mercedes coupe to the curb and checked his GPS, then glanced at the darkened streets. Cold fear prickled the back of his neck.

Across from him, an alley disappeared into the shadows. Dingy light from the streetlamps only enhanced the many hidden gaps and empty spaces. From the window of the pawn shop one block past him, a neon sign blared the word CASH, its hot pink glow the only color in the darkness.

Outside the safety of his vehicle, a diesel truck rumbled past. Cedric squinted down the alley behind the restaurant to where a dumpster cast a long shadow over the pockmarked pavement. He double-checked his coordinates. This was the only dumpster on the block so it had to be the right one.

The man had called this morning with a change in plans. He knew about the FBI’s involvement. You want to see your baby girl again, the man had said in his raspy voice, bring the money tonight. Alone.

Cedric’s heartbeat thrummed against his temples, causing the beginning of a headache.

Behind him, loud voices punctured the night. He glanced in his rearview mirror. Three young men sauntered in his direction, all loose limbs and white teeth flashing as they jeered at each other. They wore the same uniform: baggy jeans and tank tops, though one had a black ball cap pulled low over his brow.

Cedric stiffened. He fingered the briefcase next to him. Just an hour ago he had counted the stacks of hundreds again, just to be sure.

The young men passed by him. The leader—obvious by the extra swagger in his step—gave his car a slow, appraising gaze. Cedric waited, holding his breath, while the leader’s eyes locked with his. He resisted the urge to clutch the briefcase to his chest.

One heartbeat, two. Finally, the leader shot him a haughty look and continued.

Cedric waited until the young men were out of earshot, then slipped from his car with the case.

It was time.

Cedric stepped from the car, the scent of bus exhaust and someone’s laundry sharp in his nostrils. After looking both ways, he crossed the street and entered the alley.

Under normal circumstances, he would have gone home after work to exchange his suit for a t-shirt, jeans, and a pair of retired running shoes, but pulling together the kind of money the kidnapper demanded drained every last hour of this very long day. He had no choice but to make the drop in his rumpled suit, and regretted the tight click of his shoes on the gritty pavement.

Loud. Too loud.

A cone of pale light from behind the restaurant shone over the back door, illuminating the lid of the dumpster.

Cedric paused, pushing all the questions and doubts from his mind.

Somehow, the FBI’s cover had been blown. It was up to him to save Kayla now.

He looked both directions, but the alley was deserted. Was the man with the raspy voice watching him right now? With shaking fingers, Cedric gripped the edge of the dumpster lid, its corroding surface rough on his skin. A stench like rotting milk mixed with piss threatened to upend his stomach as he raised the lid to peer inside. It was too dark to see anything besides the shaded lumps of garbage bags pressed tightly together.

A feeling of helplessness consumed him. Was this the right choice? Bring her back to me, he pleaded as he lifted the briefcase.

Yo, dumpster diver, heckled a voice from the alley entrance.

Cedric dropped the lid and spun. Three figures approached, their shapes mere silhouettes, but he recognized them as the youths who had passed his car.

What’s in the suitcase? the leader said, nodding sharply at where he still gripped the handle.

Trash, Cedric said in a voice that sounded tougher than he felt.

The group cackled. That’s a good one, the leader said, then slid a knife from his side.

Cedric didn’t own a gun. Or a knife. Not that he’d know how to use either. But he held his ground.

This doesn’t concern you, Cedric said.

Everything concerns me. The leader gave him a derisive look. This is my turf.

Look, I don’t want any trouble.

No trouble here, friend. Show us what’s in that suitcase.

Another silhouette entered the alley. Freeze! a