Face of Darkness (A Zoe Prime Mystery—Book 6)

By Blake Pierce

“A MASTERPIECE OF THRILLER AND MYSTERY. Blake Pierce did a magnificent job developing characters with a psychological side so well described that we feel inside their minds, follow their fears and cheer for their success. Full of twists, this book will keep you awake until the turn of the last page.”
--Books and Movie Reviews, Roberto Mattos (re Once Gone)

FACE OF DARKNESS is book #6 in a new FBI thriller series by USA Today bestselling author Blake Pierce, whose #1 bestseller Once Gone (Book #1) (a free download) has received over 1,000 five star reviews. The series begins with FACE OF DEATH (Book #1), a free download.

FBI Special Agent Zoe Prime suffers from a rare condition which also gives her a unique talent—she views the world through a lens of numbers. The numbers torment her, make her unable to relate to people, and give her a failed romantic life—yet they also allow her to see patterns that no other FBI agent can see. Zoe keeps her condition a secret, ashamed, in fear her colleagues may find out.

In FACE OF DARKNESS (Book #6), victims are being found murdered in Salem, in ways and on dates which correlate to the infamous witch trials. Is a serial killer trying to recreate the past? What can the numbers mean?

Zoe, meanwhile, has hit her own internal wall, as her personal life begins to unravel under the weight of her condition.

Will this be the case that sets her over the edge?

An action-packed psychological suspense thriller with heart-pounding suspense, FACE OF DARKNESS is book #6 in a riveting new series that will leave you turning pages late into the night.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Blake Pierce
• Release date: Jan 6, 2021
• ISBN: 9781094371573

Book preview

F A C E

O F

D A R K N E S S

(A Zoe Prime Mystery—Book Six)

B L A K E   P I E R C E

Blake Pierce

Blake Pierce is the USA Today bestselling author of the RILEY PAGE mystery series, which includes seventeen books. Blake Pierce is also the author of the MACKENZIE WHITE mystery series, comprising fourteen books; of the AVERY BLACK mystery series, comprising six books; of the KERI LOCKE mystery series, comprising five books; of the MAKING OF RILEY PAIGE mystery series, comprising six books; of the KATE WISE mystery series, comprising seven books; of the CHLOE FINE psychological suspense mystery, comprising six books; of the JESSE HUNT psychological suspense thriller series, comprising fifteen books (and counting); of the AU PAIR psychological suspense thriller series, comprising three books; of the ZOE PRIME mystery series, comprising six books; of the ADELE SHARP mystery series, comprising ten books (and counting); of the EUROPEAN VOYAGE cozy mystery series, comprising six books (and counting); of the new LAURA FROST FBI suspense thriller, comprising three books (and counting); of the new ELLA DARK FBI suspense thriller, comprising three books (and counting); and of the new A YEAR IN EUROPE cozy mystery series, comprising three books (and counting).

An avid reader and lifelong fan of the mystery and thriller genres, Blake loves to hear from you, so please feel free to visit www.blakepierceauthor.com to learn more and stay in touch.

Copyright © 2020 by Blake Pierce. All rights reserved. Except as permitted under the U.S. Copyright Act of 1976, no part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed or transmitted in any form or by any means, or stored in a database or retrieval system, without the prior permission of the author. This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return it and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author. This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, organizations, places, events, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictionally. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental. Jacket image Copyright agsandrew used under license from Shutterstock.com.

BOOKS BY BLAKE PIERCE

A YEAR IN EUROPE

A MURDER IN PARIS (Book #1)

DEATH IN FLORENCE (Book #2)

VENGEANCE IN VIENNA (Book #3)

ELLA DARK FBI SUSPENSE THRILLER

GIRL, GONE (Book #1)

GIRL, TAKEN (Book #2)

GIRL, HUNTED (Book #3)

LAURA FROST FBI SUSPENSE THRILLER

ALREADY GONE (Book #1)

ALREADY SEEN (Book #2)

ALREADY TRAPPED (Book #3)

EUROPEAN VOYAGE COZY MYSTERY SERIES

MURDER (AND BAKLAVA) (Book #1)

DEATH (AND APPLE STRUDEL) (Book #2)

CRIME (AND LAGER) (Book #3)

MISFORTUNE (AND GOUDA) (Book #4)

CALAMITY (AND A DANISH) (Book #5)

MAYHEM (AND HERRING) (Book #6)

ADELE SHARP MYSTERY SERIES

LEFT TO DIE (Book #1)

LEFT TO RUN (Book #2)

LEFT TO HIDE (Book #3)

LEFT TO KILL (Book #4)

LEFT TO MURDER (Book #5)

LEFT TO ENVY (Book #6)

LEFT TO LAPSE (Book #7)

LEFT TO VANISH (Book #8)

LEFT TO HUNT (Book #9)

LEFT TO FEAR (Book #10)

THE AU PAIR SERIES

ALMOST GONE (Book#1)

ALMOST LOST (Book #2)

ALMOST DEAD (Book #3)

ZOE PRIME MYSTERY SERIES

FACE OF DEATH (Book#1)

FACE OF MURDER (Book #2)

FACE OF FEAR (Book #3)

FACE OF MADNESS (Book #4)

FACE OF FURY (Book #5)

FACE OF DARKNESS (Book #6)

A JESSIE HUNT PSYCHOLOGICAL SUSPENSE SERIES

THE PERFECT WIFE (Book #1)

THE PERFECT BLOCK (Book #2)

THE PERFECT HOUSE (Book #3)

THE PERFECT SMILE (Book #4)

THE PERFECT LIE (Book #5)

THE PERFECT LOOK (Book #6)

THE PERFECT AFFAIR (Book #7)

THE PERFECT ALIBI (Book #8)

THE PERFECT NEIGHBOR (Book #9)

THE PERFECT DISGUISE (Book #10)

THE PERFECT SECRET (Book #11)

THE PERFECT FAÇADE (Book #12)

THE PERFECT IMPRESSION (Book #13)

THE PERFECT DECEIT (Book #14)

THE PERFECT MISTRESS (Book #15)

CHLOE FINE PSYCHOLOGICAL SUSPENSE SERIES

NEXT DOOR (Book #1)

A NEIGHBOR’S LIE (Book #2)

CUL DE SAC (Book #3)

SILENT NEIGHBOR (Book #4)

HOMECOMING (Book #5)

TINTED WINDOWS (Book #6)

KATE WISE MYSTERY SERIES

IF SHE KNEW (Book #1)

IF SHE SAW (Book #2)

IF SHE RAN (Book #3)

IF SHE HID (Book #4)

IF SHE FLED (Book #5)

IF SHE FEARED (Book #6)

IF SHE HEARD (Book #7)

THE MAKING OF RILEY PAIGE SERIES

WATCHING (Book #1)

WAITING (Book #2)

LURING (Book #3)

TAKING (Book #4)

STALKING (Book #5)

KILLING (Book #6)

RILEY PAIGE MYSTERY SERIES

ONCE GONE (Book #1)

ONCE TAKEN (Book #2)

ONCE CRAVED (Book #3)

ONCE LURED (Book #4)

ONCE HUNTED (Book #5)

ONCE PINED (Book #6)

ONCE FORSAKEN (Book #7)

ONCE COLD (Book #8)

ONCE STALKED (Book #9)

ONCE LOST (Book #10)

ONCE BURIED (Book #11)

ONCE BOUND (Book #12)

ONCE TRAPPED (Book #13)

ONCE DORMANT (Book #14)

ONCE SHUNNED (Book #15)

ONCE MISSED (Book #16)

ONCE CHOSEN (Book #17)

MACKENZIE WHITE MYSTERY SERIES

BEFORE HE KILLS (Book #1)

BEFORE HE SEES (Book #2)

BEFORE HE COVETS (Book #3)

BEFORE HE TAKES (Book #4)

BEFORE HE NEEDS (Book #5)

BEFORE HE FEELS (Book #6)

BEFORE HE SINS (Book #7)

BEFORE HE HUNTS (Book #8)

BEFORE HE PREYS (Book #9)

BEFORE HE LONGS (Book #10)

BEFORE HE LAPSES (Book #11)

BEFORE HE ENVIES (Book #12)

BEFORE HE STALKS (Book #13)

BEFORE HE HARMS (Book #14)

AVERY BLACK MYSTERY SERIES

CAUSE TO KILL (Book #1)

CAUSE TO RUN (Book #2)

CAUSE TO HIDE (Book #3)

CAUSE TO FEAR (Book #4)

CAUSE TO SAVE (Book #5)

CAUSE TO DREAD (Book #6)

KERI LOCKE MYSTERY SERIES

A TRACE OF DEATH (Book #1)

A TRACE OF MUDER (Book #2)

A TRACE OF VICE (Book #3)

A TRACE OF CRIME (Book #4)

A TRACE OF HOPE (Book #5)

CONTENTS

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

CHAPTER NINETEEN

CHAPTER TWENTY

CHAPTER TWENTY ONE

CHAPTER TWENTY TWO

CHAPTER TWENTY THREE

CHAPTER TWENTY FOUR

CHAPTER TWENTY FIVE

CHAPTER TWENTY SIX

CHAPTER TWENTY SEVEN

CHAPTER TWENTY EIGHT

CHAPTER TWENTY NINE

CHAPTER THIRTY

CHAPTER THIRTY ONE

CHAPTER THIRTY TWO

CHAPTER THIRTY THREE

CHAPTER THIRTY FOUR

CHAPTER THIRTY FIVE

CHAPTER THIRTY SIX

CHAPTER ONE

All right, Billy, Frank said, setting his bag down on the counter for a moment. That’s it for today.

Billy looked up from where he was pretending to rearrange the greeting cards yet again and nodded quickly. Thanks, Mr. Richards, he said, hastily putting the last card back into place and stepping over toward the door, eager to get home. See you tomorrow.

Remember to tell your mother what I said about her tomatoes, Frank said.

Got it, Billy said, ducking his head as he left the store. The bell above the doorway jingled his departure, leaving Frank alone, the Closed sign settling against the glass.

Frank glanced around one last time, checking everything was in place. He nodded to himself, more of a reassurance than anything. As a business owner, he always felt that there was something more he had to be doing. It was hard to let go of the urge to work and head home. But his family would be waiting, and that was reason enough to give up for the day.

He flicked off all of the lights at the panel near the counter, then easily navigated the dark shelves toward the door. After all, he’d been the one to decide where they stood, and the one to restock them every day for over twenty years. It wasn’t as though his feet were going to forget the way.

Frank locked up, checked the door twice as he always did, and squared his shoulders for the short walk home. The cold February evening was pitch dark already, but there were streetlights all along the way, and home wasn’t far. Ten minutes, and he could get in and warm his hands over the stove while his wife cooked dinner, and put the endless thoughts of stock figures, profit and loss, and marketing efforts out of his mind for another night.

Frank strolled with his hands in his pockets, taking his time. Even with as eager as he was to get home, it wasn’t a long walk, and he didn’t see the point in rushing. He’d only end up out of breath and waking up that ache in his knees that came up sometimes in the cold weather now. He was getting older. No need to get himself stressed out any more than he needed to be. Besides which, it was pleasant to stroll down Salem’s cobbled streets, past grand and historic brick buildings, even in the dark.

Frank passed by businesses that made a living from the town’s rich past: the museum of the Witch Trials, a store that specialized in healing home goods, an antiques store. Familiar sights that he had grown up with, since he was born in the north of the town, a Salem man through and through. Spindly trees, with bare branches still reaching like claws to the sky, grew between him and the road, keeping him safe from oncoming traffic, until he turned off the main thoroughfare and down a quieter side street.

A sound somewhere to his left made Frank start, casting his eyes to the side. He couldn’t see a thing. Walking through the circle of illumination splashing from one of the streetlights, it was almost impossible to discern anything that fell outside of the light. His eyes couldn’t adjust to the contrast.

Frank shrugged to himself, continuing on. It was nothing. Kids messing around, probably. They were likely staying quiet now so he wouldn’t spot them. Frank knew the people of this town thanks to his long years of serving them all in the store, and the people of this town knew him. He had nothing to be afraid of here. But he could well understand why a bunch of kids out past their curfew might not want him to report seeing them next time he served their parents.

Frank attempted a whistle to himself, but it died on the cold air, seeming to cut away into nothing. It didn’t float away gently and leave him feeling cheerful like on those warm summer nights—no, the cold seemed to kill it right out of the air, making it feel more like a lonely evening. He fell quiet, concentrating only on his own footsteps.

What would be for dinner? he wondered. It was Friday, so he guessed probably some form of pasta. His wife had fallen into routines just as much as Frank had over the years, and he could usually set a watch by her cuisine choices. He wondered today whether it would be lasagna or spaghetti.

The lonely feeling dropped away as Frank looked forward gleefully to his pasta, cheering his spirits again. He turned down the alley between two stores, a shortcut that he was used to taking every night. Two more turns after this and then home. He wondered if Mrs. Peterson down the way had put out anything new in her window yet. She often changed out her floral displays, since she was a bit of a skilled hand at arrangements, and Frank took a gentle amusement from seeing how it changed every time the fresh flowers seemed ready to wilt.

Without warning, Frank felt something hit the back of his neck; something that made him fall to his knees, dazed, unable to keep up mentally with the physical sensations. He had no concept of the journey between standing with a pain in the back of his neck and being on his knees on the ground, but here he was. He blinked slowly, raising a hand to the place where the blow had been struck, twisting around as he did so.

There was someone behind him. Who was there…? A dark figure in dark clothes, only the pale disc of a face coming at him in the gloom of the dark alley. He blinked again, trying to correct his vision, but it seemed blurry and indistinct. Like he was looking through a fog. Wh…? he managed, meaning to ask who it was that was there, but he couldn’t quite get the words to come out.

Frank tried to keep his eyes on the figure as it moved close by him, but he couldn’t strain his neck that far, and when he swung back around to face forward his head rocked with a sickening pain. Still on his knees, he took his hand down from the ache on the back of his head to steady himself and felt something slip around his neck, something rough that immediately rested up against his throat. Frank’s hands shot up toward it, grasping—it was a rope—a rough-fibered rope, he was sure of it.

There was a rope around his neck.

This is for her, someone whispered, right by his head. The whisper—it was unfamiliar—a voice he couldn’t place—not masculine, like he had expected, but light—and who was her? What was happening to him?

Frank fought his way up to his feet, still clutching at the rope, intending to pull it up over his head and cast it aside so that he could get away. But the rope tightened around his throat, pulling snug around his windpipe and the back of his neck, and Frank clawed at it more urgently. If he could just get his thumbs hooked under it—

Frank scrambled for purchase against the ground instead, which was inexplicably falling away from him. Panic shot through his veins like ice, taking over from the groggy confusion of his head wound. Someone was not just trying to hurt him—but to hang him. The tension of the rope around his neck only increased, leaving him unable to suck in a breath. His toes fought to strain back toward the ground, but it was too far away—something else was bumping against his hip instead—something dark and hard, a pole of some kind sticking out of the ground. He threw his arms toward it to try and get purchase, but his arms slipped on the wet surface, still slick from an earlier rain shower.

Frank gave up on the pole and the ground and caught at the rope instead, trying desperately to force his hands under it. The world was spinning around him as he fought to gain purchase, to stop the rope from biting into his neck. If he could just get one breath—the surface was burning his fingers, his fingernails bending painfully back as he scrabbled against the thick rope, though Frank barely registered these minor injuries against the overwhelming horror of the desire to breathe.

He kicked out desperately in a last attempt to hold himself up somehow, to grasp hold of the pole, to stop the blackness he saw at the edges of his vision from swallowing him whole. Frank had a flash in front of his eyes of his wife’s face, of her back to the door as she turned on the oven to prepare for him coming home, a last desperate clutch at the rope to pull it back that produced no result.

The blackness overcame him as his body succumbed to its need for oxygen, though Frank’s body kicked a few more times, an involuntary and unconscious reaction. Consciousness gone, he had no hope of fighting free of the rope. He swung back and forth for some long minutes, with the motion of his final struggles, before finally coming to a stop, hanging straight and lifeless in the dark.

CHAPTER TWO

Zoe checked her reflection in the car’s rearview mirror one last time, even though there wasn’t much worth looking at. Her brown hair, which she always kept boyishly short, didn’t leave a lot of room for styling. What she knew about makeup could be written on the back of a paper napkin, with a lot of space to spare, and despite having some help from her mentor in recent months she could only apply the basics. As for her dress, it was one that John had seen before.

Zoe hadn’t exactly felt like going shopping in the months since her partner, Agent Shelley Rose, had been murdered while in pursuit of a serial killer. Then again, she also hadn’t felt like dating, but she guessed it was time to deal with that. She was on her way out of her Bethesda, Maryland, apartment to meet John for the first time since she’d unceremoniously broken up with him, too broken from Shelley’s death to want to engage with anyone at all. Not even the man who she had once thought might be part of her sanctuary.

But after a case with her new partner, the inimitable and infuriating Agent Aiden Flynn, Zoe had sent John a simple text: just the word hi. Just enough to break the ice. And John, who apparently hadn’t forgotten about her despite the weeks of radio silence, had been only too quick to jump on her invitation for conversation.

He hadn’t let up since, and so Zoe found herself getting out of the car and into the February chill to meet him at a bar downtown. It hadn’t been her choice, of course. John still didn’t know about her ability to see numbers—or, rather, disability, as it seemed at times. The chaotic environment of a bar was not Zoe’s idea of a place to relax. But she had to meet him halfway.

At least, she did if she wanted the relationship to continue. Which, Zoe thought as she pushed open the door to the bar and stepped inside, she wasn’t entirely sure about.

She liked John—really liked him. That wasn’t the issue. This was the issue: the music filtering through the background of the bar that distracted her into counting beats and rhythmic arrangements; the constant rumble of conversation that dragged her into analysis of syllable, syntax, and word count; the sea of people crowding the popular spot, prompting her to perform impromptu head counts and age, height, and weight calculations; the trays laden with drinks, which she could tell at a glance were either under- or overfilled even if by a fraction of a milliliter’s divergence from regulation servings.

But Zoe took a deep breath and counted to ten in her head, stepping just aside from the door so she wasn’t blocking the entrance. She tried to find her inner calm, something she’d been working on extensively with her therapist. There wasn’t enough of an opportunity to do a full meditation here—not in the middle of a bar. But she could at least try to quiet the numbers down.

When Zoe opened her eyes again, the numbers weren’t totally gone. But they had minimized enough that she could see through them, across the crowded space—to the seats at the far end, where