The Killing Game (An Alexa Chase Suspense Thriller—Book 1)

By Kate Bold

THE KILLING GAME (An Alexa Chase Suspense Thriller—Book 1) is the debut novel in a new series by mystery and suspense author Kate Bold.

Alexa Chase, 34, a brilliant profiler in the FBI’s Behavioral Analysis Unit, was too good at her job. Haunted by all the serial killers she caught, she left a stunning career behind to join the U.S. Marshals. As a Deputy Marshal, Alexa—fit, and as tough as she is brilliant—could immerse herself in a simple career of hunting down fugitives and bringing them to justice.

But when a notorious serial killer escapes from a prison transport, it crosses the jurisdictions of the U.S. Marshals and the FBI’s BAU. The two departments are forced to come together on a new joint task force to hunt down the fugitive serial killer and bring him to justice. Alexa, to her dread, finds herself forced to confront the thing she fears the most—entering a killer’s mind. Doing so again, she knows, may just drag her down for good.

Alexa and her new partner, each territorial, don’t take well to each other. Between their tension and all the clues leading to dead ends and the bodies piling up on the killer’s spree, Alexa knows that she, up against a ticking clock, can’t afford to get this wrong. Especially when she realizes that she herself may be the next target.

To find this diabolical killer, Alexa will have to do what she fears most—enter his twisted mind, before he can strike again. It’s a life-and-death game of cat and mouse, and it’s winner takes all.

But will the darkness swallow her whole?

A page-turning and harrowing crime thriller featuring a brilliant and tortured Deputy Marshal, the ALEXA CHASE series is a riveting mystery, packed with non-stop action, suspense, twists and turns, revelations, and driven by a breakneck pace that will keep you flipping pages late into the night.

Books #2 and #3 in the series—THE KILLING TIDE and THE KILLING HOUR—are also available.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Kate Bold
• Release date: Oct 15, 2021
• ISBN: 9781094374710

Book preview

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T H E   K I L L I N G   G A M E

(An Alexa Chase Suspense Thriller—Book 1)

K a t e   B o l d

Kate Bold

Debut author Kate Bold is author of the ALEXA CHASE SUSPENSE THRILLER series, comprising three books (and counting).

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

Copyright © 2021 by Kate Bold. 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 Honza Krej, used under license from Shutterstock.com.

BOOKS BY KATE BOLD

ALEXA CHASE SUSPENSE THRILLER

THE KILLING GAME (Book #1)

THE KILLING TIDE (Book #2)

THE KILLING HOUR (Book #3)

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 ONE

Sonora Desert, 25 miles southwest of Tucson, Arizona

June 24, Noon

What you have to remember, Alexa, is that there are three types of people—the strong, the weak, and those who think they’re one but are really the other.

Deputy United States Marshal Alexa Chase ignored her prisoner and looked through the steel mesh of the prisoner transport bus at the beautiful Sonora Desert rolling by. The glaring spring sun had shot the temperature up to the high 90s, but it couldn’t wash out the varied colors and subtle beauty of the desert.

Unlike the rolling sand dunes people typically associated with deserts, the Sonora Desert was alive with life. Prickly pear cacti and barrel cacti were interspersed with the low green domes of sweet bush. Here and there a majestic saguaro rose up twice the height of a man, looking like stationary sentinels against the clear blue sky. Birds flitted in the air, and a jackrabbit darted across the road. The rocks were varied hues of browns, oranges, and reds that would turn brilliant in the region’s matchless sunsets.

A much nicer view than the one inside the prison bus she was riding. But she forced herself to look back at her prisoner. Only an idiot would take their eyes off Drake Logan for more than a few seconds.

He was a small man, barely five eight and slight of build, but Alexa knew he compensated for this with a surprising strength and coldblooded ruthlessness. Soft, intelligent brown eyes looked out from an angular, poorly shaven face beneath a shock of unruly brown hair.

Drake smiled a little, knowing she didn’t want to hear what he said but also knowing she was a captive audience. Not that he needed much encouragement. Dad would have said he could talk the spines off a cactus.

You see, Drake said, raising one manacled hand to his thin lips as if to smoke a cigarette, an odd habit of his. The duty of the strong isn’t to crush the weak, like a lot of people think; it’s to expose the weak who think they’re strong. That’s the only way to show society what true strength is. That’s why I don’t kill children, not even bratty ones. Too easy.

A slow clap came from the seat behind him. U.S. Marshal Robert Powers, still clapping, said, Alexa, I never realized we were in the presence of a humanitarian.

I am a humanitarian, in a way. Inspiration helps people far more than handouts.

Humanitarian contains the word human, Robert said, studying the arm and leg manacles that kept Drake secure to the metal seat bolted to the bottom of the bus. There’s nothing human about you.

On the contrary, my dear friend, Drake said, raising a forefinger like a university professor. I’m more human than anyone on this bus.

Alexa snorted. The only other people on the bus besides the two U.S. Marshals transporting the prisoner to a new maximum security prison in the middle of the desert were the two prison guards up front. Usually this bus would have twenty prisoners packing the seats. But the prison Drake was being transferred from was full of murderers, rapists, meth dealers, and human traffickers. It wouldn’t be right to subject that quality of people to the company of a scumbag like Drake.

The man had killed dozens of people across the Southwest in the most horrible, humiliating ways possible. He was a monster. A highly intelligent monster. It had taken Alexa and her partner more than a year to track him down, and even then, it had been as much luck as it was policework that nabbed him.

Going to prison hadn’t stopped his killing spree, either.

Drake put his hands to his lips again. He was a chain smoker, and the five-hour drive without a single menthol must have been torture for him. Good.

With one exception, of course, Drake said, his eyes lingering on her.

Even chained up that felt creepy. Alexa knew he was trying to draw her into the conversation. She didn’t take the bait. She wanted to get this transfer over, go home, and take a long shower.

He looked out the window. Alexa watched his eyes. You could always tell a lot about a perp from the eyes. Drake’s never stopped moving. Always searching. Always assessing. The few witnesses who had survived to testify said he always looked like a scientist who had just discovered something fascinating under a microscope, even when strangling someone with their own intestines.

Those eyes were especially watchful on this trip. They flicked a bit to one side as the bus sped past a mile marker.

People like me are helping humanity, Drake declared.

Yeah, sure you are, Powers said. He was a rugged man in his fifties with the deeply tanned, seamed face of someone who had spent a lifetime outdoors. His gray eyes, bright by contrast, never strayed from the prisoner, and his strong hand never strayed far from the Glock 9mm at his side.

Neither did Alexa’s. She had learned a lot about law enforcement from Powers. A friend of her uncle’s, it had been Powers who had noticed the aimless twenty-something with an urge to be something more than a rancher and convinced her to try her hand at law enforcement. It had been Powers who thought her deadly aim to be something more than cute, and besides one of her brothers, he was the only person to notice her brains at all.

I am helping humanity, the prisoner continued. Modern society crushes people down. Puts them in a position of powerlessness. They are dependent on the system for their food, electricity, livelihood, everything. The system keeps them from being independent, keeps them from being strong. Ted Kaczynski, the Unabomber, taught me that. Ever read his manifesto? Interesting stuff. So anyway, by killing the weak masking as the strong, I show society for what it is—a mirage. Society is weak, my friends. It can only enforce its will through its agents of law enforcement and sap the spirit through mass entertainment. But when a little runt like me strikes back, people’s spines straighten a bit.

You going to babble on like this for the entire trip? Powers asked, rolling his eyes and looking at Alexa, who smiled but never took her eyes off Drake for long. You had to act professional at all times in a job like this. Otherwise you get distracted, and distracted agents ended up dead agents.

Powers had taught her that too. He had told her, in gruesome detail, how every U.S. Marshal who had died in the line of duty came to their end. Then he had given her pop quizzes.

Elwin Hubbard? he would ask.

Failed to check the back seat of his car.

Ricardo Gonzalez?

Walked into the suspect’s bar alone.

Robert Forsyth?

Didn’t think a woman would shoot him in the back.

Drake laughed. Why shouldn’t I? You two caught me when no one else could. That makes you among the strong, although not as strong as me; and the strong need to stick together. It was nice of you to give me a solo ride. Most of the inmates back in Phoenix are boring as hell. Nothing to learn from those losers.

Alexa grimaced. The reason Drake was riding alone was that he had killed two inmates in the five years since he had been incarcerated, and seriously injured three more. Every time he got out of solitary he’d strike out at someone, usually the biggest, best connected gang member he could find. Bloods, Crips, Latin Kings, MS-13 … they were all terrified of him.

It was remarkable that such a small man could get away with it, but he had lightning fast reflexes, and always seemed to have access to a shiv, a couple of lookouts, and an accomplice to distract his victim. He had a whole network of followers on the inside, attracted like cult members to his sermons about personal liberation.

Drake kept staring out the window. Another mile marker flicked by.

He turned and looked directly at Alexa, studying her under those microscope eyes.

She tensed. She had never gotten used to that.

Some people are naturally strong, as I said. Like your partner here. That man’s got a will of cast iron, and I salute him for it. But he’s not our kind. The two donut boys in the front sure aren’t our kind either. Weak. Their badges and guns don’t change that one bit. Took jobs bullying men locked in cages. Weak. You and I, on the other hand, we were strong and thought we were weak. We grew. And in growing, we became the strongest of the strong.

Alexa turned away, an unpleasant memory welling up inside of her.

Sixteen years old on her father’s ranch. The new ranch hand, only a few years older and super cute, asked her to help him in the stable.

She had thought nothing of it, until Alexa discovered what he wanted help with.

She felt flattered, nervous, tempted. Then he got rough.

Teeth lying scattered amid the straw on the stable floor. He bled so much. Alexa running out to apologize to her dad before he even knew what she had done.

Training took over. Alexa shrugged the memory off and watched the prisoner. Shackled hand and foot, he was helpless, but you could never assume that, especially with someone like Drake Logan. The previous year, he had come one fence away from escaping a maximum security prison.

I’m glad you volunteered for this assignment, Alexa, Drake said. You too, Robert, despite what I just said. You’re good company. I’m going to miss you.

We won’t miss you, Robert Powers grunted. But we’ll sure be happy knowing you’re buried in Arizona’s brand new maximum security prison.

They’re coming for me soon, Drake replied. The strongest of the weak.

Oh, that’s right, Powers said, shooting a smile at Alexa. All those gang members who you attacked have homies in this new place. You’re going to have to prove yourself all over again, and this time they’re ready for you. They’ve had time to prepare.

Powers had been frustrated that Drake didn’t get the death penalty. Drake had pled guilty, which meant he could only face prison. That frustrated Alexa too. How could he plead anything else when he owned a trailer full of body parts?

Nobody’s ever ready for me, Drake said.

Suddenly he bent over, getting into the brace position like he was on an airplane in freefall.

Alexa stared at him for a second, confused.

Then she had a sudden shock of realization—followed instantly by terror.

She whirled around to look through the metal grill, past the two officers in the front seat, and out onto the road ahead.

They drove along an isolated stretch of two-lane highway, uninhabited desert stretching to the horizon on either side. Only one other vehicle was visible, an armored car with the Arizona Bank and Trust logo.

It was in the opposite lane, coming in their direction.

It was almost to them.

Look out! Alexa cried.

The driver of the prison truck and his partner both turned around to look at Drake.

No! The armored car!

They both turned back. Too late.

The armored car swerved into their lane just as it passed, slamming into the side of their bus with a screech of tortured metal.

Alexa felt an impact, her head slamming into something, her ribs feeling like they were being crushed in a gigantic vice.

Then her world spun.

Her ears filled with the sound of crumpling metal as the bus turned over and over, each turn hurting some other part of her body. She raised her arms, doing her best to protect her face and head.

Finally the rolling stopped as the bus crashed to a hard stop in a dry wash.

She tried to raise her head, but it hurt too much.

Then, only blackness.

CHAPTER TWO

Consciousness returned slowly. At first Alexa heard sounds—the buzz of a circular saw on metal, the groans of a man, the creak and screech of a bent door being forced open. All of these things registered on her already half-alert consciousness even before her vision returned.

At first, only hazy shapes in a bleary light.

Then, the pain.

Alexa hurt all over, a uniform ache that focused especially in her midsection. There she felt a tremendous weight that made every breath a jabbing agony. There was also a burning agony down the length of her left forearm.

Even as her vision began to clear, she lowered her hand to her holster, only to find jagged metal in the way. She fumbled for a moment, searching by feel as she blinked her eyes, trying to focus. The seat had twisted and pressed against her. That was what hurt her midsection and stopped her moving. The seat belt was still around her, digging painfully into flesh.

She managed to find her holster, and a jolt of fear ran through her as she realized it was empty. Her other hand went for the holster containing her bottle of pepper spray. That was gone too, as was the telescopic metal baton that hung next to it.

She blinked a couple more times, and the world came into focus.

The prison bus lay on its side. She lay crushed against one wall, now against the ground, pinned by the row of seating that had crumpled and twisted to wrap around her like a restraining arm.

Her entire side was soaked in blood, which flowed freely from a deep gash running from the heel of her left palm almost to her elbow.

A burly man wearing a ski mask stood above Alexa, her Glock in his hand.

The interior of the bus shook and clanged with the sound of hurried activity. Alexa looked around, neck aching in protest as she did so, and saw Drake above and a bit behind her, suspended in the air by his chains, grinning from ear to ear.

You can’t keep a good man down, he said, and gave her a wink.

Alexa’s blood ran cold. She looked to Powers, and saw him stretched out, unconscious, a great gash to his head. His seatbelt and half the seat had been torn out with him on impact.

She wanted to call out to him, and yet didn’t dare. She didn’t want to bring any attention to her partner.

That was in vain. The man who had taken her gun bent over Powers and took his as well.

He’s alive, the masked man said with the trace of a Mexican accent. His skin, where it showed between gloves and sleeve, was that of a Caucasian. Strange.

Another man clambered through the open door in the back of bus. He was shorter, thinner, but moved with grace and strength, carrying a large pair of bolt cutters.

The buzz of a circular saw, the same sound that had woken her up, sounded from the front of the bus. Alexa looked in that direction and through a cracked window saw a masked woman kneeling on the side, now the top, of the bus, cutting through the metal door. Sparks flew in a great jet from the metal grinding at metal. A man stood beside her, a sawed-off shotgun in his hands. Both prison guards hung slack in their seats.

Wake up! Alexa shouted at them.

She felt the cold muzzle of her own gun pressed against her temple.

Another word and you’re dead, the masked man told her.

A loud snip made her turn her eyes, although she didn’t dare move her head. The man with the bolt cutters cut through Drake’s leg chains, freeing them so he could awkwardly support himself by standing on tiptoe on the wreckage beneath him. The masked man turned his attention to the chains on his wrists.

Desperately, Alexa looked back at the woman working with the circular saw. She finished the work, set the saw to one side, and hauled open the door. Her companion with the shotgun aimed down at the two helpless prison guards.

Just at that moment, one of the guards stopped pretending to be unconscious, yanked out a pistol, and fired.

The man with the shotgun jerked back, blood gushing from his chest, and toppled off the bus. The woman with the buzz saw leaped off.

Shouting and confusion from two masked men in the back of the bus, cut off short by Drake’s commanding voice.

Do what you came here to do!

The guy with the bolt cutters got back to work on Drake’s chains. His companion, wielding a U.S. Marshal Service gun in each hand, stood a bit back, covering both Alexa and Robert.

The sound of someone clambering onto the bus up front made Alexa turn again. The woman was back, now gripping the shotgun. Keeping out of sight of the open doorway, she reached around with her gun, ducked back as the guard fired at her hands, missing, then reached around again and blasted the shotgun at point blank range.

A spray of blood against the window at the back of the cab made Alexa cry out. While she could barely see through it, she did see the guard still moving. His gun barked again, but to no effect. The woman fired a second time, pumped another shell into the chamber, and fired again.

She fired three more times before she finally stopped. By then the entire window was a mass of dripping gore.

Alexa slumped, all feeling gone. She knew she would die in the next few moments.

Die a painful, humiliating death.

Well, now, Drake said as if he had spotted an especially pretty girl at a square dance.

Alexa forced herself to look at him. He stood in the overturned bus hunched somewhat under a hanging seat. He smiled and rubbed his wrists.

Get it over with, Alexa grumbled.

Drake put on an innocent face. Get what over with?

"Shut up