Jagged Edge

By Kendall Talbot

A grieving detective with nothing to lose.

A dying town with everything to hide.

 

Grumpy ex-detective, Edge Malone's plans to photograph a rare blood moon in an isolated location takes a deadly turn when a high-tech drone is shot from the sky. When a ruthless gunman murders an innocent bystander who attempts to find the drone Edge's instincts kick in, and he seizes the drone and escapes into the woods.

Now being hunted, Edge unwittingly thrusts Nina Hamilton into the chase—a street-smart beauty who is no stranger to men with dangerous motives.

 

But when the drone data leads them to a shocking murder, they quickly learn that nobody in their small town can be trusted, and the powerful leaders at the top will do anything to contain the crimes they buried decades ago. The price of secrets in this small town runs six feet deep.

 

*Vigilante Thriller *Deadly quest for answers *Buried Secrets *Grumpy hero *Kick-ass heroine *Race against time *Small Town

 

Jagged Edge is a stand-alone crime thriller featuring a kick-ass woman and a grumpy ex-detective who needs to find himself again.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Kendall Talbot
• Release date: Sep 1, 2023
• ISBN: 9798223848639

Kendall Talbot

Kendall Talbot is an award-winning author who writes action-packed romantic suspense loaded with sizzling heat and intriguing mysteries set in exotic locations. She hates cheating, loves a good happily ever after, and thrives on thrilling adventures with kick-ass heroines and heroes with rippling abs and broken hearts. She lives in Brisbane, Australia, with her very own hero and a fluffy little dog who specializes in hijacking her writing time. For more information, visit KendallTalbot.com.au.

Book preview

Chapter One

EDGE

It was a perfect night. . . fresh air, clear sky, full moon. . . perfect for murder.

That observation didn’t have Edge Malone chuckling like he used to. Back in his rookie days it’d been a joke he and his partner had shared every full moon. But once the joke became reality a few too many times, it’d lost its hilarity.

The blood moon slithering into the midnight sky cast an eerie red hue over the deserted valley below Edge’s elevated position. Blustery breezes that’d howled up the steep hillside for hours had abruptly ceased and other than the metallic ticking of his truck’s cooling engine, the silence was both complete and disturbing.

The road trip from Seattle toward Montana yesterday had been hectic. But when he’d left Helena this morning, he’d taken his time cruising up to Silvertop Ridge, deliberately avoiding the main roads.

Despite the serenity, Edge’s gut was tingling. Silence had become his double-edged sword. He needed peace to truly focus, but the second his attention was broken his mind would commence its slippery slope to his demons. Once he got there, it was a battle to claw his way back.

It’d been two years since his life went to shit. Still felt like yesterday.

He scanned his surroundings for a full two minutes before he was ready to move. Clutching his camera and the six-pack of beers from the passenger seat, he climbed out. Gravel crunching beneath his feet echoed about the tranquility. He unhooked the tailgate. It thudded open, and the sound ricocheted off the surrounding cliffs like a bullet.

Edge crawled onto the pitiful mattress he’d borrowed from his cheap motel and positioned his beer and camera within easy reach. He pulled his phone from his back pocket and checked the time. Nearly eleven thirty. On account of the steep incline and the rental truck’s non-existent grunt, the drive had taken much longer than he’d anticipated.

Tossing the phone aside, he punched the pillow and wriggled on the flimsy foam, attempting to get comfortable. He’d planned to spend the night on that damn mattress. . . out in the open. . . glancing at the stars. . . enjoying nature.

Maybe it wasn’t such a good idea.

Edge cracked open a Bud, swigged a quarter of the can, then settled it upright on the truck’s flatbed and grabbed his camera.

He’d done extensive research before buying this new toy, and according to the sales pitch, its strength was its excellent low-light photography. Perfect for a night like this.

Attention to detail was something he was good at. It was a skill that had propelled his career. Solving cases had come naturally and he’d climbed the ranks to detective quicker than anyone in his rookie class.

He missed it all. His buddies. The job. Cracking the cases.

But he wasn’t ready to return yet. He doubted he ever would. Or could.

Shoving the bullshit aside, he swigged another mouthful of beer and savoring the bitter brew, he clipped the lens cover off the camera and nestled back on the pillow. Peering through the viewfinder at the blood-red moon that’d just popped free from the horizon, he whistled. You’re a beauty.

Edge clicked off a series of shots and paused to examine them in the LCD display. After adjusting a couple of settings, he inhaled deeply, let out the breath in a long slow stream, peered through the viewfinder again, and took a series of controlled photos of the blood moon.

After fifty or so shots, he lowered the camera and scanned his surroundings again. Ever since he’d heard of the natural phenomenon, he’d been planning this trip to Montana. The solitude was surprising. He thought he’d be sharing this spot with at least a few star-gazing nutters. Maybe the late-night appointment with the moon’s arrival had put everyone off. Not that he was complaining. It was nice to be all alone in the middle of nowhere, far away from the usual chaos.

Tonight had been a lucky reprieve from the torrential rain that’d been plaguing the area for the last week and the smell of wet earth laced the air. The moon and the stars were the only lights, and other than the rugged road, not one man-made feature was visible. He really was secluded.

A flickering glow pierced the darkness lower down the hill, and after a couple of seconds he decided it was someone’s campfire. It was reassuring to know he wasn’t the only human out there.

Cocking his head at a weird hissing sound, he peered over his shoulder.

Holy shit!

A fireball fell from the sky like a burning cannonball in a thirteenth century battlefield. He clutched his camera, aimed and squeezed the shutter release button, snapping dozens of photos of the fireball’s plummet. It was no bigger than a basketball, yet in the blanket silence it made one hell of a noise when it crashed.

A brilliant flash confirmed that whatever it hit was a goner.

Grabbing his camera, Edge jumped from the flatbed, slammed the tailgate shut and ran to the driver’s side. He simultaneously tossed the camera onto the passenger seat and started the engine. With his foot on the gas, he spun the wheels in a quick 180 and raced toward the crash site.

The rental truck had shit suspension and his head slammed into the cabin roof with every pothole he plowed through, but he didn’t ease up. His focus was on getting to the flames before they snuffed out.

He careened through a giant puddle, casting a wall of muddy water over the windshield and the wipers squealed a protest with each pathetic attempt to swipe it clean.

The road, if it could be called that, was cut into the hillside in an east/west direction, and both sides were swathed in rugged bush. Of course, the damn fireball had missed the road altogether. Halfway down the hill, he skidded to a halt, cut the engine, grabbed the flashlight he’d bought that afternoon and abandoned the truck.

There was no such thing as a path, and Edge thanked his lucky stars he’d thought to buy the flashlight. It was a good one too, lighting up a decent ten-foot circle ahead of him. The flickering flames were barely visible through the vegetation, but at least it gave him something to aim for.

As he squelched over rotting leaves, he contemplated what the fireball could be. A chunk of aircraft? A satellite that’d given up the ghost? Hopefully, the photos he’d snapped were good ones. All the ducks had lined up nicely to put him in the perfect spot to take the blood moon photos. Maybe fate had also put him there to see that thing fall from the sky. There could be something in it for him. A salvage fee maybe. That’d be nice.

It was high time his luck changed for the better.

With every spindly branch he pushed through, the flames diminished a little more and he picked up his pace. If he didn’t reach it before it went out, he’d have no hope of finding it until daybreak.

Another light caught his eye, a single circle just like his own flashlight. He sighed. Looked like he wasn’t the only one who saw the flaming fall from grace after all. Both of them were converging on the same spot, some fifty or so feet between them. As if they’d choreographed it, he and the stranger arrived at the impact zone at exactly the same time.

If they were laying claim to the space junk, they’d have a serious debate on their hands as to who found it first.

Oh, hey there, neighbor. You saw it too? The man’s quivering voice put him in his retirement years and Edge resisted shining his flashlight in the man’s face to confirm his assumption. But he saw enough of the newcomer’s long gray beard, and pale, willowy arms, to support his guess.

Edge strode the couple of paces to close the distance between them. Couldn’t miss it.

He turned his attention to the dwindling fire. Just a couple of craggy bushes remained ablaze. The damp leaves had provided little fuel and if he’d been just a few minutes slower he’d have missed it altogether.

What do ya reckon it is? The old guy combined his flashlight glow with Edge’s.

Not sure. Edge collected a sturdy stick from the ground and handed his flashlight over. Hold this and I’ll see if we can get a better look.

Using the stick, he wrestled the twisted metal from the burnt underbrush and it sizzled as it rolled over the wet leaves. A foot-long arm of metal protruding from the charred, angular body snagged as Edge wrestled it from a gnarly shrub. Looks like a drone.

A drone, huh. Maybe someone was using it to photograph the moon.

Maybe. Edge reclaimed his flashlight and shone it onto the burnt remains. Yep, that’s a drone. Looks expensive too. Whoever lost it is gonna be pissed. Edge attended a seminar once where the benefits of using drones for crowd control had been demonstrated. But the ones they’d featured looked like toys in comparison to this one.

The drone was bigger than he’d originally thought. Its central component was diamond shaped, like two opposing pyramids atop each other, and four arms had protruded from the central join. Only one of them remained intact, yet its propulsion propeller had miraculously survived impact.

Wanna take it back to my campsite for a closer look? The old guy’s escalated voice was that of an excited cheerleader on a sugar high.

Sure. Edge grinned at his enthusiasm and held his hand forward. I’m Edge Malone.

Roland, nice to meet ya. Roland’s handshake was firm and true.

Edge gave Roland his flashlight. You lead the way. I’ll carry it. He tested the heat of the metal first by gingerly tapping it with his thumb, and after confirming it wouldn’t take his fingerprints off, he lifted the drone by the solitary arm, and nodded at Roland. After you.

Roger that. Roland spun on his heel and managed to navigate the dense vegetation with an agility that contradicted his age. You out here for the blood moon too?

Yeah, taking a few photos up on Silvertop Ridge. You?

Me and the missus were up there earlier, but she wanted to get back to camp before sunset. She don’t trust my navigation skills no more.

Edge smiled. Despite his comment, Roland’s tone was jovial.

Say, you wanna come for a cup of tea? Pearl made some campfire donuts earlier. They’re probably still hot.

Thanks, but I’ve already eaten. His stomach churned as if it knew what Roland had offered. The greasy hamburger he’d demolished about five hours ago was still burdening his gut.

Yeah, probably a good choice. My missus is good at many things. Cooking ain’t one of ‘em. Roland chortled and Edge joined in. It felt good to laugh. . . he couldn’t recall the last time he’d done so.

A flickering light ahead of Roland signaled their arrival at his campsite. A white-haired woman greeted them with a wave and pushed up from her seat by the fire. There you are. Thought you’d gone and got yourself lost.

See what I mean? Roland whispered over his shoulder. She’s always worrying about me wandering off and never coming back. They stepped into a clearing that was about the size of a basketball court. The glow from the moon was sufficient to view the entire area and based on the well-worn grass, Edge decided that the camping site was used regularly. But tonight, the only vehicle was a Jeep Cherokee with a camper trailer that he assumed belonged to Roland. The car was positioned several feet from the fire, blocking the view to the entrance road and also giving them some privacy from the other campsites. Not that it was needed tonight.

We got ourselves a guest, Pearl. Roland placed his hand on her shoulder. This is Edge. He saw the fireball too.

She ran her palms down the front of her pants. Hello, nice to meet you.

Evening. Nice to meet you too. Edge strode toward the fire and lowered the drone to the dirt.

What is it? Pearl stood shoulder to shoulder with her husband.

Edge reckons it’s a drone.

Yeah, that’s what I thought. Her curt nod had a wispy curl bouncing into her eye and she flicked it away.

Really? Roland’s question was loaded with sarcasm. You don’t even know what a drone is.

I do too. We saw them on that movie we watched. . . you know the one where the soldier was accused of. . .

Edge blocked out their banter and leaned in to examine the charred remains. A circular indent in the body of the drone caught his eye and he adjusted its angle in the firelight.

What d’ya see? Roland eased up beside him.

Edge pointed at the circle. Must’ve been where the camera lens was. Shattered to bits now though.

Like I said, it was probably being used to photograph the moon.

The sound of an approaching car had Edge glancing toward the campsite entrance. Looks like more company.

Maybe they’re the owners of the drone, Roland said.

Hmmm. Maybe.

The car’s headlights bobbed up and down as it wove along the road toward them. A few minutes later, the black SUV crawled into the clearing and stopped a good forty or so feet away from them. But whoever was behind the wheel didn’t cut the engine, nor did they climb from the vehicle.

Come on Pearl, let’s go welcome them. Roland reached for her hand and the two of them waddled toward the headlights.

Edge used the solitude to examine the drone more thoroughly.

Hey, how are ya doin? Despite the distance, Edge heard the quiver in Roland’s aging voice. You see that thing fall from the sky too?

You guys see it? The newcomer’s tone was deep and authoritative. Military, maybe?

We didn’t just see it; we got it. Edge could picture the grin on Roland’s face as he revealed that juicy titbit.

You did?

Yup. It’s over by the fire.

A jagged hole in the metal snagged Edge’s attention, and he angled the drone toward the campfire to get a better look. His heart skidded to a halt. A bullet hole. He’d seen enough of them to recognize one. The discovery did two things. Explained the drone’s demise, and shot a bucket load of dread into his belly.

A scream shattered the silence, and Edge launched to his feet.

Gunshot’s exploded. One. Two. Three.

Edge dove for cover behind the Cherokee.

Pearl! Roland’s shrill cry was one of mortal fear.

Roland scrambled on his hands and knees to his wife and Edge wanted to yell at him to run, yet at the same time it was pointless. Pearl’s bloody body confirmed she was dead, and the killer’s weapon was now aimed at Roland.

The assassin paused, as if savoring the moment. It told Edge a whole heap about the killer, and none of it was good. Edge jumped at the second round of gunshots and his gut twisted at the spray of blood highlighted in the SUV’s headlights. Roland fell face first in the dirt. His hands didn’t halt his fall as he sprawled next to Pearl’s lifeless body.

The killer stepped into the headlights, giving Edge a silhouetted view of his physique. Edge’s training kicked in, and he mentally noted the brute’s build. Approximately six foot seven. Right shoulder higher than left. Buzz cut across the scalp. Thick-set thighs, maybe from weightlifting. Right-hand grip on the weapon, unwavering. The killer strolled to Roland, taking his time, aimed the gun at the back of the old man’s head, and pulled the trigger.

Edge had seen the aftermath of murder hundreds of times. Hell, he’d been pushed to the brink of it once himself. But this was the first time he’d witnessed one. It was nothing like the countless clinical scenarios he’d recreated in his mind.

This was brutal, shocking. Sadistic.

And the swift indifference with how it’d been perpetrated was chilling.

The killer turned on his heel to face where Edge was hiding and strode toward him.

Fuck! Edge’s heart set to explode. Wrenching his fingers from the wheel hub, he spun on his heel and with eighteen years of detective training working against him, he did the one thing that he’d probably regret later.

He grabbed the drone and dashed into the bushes.

Seconds later a bullet slammed into the tree to his left, shredding a limb to pieces.

It really was the perfect night for murder.

Except now it was Edge being hunted.

Chapter Two

EDGE

The darkness was Edge’s enemy, and he stumbled through the bushes like a marauding bull, creating a racket to match. Each movement pinpointed his position and Edge felt the killer’s crosshairs burning into his back. Bullets slammed into the vegetation shredding bark and leaves with equal brutality. He expected to be shot at any second. Even pictured the point of impact between his shoulder blades.

But he didn’t stop.

Gnarly branches clawed at his limbs. Shrubs fought against his momentum. His lungs burned. His heart thundered in his ears. His fingers clutched the drone’s twisted metal, desperate not to lose it. Roland and Pearl were killed because of it. That made it vital evidence.

You’re a dead man. The gravelly voice was a crashing wave tumbling into the blackness. You hear me? Dead!

A spray of bullets thumped into nearby trees, missing him by inches. Edge dove to the ground and the drone clanged in protest. Jagged rocks carved up his knees. A metallic taste of blood flooded his mouth yet he barely registered that he’d bitten his tongue.

Edge had been hunted before. But that’d been different. . . he hadn’t known about it until the threat had been captured. This time the assassin was barely fifty feet away and laying down a barrage of fire. He slipped lower into the mud and utilizing the darkness and a dense bush to his advantage, he turned to face the campsite.

With the fire as his backdrop, the killer stood out like dog’s balls. Edge followed his every move. He liked to think it gave him the upper hand. His thumping heart implied different though. His erratic breathing was another indicator. Forcing his brain to focus, he sucked in a shaky breath and let it out slowly.

You stupid bastard! The killer squeezed off a volley of bullets. Ten, fifteen, twenty shots, shredding a wide arc over Edge’s head. Bring it back or I’ll kill ya.

Edge fought the urge to yell back that he’d kill him anyway. Instead, he tried to count the bullets punching holes into his surroundings. He gave up around fifty.

He’d led cases where the victim had been stalked. Hunted like wounded prey, crippled with fear, all the while the murderer had been riding that corrosive edge between insanity and blind determination.

The ones he’d dealt with had all ended badly.

That was the thing with being a murder investigator. To get the case, someone had to be murdered.

The bullets continued shredding the vegetation. The crazed killer’s abusive rants ramped up a level, too.

Rods of fear blazed up Edge’s back. Each one plunging another dagger into his sanity. Edge was scared. He hated admitting that. But he used the fear to heighten his senses. Each and every noise became its own unique sound-wave. The grunts of the killer. The click of the weapon. The explosion of the bullet. The dull thud when the missile impacted with solid pine.

The smart thing to do would be to keep his head down, remain still, play dead. But he had to get another look at the guy. The more visual he had, the more knowledge he’d have. He smeared his muddy hands over his face, ears and neck, then, with his head down, he wriggled to a better vantage point.

With each inch he crawled, his thoughts slammed between wishing he had his camera and praying he didn’t get shot. Mud and wet leaves squelched beneath his hands and boots and the drone’s crumpled arm twanged with every exposed root it snagged on.

A gap between two broad leafy plants was the perfect spot to afford him a visual, yet keep him hidden. The gunman was at least seventy feet away, pacing back and forth along the clearing border. He’d found a light, probably Edge’s brand-new flashlight, and he had it positioned atop the rifle.

Based on what he saw, and the number of rounds the gunman had shot so far, Edge guessed the rifle was an AR-15 semi-automatic assault rifle. That confronting titbit confirmed the killer had enough firepower to hit any target within five-hundred yards.

And that put Edge at the forefront of hell.

A sharp metallic click had the killer lowering his weapon. Fuck! The gunman spun on his heels.

The second he bolted toward his SUV, Edge jumped to his feet and sprinted in the opposite direction. Plants attacked him from every angle and it was a constant battle not to have the drone yanked from his grasp.

He had no idea where he was going and the moon barely penetrated the foliage enough to be useful. The only thing he did know was that his approach to the felled drone had been downhill. So, climbing uphill made perfect sense. With a bit of luck, he’d find the road. With even more luck, he’d find his rental truck.

But luck hadn’t been on his side for a few years, so banking on it was a shit idea.

With each step upward, the moonlight became more prominent, allowing Edge to at least dodge the lower branches. The gunfire returned with a wild blast that echoed about him. Edge imagined the cliffs were right there. Looming above. It drove him on. Powered his legs. Powered his hope.

He stumbled onto his knees. The drone scuttled away, and he blinked at the gravel expanse. Holy hell. He’d actually hit the road. The moon was a giant beacon lighting up the area like an enormous red flashlight. He jumped up and studied the dirt track both up and down. The truck wasn’t visible. With the sounds of gunfire splitting the silence, he made a decision. Snatching up the drone, he sprinted downhill.

He rounded the corner, and a small red light pricked the distant blackness like a laser pointer. Crouching down and hugging the tree-lined edge, he inched forward. It was a couple of thumping heartbeats before he realized the red light was the truck’s rear brake light reflecting in the moonlight. Resisting a whoop for joy, he made short work of the remaining distance.

The door opened with a gritty crunch and he tossed the drone to the passenger seat, jumped in and fingered the keys he’d left in the ignition.

But a new problem shot through his brain.

With nothing but rugged bush lining the road, there were only two ways to go. The road up led to the dead-end viewing spot he’d visited earlier. The road down went right past Roland’s campsite—past the asshole trying to kill him.

He considered letting momentum do the work and silently gliding right on past. But that was never going to happen. Once he got to the bottom of the hill, he’d be slower than his grandma before her morning coffee.

Procrastination time was over.

He put the truck into neutral, released the handbrake and adjusted his position on the seat, ready to duck if the bullets started flying. Not if. . . when. He rolled down his window and cringed at the gravel popping and crunching beneath the truck’s tires. It moved slowly at first, but gravity quickly took hold, setting the pace at twenty miles an hour before he hit the first curve.

It was funny. . . he’d recalled the drive up as a steady winding road, but it was far from it. There were more curves than a bobsled track, and without his headlights on, he hit them with little warning. The chances of actually getting to the flat ground without incident were slim. Not when he could still hear bullets tearing up the surroundings.

Despite nearly