Lure (A Ball & Chain Thriller, Book 4): Ball & Chain Thriller Series, #4

By John W. Mefford

The stunning thrill ride continues in the international bestselling Ball & Chain series—chock full of action, suspense, snarky humor, and a dash of romance.

 

Before Cooper Chain can finally get the green light to pen his first book—a biography on a once-famous tennis phenom—he must find her. If she's still alive.

 

Can secrets kill?

 

A man disappears into the bowels underneath the city of Dallas, and Willow Ball can't make sense of it or the odd people she befriends. And that includes one man who might have an ulterior motive.

 

Can secrets kill?

 

Retracing every aspect of Mindi's former life, team Ball & Chain uncover a key to her past. But will it unlock memories that create the ultimate time bomb?

 

The key to the future depends on solving the past. But with threats hitting them from all angles, Ball & Chain must go where no one has gone to tell about it.

 

Cooper and Willow have one chance to stop the killing and save a life. But will they be too late?

 

If you're a fan of Michael Connelly's Ballard and Bosch, David Baldacci's King and Maxwell, Tess Gerritsen's Rizzoli and Isles, Harlan Coben's Myron Bolitar, or the TV show "Castle," you'll be enthralled by this gut-busting Ball & Chain thriller.

 

*Warning: The Ball & Chain Thrillers are full of white-knuckle suspense and sarcastic sass. Proceed with caution.

• Language: English
• Publisher: John W. Mefford
• Release date: Apr 24, 2019
• ISBN: 9798224772926

John W. Mefford

Amazon Top 50 Author, #2 bestselling author on Barnes & Noble, and a Readers' Favorite Gold Medal winner. A veteran of the corporate wars, former journalist, and true studier of human and social behavior, John W. Mefford has been writing his debut novel since he first entered the work force twenty-five years ago, although he never put words on paper until 2009. A member of International Thriller Writers, John writes novels full of intrigue, suspense, and titillating thrills. They also evoke an emotional connection to the characters.  When he’s not writing, he chases three kids around, slaves away in the yard, reads, takes in as many sports as time allows, watches all sorts of movies, and continues to make mental notes of people and societies across the land. To pick up two of John's thrillers for free, copy and past this URL into your browser: http://bit.ly/20WJzqi Connect with John on Facebook at www.facebook.com/JohnWMeffordAuthor

Book preview

1

Willow

With one hand tucked in his front pocket and the other scratching his perpetual two-day stubble, Cooper Chain eyed a painting across the ballroom from where I stood. It wasn’t just the fact that he was studying a piece of art that had snagged my attention. He wasn’t really into that creative outlet. It was his suave posture—hell, the entire setting—that made this a surreal moment for me. And it started with his appearance.

Sporting eyes so blue they’d been known to buckle the knees of women—including this woman when we’d first met in college—Cooper had this natural rugged-handsome thing down pat. His scruff and hair that nearly touched his shoulders had his own mother affectionately calling him Bradley Cooper (she was kind of right, although I’d never admit it to him). Tonight, he’d cleaned up rather nicely for the Dallas Art Awards and Auction at Renaissance Tower in downtown Dallas. For starters, he was wearing a black-and-white Tom Ford tuxedo.

Tom Ford. The man who first became synonymous with men’s fashion (think famous movie stars wearing his tuxedos at the Oscars) and then reinvented himself as a movie director. In fact, his movie Nocturnal Animals ranked as one of the most powerful films I’d ever seen.

Cooper wearing a designer tux was almost laughable considering his financial situation. The man drove a car built during the Reagan years, lived in an apartment that was more suited to be a little kid’s treehouse, and worked retail at a bookstore called Books and Spirits. The place could win the Stranger Things award for all the bizarre personalities roaming that space.

While he would point out the fact that he was an accomplished investigative sports journalist—one of his stories was going to be the source material for an upcoming ESPN documentary—the pay didn’t match the stripes on his sleeve. Any stripes he did have would be from his many near-death situations, most of which included me at his side. I didn’t hold it against him, although we’d had our share of verbal dust-ups in the last few months. It was how we rolled. Sugar and spice. Lots of spice. Sometimes a combustible combination; other times as smooth as a pear Bellini with a slight kick on the last slurp.

He was hopeful that someday soon he could shed his retail job. But that would mean his new writing gig could pay the bills, build a college-savings fund for his fourteen-year-old daughter, Lauren, and possibly elevate his entire lifestyle.

Or maybe not.

It’s not that I judge a man by the size of his wallet. Though some might have thought the opposite months earlier when I was engaged to one of Dallas’s most eligible (loaded) bachelors. Thankfully, I woke from my trance just before walking down the aisle with Harvey. He was a decent guy, but we had zero connection. I was blind, not by his money, but by the fact that he’d believed in me during a time when I’d been shunned by many people for making a stupid mistake. As I’d learned, there was a part of the brain that can create things that don’t actually exist, and then just as quickly expunge those very same things. With Harvey, it consisted of passion and unshakable love.

But at least I didn’t make two stupid mistakes by marrying him.

Cooper wasn’t a perfect man. His list of poor decisions was painfully long. But eighteen years after we’d parted ways in college only to cross paths days before my aforementioned wedding to Harvey, I was beginning to think that Willow Ball and Cooper Chain were better together than individually. Although, the jury had yet to render a final verdict on that one.

We owed this special evening to Cooper’s boss at The Wire, a literary agent named Archibald Motta and his wife, Karen, who also happened to be Lauren’s principal. They’d committed to this event months ago but had to back out a week prior to tend to Archibald’s out-of-state mother who’d fallen and broken her hip. Archibald not only asked that we go in their place, but he also insisted that he pay for Cooper’s tux and provide us some money to bid on a painting. Proceeds from the auction were going to LIFT—Literacy Instruction for Texas—an organization that Archibald and many of the authors he represented had supported for years.

As I waited on my glass of wine at the bar, I watched a woman dripping in jewels wearing an emerald green dress strut over next to Cooper and study the same piece of art—some type of impressionist sports painting. The dress squeezed her in all the right places to create the signature hourglass figure, with lots of milky white up top.

I rolled my eyes. I was built more like Jennifer Aniston, not Jessica Rabbit.

Here you go, miss. The bartender set the glass of chardonnay on a napkin.

Thank you. As I brought the glass to my lips, my eyes locked in on the woman as she eased closer to Cooper. I got the impression that she was going in for the kill or something. Strangely, he seemed oblivious to her obvious assets.

Can I get some type of drink for your husband?

My eyes almost popped out of their sockets. Excuse me? I said, panning my sights back to the bartender.

He was a short, stocky man, probably a good four inches below my slender five-ten frame, although I was a little taller in my black heels. Dabo? I said, finding his name tag.

Yes, ma’am. He rocked from side to side like an anxious youngster, even though he had gray tips at his hairline. I’m sorry if I got it wrong. I was guessing that the James Bond gentleman looking at that painting was your husband.

Now he was being compared to James Bond? This can’t be happening. Oh God, no. I took another sip of wine and shot another glance at Cooper and Cleavage. They were talking now. She giggled and then playfully patted his chest.

She just patted his chest!

You guys kind of look alike. Is he your brother? the bartender asked.

I flipped around again. You’re kidding, right? I said, pulling at my handful of curls.

Maybe? I screwed up again. Sorry. Your, uh...friend kept asking me if we had Orange Crush. I’ve checked three different times, and we don’t. So, I didn’t know if he wanted something else to drink instead.

Cooper and his fixation with Orange Crush.

Out of the corner of my eye, I could see another crush in the making. Was I jealous of the curvaceous bimbo? Not really. Cooper and I hadn’t stated we were exclusive, but neither one of us was dating anyone else. Ever since he and Courtney, the police detective, had broken off their Harvey-like relationship (his words, not mine), Ball and Chain had been reunited. And to quote an old Peaches and Herb song, it felt so good. But still, we were taking it slow. It was for the best. For both of us.

Dabo tossed extra napkins on the bar. I make a damn good martini. You know, to go with the whole Bond theme he’s working.

I narrowed my eyes and shook my head. Not sure that Cooper’s a martini guy. He’s more comfortable with something simple and cheap, like a Beam and Coke.

He held up a bottle of amber liquid. How about Maker’s Mark?

It’s a little high-brow for him, but I’m sure he’ll be thrilled.

While Dabo made Cooper’s drink, I couldn’t help but straighten out the napkins to ensure the edges were perfectly aligned. Call me anal. Cooper certainly had.

Cleavage started laughing at something—one of Cooper’s lame jokes perhaps? But it was almost like she couldn’t control herself, and all of her giggling was creating too much jiggling, drawing male and female eyes off the artwork positioned across the expansive ballroom.

And for the Bond girl, one Maker’s Mark and Coke. Dabo smiled as he added a small straw and set the tumbler on the bar. Some might be offended at the term, but at age thirty-eight, I could do a lot worse than being compared to a Bond girl.

Thank you, Dabo.

Sure thing... He tilted his head as if he were waiting for my name.

I extended my hand. Ball. Willow Ball, I said in James Bond fashion.

Well, Ms. Ball, are you going to let that fish-lipped slut suffocate your man with those water balloons?

I snorted out a laugh. You’re funny, Dabo. I’m not worried about her or my so-called man. Cooper Chain and I go way back.

He placed his palms on the counter. You’re kidding me, right? Willow Ball and Cooper Chain. Ball and Chain?

It was inevitable. No different than when we were making the party rounds at TCU almost two decades earlier. That’s us. I lifted both glasses, then sipped my wine. This Ball’s going to bring Chain his drink. Don’t want anyone to suffocate.

We both laughed. But for only a couple of seconds.

The lights went out. Every. Single. Light. I coughed on my wine but stood like a statue as screams filled the ballroom. But one voice stood out.

Let go of my ass! Cooper yelled.

2

Cooper

I jerked to the left but rammed into a man who must have been a waiter. Glasses and dishes crashed to the floor. Footfalls shuffled nearby, followed by voices barking out muffled orders. Get... and then, Don’t... I stopped moving as I strained to pick up what they were saying above all the screams and cussing.

Then a hand grabbed my junk. Do you have any control? I shouted to the woman in the green dress, whom I’d dubbed Gangrene. She thought now was the best time to paw me like I was some type of animal play toy?

Cooper!

It was Willow.

I cupped a hand to my mouth. Over here. But stay where you are. You might hurt yourself.

You have another woman on the side? Gangrene had found me again and hooked her arm inside mine.

She’s not on the side. She’s my... I was suddenly stumped. I’d never had to identify Willow as anything other than a friend, at least not since we’d dated while attending TCU many years back.

A shriek from behind me. I whipped around, but Gangrene never lost her grip. Whee! she yelled like she was on a roller coaster ride. I think Gangrene was tipsy or desperate. Or maybe both.

A light flickered nearby, and I saw an older woman on the floor with her husband lying next to her. Is he okay?

Albert. Her voice quivered as she shook him. Dear God...I’m not sure he’s breathing.

People cussed and yelled, even as the darkness was pierced by a sprinkle of phone lights.

Can you help me? I can’t lose Albert.

Was she looking at me? More darkness, then another flicker of light.

He’s my everything. Now the woman’s entire body was shaking like she was encased in ice.

I turned around just as Willow emerged from the darkness and bumped into a chair. Since she was a nurse at the Community Health Clinic, I pointed at Albert and his distraught wife.

Her eyes flashed to Gangrene holding on to me like I was a life raft. I tried pulling my arm away as Willow dropped to her knees. How long has he been out?

I can’t lose Albert. I just can’t, the woman repeated, heaving out breaths. He’s all I have. I don’t care about the money or the homes or any of it. We’ve shared our lives for fifty-two years, and I know I can’t live if he doesn’t make it. The woman started to sob as she leaned over and hugged her husband.

More phone lights popped on around us.

Willow reached them just before I did. Miss, what’s your name?

Edith.

Edith, I’m a nurse. Let’s work together on this. Willow gave me a side-glance. That was my cue. I leaned down and put a hand on Edith’s arm.

Why don’t you stand next to Cooper? Willow suggested, nodding at me.

Well, okay...

A security guard rushed up, tripped over the leg of a chair, and nearly fell onto Albert. Edith flinched.

I just called 9-1-1. ETA is five minutes. Don’t know what the hell happened to the lights.

I ignored the guard, peeled myself away from Gangrene, and gently guided Edith to stand next to me. He will be okay, won’t he? she asked in the frailest of voices while gripping my hands until her knuckles turned white.

Let’s think positive thoughts, I said, patting her hands gently. If there ever was a time for my mom to be nearby, now was it. She quoted Bible verses like I quoted basketball stats.

Edith took in a full breath, closing her eyes for a second. I had my sights on Willow.

Pulse is weak and irregular, she said with two fingers on the side of his neck. She looked up at Edith. Do you know what happened?

Well, let me think. The lights went out, there were a bunch of screams, and I could hear him breathing really hard. He has COPD. He loses his breath easily.

Willow put a hand to the edge of his mouth. It’s faint, but he’s breathing.

What do you think? I asked.

Willow's eyes went back to Edith. What happened after the screams and he started breathing hard?

"People were running by us. We were standing over by the abstract painting called Drizzle. I think he might have tripped over one of the people running by us."

People ran by you? I asked.

She ignored my follow-up question. And then a phone light came on, and I found him here on the floor.

The table, I said, gesturing to the right. He could have hit his head after being tripped up.

Willow gently felt the back of his head. Her hands paused. It’s a bump. Not sure if it’s a hematoma.

What’s a hematoma? Edith asked me with pleading eyes.

Uh...Willow?

It’s more about the swelling that could be under the skin.

Edith’s eyes welled with tears. This could be impacting his brain? Oh...oh Albert, she stuttered.

Just then, Albert started to move his arms, and then he smacked his lips.

It’s a miracle! Edith exclaimed, extending her hands to the ceiling.

Willow leaned closer to the man and whispered, Albert, can you hear me? His eyes remained closed, and he kept smacking his lips. Albert?

More lights flicked on as I heard some commotion toward the large ballroom doors. He’s over there, someone said.

Paramedics arrived, and Willow gave them the basic information. As she started to push to her feet, Albert’s eyes popped open, and he grabbed her wrist. Where are those fuckers who tripped me?

My Albert! He’s back, Edith yelled in delight.

Hey, Gangrene said, tugging on my arm. I kept my eyes on Edith as she dropped next to Albert and held his hand. The medics started taking his vitals and asking both of them questions. Something about this moment resonated with me. I saw two people who’d spent over fifty years together almost have their bond broken by death—an ending none of us can avoid, no matter how much money we made or how many things we accumulated. But just when I thought to myself that Edith might have to prepare herself to face life alone, fate had stepped in to grant them more time together. I was almost in awe. Married fifty-two years, and it didn’t seem like there were any long-running resentments. A much different vibe than what existed between me and my ex. 

Hey. Gangrene tugged even harder on my arm. Hey, James Bond.

As I swung my sights around, Willow approached me with one of her vintage eye rolls. Damn, her eyes were like two full moons.

Yeah? I said to Gangrene, finally turning around from another arm tug.

I think this whole lights-out bit was because someone wanted to steal some paintings.

A bunch of heads swiveled to look behind us.

What? Willow asked, prying her way in between Gangrene and me.

Looks like three paintings were stolen, Gangrene continued, pointing at the three empty spaces on the walls.

Crap! The security guard slammed his hat to the ground. Now I’m going to get fired.

I couldn’t help but stare at his mop of hair that had uncoiled. He had a mullet.

3

Willow

It took another ten minutes, but the glass chandeliers finally lit up the main ballroom. The stunned crowd of rich art lovers rubbed their eyes and stowed away their phones. Mostly. Some took the voyeurism route by recording video of the scene, including capturing the staff scrambling to clean up the broken dishes and glasses and turned-over furniture. The destruction was actually rather shocking.

As paramedics buckled Albert onto the gurney—his vitals had stabilized—Edith gave Cooper and me quick hugs, saying that her prayers had been answered.

Take care of yourself, Edith, I said.

I’ll be fine. With Albert at my side, we can conquer the world. She walked out of the room with a hopeful smile and enough energy to light up the Dallas skyline.

Pretty inspiring to see, huh? I said to Cooper.

He didn’t immediately respond. He seemed distracted. I followed his gaze over to a cluster of folks talking near the bar. Was he staring at Cleavage? I snapped my fingers in front of his face. You better watch out. You might get a disease just by looking at her.

What the heck? I’m watching all the cops walk in.

Through a side door of the ballroom, uniformed officers started pouring into the ballroom. I counted at least eight. The tallest officer, a man with a baritone voice that could put Barry White to shame, said we all needed to stay in the room until they conducted interviews.

Wonderful, I said with a sigh.

I expected Cooper to make some smartass comment, when I noticed he was staring at the security guard, who looked to be near tears while speaking with an officer.

"And here I thought mullets had gone out of style after the popularity of Garth and Wayne from Wayne’s World fame had faded into oblivion," Cooper said with a shrug. 

"The Bohemian Rhapsody movie brought it back in style, I think. Or maybe the security guard is making a bold new statement in hair design."

Cooper shook me off. Great music.

Queen?

He turned to look at me. Who else would I be talking about, Wayne and Garth?

What’s got your panties in a wad?

He blew out a breath. Sorry. Just a bit uptight about all this... he said, motioning with his arm toward the scene around us.

At least you got your cast off your arm.

He twisted it left and then right. I like the freedom. Gives me some flexibility.

He was making no sense, something that occurred more often than not. Flexibility?

Before I could blink, he’d wrapped his arm around my lower back, pulled me close, and then...kissed my cheek.

I had a flashback to Harvey and his grandma kisses. Pretty smooth, Rico Suave, but you know I don’t—

He cupped the back of my neck and planted a soft kiss on my lips and then held it for a few blissful seconds. My chest fluttered as I felt our bodies start to sway. We finally came up for air and stared into each other’s eyes. We’d yet to take that deep dive into ecstasy—also known as having sex. Taking that leap of faith would require a trust that I wasn’t sure was attainable. What was holding me back? He hadn’t made his patented Cooper move, so maybe he was just as apprehensive. Or maybe he was still thinking about playing the field with the likes of women like Cleavage. Reading Cooper was both simplistic and complex at the same time.

I guess you’re not worried about the PDA police showing up, I said with a quick glance around me.

Only if you’re the one cuffing me. He winked. Adorable, I had to admit.

I wiped some lipstick off his lips, then ran my hand across his whiskers. I had no idea you were such a lightweight. Two sips of a whiskey and Coke, and you’re suddenly acting like college Cooper.

It’s not this watered-down drink, I can assure you.

Oh, so did you swallow a little blue pill when I wasn’t watching? I snorted out a giggle.

Don’t think it’s needed, he said with a wry grin.

So it must be the alcohol. You haven’t eaten all day, right?

He kissed me again. Has anyone ever told you that your eyes are like maple syrup being poured over hot pancakes?

I shook my head, then put my hand on his forehead. No temperature, but clearly you’re in a delusional state.

A scream jerked our heads to my left. A man in a white apron had just banged through the swinging doors that led to the kitchen. He looked like he’d been drinking as he meandered over to a chair, paused for a second, then plopped his butt down. Cooper and I walked over to the guy just as a female officer approached him.

The man was speaking gibberish while holding a hand to the back of his head.

Sir, sir, are you okay? I can’t understand you, the officer said, taking a quick look at his head. The man had a thick bed of unruly hair.

Sorry. Speaking in my native Guatemalan tongue. Those motherfuckers ran me over, and that one in the ponytail hit me on the head with my own skillet. Can you believe it? He used my own skillet to assault me. I want to sue!

Who...who hit you?

I already told you! He winced as his hand popped off his head like it was on fire. It’s those motherfuckers who were running out of here with the damn paintings.

They had the stolen paintings? Cooper asked.

Let me get you some help. The officer turned her body and spoke into a mic affixed to her shoulder.

I’ll be okay. Maybe some ice would help.

I saw the bartender from earlier walk by. Can you get a baggie of ice for...? I turned toward the chef.

Santino, he said.

I’m on it. Dabo rushed off to his bar.

Santino, let me look at your eyes.

Why?

I’m a nurse, that’s why.

While she does that, tell us what happened, Cooper said, clearly not understanding the priorities.

I’m just cooking a chicken, and then the lights went out. I didn’t want to burn myself, so I just stood there for a few seconds and started yelling for someone to turn on the lights. Then a flashlight hit me in the eyes. He smacked his face with his hand, which made me jump back.

Pupils are dilated, but I’ve seen worse, I said. Everyone ignored my assessment, and Santino continued.

I thought someone was bringing a light so I could continue to cook, but it was these three crazy men, each one running like a bat out of hell.

But they were carrying the paintings? Cooper asked.

Yes, yes. Santino nodded. They were wearing all black like... He looked around for a second. I can’t describe them, but I’ve seen people wear this kind of uniform before.

The cop put her hands on her knees. I’ve called for more paramedics just to be safe. You said they were in uniform? A cop uniform like mine?

She was wearing a standard black Dallas Police Department uniform, but with all sorts of things attached to her belt loop.

"No, no, not like that. You know, more like you see on SWAT."

The old TV show? Cooper said.

Old? What you talking ’bout, homie?

Cooper peeked over at me. "Is there a new SWAT?"

"I know you’ve only been watching TV for a couple of months, but yes, there is a new SWAT. Although I’m not sure it’s going to last very long."

The chef put a hand to his mouth, trying to cover a grin.

What’s so funny? Cooper asked.

"Are you from another planet? Next thing you’re going to tell me is that you’ve never heard of Game of Thrones."

Cooper shrugged. I’ve been a little out of touch lately.

Santino’s eyes got wide. Were you in the big house, dude?

No, but I played in the big dance.

Santino’s eyes narrowed as he turned to me.

I shook my head. It’s a thing for basketball freaks. Ignore him.

Dabo arrived with the ice.

Thanks, my man, Santino said, gently resting the ice pack on his head.

Let me know if I can help in any other way, Dabo said before walking off.

Ohh, that mother is cold. Santino removed the ice, but I guided the pack back to his head.

Sir...Santino... The officer tried to jockey for a better position in front of Cooper. You were giving us a description. You said they were wearing SWAT-like uniforms, correct?

That’s what I said.

What about their faces, color of skin, hair...?

Gringos, I think, but I couldn’t really see their faces much.

Too dark? I asked.

Too quick, Cooper said. They ran through there, so there’s no way Santino would be able to see them.

Was he trying to one-up me?

Kind of both, Santino said.

How’s that? Cooper and I asked in unison.

Santino’s eyes swiveled between the two of us.

Sir, can you answer the question? the officer said, diverting his attention to her.

It’s not that complicated. It was dark, and then I was blinded by their flashlight. I stumbled to the floor, but I could see their uniforms. At first, I thought they were really a SWAT team that had shown up to save the day. But then I saw the paintings. I tried to get a better look, and that’s when I saw the masks over their faces.

Describe the mask, the cop said.

Was it a scary mask one might wear at a Halloween Party? Cooper asked.

Maybe it was a ski mask, right? I countered.

Neither. It’s one of those... He contorted his face in deep thought. Then, he snapped his fingers. ‘Love’s A Bitch.’

Huh? The cop’s jaw dropped.

Cooper and I were equally stunned.

Quiet Riot, dude. ‘Love’s A Bitch’ rocks. It’s one of their greatest hits. I know it’s a little strange, but it’s how I recall things, connecting life events to bands and songs. It’s just how my brain works.

So, what are we connecting these burglars to—the love part or the bitch part? I asked.

The band name. Those motherfuckers were wearing riot gear, including those masks that slip over their head that have the plastic cover over the faces. These were tinted. Kind of cool if that shorter one hadn’t swung that skillet into my head.

Okay, now we’re making some headway, the cop said, jotting down notes.

You said they were all male? Cooper asked.

But you also said one had a ponytail, I added, ensuring I’d won that point.

Two of the three had ponytails, actually, Santino said. But I’m almost certain all were dudes.

How... How do you know?

Not a hundred percent. That riot gear seemed thick, a lot of padding, so it was hard to tell if they were men or women, really. But I also saw them run. And no offense, but these three were fast, like dudes.

Women are fast too, I said, sounding like I was defending my entire gender.

"Might not be the PC thing to say, but they ran like dudes. I never seen