Far From Here (A Mary Cage FBI Suspense Thriller—Book 1)

By Taylor Stark

After 48 hours, the chances of finding a missing person diminish drastically, and FBI Agent Mary Cage and her task force race to find victims that others can’t—before they’re lost forever.

When a kidnapper traps victims in unusual ways, FBI Agent Mary Cage must find and stop him. Thrust into a harrowing race against time, can Mary decode his cryptic pattern and save the victims in time?

FAR FROM HERE (A Mary Cage FBI Suspense Thriller—Book 1) is the debut novel in a new series by mystery and suspense author Taylor Stark.

An intense and gripping thriller featuring a complex and tormented female protagonist, the Mary Cage series provides a riveting mystery packed with suspense, surprise twists, and an exhilarating pace that will have you turning pages late into the night. Fans of Karin Slaughter, Lisa Regan, and Robert Dugoni are sure to fall in love.

Future books in the series are also available!

• Language: English
• Publisher: Taylor Stark
• Release date: Mar 28, 2024
• ISBN: 9781094396620

Book preview

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F A R

F R O M

H E R E

(A Mary Cage Mystery—Book 1)

T a y l o r   S t a r k

Taylor Stark

Taylor Stark is author of the MARY CAGE mystery series, comprising five books (and counting); and of the new CARLY PHOENIX mystery series, comprising five books (and counting).

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

Copyright © 2024 by Taylor Stark. 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.

BOOKS BY TAYLOR STARK

MARY CAGE SUSPENSE THRILLER

FAR FROM HERE (Book #1)

FAR FROM HOPE (Book #2)

FAR FROM SAFE (Book #3)

FAR FROM SIGHT (Book #4)

FAR FROM REACH (Book #5)

CARLY PHOENIX SUSPENSE THRILLER

COLD JUSTICE (Book #1)

COLD BLOODED (Book #2)

COLD TRUTH (Book #3)

COLD PURSUIT (Book #4)

COLD VENGEANCE (Book #5)

CONTENTS

PROLOGUE

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

PROLOGUE

The skeletal frame of the unfinished model loomed on Sarah Griffin's desk, its miniature flood barriers poised like sentinels against an unseen tide. Outside her office window, the night was a dark canvas, save for the occasional flicker of streetlights that punctuated the city's insomnia. Within the confines of her firm, Sarah was alone with the symphony of her drafting tools and the soft hum of the computer as it rendered simulations of catastrophic water levels.

Her fingers danced over the keyboard, orchestrating a delicate balance between aesthetics and durability. She had long since learned that nature's fury cared little for human ambition, and her designs bore the responsibility of safeguarding lives. The blueprint on her screen was more than a mere structure; it was a promise of refuge, a bulwark against the chaos of rising waters.

The clock ticked past midnight, the hour when time seemed to slow and every detail of her work sharpened into focus. It was in these solitary sessions that Sarah felt most alive, her creativity unfettered by the mundane distractions of the day. The intricate patterns of water flow she manipulated were a testament to her dedication—a legacy written not in stone, but in resilience.

Focused intently on her task, Sarah barely noticed the passage of time. Each adjustment, each refinement brought her closer to realizing her vision—a community preserved from devastation, a future secured. Her mind was awash with possibilities, each calculation a step towards triumph over the relentless tide.

Abruptly, the spell of her concentration shattered. The office lights above Sarah flickered, casting erratic shadows across the plans strewn about her desk. An involuntary shiver traced her spine, a primal response to the sudden disruption. She glanced upwards, her brow furrowing at the stuttering fluorescence that seemed to mock the steadiness of her focus.

Damn wiring, she muttered under her breath, attributing the anomaly to the building's age. But the unease within her refused to dissipate as easily as the words she whispered. She stood, stretching the stiffness from her limbs, and approached the light switch to confirm her suspicions.

As Sarah flipped the switch off and then on again, there was a brief moment where darkness enveloped her. When the lights resumed their steady glow, she allowed herself the luxury of a relieved sigh. Yet, as her gaze swept across the room, it snagged on the monitor displaying the feed from the security cameras.

The screens, which should have shown the quiet halls and locked entrances of the architectural firm, were black—devoid of the reassuring view of safety they typically provided. A cold knot formed in her stomach as she tapped the keyboard, trying to revive the connection, but the monitors remained blank, like blind, staring but unseeing eyes.

Power surge? she questioned aloud, though no one was there to offer an answer. The silence that followed seemed to press upon her, heavy with implications she wasn't yet ready to entertain. Her heart thrummed a cautious rhythm, the architect within her recognizing the parallels between her disrupted workplace and the unpredictable elements she so often sought to tame.

Sarah felt the careful order she had constructed around herself begin to fray, a foreboding sense creeping in. Her focus returned to her desk, an island of order amidst the chaos of blueprints and flood zone maps. She reached for her phone to check the time, but her hand found only the cool surface of the polished oak desktop. Her eyes darted across the expanse, expecting to see the familiar black rectangle nestled between her drafting tools and coffee-stained Pantone mug. It wasn't there.

Abruptly standing, she scanned the immediate vicinity, a frown etching itself between her brows. The laptop, too—her vault of digital designs and correspondence—was conspicuously absent. A thin sheen of sweat broke out on her forehead as her heartbeat quickened, each thud echoing the ominous pounding of waves against a breakwater.

Think, Sarah, she murmured, attempting to retrace her steps through the labyrinth of her thoughts. Had she moved them? Misplaced them in a bout of overwork-induced distraction? No, that wasn’t the kind of thing she did.

She rounded the desk, hands patting blindly beneath it in search of the lost items, but there was nothing except the tangled cords of chargers and the dust that the cleaning crew often overlooked. Panic, like icy water, began to seep into her veins. This was no mere oversight. Someone had taken them.

The room seemed to constrict around her, walls leaning in with silent accusation. Papers rustled as if caught in a phantom breeze, and the low hum of the air conditioning unit became a sinister whisper. Sarah shivered despite the chill being a product of fear rather than the temperature-controlled environment she had helped design.

Then, from the shadowy periphery of her office, movement—a subtle shift within the darkness that could not be a trick of her strained vision. A figure emerged, unhurried, deliberate, from behind a mock-up of a coastal housing development. He cradled her possessions with an unsettling familiarity: her phone in one hand, her laptop secured under his other arm.

Sarah's breath hitched, her mind scrambling to place him. There was something about the set of his shoulders, the outline of his profile silhouetted against the dim glow of emergency exit signs. Recognition skated just out of reach, taunting her with fragmented memories.

Who are you? Her voice came out steadier than she felt, demanding an explanation while her brain warned that knowing might be more dangerous than remaining ignorant. She took a step back, instinctively reaching for a drafting ruler—poor defense against an intruder, but it was something tangible to grasp.

His reply, if there was one to be had, was stalled by the intensity of his gaze, locking onto hers with an unreadable expression. The man remained silent, a specter now fully materialized from the shadows of her office, bringing with him an air of chilling inevitability.

Sarah's muscles coiled, ready to spring. She eyed the door, calculating the distance, the necessary speed. With a swift pivot on her heel, she lunged toward freedom, but he was faster, an agile predator intercepting prey. He sidestepped, a shadow swathed in menace, and blocked her path with a grace that belied his size.

Let me go! Sarah's voice fractured the heavy silence, her plea echoing off the high ceilings. Her hand, still clutching the drafting ruler, swung out in a desperate attempt to fend him off, but he caught her wrist with ease, his grip ironclad and unyielding.

Before she could muster another scream or plea, she felt the cold press of metal against her neck. Panic flared through her veins hotter than the substance that followed. It was a bite, a sting—an invasion—then warmth spread from the injection site, radiating outward until her limbs grew heavy, her knees buckling beneath her.

Wha—what did you... The words slurred, her tongue thick and clumsy as her vision began to swim, the edges of her reality blurring into obscurity.

In this state of forced surrender, Sarah's eyes fell upon her assailant once more. He had moved on from her, his interest now fixated on her workspace where the blueprints and schematics of her latest project lay sprawled across the desk. Fingers that had so recently been instruments of violence now sifted through her documents with an incongruously gentle touch.

Divine justice, he murmured, almost to himself, as if he were a scholar poring over sacred texts rather than a thief rifling through her life's work. The importance of water... cleansing, purging...

The words hung in the air, laden with meaning and madness. Sarah fought against the drug's insidious pull, straining to etch his profile into her memory—the curve of his jaw, the breadth of his shoulders—as he continued his unhallowed litany. Her mind reeled, attempting to piece together a puzzle with edges that no longer aligned.

Water. Cleansing. What twisted rationale drove him? Her projects were designed to withstand floods, to shelter and protect, yet he spoke of destruction as though it were salvation. Her breathing shallowed, lungs struggling against the chemical-induced lethargy that threatened to drag her under.

Please, she whispered, the word barely a breath as darkness encroached upon her consciousness. But there was no mercy in his stance, no reprieve from the fate he had decided for her. As her vision tunneled to a single point of light, Sarah could only watch helplessly as he delved deeper into her life's work, seeking whatever twisted retribution he believed it contained.

She must have passed out, momentarily at least, because when her eyes flickered open once more he was in front of her, his hands reaching, grasping.

Gravity betrayed her as the force of his hands lifted her effortlessly from the ground. Sarah’s head lolled back, the last vestiges of control slipping away as her body succumbed to the unwelcome embrace of unconsciousness. But even in her compromised state, she could feel the coarse fabric of his jacket pressing against her cheek, the hard sinew of muscle beneath. He hoisted her over his shoulder with a dispassionate ease, as though she were little more than another roll of blueprints to be archived and forgotten.

With each step he took, the distance between Sarah and the world she knew expanded exponentially. The polished concrete floors beneath his boots echoed with a cold finality, while the scale models of her flood-resistant homes watched silently from their shelves, impotent witnesses to her abduction.

The corridor outside her office loomed, an abyss waiting to swallow her whole. Her ears, betraying her eyes’ failure to see, picked up the muted sounds of the city beyond the firm's walls – the distant murmur of traffic, the faint siren of an emergency vehicle – all oblivious to the drama unfolding within.

In these final moments of awareness, as the edges of her reality dissolved, Sarah felt the full weight of his intentions. He was carrying her away from everything she had built, towards an unknown fate that whispered of dark waters and darker deeds. And then, just as the thought surfaced, it too was drowned in the encroaching tide of darkness that pulled her under.

CHAPTER ONE

Mary Cage's fists cut through the air with the precision of a surgeon’s scalpel, each strike a testament to years of discipline and relentless training. The gymnasium echoed with the sounds of combat—grunts, thuds, and the slap of feet against mats. Sunlight filtered in through high windows, casting elongated shadows that danced around her like silent spectators.

Focus, Mary! He’s leaving his right side open, yelled Dr. Robert Bob Caldwell from the sidelines, his voice gruff but encouraging.

She nodded without looking at her mentor, her eyes locked on Agent Harper, her sparring partner. The man was twice her size, muscles bulging under his sweat-soaked shirt, but Mary moved with a grace that belied her own strength. She waited, patient as a cobra, for the telltale shift in her opponent's stance. And then, seizing the moment, she swept his legs from under him with a swift, calculated move.

Harper hit the mat with a surprised oof, and Mary stood over him, offering a hand with a triumphant smirk. Good match, she said, her pulse racing not from exertion but from the thrill of victory.

Damn, Cage, you're a force of nature, Harper gasped, accepting her hand and getting back on his feet.

Mary's competitive spirit didn’t end with physical challenges. While others caught their breath, she settled onto a bench, her sweat-dampened blonde hair clinging to her forehead, and pulled out the day’s crossword puzzle. Bob watched, an amused smile playing on his lips, as Mary's pen danced across the paper, filling in blanks with a rapidity that bordered on the absurd.

Done, she announced, barely five minutes later, holding up the completed puzzle.

Bob shook his head in disbelief, taking the paper to scan her answers. You keep this up, and I'm out of a job, he joked, though the pride in his eyes was unmistakable. Mary had bested him yet again, and the gleam in her eye spoke volumes of a childhood spent striving to surpass every expectation.

Mary gathered her belongings and put slipped a pendant over her neck. For a brief second, she held the silver dog tag in her fingers, feeling the simple inscription, just one word, a name, that of her brother. The adrenaline from her victories began to fade, replaced by the familiar ache of old, deep-seated pain. Her mother's laughter, once the melody of her childhood, now echoed faintly in her memory—a haunting refrain that brought more sorrow than comfort.

She paused, gripping the strap of her gym bag tighter as she allowed herself a moment of vulnerability. It had been years since cancer took her mother, yet the void remained impenetrable, vast. There would be days, perhaps even weeks, when the memories and the pain that accompanied them would not rear their head. Then they would come barging in, knocking all other thoughts out of the way at seemingly random times. Now was evidently one of those times. A sigh escaped her lips, not of fatigue but of longing—for guidance, for the soft touch of reassurance.

In the stillness of the emptying gym, fragments of another time invaded her thoughts. Ones that hit her harder than the ones of her mother, as these were wrapped with another sickening emotion. She could still feel the chill of that long-ago night when her younger brother had vanished from their lives. The guilt of being the one who was supposed to watch over him still clung to her like a second skin.

The unsolved mystery of his abduction had propelled Mary into a world where she could hunt down those who preyed on the innocent. If she couldn't bring her own brother home, she'd be damned if she didn't do everything in her power to return someone else's loved one to safety.

Hey, you alright? Bob's concerned voice broke through her reverie, his kindly, lined face leaning down towards hers. His piercing blue eyes, an inch beneath the grey trilby that hardly ever left his shaved head, seeking her own.

Mary blinked away the gathering mist in her eyes and forced a nod and a smile.

The usual? he asked.

The usual, she replied, a hint of resignation entering her voice.