The Killing Tide

By Jonathan Daniel

Colin Dowey survived a brush with death. Now the lives of millions are on the line.

 

Haunted by the fallout of a devastating shooting, Colin hopes to forget his trauma and put painful memories in the past. But after he stumbles upon a mysterious lockbox containing cyphers with world-changing consequences, he's quickly plunged into a life-and-death struggle to avert a cataclysm.

 

Kaitlyn is a psychopathic killer out for blood. She has one job: steal the cyphers. And she doesn't care who she has to kill to get them. Hunted by an unhinged billionaire with grand ambitions and a disturbing sense of duty, Colin and his friends must crack the code – before Kaitlyn reaches them.

 

But Colin's enemies are closing in... and when tragedy strikes close to home, he's faced with an impossible choice: hand over the cyphers, or lose everyone he loves. His only hope lies in a pair of genius rednecks who could hold the key to unraveling the billionaire's plot.

 

Can Colin thwart a powerful foe and save the lives of millions? Or this time, has his luck run out?

 

Dive into a riveting thriller that will keep you on the edge of your seat with an exhilarating mix of intense action, nail-biting suspense, and profound real-world themes about the challenges facing our world. Killing Tide is a high-octane adventure that's perfect for fans of ordinary heroes fighting against all odds. Order your copy today...

• Language: English
• Publisher: Jonathan Daniel
• Release date: Apr 7, 2016
• ISBN: 9798224654925

Book preview

PROLOGUE

Twenty minutes.

Grady looked at the dashboard clock. Twenty minutes to five. A sharp flash of panic surged through him. He was going to be late. The first time in eight years that he risked being late.

Shit. His foot pushed down on the accelerator, the old Lumina surging forward reluctantly. The city streets moved past him in a blur, the pavement humming beneath his nearly bald tires. His eyes flicked to the rearview mirror, scanning for police. The street behind him was already filled with cars as people left work, pulling out of parking garages and private lots. No police anywhere in the mix.

Grady pushed the accelerator again, coaxing the old car past sixty and blowing through a yellow light. Four blocks from his apartment. He wouldn’t even need that long inside, just grab the paperwork off the bar in the kitchen and run back out. If he had actually left the papers in the kitchen. Now, in the heat of things, he honestly couldn’t remember where they were.

Eighteen minutes.

A large truck with the picture of a smiling tomato on the side pulled in front of him, its brake lights flaring as it slowed. A small moan escaped Grady’s lips. This was not what he needed right now.

Not today. It was bad enough that he was running late, but to have forgotten the proof of ownership papers… Grady slapped the steering wheel in frustration.

The truck lumbered along before it turned left and headed down a side street. The moment he could clear its bumper, Grady hit the gas. He passed through another intersection only moments after the light turned red. He heard the squeal of tires and multiple horns blaring as he sped through.

Several hundred feet later, he slammed the brake pedal and the Lumina screeched and shuddered to a stop. He jumped out of the car, ignoring the NO PARKING sign as he ran into the lobby and jabbed at the elevator button. He watched as the red digital number slowly decreased as the elevator made its way down. As the floor indicator paused on the second floor, Grady grunted a curse and bolted for the stairwell door a few yards away. The metal door rebounded against the wall as he crashed through it, the echo following him up the stairs to the sixth floor.

Grady reached his door and jammed the key in, twisting it and leaving the set dangling from the lock. He rushed inside and swept the door closed behind him.

Hello Grady. The voice stopped him as surely as if he had slammed into a wall.

A woman sat on his old, faux suede couch. The air around her head was silken grey from the lingering smoke of a recently finished cigarette; and the acrid smell tickled Grady’s nose. Her voice was soft, yet with a hint of gravel. The words seemed to purr out of her and float across the room with grace and seduction.

Grady’s mouth worked as if trying to form words, but nothing would come forth. The woman breathed a smile and crossed one shapely leg over the other, gently bouncing one foot. Grady watched it move, then let his eyes trickle up the calf and along her muscular thigh until it disappeared beneath a simple black skirt. A movement drew his attention away from her legs. The woman slipped her hand into a small black purse and retrieved another cigarette and lighter. She lit it, the flame briefly highlighting her face and the blonde hair that framed it. She drew in deeply and then exhaled, forcing the smoke out and above her where it pushed aside and swirled within the previous layers.

Grady, you should say something, she instructed. When you find a woman, me no less, in your apartment, the least you could do is say something.

Who…? he finally managed.

Ah, so you can speak. I was starting to think that this was going to be difficult. She leaned forward and tapped the ashes from her cigarette into a lowball glass on the coffee table before her. Grady’s eyes followed the movement, and he noticed the clutter of old dishes and magazines, even an old single sock on the table. I should have cleaned up, he thought.

She took another drag. As she exhaled she said, My name is Kaitlyn. I represent the Krydon Corporation. You’re familiar with it?

The mention of the company’s name hit Grady like a baseball bat to the stomach. He felt his stomach knot and sweat bead on his forehead. He nodded. Yeah. I know it.

Kaitlyn smiled. There was something seductive, yet predatory, in the gesture. Nice to see that you’ve regained command of language, Grady.

With some effort Grady managed to pull his gaze away from the bombshell on his couch. He saw nobody else. He did a quick scan of the dining area. Papers and books lay helter skelter across the small dining table that he had bought at a yard sale two years ago. Everything seemed as it was before he left.

You really should clean this place up, you know, Kaitlyn said, drawing his attention back to her. Especially if you’re ever going to have a woman over. The sound of fabric rippling and springs creaking accompanied her as she stood. She dropped the cigarette into the glass and stepped lithely around the coffee table. With four strides, she crossed the room and stood inches away from him. Her deep blue eyes danced as she looked at him closely. You bring a girl over to this, and she’ll never blow you.

Grady winced. The vulgarity uttered by such a beautiful woman seemed even more perverse. How did you…?

Get in? Really, is that what’s bothering you? How I got in here? You come home from that…job…of yours to find a beautiful woman on your couch and all you can think to ask is how I got in? I would think, she paused, reaching over and picking a small thread from Grady’s shoulder. She looked at it momentarily before dropping it to the floor. I would think that the more pressing question is what I want, now that you’ve come home to find me here.

Grady nodded, despite a growing realization about what she wanted. Kaitlyn nodded right back and turned away from him, walking a few steps towards the couch. She paused and turned back to him. I want the papers.

For the second time, panic lanced through Grady. Involuntarily, he took a half step backwards, and shook his head. What papers?

Kaitlyn laughed, a musical sound that under different circumstances would have been sexy. Yet in the space of his apartment living room, it sounded threatening. You’re going to play this just like a movie script, aren’t you? She took a step back towards him. Look. We know that Porter left you his papers along with most of his effects. We know this. No, shut your mouth. You don’t get to talk right now. Trust me, we know these things. You are going to tell me where you’re keeping them.

Again, Grady shook his head, feeling a brief surge of confidence. She thought they were in the apartment. I don’t know what you’re talking about. Who is Porter?

Kaitlyn studied him for a long moment. The silence stretched, and Grady began to sweat again, the small measure of confidence he had momentarily felt drained away. Finally, Kaitlyn smiled a wry smile, and shook her own head as one hand drifted behind her. Grady, Christ, I was hoping you wouldn’t have said that. Although I should have known better.

Sorry, Grady said, his voice barely a whisper.

A soft chime filled the air, the ringtone of a cell phone. Automatically, Grady’s hand went to his pocket, but his phone was silent. Kaitlyn studied him a moment longer. Without a word she turned and plucked her purse from the couch and retrieved her cell phone from it.

Yes? Her eyes studied Grady as she listened. Not yet. Another pause. I have a handle on it. Trust me, I — Grady watched Kaitlyn’s cheeks grow red, her eyes narrowing as she listened to the voice on the other end of the phone. Finally she sighed. Are you sure? It could leave a mess, cause problems. She lifted a finger and scraped one nail lightly across her bottom lip. Of course I can. I’m a professional. You know that.

Kaitlyn ended her call and returned the phone to her purse. She dropped the purse on the couch and turned to face him. Grady’s eyes were pulled as if by leaden weights down the length of her arm to where a black pistol dangled from her fingers. She tapped it gently against the fabric of her skirt.

Grady, are you sure you won’t help me out, hand over the information?

Grady’s eyes skipped between Kaitlyn and the pistol. Lady, I have no idea what you’re talking about.

Kaitlyn sighed. You said that already. Alright. She raised the pistol. He flinched at the sight of it.

I haven’t even shot you yet, Kaitlyn said.

Grady twisted and looked at the front door. He judged it to be at least eight feet away. Kaitlyn’s voice dropped to an icy tone. Don’t. You’ll be dead before you get two steps.

Grady stared at the worn brass knob. I’m betting I’m going to be dead either way.

The blonde sighed. True. I’ve been doing this for a long time, Grady. Different employers, but always the same results. I get what I need to get. Right now, what I need is in that little Jew-fro covered noggin of yours. I will get it out. The only question, and believe me, you don’t have to try to answer this right now, is how much will you endure before you give me what I need. She reached forward and plucked a thin, black remote from the coffee table and pointed it at the television. When the picture had focused, she pointed the remote again and slowly increased the volume.

We don’t want to bother the neighbors, was the last thing Grady heard her say before the sound of an insurance commercial drowned her out. She tossed the remote down, then jerked her head towards the hallway. Grady hesitated, and she raised the pistol again, pointing it at his stomach. Grady got the point, and on legs that seemed rubbery, moved down the hall towards his bedroom. He felt Kaitlyn’s presence close behind him.

Just before turning into the room, Grady’s eyes focused on a picture of himself standing next to an elderly man just outside a seafood restaurant. I’m sorry, he thought to the old man. I’m so sorry.

When he entered the room and saw the set of knives, their steel glinting in the overhead light, his knees buckled. Kaitlyn prodded him between the shoulder blades with the barrel of the pistol and he managed to stand.

The woman ushered him to the bed and secured his wrists with steel handcuffs, affixing the other end of each to a slat in the headboard. Once he was secure, she put the pistol on top of the dresser.

Grady watched as Kaitlyn leaned over him, her hair falling alongside her face. With an almost mindless series of movements, she pulled it back and secured it. Now, we’re going to get started, she said. Her voice was clearer but still soft against the din of the television. She picked up a blade from where it lay on his nightstand and held it up, as if inspecting it for flaws.

Grady never saw the first cut. He saw drops of blood, his blood, suddenly dot the front of Kaitlyn’s dress, saw her look down and smile at the stains as they spread into the fabric.

Then the pain hit.

1

One Week Later

23 minutes to go.

Plenty of time.

Colin Dowey pushed the sleeve of his blue shirt back over his wrist, covering the silver watch, and exhaled nervously. Plenty of time, he repeated to himself. Unless things didn’t pick up soon. If he didn’t show. That was a distinct possibility, a risk that had to be taken. Colin tapped the steering wheel and looked around again, the fifth time in as many minutes. The park to his right held only three people, four if Colin counted the older guy walking the Jack Russell over on the far side of the park, close to Merot Street. Of the three remaining in the grassy mall, two were women and one was a child no more than four. The women sat on a bench in the shade of a large maple and talked animatedly while the child threw rocks across the open grass.

It would be just like him to be hiding, watching from some place of concealment and laughing to himself as the one person who could stop his bloody reign over the city wasted time in the car. Colin squinted and looked around at the other parked cars, but all were empty.

21 minutes.

Colin’s heart sped up. It had to happen today; it had to happen now. Weeks of research, of chasing this psycho, of getting close but never coming away with the brass ring; it had to happen today. The intelligence had to be right. The Wolf would be here today. Colin looked again into the park, studying every shadow that littered the ground as if they would peel away to reveal the killer crouching, a large Cheshire cat grin on his face. The park remained as it had been, devoid of psychotic serial murderers.

The street Colin was parked on intersected with Jackson Avenue. Along Jackson was Bagel Bob’s. This time of morning, there were numerous patrons, many sitting outside in the metal chairs, chatting, reading the paper, and checking emails on personal devices. Despite the reflections of the park’s trees in the building’s large picture window, Colin was pretty sure that the Wolf was not inside.

15 minutes.

Shit, shit, shit, shit. Colin’s fingers tapped a faster rhythm against the steering wheel. It took all his energy to keep his hands there instead of reaching to open the door and rush across the street to the bagel shop. It wouldn’t do any good, especially if the man weren’t there yet. But he had to show; he had to be there. It had to be soon. If not, God only knew what other horrors would happen today.

What are you worried about? You know you’ll just miss him. You’ll miss him and that girl, that sweet girl, Marilyn, will die.

Colin stopped tapping on the steering wheel. No, he said. I got this. It won’t be like last time.

In his mind, Tamara made a snorting noise. "You’re an overweight bitch. What do you think you can do?" Colin took a deep breath and returned his gaze to the teeming people outside the store.

The murders had started six weeks prior, all the victims brutalized, their throats ripped apart. The killer had been dubbed the Wolf because of the savagery with which their bodies had been destroyed. Colin had been assigned the investigation, and the need to stop the insanity had consumed him. Nights had passed with little to no sleep; many evenings had been spent in his car, studying various houses or apartments. Countless hours had been devoted to research in the library, surfing the Internet as he endeavored to put the pieces of the puzzle together. Two days ago, the Wolf struck again. This time he’d taken a nine year old girl, two years older than most of his victims. Colin had gone into overdrive, ignoring all else in his need to find the girl in time.

The kidnapping, having taken place two days prior, gave Colin less than twelve hours to find Marilyn.

The day before, just as Colin was coming out of the shower, the unexpected happened. A caller, who only identified himself as someone close to the man Colin was after, informed Colin that the man he was looking for was a regular patron of the bagel shop.

The thought seemed absurd, that someone who could dispatch children with such cold-bloodedness could casually stroll into this establishment and order a large decaf and a poppy seed bagel, but there it was. The information was the best lead Colin had received in over a month, and so here he sat.

10 minutes left.

Colin rubbed his face in frustration. When he pulled his hands away and his eyes focused across the street, his breath caught. A man was walking along the sidewalk towards the door of the bagel store. Without taking his eyes from the man, Colin reached to the passenger seat and plucked his notebook up. He brought it up, then risked a glance at the paper, but only a glance. He didn’t want to lose sight of the man, lest he disappear like a mirage of water in the distance on a highway.

The description the caller had given matched—very closely—the man walking into the bagel store. Colin put the notebook down and stared. He could see the guy approach the counter and order, then step towards the large window and look out as he waited. Cocky bastard, Colin thought, just standing there like nothing was wrong. He wondered what the other patrons would think; how they would react if they knew they were sharing the same space with the worst criminal the city had known.

The man was tall, approximately six feet, and looked to weigh about one eighty. He had close cut hair and wore blue jeans and a dark sports coat. Colin couldn’t tell what kind of shirt the man wore, but it didn’t matter. The man turned back into the store and approached the counter. A moment later he walked out.

This was it. Colin looked at his watch one last time. Time was up. He had no choice, he had to go now or lose the Wolf forever. He couldn’t let more people die. In one quick motion, he opened the door and started to stand up, only to be thrust back into the seat by an invisible force. He blinked in shock before realizing that he hadn’t disengaged the seatbelt first. His fingers fumbled with the clasp, then he leapt from the car. The sound of the door shutting behind him was lost to him; every fiber of his being was focused on the Wolf, standing on the corner of the street with his back to Colin.

Colin reached the intersection and started to cross. A large woman in a white dress slapped at his arm. Colin looked up and watched a dark blue Mustang race by. He nodded thanks, waited until more traffic had cleared, then jogged across the street. As he reached the midway point, the Wolf began to walk away, heading down Jackson Avenue. Colin increased his speed, sliding into a full run. As he approached, the images of the victims flashed before his eyes, and he used their horror to fuel his need.

He hit the Wolf in the upper back, knocking the bag of bagels and the large coffee out into the street. The two men went down hard to the pavement. Colin didn’t feel the pain of his scraped palms or knees as he tumbled away from the killer. He recovered from his tackle and dove on top of the man before he could gather his feet and escape.

People were starting to stare now, unsure of how to act with the sudden violence on the sidewalk before them. Colin paid them no attention. He had him; he had the Wolf, finally! He reached into his back pocket, pulled out the handcuffs and secured the man’s wrists behind his back, then rolled him over and sat on his stomach.

The Wolf gasped for breath, and finally caught it. Colin…what…what the fuck are you doing?

Colin leaned close to the killer and smiled, I got you, you son of a bitch. You’re never going to butcher another child again. Did that give you a thrill, huh, you sick fucker? Did you get off listening to them scream? Did the taste of their blood make you hard?

The Wolf bucked beneath him. Colin, goddammit, we’re not playing right now. Get the hell off of me!

Colin sat where he was for a moment, panting and staring down at his captive. Then he blinked. What do you mean we’re not playing?

The Wolf coughed, and Colin stood up. The handcuffed man struggled but managed to sit. His face was red with anger and exertion, and there was a large scrape along his forehead from where he had hit the sidewalk. I mean, you idiot, that we’re not playing. Jesus Christ man, I was on my way to work. You fucking tackled me!

But, I was told that the Wolf ate here, and was given your description.

Oh Christ, man, I called that tip in. Look, if you’re not going to play this murder mystery shit right, then we don’t need you in the group.

Colin stared at the man, confused. You called it in on yourself?

The Wolf nodded. Yes. It was dragging on too long. Sophie and Duncan told me I should give you a nudge, that you clearly weren’t getting it on your own. But fuck, man, I thought you would approach me and present your evidence, that we’d have a nice quiet talk in a corner or something. I didn’t think you’d fucking tackle me on the sidewalk and handcuff me. Get these off of me!

Colin dug for the key, then opened the handcuffs. A woman approached, concern etched on her face. Are you okay? she asked, looking at the Wolf. He scowled at Colin, and nodded.

Yes. I know this jerk-off. It’s okay. She gave Colin a dirty, untrusting look and then walked away, looking over her shoulder every few steps as if she expected to be tackled as well.

So… Colin didn’t know what else to say.

Look, let it go for now. Okay? I gotta get to work.

Okay. Colin felt hollow, numb. He couldn’t believe that it was over, and over in such a horrible way. Hey, Walter, are we…?

Walter scowled at Colin and finally sighed and nodded. Yeah. Now get out of my sight so I can get to work. He turned and continued down the street.

Colin stood where he was for several seconds, watching his friend go. Now that the illusion had been shattered, Walter no longer resembled the maniacal serial murderer. He instead looked like a very hurried, very pissed off software developer.

Something registered in Colin’s mind and he looked at his watch. It was eleven after eight. Time had not only run out, it had gotten the better of him. The Wolf had shown up to the bagel shop late and because of that, Colin was now late for work.

He sprinted towards his car.

Fifteen minutes over.

2

The lobby of the Family Bank and Trust was as quiet as a funeral parlor when Colin hurried through the doors. As he moved, he pushed his shirt back into the waist of his pants, and then pushed his fingers through his hair. The door whispered closed behind him as he ran deeper into the space. To his left were the teller windows. At this time of the morning, only one was manned. Colin grinned sheepishly at the look of bemused disapproval plastered on the face of the sole teller, an older woman named Lucy. Her look didn’t last long, dissolving into a smile.

Only eighteen minutes late, he said, his voice louder in the space than he had intended. Lucy chuckled, her shoulders hitching upward once before she returned her attention to preparing her counter. No patrons stood between the velvet ropes of the queue area, and Colin saw none of the other bank officers in the row of offices that lined the wall opposite the teller windows.

Colin continued across the lobby and scanned his security card on a wall-mounted pad next to a nondescript silver door. The pad buzzed and a red light shone. Colin groaned and scanned his card again. The pad paused, as if it knew he were in desperate need to continue on his way, then finally beeped and flashed green. Colin mumbled a curse at the device as he opened the door and stepped through.

Douglass Chambers stood on the other side of the door, his hands in the pockets of his dark slacks. Colin slowed as he saw his boss standing there, but made an attempt to at least act natural.

Hey Doug, he said.

The other man sniffed and pulled one hand out of a pocket. He casually turned his wrist and glanced at a large silver watch. Eight twenty.

Yes, sir, I know. There was a line at the coffee shop, and then traffic. But I’m here now.

Colin, this is at least the fifth time you’ve been late this month.

I’m really sorry. I’m honestly not trying to be late.

It’s only the eighth of the month.

Colin’s brow wrinkled. Is it?

Son, Chambers said, leaning on the word. If you’re not happy being here, I could probably walk outside right now and find ten other people just as qualified and just as eager to work here. Colin stood still, holding his breath. But you know that I give a lot of weight to what you’ve been through.

Yes, sir. I know.

You’re twenty nine. It’s past time for you to start taking your job and your responsibilities more seriously. If you’re late again, you’ll be out. Got me?

Yes, sir. You have nothing to worry about. Colin started back down the hall, just hoping to get to his desk and behind a closed door so he could start his day.

Hang on, Chambers said. Colin paused. Jennifer called in sick today.

Oh, that sucks.

It does. But that means that I need someone to fill her duties today. You know where the lockbox room is. And fix your shirt. You’re supposed to be a professional.

Colin opened his mouth to protest. The lockbox room was in the bowels of the building, and got very little circulation from the central unit. As a result, the air was thick, and a faint musty stench permeated everything. Chambers looked at his watch again. Colin closed his mouth, nodded and continued along the hall, his hands once again wrestling with his shirt.

Since there was no cell service in the lockbox room, he pulled his phone out to check his emails. Most were the typical daily spam, solicitations for credit cards and boner pills. There was only one actual, personal message in the bunch.

Colin,

What’s happening’, hot stuff? Hey, Walt told me about this morning. Don’t feel bad. I’m sorry that the game ended that way, you know? Don’t worry, we’ll come up with something really good for next time. I’ve already got an idea as to what it could be. I’ll