Far From Hope (A Mary Cage FBI Suspense Thriller—Book 2)

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 young adult woman vanishes from her birthday party, FBI Agent Mary Cage and her task force must decipher the startling links between victims and rescue them before it's too late.

FAR FROM HOPE (A Mary Cage FBI Suspense Thriller—Book 2) is the second novel in a new series by mystery and suspense author Taylor Stark. The series begins with FAR FROM HERE (Book #1).

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: Apr 24, 2024
• ISBN: 9781094396637

Book preview

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F A R

F R O M

H O P E

(A Mary Cage Mystery—Book 2)

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

EPILOGUE

PROLOGUE

A rectangle of darker shadow on the entryway rug caught Amanda Turner's eye as she pushed open her front door. An anonymous gift sat there, wrapped in plain brown paper, devoid of any card or clue as to its sender.

Curiosity piqued, Amanda closed the door behind her, switched on the hall light, and approached the package, setting her keys and purse aside. She felt a tingle of excitement, tempered by a whisper of caution that came with receiving unexpected parcels. Delicate fingers worked at the twine, unraveling the mystery with each twist undone.

The box lid lifted to reveal a charm bracelet, its silver chain catching the diffused light from the chandelier above. Each charm, intricate and enigmatic, seemed to hold stories within their metallic contours. A tiny set of scales, a gavel, an owl - symbols of wisdom, justice, and perhaps something more personal. Amanda's brow furrowed as she held it up, letting the charms clink gently together, pondering the cryptic intentions of the giver. The other charms were not as obvious, but she found herself recoiling slightly from them, unsure of the message, but finding an instant dislike to the story they were trying to tell her.

In the midst of her contemplation, darkness enveloped the room as if a giant hand had snuffed out the light. Power outages were rare in her building, and the abrupt plunge into shadow sent a jolt of adrenaline through her veins. The festive air she had felt earlier, when she had enjoyed a birthday celebration with friends and loved ones, was now replaced by a growing sense of vulnerability. The birthday girl stood frozen, the charm bracelet dangling from her grasp, as silence draped over her like a suffocating blanket.

Amanda tried to orient herself in the newfound dark, her eyes straining for any sliver of light. The familiar became foreign, and the comfort of her own home twisted into a landscape where unseen threats could lurk in every corner. She reached for where she knew the wall should be, her hands searching for the solidity bricks and mortar. But before her fingers found it, realization dawned that the stillness of her apartment was not just an absence of light but a prelude to something far more sinister.

She was not alone.

She could sense another presence.

Amanda's fingertips, slick with sudden perspiration, slid across the glass surface of her phone as she tried to unlock it. Her breaths came in quick, shallow puffs, fogging up the screen with each exhalation. The weight of the darkness was tangible, pressing against her skin, as if warning her of the peril that now shared her space, unseen but palpably near.

Stay calm, she whispered to herself, a mantra meant to stave off the panic clawing at her chest. Her legal mind raced for logical explanations—a surprise party perhaps—but the eeriness of the charm bracelet's arrival tainted her thoughts with dread. She had always prided herself on her ability to remain composed under pressure, to dissect situations with forensic precision. But there was no courtroom here to navigate, no jury to sway, just an impenetrable blackness that seemed to swallow sound itself.

The sharp crash of glass shattering against tile shattered the silence like a verdict, sending shards of terror through Amanda's resolve. Her hand jerked involuntarily, the phone slipping and clattering across the floor, just as light from the streetlamps outside should have sliced through the veil of night but didn’t. The curtains—she remembered—were drawn shut.

Her heartbeat thrummed in her ears, too loud, too fast, as she crouched to retrieve her phone, the only lifeline within reach.

But when her groping fingers succeeded in locating it, she stopped. It was pitch black in the house. As soon as she used her cell phone, it would glow, alerting whoever was in there with her of her presence.

She had no idea who was in the apartment with her, but she did know one thing. He meant her harm.

She had to think. She had to get somewhere safe, somewhere hidden, where she could at least call for help. Would scare whoever her intruder? She had to hope it would.

She decided the kitchen was the only option. It offered something else besides privacy. It was where she kept her knives. Twelve inches of razor sharp metal that would put the power back in her hands.

Trying not to breath to alert the man of her presence, and her ears straining, she stood up and slowly gently made her way towards where she knew the door to the kitchen was.

In her mind she calculated the distance: six steps.

A noise behind her made her stop.

Was it the cushioned footstep of the intruder or her own steps?

Her hand reached out in front of her for the door, but only grasped thin air.

Her panicking brain turned its attention to the phone in her other hand but suddenly a presence behind her announced itself with a chilling breath that brushed the nape of her neck.

A hand—clad in cold, supple leather—slammed over her mouth. A scream tried to escape but was smothered into silence. Amanda's body tensed, instincts honed by years of self-defense classes kicking in. She swung her elbow backward, aiming for what she hoped would be the intruder's stomach, but struck nothing but air. Her attacker was agile, anticipating her movements in the blind chaos.

She twisted, writhed, her heels scraping against the wooden floor as she fought back with the ferocity of a cornered animal. Their struggle was a macabre dance choreographed by desperation and fear, punctuated by the grunts and gasps of exertion. Then, betrayal from within: a sharp pain bloomed in her arm, spreading rapidly, its poison seeping into her veins, dulling her senses, sapping her strength.

Amanda's knees buckled, and she felt herself sinking into a void where resistance was futile. Her hand—once poised to summon help—was now limp, unresponsive. The attacker seized it, his grip ironclad and oddly precise, as he forced something cold and metallic around her wrist. It was the charm bracelet, each symbol now a link in the chain that tethered her to this nightmare.

She strained against the encroaching numbness, her mind reeling, trying to piece together who could want to harm her, a young lawyer whose life was dedicated to justice. Yet, as consciousness slipped away like sand through fingers, Amanda realized she was losing this case. There would be no cross-examination, no rebuttal—just the silent accusation of those charms resting heavily on her skin.

Her last coherent thought flickered with the image of the owl and gavel, symbols of wisdom and judgment, alongside the other, darker, charms now twisted into instruments of her undoing. She mustered one final effort to resist, to cry out, but it was as though she was submerged in deep water, her motions sluggish, her voice drowned. Darkness claimed her completely, leaving her to the mercy of the secrets that lurked within and the unknown intentions of her assailant.

CHAPTER ONE

Under the pallid glow of a New England dawn, Mary Cage stood amidst a symphony of clanking weights and the rhythmic thuds of her fists against a heavy bag. In the solitude of her home gym, she moved with the precision of a clock's second hand—each jab, each hook, a nod to her military upbringing and perfectionist nature. Her lean, muscular frame, honed from years of disciplined training, twisted and turned with an elegance that belied the ferocity of her strikes. Tendrils of sweat raced down her temples, mapping the contours of her resolute expression.

Her focus was unwavering, eyes narrowed as she visualized her unseen adversary. If she wasn’t at the dojo working on her Krav Maga, or working on a case, every morning began this way: a regimented routine that started before the sun dared peek over the horizon, a series of mental agility exercises followed by rigorous workout sessions. It was more than just physical conditioning; it was a ritual, a means to sharpen her intellect, to ensure that both body and mind were in perfect synchrony.

The room echoed the aesthetics of utilitarianism—bare walls devoid of adornments save for a single shelf that housed an array of books ranging from criminology to chess strategies. Each volume was meticulously arranged, their spines aligned like soldiers at attention. This was Mary's sanctuary, a place where chaos was banished and order reigned supreme.

Once satisfied with her exertion, Mary paused, her breathing steady despite the vigor of her workout. She draped a towel around her neck and approached a modest corner of the room that seemed out of place amidst the stark functionality. There, a small shrine lay—a collection of mementos and photographs dedicated to a ghost from her past.

She knelt before it, the stoicism on her face softening as her fingers traced the edges of a weathered photograph—the image of a young boy, wide-eyed and smiling. Her brother. His absence was a wound that never fully healed, an ever-present shadow in her life. She allowed herself these fleeting moments of vulnerability, a daily communion of sorts, wherein she could feel his memory weave through her resolve, invigorating her dedication.

Michael, she whispered, the name escaping like a sacred incantation. The guilt, the what-ifs, the aching void—he was the catalyst that had propelled her into the FBI, the driving force behind her relentless pursuit of justice for those snatched away too soon. And today, amidst the stillness of reflection, a decisive spark ignited within her.

Enough waiting, she murmured, her voice a mix of steel and resolve. The time for passive remembrance was over. Today marked the beginning of her own investigation into her brother's disappearance. A case long gone cold, but not forgotten. Not by her. Clutching the pendant that hung around her neck—a simple silver chain with a dog tag bearing her brother's name—she rose to her feet, breathing in the serenity, the calmness of the room matched by that inside her now that she had made her decision.

The tranquility was palpable, the kind that precedes the storm. And then it shattered—the secure phone on her coffee table buzzed with a ferocity that mocked the calm.

Simmons, the screen flashed, and Mary's spine stiffened. Deputy Director Carla Simmons only called when the stakes were high, when the sands of time thinned with urgency. Mary swiped the answer icon, her heart drumming a familiar rhythm of anticipation.

Amanda Turner, a young lawyer, was taken from her apartment three days ago, Carla's voice cut through the speaker with clinical precision. One for you and Jake.

Forty-nine hours. The boundary line between hope and despair in any abduction case. Each hour beyond forty-eight reduced the chances of finding a victim alive significantly. Mary knew those odds all too well; they haunted her every decision, every pursuit.

That boundary was why the task force had been set up. To focus minds and resources on the most delicate, the most urgent of cases. The cases where any mistake, any delay literally meant the difference between life and death.

Forty-nine hours. It also echoed the timeline of her own brother's vanishing—a ghostly parallel that never ceased its torment. She could still hear the words of the investigating officer as he told them the significance of that timeline. Michael. His name was a scar seared deep into her soul, a wound that refused to heal despite the years.

Understood, she said. I'm on my way in, you can brief us then. We are going to find her, Carla. Before it's too late.

Her jaw tightened, the muscles working silently as she fought against the swell of memories. Each case was a race against the ever-ticking clock, each rescue a silent victory not just for the victims but also for the brother she couldn’t save. This was personal, always had been. But Amanda Turner... she would be different. She would not be a case number, a statistic. She would be their victory, Mary's silent tribute to Michael.

The Deputy Director's reply was cut short as Mary ended the call, her mind already churning. She grabbed her badge and gun, the twin weights familiar and grounding against her side. As she strode toward the door, the shrine for her brother caught her eye—a stark reminder of why she waged this war against the unseen monsters of the world.

Mary arrived at the task force office, her steps brisk and purposeful. The air was charged with a sense of urgency that matched the pulse thrumming in her veins. As she entered the room that would serve as their war room for this case, she was met with the sight of her partner, Jake Martinez.

Jake was the antithesis of Mary's disciplined poise—a lean figure lounging against a desk, his short dark hair neatly styled and a well-groomed beard framing his face. His jacket was slung over the back of his chair, revealing rolled-up sleeves and a tie hanging loosely around his neck. His eyes, an incisive shade of brown, flickered up from the file he was perusing, sizing her up with an instinctual sharpness that often led him down paths less traveled by her own meticulous methods.

Morning, Cage, Jake greeted, his tone casual but there was a slight edge to it—an anticipation for the chase.

Martinez. Mary nodded, acknowledging him with a professionalism that felt more armor than courtesy. What have we got so far?

Waiting on Tucker's briefing. But I've got a feeling about this one, Jake said, tapping the file.

Feelings don't solve cases, evidence does, Mary countered calmly, though her voice held a firm conviction that left no room for debate.

Sometimes you gotta look beyond the facts, Jake shrugged, but the glint in his eye suggested he relished the challenge her perspective posed.

The conversation halted as Sam Tucker entered the room. He was the embodiment of a tech whiz, complete with unkempt hair that seemed to have experienced one too many late nights bathed in the blue glow of computer screens. His glasses sat askew on his nose, framing intelligent eyes that missed nothing—not a byte, not a clue.

Alright, team, listen up, Sam announced, pulling up Amanda Turner's profile on the large monitor. The room dimmed save for the light emanating from the screen, casting shadows across their faces as they leaned in closer.

Amanda Turner, twenty-nine, successful lawyer—had her own practice specializing in civil rights cases. Family says she's driven, dedicated. No known enemies, but let’s not rule out any disgruntled clients just yet, Sam explained, scrolling through images and documents that painted a picture of a woman who had carved out her place in the world with grit and intellect.

Mary marveled at how Sam had grown into the role. Out of jail