Shadows: Peripheral, #4

By Amado Olivera

Hunter and Sally were called to investigate the mysterious deaths of men in the Chicago area. They must uncover who was behind the murders. But they will uncover something far greater than they originally anticipated. They must outwit their opponent, hell-bent on carrying on its mission.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Amado Olivera
• Release date: Aug 18, 2025
• ISBN: 9798232335540

Amado Olivera

Amado Olivera always dreamt of being a writer. Though he pursued a career in Finance and Accounting, he always had the desire to write stories.  Amado studied at Montana State University for his bachelor's degree in Accounting and obtained his Master's in Finance and Accounting from Regis University in Denver, Colorado. After traveling to many countries, he finally decided to pursue his passion for writing. He hopes that his stories will make the reader smile,  cry, and reflect on the wonders and mysteries of life. He hopes to inspire others to follow their dreams.

Book preview

Chapter 1

She stood motionless in front of the mirror and smiled. The night was going to be great. She prepped one last time. Her dress was perfect. Her matching red lips and high-heeled shoes she had not worn would make him thank the heavens he was born. She wore the perfect ensemble. She showed enough to tease, but not too much. Her breasts were partly exposed. He’d appreciate that. Her hair had more curls after she spent over an hour sprucing them up. Lastly, she put on a shiny pearl necklace and matching earrings. Her neck was inviting, and she wanted him to kiss it gently and trace her lips with his tongue.

He knocked at the door. She smiled. She like that he was punctual. Keeping a lady waiting was ungentlemanly, and he was not. She hurried to open but slowed before reaching the door and did one last check. Everything had to be perfect. She sprayed on the perfume she knew men adored, her special man-killer, as she called it. After letting him wait to build excitement, she turned the knob. She welcomed him with a smile, and he did the same.

He wore a dark suit. His white teeth gleamed. His dark hair was well-groomed and cut short. He looked ten years younger. She liked that. He radiated heat and sex. His cologne aroused her. He was likely thinking the same thing. It was a night for action. She welcomed him with a long, intense kiss, the kind he’d never enjoy again with any other woman. Not after tasting her.

She drew him in. This she enjoyed. Men were weak. Her silk dress showed her curves, and she knew he was looking exactly where she wanted. On the table, she had a bottle of champagne. It was ice cold. She had him unscrew it. She passed her tongue across her lips, letting him know his reward was coming. Yes, it was coming. He would come for sure; he would. His hand trembled, though he tried to play it cool. But the overflowing champagne was her invitation to suck it in quickly. And it spilled all over her silk dress. Revealing exactly what she wanted him to see. Her nipples were firm and shone through. She returned the bottle of champagne to him, and he poured two glasses. She sipped hers. He gulped his. He was bursting with heat. But fun required him to wait. He had to explode like the champagne she shook moments before he entered. It was all part of the game. She was not a high school teen, though she played the delicate flower. Men liked that. It was perverse. They liked them young. He did too. All men were the same. And she was going to give him his greatest desire. He set his glass on the table and grabbed her arm, pulling her against him. She stared into his eyes. Desire. He was bursting with desire. If all women knew how to wield their natural talents, they’d rule the world. But no, men did. Foolish, stupid, cynical, hateful men. She gave him another taste. The moisture of his tongue mixed with the champagne paved the way for the great climax. She pulled him closer, and walked away. She pushed with one hand. He stumbled. He shook his head.

That’s some champagne you bought.

Yes, a real killer.

He opened his tie and collar. He struggled to breathe.

What’s wrong?

I feel dizzy. Everything is hazy.

Oh dear. You must have gotten too excited. You must take it easy. There is no need to rush things. You are too eager.

I have waited with great anticipation.

You shall finally have me. Relax. Come this way. You need to take a breath of fresh air.

She opened the door to the balcony. Before them was an enviable view. From the Crowne Plaza Chicago West Loop Hotel, she could see the United Center, home of the Chicago Bulls, and Union Park. She liked the city, and her hotel was close to Rush Hospital, the University of Illinois, and the Chicago River. The view was priceless. She kissed him, pointing at the places they had been and others she hoped he’d take her to. Hugging him, she smiled. The air was cool, making her hair waver across her face. She kept speaking as he stumbled. His hand grabbed at her. His vision blurred, and he trembled. The poison she gave him was perfect. It always worked. She stopped smiling. She was bored. He kept fumbling. With a gentle push, he fell onto the railing. He kept smiling as she kissed him goodbye. She stooped down, lifted him over, and he fell to the ground below. She rushed back inside and closed the door. Without delay, she wiped the bottle of champagne and everything she had touched. Her eyes scanned as she remembered her movements. She poured out the champagne in the kitchen sink and threw the bottle in her large bag. She covered herself in a large jacket, put on a wig and a large hat. She gave the room one last glance and shut the door, not forgetting to wipe the knob of any fingerprints. She knew there were cameras, but they’d be hard-pressed to discover who she truly was. Moments later, she exited the elevator on the ground floor. She dropped the key at the receptionist and signed out as she had indicated the day before. She scheduled everything. Nothing was unusual. The young man smiled. She bit her lips as she flirted with him. He liked what he saw. Who didn’t? But a commotion disturbed him. People ran inside.

A man entered. He was trembling and in shock as he asked for them to call the police. Someone had jumped to his death. The young woman expressed horror. More people arrived. Many more curious people reached. She waved at the young man and disappeared into the crowd that had gathered. The police arrived and did as expected. They questioned onlookers and the hotel staff. They reviewed camera footage and questioned guests as well. The night was long.

Hunter finally arrived. He got the call. He and Sally were eating at Lou Malnati's Pizzeria. Hunter loved all things Italian. Sally was his Robin. They had arrived from Kansas the day before. They did not tell Ned until this morning. They wanted a day to decompress and spend time together. They followed Justin. He was no fool. He knew when the fight was not in his favor. He bolted. And they both did the same. And taking a day off was a disgrace. They deserved a month, if not more, after all they had been through. But Ned had plans, eager to put them to work. They had yet to give their official report on the last case. Hunter was not looking forward to doing so. He hated the peripheral files. His unblemished record was burning in the trash can. But they discovered Mr. Sutton was dead. The government, their government, reported a bear gave him the shock of his life. All the rest was extra. Without evidence, it was not worth mentioning. Hunter hated Ned. His timing sucked. He had the server bag their food as Ned instructed them to investigate what happened at Crowne Plaza. Neither he nor Sally knew what to expect. But he thanked his good fortune he had not eaten, or he’d throw up everything. Sally did, but there was nothing much in her stomach to throw up. Obviously, by the time they arrived, officers were there, and so was the ambulance. The officers gathered evidence and had done most of the groundwork. Hunter glared up. He was not fond of heights. The idea of falling off a building and knowing what was to happen must be terrifying. He shook his head. Sally wiped her mouth on his sleeve. He turned and frowned at her. She had searched for a handkerchief in his back pocket and, seeing he did not have any, helped herself.

Thanks, Sally. I always wanted a woman to use my shirt to wipe puke off her face.

That’s why I have you. Oh...shit. She turned and puked beside him.

How did you enter the force?

Give me a break. Have you no heart? His head is splattered. It’s terrible.

I agree. Tell you what. Why don’t you sit over there while I find out what the officers discovered?

You should tell Ned he ruined our date.

I don’t want to mention that to him. He’d be an ass and keep doing it to piss me off.

Is everything only about you? I won’t be able to eat.

The night was long. By the time they got to Sally’s apartment, it was past midnight. But contrary to what she said, Sally devoured her food. He did as well. Hunter kept thinking. He could not get rid of the image from his mind. The autopsy would reveal many things. They had to wait for that. The officers would give their statements, and he and Sally would go over them the following morning. They had given theirs already. Their romantic outing ended dryly. Hunter and Sally slept and were in no mood for anything. Sally cuddled all night, and he hardly slept. He had seen many deaths. He honed his skill to block them out. It was not personal. He did his job. But the man’s death troubled him. Perhaps seeing it could happen to him was what terrified him. He bet the man was drunk. But there was no ID on the body. It would take time to figure out who he was and, more importantly, which room he fell from. They would check camera footage from the buildings nearby.

Hunter and Sally finally gave their report on their last case. Ned was unimpressed; disappointed was more like it. Hunter could tell his smirk showed a cynical response to his less-than-stellar performance. Ned listened but did not believe most of what he said. But when Sally repeated the same story, he was more inclined to take them seriously. It all resembled the same song. Without evidence, they were wasting their time. Reports from Kansas showed the military had pulled out. They gave a press conference explaining they had completed their training. No word came out of anyone being killed or such. Hunter knew one by one, the men would die.

Hunter and Sally. Your new case should be easier.

Why is that? said Hunter.

It involves the mysterious deaths of many men.

Sally’s brow arched. Hunter could tell she was relieved no women or children were involved. He found it a bizarrely ironic and welcome change.

It gives me the impression someone is pissed off at men.

Likely an abused woman, said Sally.

Or a psycho bitch, said Hunter.

Hunter, has no class, said Ned.

Tell him, Ned. He forgets I am a lady.

I didn’t forget. But you are one tough girl.

But I prefer you don’t talk like that when I am around. It diminishes you.

His mom would have slapped him in the mouth. He knew the day his mom met Sally, they’d hit it off running. It would not go well for him. What was left of his free will would end with them deciding what remained of his life. But if his life was more of what he had with Sally, excluding the endless gunshots, running, and crawling, it was worth the sacrifice.

Perhaps you are right, Hunter, said Ned. Many men have died sudden, violent deaths. I suspect the death you witnessed last night should be a part of this. But let me not jump to a conclusion. You two must find out who has killed a dozen men.

A dozen! said Sally.

That we know of.

And this is also in the peripheral files? said Hunter.

How is this related to the others? said Sally.

You must find out. For we believe it is.

This is more in line with serial killers, or a disgruntled person with vengeance in mind, said Hunter.

Someone hates men and is killing them. Find out who and, if possible, why. But ensure you don’t get yourself killed, said Ned.

You think it’s a woman? said Sally.

I didn’t say that, said Ned. It could be anything, organized crime, a serial killer, or there could be a link between them. Find out if there is anything tying all twelve cases in the file. Perhaps you get your answer.

Chapter 2

W e are likely dealing with a serial killer, Hunter added with a smug smile. To him, it was a straight line from A to B. But Sally could not help herself. She always had to come up with a convoluted theory and rarely agreed with his simple explanations. He wondered if she was bored, wanting to complicate her life. As she had told him, she fought to uncover the truth behind what happened to her. Her life was a mess. So, he thought, she got used to seeing shadows, faces, and danger at every turn. Going to the shop around the corner was an adventure of excitement, fear, and tangled emotions for her. By now, he should have been used to her. He was accustomed to her constant rebuttals and wild ideas, but she always surprised him. Today would be no exception.

That is the logical conclusion. And in a way, you are right. The assassin is a serial killer, but I believe whoever it is, is not killing randomly every Tom, Dick, or Harry.

So you concluded the murderer is a woman? said Hunter.

I said no such thing. I merely believe we must, and you will agree, find out the connection between the victims. That will tell us what we are dealing with.

Perfect, that’s exactly what was to logically follow.

What does the report say?

For one, the victim is Simon Wilson. It says here he was a Molecular Biologist working for the government. He has done many scientific papers. One that made headlines was his report on cloning—human cloning.

Interesting. And yet you question my wild theories. When was the last time a Molecular Biologist fell off the fifteenth floor of a hotel?

Hunter agreed she was using his reasoning to arrive at her logical conclusion. At the rate she was going, she would convert to his religion. He was not sure that was a good thing. That was his thing. She should stick to doing her thing, which was to throw a wrench into all his ideas. That was why Ned brought her in, not to agree with him.

Maybe it’s his lover who tried to blackmail him. He refused to pay, and she threw him over.

That’s a narrow focus, Hunter. I believe an old scientist in his late fifties would be far better off going to a brothel than having a lover.

But some women...hmm...many do it for the money or a wide range of reasons.

Well, I believe it may be about his job. What are the odds a molecular biologist would fall and not an accountant, or a police officer, a truck driver, or a sales agent?

Sally that should be my line of reasoning.

Well, say something. I have ideas, plenty where that came from.

Any wild ideas?

Yes, but let’s see what else the file has.

Twelve men died in questionable manners. But let’s focus first on who they are. You may have a point there, Sally. They are all highly educated, in top-notch positions in the government. It points to someone targeting government workers or those involved in some program.

I agree. How did they die?

Oh, yeah. You have the papers. If my memory serves me right, three died in traffic accidents. Four died of natural causes.

Let me guess with an unknown explanation?

I like you, Sally, for more reasons than one. Two fell from a high rise. And two had bullet holes in the head.

So, are we adding the latest victim to this file?

I hope it is unrelated, but it is uncannily similar. The killer has made a mistake.

Well, whoever it is, the killer has repeated. Eventually, he or she will be sloppy, and we will capture him or her.

Let’s see what we have in the current case.

"Oh, yes. The report says he fell off the fifteenth floor, as you had mentioned earlier. The receptionist reported he had entered