Kill Switch: A Vigilante Serial Killer Action Thriller (Angel of Darkness Suspense Thriller Series Book 1) (20 page)

Thank you for reading
Kill Switch
.

To show my appreciation of your support as a reader of the series, I’ve created a second series of books exclusively for you. I’m sure you’ll find it both interesting and fun – I know I did when I wrote it.

Each of the seven
Angel of Darkness
books has its own
Black File
, so there are seven
Black Files
for you to enjoy and collect.

Now, these
Black Files
have been written exclusively for you. Really. I’m not joking! You won’t find them anywhere else except through the links in the
Angel of Darkness
books.

If you don’t read the books, you don’t get the
Black Files
. Now that’s exclusive!

Grab
Black File #1 – Kill Switch
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Black File #1

Chapter 01

As sunlight shafted through Riverside Church’s narrow stained-glass windows, Christian grinned like a homeless guy who’d just found the jackpot-winning lottery ticket lying on the sidewalk.

People said money couldn’t buy happiness. They said it because they wanted to convince themselves it was true. Endless decades of work, bills, and sacrifice had to be better than possibly losing what little they’d scraped together on chasing the elusive American Dream.

So, could money buy happiness? His Porsche 911, Caribbean vacations, and invitation-only AmEx Black Card said it could.

But this?

Sunbeams speckled the church’s weary gray stone with rainbow-colored joy. Pew upon pew burst with smiling faces. Organ music danced through the air.

This? This wasn’t just happiness. No, this was…?

He glanced at her.

Ecstasy.

Yes, ecstasy. That was the only word for it.

Money couldn’t buy this.

Hell, no.

This made every Christmas, every birthday, every Thanksgiving feel like a rain-drenched Monday morning stuck in gridlock.

As they glided back down the main aisle, Christian looked down at Angelique’s hand in his. The ring he’d just placed on it was still there – this was not a dream. He clutched her hand tighter. He never wanted to let it go. Her skin the color of coffee with just the barest dash of milk, his hand looked like that of a ghost beside hers.

His gaze drifted up to Angelique’s beaming face.

He smiled at his wife. His wife. My God, she’d said ‘yes’ the very instant he’d asked her to marry him, but he’d never dreamed it would actually happen, that he’d be here one day with the most beautiful woman on God’s green earth as his wife. He’d always worried something would go wrong, but…

As they approached the rear of the church, heading for the central arch beneath the choir loft, an enormous bronze statue of Christ gazed down upon them, blessing their union.

The shafts of sunlight illuminating the church’s interior faded. The weather forecast had said it might become overcast midmorning, but that didn’t matter. As if anything could spoil their perfect day.

Christian smiled again at his wife. “Ready?”

Angelique squeezed his hand and simply smiled back.

They strolled through the foyer, on through heavy wooden doors decorated with black wrought iron curls and swirls, and emerged from the solemnity of the shadows into the radiant light of jubilation.

Smiling faces surrounded them.

Voices erupted in celebration.

Rice showered by the handful.

Money? Power? Sex and drugs and rock ’n’ roll? You name it, but he could flat-out guarantee it was absolutely squat compared to this. This was a whole other level. She was a whole other level.

Atop the stone steps, the bells in the gigantic tower pealing just for them, Christian stood with his friend, his lover, and now, his wife. As wealthy as his family was, how foolish he’d been to think he’d had it all. Now… Now, he had it all.

And to think they’d argued because he wanted to postpone this day. Argued so much just four days earlier, he’d made her cry. What a tool!

Cameras clicked.

Flashes flashed.

Phones recorded this precious moment for them to delight in.

He felt Angelique’s touch. He glanced down. She brushed something off his chest. Something small and red. Fluff or something. Oh, yeah – get rid of that. Nothing should spoil the perfect photos of their perfect day. Memories they’d treasure for a lifetime.

Angelique brushed again.

What was that thing?

He brushed it.

It went.

But it didn’t drop to the ground.

It moved.

Sideways.

What the…?

He brushed at it to knock it off the delicate white lace of Angelique’s bodice. Brushed it so it would fall with the grains of rice still raining down on them.

But again it didn’t fall.

Again it moved. Only not sideways like last time. This time, it moved upward.

He gasped, realizing what it was. No!

A rifle shot cracked the perfect day.

Chunks of brain and shards of skull splattered the dark church doors.

Angelique fell backwards like a rag doll taken by the wind. Flesh bursting from where her right eye had been. Blood spattering her wedding gown. So bright, so red against such virginal white.

After an initial moment of the remarkable stillness and silence that shock brings, panic erupted.

A woman in a long lemon dress dragged her screaming daughter away, but her dress knotted around her legs. She crashed to the sidewalk. Scrambling up, she lifted the girl with one hand, her dress with the other, and ran for the sanctuary of the church.

Clutching two wailing children to his chest, a father sprinted into the road, a woman trailing alongside. A black car blared its horn and swerved. The family didn’t even look, but just shot for the cover of the trees of Riverside Park.

All around, guests grappled with each other to flee the slaughter.

Christian sank to the ground beside his wife. He pulled her lifeless, blood-soaked body to him.

His gray-haired father knelt beside him. He looked at all those running for shelter, running to distance themselves from the happy couple whose perfect day they’d been so eager to share.

His father shouted, “Get an ambulance! For God’s sake, get an ambulance.”

Christian cradled Angelique and sobbed. Tears ran down his cheeks as blood ran down the church steps into the gutter.

He’d begged her to postpone the wedding. Begged her. Why hadn’t she listened?

He’d told her it was too dangerous. Told her they were prime targets. Told her he couldn’t live without her.

Why hadn’t she listened?

Why?

Why?

Chapter 02

Alone in Marlowe’s Grounds, at a round table with a white vase in the center holding a plastic pink orchid, Tess Williams shook her head.

What was wrong with the world? Well, not the world. The world was doing just fine. No, it was people. What the hell was wrong with people?

Cradling her coffee, she closed her blue eyes and drew a deep breath in through her nose. She held it, and then let it out slowly through her mouth. She opened her eyes again. The world was just as she’d left it. Sadly.

The aroma of fresh Javan coffee wafted up from her cup. She stared at the wisps of steam for a moment, then looked back over the heads of the customers at the coffee shop’s counter, to the wall-mounted television and the breaking news from Riverside Church, Morningside Heights. The couple couldn’t have picked a more beautiful spring morning for a wedding. Nor a more beautiful church. Couldn’t fault them there. They must have figured it would be a perfect day.

All Chanel and attitude, the woman reporter tried to look concerned but was clearly ecstatic at having landed such a high-profile story. She gestured over the police cordon to the church, where a forensics team scoured the steps and detectives interviewed traumatized wedding guests.

She said, “As you can see, Peter, the police have sealed off the area and are investigating what is yet another truly heinous shooting. The third in just seven days.”

In the studio, so well-groomed he looked like a waxwork model, the news anchor, Peter, said, “And what’s the official response to the incident, Janice? Do the police suspect it’s the work of the Pool Cleaner?”

“Well, Peter, while it’s way too early to speculate, initial indications do indeed point to another Pool Cleaner killing, yes. Though there hasn’t yet been official confirmation of that, I’m sure it won’t be long in coming.”

Tess hung her head. It just never stopped. So she could never stop.

She took a last gulp of her coffee, then shut down her tablet and stuffed it into her black backpack. Her article on gang violence in Little Russia would have to wait. Another story had grabbed the headlines. A story she’d hoped she’d only ever see reported and never have to become a part of. But like that was ever going to have happened.

She strode toward the door. While most people shuffled or loped or lumbered or slouched, Tess flowed, her gait effortless, gliding, like an exquisite Swiss timepiece, each part precision engineered to interact perfectly with the next.

With slabs of gray cloud gnawing away the blue sky, the sharp spring air bit like a starving dog at the boy teasing it. Tess zipped up her black leather jacket as she exited the coffee shop and emerged onto Broadway.

When the average person thought of Broadway, they pictured the razzmatazz of theater shows, seeing famous actors in the flesh, and the excitement of Times Square. Few people realized that the vast proportion of this world-famous landmark was nothing but an ordinary city street, like countless other city streets across the US.

Burger joints, delis, banks, cafés, grocery stores… Broadway ran the length of Manhattan and then continued on for miles. To most New Yorkers, Broadway was merely another street. Nothing exotic. Merely functional.

Few people yet knew of the homicide at Riverside. Buses still picked up passengers; pedestrians still shuffled along sidewalks; cars still honked and growled.

A yellow cab pulled up to the curb in front of her. A fat guy in a gray overcoat struggled out and then waddled down the sidewalk. Within seconds, he became just another nondescript face in the crowd that people passed without even noticing.

In a city of eight million people, it was easy to disappear, to be but a blur in the hectic shadows of the most vibrant city in the world.

With a picture of a tiger on his black T-shirt, visible through his open red puffer jacket, a tall black guy ambled toward her. He was so scrawny he looked like the only thing making him three dimensional were the tire-like ribs of his coat. Head down, staring at his phone, forcing other pedestrians to move out of his way because he was way too busy and way too important to make any allowances for anyone else, he caught an old lady with his elbow and knocked a blue box out of her hands.

The box hit the concrete sidewalk to the sound of shattering glass. If Tess heard it, he must have, but he didn’t even turn, let alone apologize or offer to make amends.