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Category:
Mystery/Suspense
Publisher: KC Publishing
ISBN-10: 9780995057852
Type: Fiction
Pages: 297
Copyright: May 11, 2018
ISBN-13: 9780995057852
Price: $3.99 (eBook)
Two recent murders. Two serial killers. A conspiracy that reaches beyond the physical world.
Consumed with grief over the tragic death of her husband, FBI agent Victory McClane is obsessed with finding Ohio’s serial killer, “The Wrapper”.
When another young woman turns up dead and the victim is linked to Derrick Lynn, son of the Secretary of Defense, Victory finds Derrick has all the right answers and is a little too helpful.
Derrick has a secret: He’s a government assassin who uses his unusual paranormal skills to eliminate targets. Determined to keep his own secrets buried, he offers to help find The Wrapper.
But can Victory trust him?
As the body count rises, Victory must cross a dangerous line—into a world of government cover-ups, murder, and betrayal—a decision that will test her limits. And everything she believes in.
The Assassin Chronicles TV series is in development with Council Tree Productions.
Excerpt
In the warmth of the SUV, Victory clutched her cup of coffee with both hands and stared at her partner.
Ryan glanced at her, then back to the road. “I’m still thinking.”
“You've been thinking for five minutes, at least.”
“Okay.” He sighed. “His father is...my father's son...and I have no siblings.”
“That's established.”
“My father's son...me...is...my grandfather. The man is my grandfather.” He slapped the steering wheel in triumph, then flicked on the turning signal and turned right.
“How'd you ever become an FBI agent?”
“My uncle bought my way in.” He grinned. “Is it his uncle?”
“What?”
“That man’s father is his uncle.”
“No. Jesus C—”
The car ahead came to a dead stop.
“Watch out, Ryan!”
“Jesus.” He stomped the brake.
The seatbelt tightened across her chest. Luke-warm coffee splashed onto her jeans. The Chevy Suburban fishtailed and slid on the snow-covered road, finally coming to a stop almost kissing the bumper of the car ahead. The driver of the car suddenly turned on his hazard lights.
Ryan tossed the vehicle into reverse, and then drove around the car.
Victory set her coffee in the holder between the seats and glared at the driver as they passed. “A little late for that, don’t ya think, pal?”
The driver gave her the finger.
She shook her head. “Moron. Don’t people stay home anymore in crappy weather?"
“Guess not. The first November snowfall brings out all the idiots.”
She hated November. Hated the snow. It reminded her of death.
“You seem a little off tonight, Vic. You okay?”
“Eighteen-hour day so far and no end in sight, apparently. I hate celebrity crimes. And I'm going to be forty-five years old in a couple days. That's halfway to fifty, in case your math skills are as poor as your riddle-solving skills. At least Jade's coming home for my birthday so there's that but, Jesus...forty-five.”
“I can’t imagine.”
“Says the guy born nine days after me.”
“Hey, I’m just a kid compared to you, and always will be.”
Victory watched the giant snowflakes disintegrate on the windshield. “Man, what do you think we’ll find there? The friggin’ ghost of Houdini? I doubt it’s nearly as perplexing as we’ve been told. We shouldn’t have to deal with this, not when…why aren’t the locals handling it?”
“Bullington was an important guy.”
“He wasn’t the least bit important.”
“He was hugely popular. Popular and important have become synonyms in this wacky new age of alternate facts and the divine right of media personalities,” Ryan said dismissively before returning to the issue at hand. “I guess when the Bureau was called in, the brass figured they needed the top players for this game.”
“Like the guy who can’t figure out a simple riddle and his elderly partner?”
“Is it my cousin?”
Victory shook her head again. “You ever listen to him? Bullington?”
“Hardly my cup of Sanka. I’m not big on politics or government conspiracies. Except for JFK. That one still doesn’t feel right to me.”
“Someone told me Bullington said the Obama birther thing was just a ruse to obfuscate the fact he really came from...” She pointed out the window at the sky. “…up there somewhere and dropped in to find out what really happened to his pals at Area 51 back in the day.”
“Well, the Bullington-types always said he was some kind of alien.”
Victory rolled her eyes.
Ryan grinned. “So Big Mouth was kooky, or just capitalized well off other kooks, but I don’t know who would’ve wanted to blow his brains out.”
The guy hadn’t earned the name ‘Big Mouth’ for keeping his big mouth shut. He was controversial about anything and everything from gun control to religion to racism. There was probably a mile-long list of people who wanted to shut the man up for good.
Victory took a drink of her coffee. “Profiting from others, further dividing the country and fueling dissent for no reason other than money and fame? Who wouldn't want to kill him?”
“Point taken,” Ryan said.
Flashing red and blue lights came into view ahead, and so did Eddie Bullington’s vulgar gated mansion, lit to the hilt.
Ryan stopped the SUV behind one of the many police cruisers parked on the street.
Victory pulled the FBI badge that was hanging down her shirt and put it on the outside of her Bureau-issued winter coat. They opened their doors at the same time and got out of the vehicle.
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