Also by Christopher Greyson
And Then She Was Gone
Girl Jacked
Jack Knifed
Jacks are Wild
Jack and the Giant Killer
Data Jack
Jack of Hearts
Jack Frost
Jack of Diamonds
The Girl Who Lived
Pure of Heart
Jack of Diamonds
Copyright © 2019 Greyson Media
The right of Christopher Greyson to be identified as author of this Work has been asserted by him in accordance with sections 77 and 78 of the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher.
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Find out more about the author and upcoming books online at www.ChristopherGreyson.com.
ISBN: 1-68399-090-0
ISBN-13: 978-1-68399-090-1
Jack of Diamonds v 1.0 12-14-19
Created with Vellum
This book is dedicated to my wife—my Alice. I’d marry her again in a minute and my love and respect for her grows every day.
Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
Chapter 42
Chapter 43
Chapter 44
Chapter 45
Chapter 46
Chapter 47
Chapter 48
Chapter 49
Chapter 50
Chapter 51
Chapter 52
Chapter 53
Chapter 54
Chapter 55
Chapter 56
Chapter 57
Chapter 58
Chapter 59
Chapter 60
Chapter 61
Chapter 62
Chapter 63
The Detective Jack Stratton Mystery-Thriller Series
The Adventures of Finn & Annie — MiniMystery Series
Acknowledgements
About The Author
1
“Help . . .”
The one-word plea over the speaker was little more than a faint groan.
Jack turned up the volume on his police scanner as all of his emotions dialed down. No longer on the police force, he still listened to calls while he drove and now the habit could save a friend’s life. The check-in had started out as routine as they come, but like any first responder, Jack knew that a boring call could turn deadly in an instant.
“Officer Pugh, what is your status?” The dispatcher’s words were crisp, clear, and filled with fear.
Jack sped up, and the trees along the road became a blur of green. His former partner, Donald Pugh, had been on patrol up on Buck Mountain, and noticed the front door of one of the rentals was open when he drove by at the start of his shift. After he looped around the peak and saw the door still ajar, he stopped to perform a simple welfare check. Folks in these parts—where a foraging raccoon or a hungry bear could do a lot of damage—might leave their doors unlocked, but not open.
“Ten-thirteen,” Donald gasped.
Officer down.
Jack’s knuckles turned white as he gripped the steering wheel. He jammed the gas pedal to the floor and the engine of the Dodge Charger roared as the car surged forward. In the backseat, Lady, his one hundred and twenty pound king shepherd, barked excitedly.
The dispatcher was trying to get Donald talking, but there was no response now. Jack could picture the flurry of activity inside the dispatch room. No other code brought more distress to emergency responders. “Backup is on its way, Donald. Stay with me.”
Jack grabbed his phone and called 911 as he pumped the brakes and took a sharp turn.
“Nine-one-one. What is—”
He recognized her voice instantly and grit his teeth wishing any other operator had picked up. “Marilyn, this is Jack Stratton. I’m three minutes out from Officer Pugh.”
“Okay, ah . . . Jack, you’re not a cop anymore.” Marilyn sounded like she was spitting nails into the phone. Most women liked the handsome, hometown hero with a heart of gold, but not Marilyn.
“Let the other units know I’m en route. I’ll leave this line open.” Jack dropped his phone into his cup holder as he turned onto the unpaved road on his right, racing over the rough gravel, the cacophony drowning out all other sounds.
He didn’t need to be reminded that he’d lost his badge. He lived that harsh truth every day. But this far out of town, the nearest backup unit was fifteen minutes away. Jack was all Donald had.
“Hang on, Lady.”
Lady settled back in the seat against her restraint, panting loudly. Jack had tricked out the rear of the Charger to keep his new partner safe, installing a safety harness for the enormous dog.
Rocks pinged off the undercarriage as the Charger raced up the dirt road. At this speed, avoiding potholes was Jack’s biggest challenge. Whenever he clipped one, the muscles in his forearms flexed as he struggled to keep control of the car.
He reached for his body camera and turned it on. He had been a big fan of the device while he was on the force, and as a bounty hunter, having a video recording of his apprehensions of bail skips was invaluable. But that wasn’t why he was turning it on now. If something were to happen to Jack, the camera could help the police find whoever was responsible.
He tried to shove the morbid thought aside as the Charger slid onto the main road. He was almost to the remote address and had to be careful to avoid missing the driveway.
“Jack? ETA?” Marilyn called out over the phone.
“One minute out.” Jack jammed on the brakes and turned in at the long driveway.
Marilyn didn’t let her dislike of Jack affect her professionalism. “Backup is still ten minutes away.”
“Understood.”
Jack rounded the last turn and the house came into view, a two-story, cherry-red farmhouse with white shutters. Donald’s police car was parked out front. The driver’s door hung open and the engine was running.
Jack picked up the phone and slid it into his shirt pocket. It would have to act as a makeshift police radio. “Arrived on scene. Donald’s cruiser is out front.”
As he opened his car door,
the dome light clicked on and Jack’s eyes locked on the black-and-white photo clipped to his visor. Aunt Haddie was old-fashioned and had convinced Alice, her foster daughter, to have an engagement picture taken. The photographer had captured something special in that moment, and Jack’s fiancée had never looked so beautiful. In her favorite dress, which he’d bought her in Hope Falls, she seemed to be smiling just at Jack. He’d cut the wedding announcement out of the newspaper and hung it up as a reminder of what was at stake. He had always been, and still was, willing to put himself in harm’s way to help someone in need. But he had more than himself to consider now.
Closing his eyes, he prayed. God, please help me.
He pressed the release switch on the console. Lady’s harness unlatched and the back door swung open.
“To me,” he whispered as he unholstered his Glock and stepped out of the Charger.
Lady bounded to his side and shook out like a sprinter preparing herself for the big race, her bulletproof vest clinking softly. To some, the protective gear may seem like overkill, but not to Jack. His four-legged partner had proven herself loyal, rushing into harm’s way to protect him time and time again.
Jack scanned the windows and open doorway as he silently climbed the five stairs to the porch, sticking close to the edge. Lady’s claws tapped against the wooden porch, then she stood still beside him. The house was pitch-dark within, all the shades drawn and the curtains pulled closed as well. Jack’s military breach-and-clear training clicked into gear.
He pressed his back against the wall and swept the inside of the house with his flashlight. The interior of the house was as dark as a cave, and silent. A narrow staircase on the right led to the second floor. The sparse living room, furnished with only a couch and a TV, was deserted. Jack’s flashlight beam reflected off the TV screen and several mirrors. All the doors were closed except for the one in the far-left corner, which was slightly ajar.
Lady lifted her head and sniffed; her ears laid back on her head. Growling, she pushed against Jack’s leg. “Easy,” Jack whispered, his own heart pounding in his ears. It was a stressful enough task to enter an unknown residence when he had the authority to do so as a cop, but as the dispatcher noted, he wasn’t a cop anymore.
“The police are on their way!” he yelled. “I’m coming in!” Pushing the legal ramifications aside, he started forward, but Lady barred his entry. The dog was not only enormous but very strong, and when she braced her feet and pushed against him, she stopped him in his tracks.
Jack pushed back. “Easy, girl.”
Keeping his flashlight focused on the partially open door to the rear, Jack crept across the living room toward it. Lady whined in protest, but the sound of her paws sticking close to his side brought him some relief. She had saved his life a few times already, and they were turning into a great team.
It’s always good to have a partner.
Jack pressed his shoulder against the doorframe on the hinge side and listened. The house was quiet save for the breeze rattling the windchime outside.
Lady growled, a low rumble that slowly built up to a snarl.
Jack used his foot to open the door wider and made a slow arc with his flashlight. The room was empty, not a stick of furniture, but there was a gleam on the floor. He angled the light down, illuminating a pair of heavily polished shoes. He immediately recognized the police uniform and knew the body lying on the floor was Donald’s.
Forcing himself not to rush to his former partner’s side, Jack methodically swept his light across the rest of the room, which was empty, though dust floated in the air, now mixing with dog hair. At the back was a closed door.
“Anyone home?” Jack whispered to Lady as he shined the light on the door.
Lady skittered around Donald and trotted over to the closet. Alice had been training the dog, and although Jack didn’t agree with her choice of commands, he couldn’t argue with the results.
Jack’s fingers tightened on the grip as he kept his gun aimed at the door. Lady sniffed the air but neither growled nor clawed the floor. As far as the dog was aware, no one was behind that door. She looked at him expectantly.
Jack quickly crossed the room and jerked open the door. All that greeted him was an easel and a few art supplies in a corner on the floor. Turning back to Donald, Jack exhaled when he heard the fallen policeman groan. But his relief was short-lived as he noticed blood pooling beneath Donald’s head, a mosaic of red being painted on the wood.
Laying his flashlight on the floor, Jack knelt beside Donald and grabbed his phone from his pocket. “Marilyn, this is Jack. Are you still there?”
“Jack? Two units are still four minutes out.”
“Roger that. Notify the ambulance that the officer is breathing and suffering from a head wound.” Jack winced as he examined Donald’s head. A gash ran down the back of his scalp, and a huge lump was already cresting out of his bald spot. “Looks like blunt force.”
Donald drew in a ragged breath.
“Help’s on the way, buddy.” Jack laid his hand gently on Donald’s back.
The door behind him creaked open a little wider. Jack pivoted around, his gun raised and prepared to fire, and Lady also faced off against this new threat, the fur on her back standing on end, making her appear even larger than usual.
A cold breeze wafted across Jack’s cheek. In the shadows beside him, a paper rustled as Lady shifted her weight. The wind died down and the door creaked back to its original position.
Pinned to the floor beneath Lady’s large paw was a sheet of paper, smeared with blood. The sketch of a smiling young woman was beautifully done. The artist clearly had a gift—the lines, the proportions, even the shading was impeccable.
Jack had paid little attention to the papers taped to the walls when he first swept the room, but now he lifted his eyes and the flashlight beam. All were pencil drawings of women of various ages. They were high-quality portraits on thick art paper, and Jack wondered briefly why they weren’t matted and framed.
A much smaller piece of paper drew his eye. He couldn’t read the words on the gold-and-green embossed card, but he didn’t need to. He’d seen a hundred of them in the last month.
It was an invitation to the wedding of Jack Stratton and Alice Campbell.
Next to it was another pencil drawing. Jack’s breath caught in his throat as a swell of fear he’d never known rose from the core of his being. The sketch was a larger-scale replica of the very photograph he had hung on the visor of his car.
It was a portrait of Alice wearing her favorite dress.
2
The rough bark of the oak tree digs into the palm of my hand as I watch the lights from the emergency vehicles reflecting off the wet lawn. Blood pounds in my ears, my palms sweat. Safely hidden in the shadows of the thick trees, I still feel exposed. The thrill at being this close to so many people who want to catch me is almost overpowering.
But I won’t let them.
There is still so much for me to do.
Stupid policeman. Because of him I’ve left so many of my drawings behind. Part of me wonders if I did it on purpose. Do I want them to stop me?
Not yet. I’m too close to the ultimate prize.
The silhouette of the man I’ve been waiting for appears once more on the porch. Even this far away I can pick out Jack Stratton. Tall. Muscular. He moves with the easy grace of a born athlete. The people who circle around are in awe of him, too. You can see it in their body language. They come close to him, but not too close. They hover like moths around a flame.
Jack speaks, and they listen.
I can’t make out his words. I know he’s upset. Because of me.
I didn’t think he’d get in my way so soon, since he’s not on the force anymore, but now he might jeopardize everythi
ng. I only want to capture Alice the way I see her—fun, beautiful, kind, and loyal. She’s perfect. Listen to me—I sound like I’m writing her dating profile. But it’s true.
They’re taking away the policeman now. He’s on a stretcher with an oxygen mask over his face. He’s still alive. I thought he was dead. I should have killed him. A mistake.
I wonder what he saw?
I hurriedly snap photographs of the ambulance as it rushes down the dirt road, the red and white lights reflecting off the trees like fireworks, but the photographs won’t capture the essence of the scene. They never do. I’ll have to sketch it later.
My sketches . . .
Slipping behind the tree, I chance a quick peek at my phone. I made certain to photograph each sketch as soon as I finished it so I could look at them whenever I want. I stroke the screen, caressing one face after another; there’s still graphite beneath my fingernails. I may have lost the originals, but at least I have my copies.
My invitation. I’ve lost that, too. And I didn’t take a photograph of it. Another foolish mistake.
Jack and Alice were so very kind to invite me to the wedding. It made me feel wanted. They wouldn’t have invited me if they didn’t want me to be in attendance at the most important day of their lives.