You can no more unfire a bullet than you can unlearn the darkness that writhes beneath the floorboards and between the covers of Jonathon Marcel’s latest novel. His action-packed crime series continues with a dreadful, skin-crawling suspense that will keep mystery fans guessing to the very end.

Private Investigator Kelly Reed is on the hook to free a convict she put behind bars, and the very nature of her client’s case is causing a painful memory long buried to surface. Every witness she interviews tells a different story, and she senses each one of them holding something back. As Kelly peels away the layers of her client’s case people begin disappearing, missing persons pop-up dead, and cold cases get reexamined. What began as a simple look into a four-year-old conviction has transformed into a deadly game to identify a serial killer, and it could very well cost Kelly her life.

Prologue

HER YOUNG EYES fixated on the ceiling fan. The low hum of its blades whipping around sounded like dragonfly wings beating the air. She lay naked, still as death, in pigtails and bobby socks, the lashes of her glassy eyes painted thick with mascara.

The man’s sweat-slick body pinned her to the mattress, causing the box spring to squeal every time he moved. His heavy breath scalded her neck. With every grunt, he puffed at her a smell of beer and cigarettes that overpowered the scented soap lingering on her soft skin.

The feel of his parched lips pressing against hers, and his sandpaper tongue snaking into her mouth always grossed her out. But it was his thick hairy hands painfully groping her that caused her eyes to fill with tears.

This is the last time, she told herself. No more! She was big enough now to runaway.

He let loose her breast and slid his paw down her stomach. His mouth slowly tracked. With every push of his hand, with every rub of his fingers, with every lap of his tongue, she cringed. Her toes and fingers gripped and clawed at the bed sheet.

Why did her mother bring her here to live? What had she done to deserve this?

He rolled off and stood at the side of the bed. The floorboard creaked under his weight. He took her hand and pulled her up to sit on the edge of the bed. “You like this, don’t you?”

The subdued inflection in his voice sent shivers racing through her. She forced herself to smile.

“You want more, don’t you?”

Reluctantly she nodded.

His clammy hand cupped the side of her face. “Unzip my pants.” A droplet of sweat coursed down his chest and into the tangled body hair that sprouted wildly across his bloated gut. He brushed back her hair with the palm of his hand. “You are so special. I’ve never met anyone as special as you. Grab it...That’s it.”

She closed her eyes and did as she was told.

His hand slid behind her head and pulled her forward. “Show me how much you like this. No one does it like you.”

She cringed at the gamy smell emanating from his crotch and stained boxers. Her jaw trembled.

Chapter 1

“WHERE ARE YOU?”

A paper wrapper whirled in the late-morning wind along the overpass as freight trucks and cars zoomed by. The high-pitch tink-tink-tink of pea gravel pelting the steel girders of the bridge sounded as it spat out from under crushing tires.

An eighties-era cab-over Pete hauling hogs blasted its air horn behind a slow-moving hatchback in the left lane.

Lori Bishop, the sultry, tattooed, blonde techie for Kelly Reed Investigations, scoured the bridge from end to end through the spy-cam on her miniature drone. “Dammit, Kelly, I don’t see you.”

“Relax,” Kelly said into the radio mike clipped to her nylon windbreaker. “I repositioned.”

Private Investigator Kelly Reed surveyed the tangled roads from the rooftop of a seven-story building nestled between three intersecting highways. Sunlight glinted off her Oakley sunglasses as she reached back with both hands to tie her long black hair into a ponytail.

“I got tired of being whipped around every time a semi sped by, not to mention all the nauseous diesel fumes.” She reached into her windbreaker to adjust her sports bra and the shoulder straps of her gun holster. “I’m standing on the roof of an abandoned building that has literally been painted white with pigeon shit. Needless to say, it stinks up here too.”

Kelly heard the low frequency hum of tiny propellers slicing through the air, then spotted the four-bladed drone hovering above the roof’s ledge. Its tiny spy cam pointed right at her.

“Now I see you,” Lori said.

“Will you quit playing with that thing? I’m just as bored with this goose chase as you.”

“But this little drone is so cool. It’s so much smaller than the ones we had in Mexico.”

“Lori!”

“Fine.” The drone banked right and flew back to Lori’s position on top of a parking garage a quarter mile away. “How long you wanna give it today?”

Kelly chugged a Mountain Dew. “Maybe another hour. They should’ve come through by now.”

“You know, the intel wasn’t that great. We don’t even know which direction they’re supposed to be coming from, if they’re even coming.”

Kelly pulled out the wallet-size photo of Melanie O’Donnell. The sixteen-year-old’s pale skin and natural orange hair didn’t do the girl justice, but her emerald eyes and full lips were enough to beckon every pervert from the shadows of Creep Town.

“What if she is running like Phoenix P.D. believes?” Kelly asked.

The crime scene was real enough for most of Phoenix’s homicide division, but to one detective it felt staged. Marsha O’Donnell was found dead, naked in bed, with her face slashed repeatedly. Her upper body had sustained several stab wounds from an eight-inch kitchen knife.

The daughter, Melanie, was nowhere to be found. Her closet and dresser were ransacked with most of her clothes missing. Pictures and personal items were also missing, but there were no signs of forced entry or robbery. A single bloody fingerprint matched Melanie’s.

“What did you just say?” There was no mistaking Lori’s harsh tone over the radio. “Kelly Ann, since when do you take a cop’s word on a missing girl? Good thing Olivia didn’t hear you.”

Kelly pressed her lips together and lowered her head. “I’m just tired after three days of sitting out here. I haven’t had any rest since the Rivera case.”

Her eyes suddenly widened. “Wait a minute.” Kelly focused on the rumbling engines of motorcycles coming down the highway. “Look alive.” She raised her camera and zoomed in on I-25’s northbound lane, and started clicking.

“Is it them?”

“Yep, and they’re exiting just as you said they would. Get that hawk-eye of yours back in the air.”

A middle-aged man with shoulder-length hair and a goatee reaching down to his lap, sat atop a neon-green Harley Heritage Classic with chrome ape-hangers. Beside him, a baldheaded goon rode on a black Harley Softail with a chrome gas tank and drag bars. Both men sported square-toed leather boots, sun-faded blue jeans, and sleeveless black leather cuts.

On the back of their cuts, a top-rocker patch read “Mescaleros,” and a bottom-rocker read “Nomad,” which identified them as members of the M.C. who didn’t belong to any specific chapter. Between the rockers was the Mescalero insignia of Death’s head in profile with a crisscrossing tomahawk and spear.

Melanie O’Donnell had her arms wrapped tightly around the baldheaded goon. Her jean shorts crept high on her legs. Her face, arms, and legs exhibited a painful pink burn from long hours in the saddle under the smoldering sun.

Kelly slipped the camera and telephoto lens back into her bag. “I’m heading down. You got eyes?” She swung her legs over the edge of the building and dropped onto the fire escape, then scurried down the metal stairs.

“I’m up. Jeez! Could that goon’s head be any bigger? No wonder he doesn’t wear a helmet.”

Kelly held the camera bag against her side and sprinted out of the alley. “Focus on the girl. We don’t care about fat heads, fat boys, or anything else biker.”

“Let’s see if you change your tune when you have to take her away from them.”

“Yeah, about that...”

A couple of cars honked as Kelly dashed out in front of them to cross the street. A pedestrian froze on the sidewalk when Kelly raced by.

“They’re separating,” Lori said.

“Talk to me.”

“The bearded biker is circling off. Baldie and the girl are pulling into the Best Western.”

“Stay with the girl. The other guy’s just making a gas run. He’ll be back.” Kelly slowed to a brisk walk, gasping for air. “What is she doing?”

Lori panned back and forth between the drone’s remote console and the hotel. “Baldie’s walking her up to a third-floor room. He’s got a helluva hold on her arm. Doesn’t appear she’s all that willing. I’m trusting the Phoenix P.D.’s theory even less. Where are you?”

“A block south of you.”

Lori hovered the drone in its current position and craned her neck over the ledge of the parking garage to search for Kelly. “Is that you bent over, grabbing your knees?”

Kelly wheezed and placed her hands on her hips as she labored to straighten up. “Yeah, that’s me.”

She walked the final block to the hotel and crossed the street at the next intersection, then cut across the strip of bushes and wood mulch dividing the neighboring parking lot.

Outside a World of Wheels auto store, Kelly plopped down on a bench. “Point her out. Where is she?”

“Third floor, west.” Lori pressed a button on the console—the drone’s camera zoomed in on the hotel. “Looks like she’s going into room 312.”

“Thank god. I got time to sit.”

“I hate saying it, girlfriend, but you’re out of shape.”

Kelly leaned forward and rested her arms on her knees. “You see the bearded guy anywhere?”

“Not yet, but I can hear his bike. Baldie is on his way back down.”

“All right then. I’m going up from the other side.”

“So you know, Baldie has a clear view of the room from his bike. As soon as you hit that door, you’re screwed.”

Kelly bounced up the stairs to the third floor. “Quick and quiet is my middle name.”

“Of all the time I’ve known you, when have you ever been quiet?”

Kelly kept out of sight and peeked around the corner at the street below. “I always start out quiet.” She drew her Glock .40 caliber and chambered a round, then slipped it back into her holster and pulled her car keys from her front pocket. “This time, quiet is about making noise.”

“Excuse me?” Lori zoomed in on Kelly. “What are you getting ready to do?”

Kelly fingered the slender black security pad hanging on her keychain, and aimed it out toward the street. Her Camaro’s car alarm wailed.

The baldheaded Mescalero twisted around in time to see a startled drug dealer and a grungy-looking addict scurry from the vicinity of the car.

Kelly wasted no time stuffing her keys back into her pocket and readying her lock pick. As she leaned down to pick 312’s lock, the door flew open. She froze, wide-eyed, unable to react to the raised foot coming straight at her.

“Shit!”

Melanie O’Donnell grunted loudly and thrust her foot into Kelly’s chest.

Kelly’s mistake was rising up in surprise instead of sidestepping the kick. Her upward momentum added to the force of the girl’s kick and sent Kelly tumbling backward over the railing.

“Kelly!” Lori screamed.

Kelly’s arms struck wrought iron. Instinctively, she clenched her hands to stop her fall. “Argh!” Wincing and teary-eyed, she hung onto the third-floor railing by her left hand, her legs dangling.

“Omigod! Kelly, your arm. Are you okay? What do I do?”

The two gunshot wounds Kelly suffered to her left arm during the terror attack at Denver’s Dragon Boat Festival were far from healed.

Kelly glanced up to see the O’Donnell girl dashing toward the north-side stairs. The roar of a motorcycle coming to life drew her gaze down to the parking lot. She locked eyes with the baldheaded biker as he sped off to chase the girl.

“Track the girl!”

“But what about you? How are you—”

“The girl, Lori! Track the damn girl!”

Kelly closed her eyes and took a deep breath, then opened them quickly and slung her right arm upward to grab the rail. She felt her gun pop out of its holster and heard it strike the pavement below.

“Shit!”

Kelly twisted her head over her shoulder to glimpse the ground. It was a long drop, and there was little space between the edge of the walk and the front bumper of a parked car. She released her grip and dropped. She landed on her toes and fell back into the grill of an Oldsmobile, taking the tip of its hood ornament in the middle of her back. Kelly squeezed her eyes shut and groaned.

She snatched up her gun and hobbled around the north side of the hotel. “Where’s the girl?”

“A hundred yards up the street. If you don’t hurry, they’re gonna catch her.”

Kelly sprinted up the street. The only sound she could hear was the throttle of the hogs opening up and shutting down as the two bikers maneuvered to corral their loose filly.

Car horns blasted as Kelly mazed her way through traffic to cross the four-lane street. A set of tires screeched as a car skidded to a stop several yards away.

“Kelly Ann, don’t break my camera!”

“The girl, Lori!” Kelly leaped over the shrubs and bushes skirting the sidewalk. “Talk to me.”

“They’re right in front of you in the parking lot. Baldie’s on foot, palming a ball-peen hammer. The girl is zigzagging in and out of cars, trying to get to one of the stores, but the other biker is blocking her path.”

Holding the Glock in her right hand, Kelly snapped open a retractable steel baton with her left. “Cops?”

Lori spun the drone in a complete circle. “I don’t see any just yet. Hurry, Kelly.”

She hunched down and stalked between the parked cars, tuning everything out except the baldheaded biker.

The O’Donnell girl couldn’t elude the two nomads. “Leave me alone!” She hammered her fists onto car hoods and kicked the doors, setting off alarms.

“Clever girl,” Kelly said.

But the bikers kept coming, cutting with every pivot and change in direction the girl made to escape.

With finger and thumb on the console’s joystick, Lori redirected the drone and zoomed out with the camera to capture all four players in the parking lot. “Come on, Kelly.”

Kelly scooted across the lot, closing the distance between her and the baldheaded biker. She pressed her lips together and inhaled through her nose as she drew back the baton.

O’Donnell stood stock with confusion when she saw Kelly creeping across the lot.

The bearded biker waved his arm in the air, jabbing a pointed finger toward his bro. Baldie lowered the hammer to his side and turned to see who was approaching.

Kelly’s baton crashed across his face, bludgeoning his nose with a sickening thud. Blood gushed, drenching his shirt and leather vest.

He collapsed to his knees, catching himself blindly with his left hand, and swung the hammer back and forth in a feeble defense.

Kelly spun backward to her right with blurring speed to bring the baton smashing into the back of the man’s skull and right ear, sending him crashing to the ground.

O’Donnell bolted for the street.

A bullet whizzed past Kelly’s ear and shattered a car window behind her. She dropped her baton and raised her Glock.

The Mescalero fired two more rounds, shooting wide.

Kelly ducked low and skated around a pair of cars. In her peripheral, she saw the O’Donnell girl racing up the sidewalk, screaming for help. “Lori, stay with the girl!” Kelly heard the low hum of the drone hovering above her. “Dammit, Lori. Track the girl!”

The Mescalero’s hog roared.

Kelly peeked through the windows of the car. The biker had circled around to help his bro. Kelly seized the moment and sprinted out of the parking lot in pursuit of the girl.

“Cops are coming,” Lori said.

“Forget the cops,” Kelly uttered between breaths. “Watch my back.”

“Biker boy is pulling out, heading north by himself.”

“I’m heading north. So is the girl.”

For a split second, Kelly heard the high-pitch whine of the drone zooming overhead before it was drowned out by the roar of the hog flying past in the street.

“Hurry!”

O’Donnell was fifty yards away when she dashed around the back of a convenience store. The Mescalero wheeled around to cut her off. She turned back to flee and ran right back at Kelly.

Kelly leveled the Glock at her. “Freeze!”

The girl, wild eyed, almost feral looking, ducked in a half-squat position with her trembling hands held out to her side. She was sweating profusely and eying every angle for an escape route.

Police sirens wailed from all around.

“Get down!” Without further warning, Kelly fired two shots past the girl and into the bearded biker’s chest as he wheeled around the corner of the convenience store.

The girl sank to her knees, then pressed her fists to the sides of her head and released a primal scream.

“On the ground, now!” Kelly put her foot into Melanie’s shoulder and knocked her over.

As Kelly restrained her, a pair of cop cars skidded to a stop just behind her in the lot. Both officers stepped from their cars, using their doors as shields, and drew down on Kelly.

She dropped the Glock and pushed it away, then laid belly down spread eagle. Feeling handcuffs on her wrists and hearing the steel click shut, she thought of FBI Special Agent Kyle Sommers, who would enjoy knowing she was in custody for something.

Maybe he won't hear about this.