THE GUILTY
She senses their twisted desires before she meets them. Itâs as if fate is helping her stop these monsters from preying on others the way she was preyed upon. And after she has delivered brutal justice, sheâll let the whole world see their guilt.
WILL ATONE
âI must pay for what Iâve done.â The first victimânaked, bound, frozen to deathâwore the note strung around his neck. Now thereâs another noteâthis one attached to Detective September Raffertyâs own stepbrother. Stefan survives, but September is sure he knows more than heâs saying. Someone is eliminating suspected sexual predators. And the only thing more dangerous than a madman is a killer whoâs ruthlessly sane.
IN BLOOD
Racing to predict the next target, September finds herself drawn into a harrowing and deeply personal case. For this time, there are no innocentsâonly the one who kills, and those condemned to die. . . .
â
â
â
â
– RT Book Reviews for NOWHERE SAFE
The familiar characters of the Laurelton Police Department, most prominently detective September Rafferty, are back in Bushâs latest novel. A master at the craft of suspense, Bush doesnât disappoint with an intricate plot and a diabolical villain at its center. Add to that steady pacing, expert storytelling and a strong heroine, and what you get is an irresistible thrill ride that only Bush can create.
Detective September âNineâ Rafferty is back at work after an injury to her shoulder when a case she is working on yields another victim. Suspected sexual predators are being targeted and murdered in brutal ways, and her stepbrother Stefan Harmak is that latest victim. Now Nine trails a killer who is as calculating and cold as they come. As she tries to predict who the next victim will be, the case becomes even more personal, raising the stakes.
PROLOGUE
The ground was hard, cold and damp beneath him. He came to slowly, hearing the rustle of leaves around him and feeling a chill breeze against his arms that made his breath shake and his body quiver. He focused straight ahead, staring down the length of his own bare legs to his toes, now bluish in tone. As he registered his nakedness he watched orange and russet and gold leaves eddying away, a small tornado rushing up against the chainlink fence that separated the schoolyard from the front of the building.
He was inside, looking out, and his surroundings came into full focus with a rush of recognition.
Twin Oaks Elementary School.
âShit. . .â he whispered, cold panic flooding through his veins.
He tried to leap to his feet and smacked his head against the metal pole behind him. Yowling in pain, he momentarily saw stars and squinched his eyes closed. He heard something fluttering overhead and opened one eye to see a woven basketball hoop dancing in the stiff breeze. He was sitting on the concrete basketball court, he realized, and the ache in his arms was because they were bound behind him, around the pole. His wrists throbbed from the pressure, his flesh pinched from the hard bindings.
Gulping in fear, he could feel his heart galloping inside his chest. He was inside the playground, tied to a pole. . . at the school where he was employed.
Blinking, jerking his body around, his eyes frantically searched his surroundings for an answer. He realized belatedly that he did have some clothing on. His boxer shorts. Nothing else.
That bitch. That bitch whoâd zapped him with the stun gun! Sheâd done this. Tied him here on purpose. What had she said when heâd asked her who the hell she was? What had she said?
âIâm Lucky.â
Christ. Oh, my God. Jesus Christ. Oh, God! If the kids saw him like this. . . the staff? How would he explain it? What could he do?
My God . . .my God. . .
He strained against the bindings and slowly got his feet under himself with an effort, tiny bits of dirt and gravel digging into his soles. Straining, he slid his arms up the pole until he was at his full height. But that put his upper body above the hedge outside the chainlink fence and made him more visible to the street. Did he want to be seen? Hope that someone helped him?
Hell, no.
He sank back down to the ground with a thud, jarring his tail bone. His teeth chattered spasmodically. He couldnât stop them. He was freezing and shuddering with fear.
There was a placard around his neck. With dread he looked down, knowing what it said, strangely hoping he had it wrong though heâd written it himself because sheâd forced him to! Dipping his chin, he could make out the bottom words: . . .I canât have. . .and it wrung a tortured cry from his soul.
That fucking bitch! Sheâd done this to him! Sheâd made him drink the drug that had knocked him out, and now he cringed inside, recalling the way heâd begged her to let him go, pleaded with her for mercy. Sheâd strapped him into the passenger seat of his own van when heâd been disabled by the shock, tying him down and when heâd feebly fought her, sheâd zapped him again. But heâd refused to drink her concoction. Wasnât going to let her take her damn abduction to another level. Wouldnât do it!
So sheâd held up the gun and pressed the button and heâd heard the crackle, smelled the scent of dangerous electricity, seen the determination in her eyes. Heâd babbled on and on, promising her things he could never deliver on, anything to be set free. He told her she had the wrong man. Whatever her deal was, he wasnât the right guy. There was some error here. She must realize that, right?
Her answer had been a hard, âNo mistake, Stefan,â and heâd gone slack-jawed at the sound of his own name. She knew him? Sheâd specifically targeted him?
Sheâd waited then, the drink in one hand, the stun gun in the other. He tried to reason with her once more and had screamed when sheâd lost patience and hit him with the stun gun a third time. Everything he said to her fell on deaf ears. She wouldnât listen to him. She just didnât care.
So, heâd drunk the small cup of fluid sheâd held to his mouth. All of it, because he believed her when she added coolly, âSpit it out and youâre a dead man.â
The bitch was capable of anything.
And now heâd woken up at the school â his school! â hours later. Who the hell was she? Well, fuck that, he didnât have time to care. He had to get out of this predicament. Before classes started. Before the sky grew any lighter.
Moving his hands, he realized the binding was plastic zip ties. Like the kind his stepsister and brother â the goddamned cops â used as handcuffs if they didnât have the real thing, or they just needed another pair. Handcuffed. . .how the hell was he going to get free?
And then he thought of the young girls, coming to school in their little dresses and shoes, their hair shining, their faces soft and pink. Heâd only wanted one. . .just for a little while. . .just to love her.
They couldnât see him like this!
He struggled anew, aware that the bitch knew of his secret desires. How? Heâd been so careful. She was getting some kind of payback here, but he hadnât done anything. He hadnât. Yes, heâd taken those pictures of his step-niece in the bath, but heâd never touched her! Never.
Only because you didnât get the chance. . .
Cold tears collected in his eyes and he tried to blink them away. It wasnât fair. It just wasnât fair.
The bitch had assured him the drink wouldnât kill him, so heâd complied. What else could he do? But now. . .now he almost wished it had killed him. He couldnât have people know.
He started crying in earnest, sick with fear. And then he heard the footsteps. Someone jogging, nearing him, just on the other side of the hedge. He looked up urgently and saw a man in a stocking hat running by. As if feeling Stefanâs gaze, he glanced over and nearly stumbled, his mouth dropping open in surprise, his breath exhaling in a plume.
âHey!â the man called. âYou okay?â
No. . .no. . .he was never going to be okay.
With every ounce of fortitude he possessed, Stefan put a smile on his trembling lips. âStupid prank. . .canât. . .get free. Can you. . . help?â
Immediately, the man turned back around and circumvented the wall of greenery that barricaded the school from the street. Stefanâs back was to him as he approached, but he imagined him jogging up the sidewalk, crossing the grass at the front of the building, then looping toward the playground. He could hear his pounding steps as he hit the concrete and then he was in front of Stefan, breathing hard, his hands on his knees. âHoly, God, man,â he said. âWhoever did this is no friend. You could freeze to death!â He stood up and dug a cell phone from a zippered pocket, his eyes drifting to the sign around Stefanâs neck.
âWho. . .rrrrr. . ..ya callinâ?â Stefan chattered.
â911. Jesus. . .â
No. No!
But it was too late, the man had connected and Stefan wildly racked his brain for a possible explanation. He couldnât stick with the prank idea. He would have to come up with names if he did, some reason he felt it had all been done in âfunâ. That wasnât going to work. He had to come with Plan B.
Minutes later a Laurelton Police Department Jeep, light bar flashing in the gray light of morning, wheeled to a sharp stop in front of the school. Stefan was sweating. Fine. Good. Get here and get him the hell free because soon, soon, the kids would be arriving. Hurry, he thought, his new story in place, ready to tell. Hurry.
The jogger waved the cop over just as an ambulance came screaming up the road. An ambulance. . . .shit. . .he didnât want to go to the hospital. Too much attention. Oh, God. . .
The uniform bent down and looked him in the face. He was young. Dressed in dark blue, his expression stern. âDonât worry. Weâll get you out of here.â He pulled out a knife to cut the zip-ties. âWhat happened?â
The jogger looked about to speak up.
âI was robbed,â Stefan cut in, a very real quaver to his voice. âHe knocked me out and took my clothes and my wallet and left me here.â
The joggerâs head jerked around. âMan, I thought you said it was a prank.â
âA very dangerous one,â the cop said repressively as he cut through the ties. Stefanâs arms flopped down to his sides, damn near impossible to lift.
The uniform helped Stefan to his feet, as two EMTs wheeled a gurney his way. Behind the ambulance Stefan saw a first car arrive at the school, its headlights washing the hedge and the ambulance and the cop car, still with its lights flashing. The EMTâs helped Stefan onto the gurney. Fine. Cover me up, he silently begged, pulling the placard from around his neck with rubbery arms. Better for them to think he was ill.
âNot a prank, eh?â the uniform asked, taking the placard in his gloved hand.
The van? Where was his van? That fucking bitch took his van!
Sensing the copâs hard eyes on him, Stefan muttered, âHe jumped me and took everything I had,â as the EMTs pushed him toward the waiting ambulance. A flutter of worry in his chest as he thought of his cell phone. She had it. But at least the pictures heâd taken werenât on it any longer. Heâd made prints, removed the images, and even the prints were gone now, too.
âI want what I canât have,â the uniform read as the gurney rattled away from the playground, the words filling Stefan with dread, following after him like a bad smell.
How the hell was he going to explain the placard?
He had a momentary vision of being hauled down to the Laurelton Police Department and being grilled by September, or even worse, her twin brother, August â both cops.
A groan of pure misery erupted from his throat as the doors to the ambulance slammed shut behind him.
It just wasnât fair!