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PROLOGUE
MONDAY
An ice-cold wind, straight from the mountains, cut through Maisy Jones’ thin winter coat as she left the Triple Z Bar. Only a fool would walk through a parking lot in the dead of night in Serial Killer Central, but Maisy had no choice. The patrons had left and she’d cleaned the tables and stacked the chairs. It was after midnight and patches of ice cracked under her boots with each cautious step over the uneven ground. Heart pounding, she scanned the long shadows from the surrounding forest of tall pines. They met up with the dark patches shed by the rows of parked trucks, some of the vehicles glistening with frost. The thick cloud cover had threatened a blizzard, but for now only a sprinkle of snowflakes brushed her cheek, melting into cold rivulets and dripping from her chin. She brushed them away and headed hesitantly across the dimly lit parking lot toward her old Dodge truck, hoping that none of the men who’d been pestering her all evening would be lurking in the darkness.
Footsteps crunched on the gravel but stopped when she spun around to see who was behind her. Fear gripped her, stealing her breath. Had someone followed her from the bar? Grabbing her keys from her purse, she held them in her fist, with one key protruding from between her knuckles to use as a weapon, and hurried on, but the footsteps came again. The slow even pace was gaining on her. Someone was close by. She glanced around as a figure moved through the parked trucks. Uncertain, she froze. Too scared to walk to the end of the eighteen-wheeler beside her, she glanced back over one shoulder in the hope, if necessary, she’d find refuge in the bar. Her heart sank. The building sat in darkness, the proprietor had left already.
A shiver of uncertainty ran through her, and sucking in a deep, freezing breath, she crept back the way she’d come and slid around the truck parked two slots away. Her vehicle in sight, she broke into a run, wishing she’d parked closer to the bar. Fumbling with the keys in her freezing fingers, she wrenched open the door, climbed inside and locked the doors. The engine started, coughed and died. Trying to keep calm, she turned the key again. “Come on. Come on. Don’t do this to me now.”
As the engine shuddered into life, a big black pickup sped by throwing up dirt and skidded into the gas station outside the roadhouse. Maisy let out a long breath, filling the cab with steam. It had only been someone walking to their ride. She laughed, shaking herself. “Get a grip.”
She bumped out of the parking lot and headed along Stanton. The stink of cigarettes and stale beer from the Triple Z Bar clung to her clothes. She figured the old building must have been there since the days of the Wild West and hadn’t changed inside. It had the classic swinging doors and a long wooden bar. The tables surrounded by chairs seemed to spring up like mushrooms from the stained filthy floor. The tabletops, decorated with ring marks from a million spilled drinks, had names and dates carved into them by customers wearing cowboy hats or leather jackets and all openly carrying weapons. It sure was a fun place to work.
The Triple Z Roadhouse, on the other side of the parking lot, shone like a beacon for passing traffic. The flashing lights above the gas pumps with signs for a diner and motel appeared welcoming enough, but inside cracked vinyl seats lined the booths around stained tabletops. The place hadn’t ventured out of the nineteen-sixties. Maisy couldn’t believe her life had come to working in this dump. Heck, the Triple Z Bar wasn’t the end of the earth, but she could see it from here.
The images she’d scanned online of Black Rock Falls had depicted an alpine paradise, but she guessed every nice town had its share of lowlife hangouts, and the Triple Z Bar must rate as number one. She’d missed out getting a job this winter at the ski resorts in Idaho’s Pebble Creek, and after reading an article about the tourists flocking to Black Rock Falls to enjoy the Glacial Heights Ski Resort, she’d driven hours to hunt down a job. On arrival, the only work she could secure was the bartender position at the Triple Z Bar on the outskirts of town. Her first shift, from six through to midnight, had been exhausting, not from serving at the bar but from avoiding the unwanted attention of the customers. Being in her early twenties, the idea of staying at the Triple Z Roadhouse Motel with bikers, truckers and ladies of the night wasn’t going to happen. She’d found the rates at the Cattleman’s Hotel too expensive and eventually found a cold but clean room at the Black Rock Falls Motel.
It was only a ten-minute drive to the motel, but a few minutes along Stanton the engine coughed, spluttered and died. Steam poured out from under the hood. Aiming the truck onto the side of the road, Maisy stared at the gauges. The gas tank was three quarters full. She turned the key and the engine shuddered, refusing to start. She stared at the empty highway. The blacktop shimmered with ice patches and the snow was getting heavier. There was no one she could call for help. She hadn’t joined an auto club. She rubbed her arms, wishing she’d added a few extra layers before leaving for work. All her things were at the motel, and if she stayed in the truck, she’d freeze to death. She had no option but to walk.
Stepping onto the dark road, she used her phone to light the way. She walked as fast as possible to keep warm, and when a vehicle’s headlights lit up the blacktop, she increased her speed to a jog to take advantage of the light. Behind her, the beat of tunes playing loud surrounded her as the vehicle slowed. It was the big black pickup she’d seen before. The tunes stopped and only the roar of a powerful engine throbbed beside her. She glanced around as the window slid down.
“Wanna ride?” A man peered down at her from the cab, his face in shadow. “It stinks some—I’ve been hunting—but it’s better than walking.”
Unsure, Maisy stared at him. “I’m heading for the motel. It’s not far. I can walk.”
“It’s more than five miles. You’ll be a popsicle by then, and finding you frozen solid on the side of the highway wouldn’t help our town’s reputation, would it?” His mouth flashed in a white smile. “It’s a few minutes away. Aw, come on. I feel bad just leaving you out here on your lonesome. The smell is not so bad. I have a Perspex divider between us and the back seat. It’s to stop my hunting dogs from jumping all over me when I’m driving.”
A few minutes.The seconds she’d been standing still had already frozen her feet, Maisy shrugged. “Okay, thanks.” She went around the hood, the door opened and she climbed inside. The smell hit her in a wall of stink, and she swallowed the bile rushing up the back of her throat.
“Click in your seatbelt. I drive kinda fast.” The man turned to look at her.
Maisy complied and the vehicle took off at high speed. She breathed through her mouth to avoid the stink. The man drove recklessly, swerving around patches of ice. She gripped the seat and kept her eyes on the road, willing the motel lights to come into view. Her heart sank when the pickup slowed and pulled into the curb. When the man opened the lid to the console, her hand went to the door handle. “Why are we stopping?”
“Oh, I forgot to introduce you to my friends.” He pulled out a plastic bag and smiled at her, indicating with his chin to the back seat. “I’ll turn on the light.”
Maisy turned slowly and gaped in horror at three corpses sitting bolt upright and secured in seatbelts behind the Perspex divider. A man, a woman and a kid about ten years old stared at her with unseeing eyes. Her throat closed in terror as she tried to open the door. The man beside her was laughing, but she didn’t care. She just wanted to get away. She pulled and pushed at the locked door, but it wouldn’t move. “Let me out.”
“Now that wouldn’t be any fun at all, would it?” He inclined his head, looking at her. “I assume you don’t like my friends?”
Screaming in terror, Maisy lashed out at him, but he grabbed one of her hands and slammed a wet rag into her face, covering her nose and mouth. The rag pushed down so hard, it ground her lips painfully into her teeth and squashed her nose. A chemical taste and smell burned her throat and stung her eyes. She held her breath and fought like a wild animal to dislodge the hand pressing into her face, but she had no hope against the strength of this man. Lungs bursting, she unwillingly sucked in a breath. Her arms became heavy and her gloved hand fell from his chest. His face blurred. Her chest tightened. She couldn’t breathe and her heart pounded in her ears.Someone help me.
ONE
WEDNESDAY
Sheriff Jenna Alton leaned back in her office chair and stared at Deputy Jake Rowley. “So, you noticed the truck yesterday morning. Did you check it out?”
“Nope, not at the time.” Rowley curled the rim of the brown Stetson in his hands and shrugged. “I did on the way home last night. I checked the doors to see if they were locked. I looked around for signs of a problem and couldn’t see anything wrong, but when it was still there this morning, I ran the plates and it belongs to Maisy Jones out of Nampa, Idaho. I figure she might be a tourist, but the truck is an old Ford. Maybe she came here for work or she’s in trouble.”
Concerned for the woman’s safety, Jenna nodded. “Okay, run a background check on Maisy Jones and see what you can find. Check her last known address and see if Nampa has issued a missing persons report for her. If not, hunt down her relatives and call them. Try and get a phone number for her. She might be holed up in town with a boyfriend. I’ll go and look at the truck. How far is it from Triple Z Roadhouse?”
“Five minutes, I guess.” Rowley nodded. “I’ll get at it.” He strolled out of the room.
Jenna’s role as sheriff of Black Rock Falls had come about after being placed in witness protection five years previously. A former DEA agent, she’d brought down a drug cartel and put her life at risk by giving evidence to convict kingpin Viktor Carlos. Living in plain sight, with a new face and name, she’d fought for the role of sheriff in Black Rock Falls, a backwoods town in Montana. There she’d hired Dave Kane as deputy sheriff, only to discover sometime later that he was an ex-special forces sniper who’d worked in the White House as a member of the Secret Service. After a car bombing killed his wife and left him with a metal plate in his head, he’d been secreted in Black Rock Falls like her with a new face and name, but he still remained a valued asset to the government. Sometime later, Shane Wolfe and his family arrived in town and joined the team, becoming the medical examiner. Wolfe had only one secret and that was he was Dave Kane’s handler, and both men could be called back into active duty at any time.
Jenna stood. “Dave, we need to check out this truck. What if Maisy Jones wandered off into the forest and has gotten lost?”
“Sure.” Kane pushed to his feet and reached for his black Stetson. He glanced out the window. “It’s snowing again.” He took Jenna’s coat from the peg behind the door and handed it to her. “Don’t forget your gloves.”
