Girl in the Dark

Girl in the Dark Elleby Harper Copyright 2023 Elleby Harper All rights reserved. Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without the prior written permission of the copyright owner. Disclaimer and Terms of Use This book is a work of fiction. All the characters, incidents and dialogue in it are fictitious and drawn from the author’s imagination and are not to be construed as real. Except in the case of historical fact, any resemblance to actual events or persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental. Any trademarks, product names, or named features are only used for reference and are assumed to be the property of their respective owners. For any inquiries regarding this book, please email [email protected] Contents Also by Elleby Harper 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 Want more thrillers from Elleby Harper? About Elleby Harper Connecting with Elleby Harper Also by Elleby Harper Scout Ledger Thrillers One Way Out Dead Witness Bram Carver Thrillers Second Chance Hunt for Justice Detective Bex Wynter Files Driven to Death Stolen Girls Courting Death Death for Sale Blood Lines Killing Time Girl Last Seen Bury the Past See Him Die Steampunk Cozy Mystery The Undertaker’s Daughter 1 The sound of smashing glass startled Bernie’s Deluxe Café customers into wary silence. “Get to the back of the line where you belong, Pretty Boy. Or does the precious Attorney General’s son think he’s better than the rest of us?” The heavy-set guy with the grease-stained, down-filled parka had slammed his beer bottle against the Laminex table edge so drops of amber fluid flew outwards, splattering Lincoln Carragher’s snowsuit. Holding it by its neck the stranger raised the shattered, jagged edges towards him in a menacing motion. The words nailed Lincoln to the spot, just a few yards short of the counter where his takeout order stood neatly packaged. The hairs on the back of his neck prickled upright as he turned to face the taunts. A malty stench assaulted his nose. Violence begets violence. Lincoln knew the man didn’t have a personal beef with him. His anger was directed towards Attorney General Max Carragher. More specifically the AG’s decision to prosecute Jacob Young, the man it seemed the rest of the country considered a hero for his actions. Wishing his own alcoholic intake wasn’t quite as high as it was, Lincoln kept his eyes locked on the bottle. For another second he studied the man’s wavering movements. There was no way in hell he was backing down and giving into the man’s intimidation. He had called Bernie’s and placed his food order before leaving the cozy comfort of his friend Tag’s condo, so he had every right to cut past the waiting customers and collect his order from the takeout counter. He wouldn’t even be here if this dump of a town had Door Dash service on New Year’s Eve. A second man planted his size thirteen, steel-toed boots next to the first. The boots proclaimed him a construction worker. His lips peeled back to expose yellowed, crooked teeth in his weathered face and a flick knife in his right hand. “You tell ’em, Bomber. No one’s better than us.” The second man’s shoulders were so broad he would have to squeeze sideways to exit through the doorway. The fingers wrapped around the knife handle were as fat as sausages. Even in the hands of drunken amateurs, knives and broken glass could slice and gouge through flesh, tendons and muscles too easily. Backing down was the safe option before the situation turned into a bloodbath. Lincoln opened his mouth. “Sorry to break it to you two dirtbags, but if brains were dynamite you two couldn’t even blow your own noses.” Lincoln spared a glance to the left where the bull-necked Bernie rested fists as beefy as his burgers on the laminated counter, looking like he might just barrel over the bench himself. Two young women crowded back against the counter, huddling with an older couple. The foursome darted fearful looks between themselves. Splinters of urgent, whispered conversation floated past Lincoln. “…call the Sheriff and get the police here!” “Frank, do something!” “How dare this happen in…” A blast of frosty air sailed in through the front door, pushed open by a grinning young man with slightly off-centered features. The grin evaporated and his eyes stretched wide as he absorbed the two men’s threatening stance and the weapons on display. Shaking his head slowly from side to side, he frowned at Lincoln. “Man, oh, man, I can’t leave you alone for five minutes to pick up a simple order.” “Stop preaching like my mother, Tag, and get your ass over here.” Hugging the side of the wall, Tag let the door snap shut as he edged towards Lincoln. Lincoln felt hard muscle bunch up beside him. “Making the burger run might not have been the best idea to soak up tonight’s booze,” Tag muttered out the side of his mouth. Lincoln gave a tight smile. “I’m guessing these boneheads work for your dad, since the ski resort’s the only real construction in town. Must be a lack of good workers in Peppermint Vale because these two look like they’re scraping the bottom of a very deep barrel.”