Silent Chase

Silent Chase *** A Detective Ryan Chase Thriller Book Five *** MK Farrar Copyright © M K Farrar 2023 All Rights Reserved Cover Art by Caroline Teagle Johnson –––––––– Published by Warwick House Press License Notes This eBook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This eBook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of these authors. –––––––– Publisher’s Note This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental. Table of Contents Title Page Copyright Page Silent Chase (A Detective Ryan Chase Thriller, #5) Chapter One Chapter Two Chapter Three Chapter Four Chapter Five Chapter Six Chapter Seven Chapter Eight Chapter Nine Chapter Ten Chapter Eleven Chapter Twelve Chapter Thirteen Chapter Fourteen Chapter Fifteen Chapter Sixteen Chapter Seventeen Chapter Eighteen Chapter Nineteen Chapter Twenty Chapter Twenty-One Chapter Twenty-Two Chapter Twenty-Three Chapter Twenty-Four Chapter Twenty-Five Chapter Twenty-Six Chapter Twenty-Seven Chapter Twenty-Eight Chapter Twenty-Nine Chapter Thirty Chapter Thirty-One Chapter Thirty-Two Chapter Thirty-Three Chapter Thirty-Four Chapter Thirty-Five Chapter Thirty-Six Chapter Thirty-Seven Chapter Thirty-Eight Acknowledgements About the Author Also by the Author Get a free book when you sign up to M K Farrar’s newsletter mkfarrar.com Chapter One I wonder what Val is going to make for tea tonight? That was the thought going through Tony’s head as he increased the speed on the passenger train heading from Bristol towards Weston-super-Mare. It was always a slow chug out of the city, but the train soon picked up momentum. Tony Iverson had worked this line for the past fifteen years. It was a long, straight track, and he thought he could do it blindfolded. If he was honest, it meant he wasn’t always paying attention. He reached for the insulated mug beside him and lifted the rim to his lips. As well as black coffee, the hit of the vodka mixed in with it burned down his throat. He’d have preferred a little whiskey rather than the vodka, but whiskey was too easy to smell on the breath. It was only a small drink, hardly anything at all, just enough to give him a bit of get up and go in the morning. He knew these trainlines so well, he told himself it didn’t matter. The passenger train containing several hundred commuters went all the way down to Penzance and back up to Paddington again. It stopped multiple times along the way, though most of the commuters had vanished by the time they reached Exeter and were replaced with families and students. During festival time, in the summer months, the carriages would be crammed with smelly teenagers who’d been drinking and living in tents for long weekends, and everyone would be complaining that there wasn’t enough space on the trains. It was no wonder he often felt like he needed a drink. The smooth, slow clacking of the train was like a white noise that Tony found soothing. The countryside was beautiful around here, too, once he got out of the city, an endless patchwork of green fields stretching out either side of the rails. He took another sip of his coffee and set it back down again. Tony frowned and craned his neck forward. Shit. Was something on the tracks up ahead? He blinked a couple of times, wondering if he was seeing things. The object—whatever it was—was still at a distance. It was only a smudge against the metal, but, within seconds, the blur began to take shape. An animal, perhaps? A sheep that had wandered from one of the neighbouring fields onto the tracks? Tony sounded the horn, giving a couple of short blasts, but already, in his gut, he knew it would do no good. He’d had things on the rails before—it happened to most drivers at some point or another—but there was something about this one. He felt like someone had just doused the back of his neck with iced water. Whatever was on the track wasn’t going anywhere. His heart hammered, adrenaline coursing through his veins. His head filled with visions of hitting it and the train derailing. He thought of all the passengers, how people would die and be seriously injured. He thought of the vodka in his coffee and how there would be an investigation and he would be the one to blame. Tony hit the emergency brake. The train was already travelling at seventy miles per hour. Since they’d only just left the city behind, it hadn’t quite reached full speed. It was fast enough, though, and considering the size of the train, it would take time to come to a full stop. Too much time. He felt the change in momentum right away and knew the passengers would, too. The thing up ahead became clear. Oh God. That was no sheep. Now he was closer, it was plainly a person lying across the tracks. A man. He hit the horn, again and again, giving longer and longer blasts on it. Why wasn’t the poor bastard moving? He wanted to scream. Why were they lying there? Why didn’t they get up and move away? Couldn’t they hear the horn? Though only moments had passed since he’d first spotted the man, the seconds seemed to elongate, stretching out like some warped bending of time. The colours of the countryside appeared too bright, the blue of the October sky almost garish against the horror that was about to occur. They weren’t going to stop soon enough. He knew that for a fact. The train was going to hit the person, and it wasn’t