Her Last Day (Jessie Cole Book 1) Read online

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  OTHER TITLES BY T.R. RAGAN FAITH MCMANN TRILOGY Wrath Furious Outrage LIZZY GARDNER SERIES Abducted Dead Weight A Dark Mind Obsessed Almost Dead Evil Never Dies WRITING AS THERESA RAGAN Return of the Rose A Knight in Central Park Taming Mad Max Finding Kate Huntley Having My Baby An Offer He Can’t Refuse Here Comes the Bride I Will Wait for You: A Novella Dead Man Running

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  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, organizations, places, events, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental. Text copyright © 2017 Theresa Ragan All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, or stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without express written permission of the publisher. Published by Thomas & Mercer, Seattle www.apub.com Amazon, the Amazon logo, and Thomas & Mercer are trademarks of Amazon.com, Inc., or its affiliates. ISBN-13: 9781542046060 ISBN-10: 1542046068 Cover design by Damon Freeman

  To all the nurturing, hardworking, tolerant, creative, and courageous women in the world who know the value of listening but who aren’t afraid to speak up when their voices need to be heard. When things get tough, you get tougher. This is for you.

  CONTENTS PROLOGUE ONE TWO THREE FOUR FIVE SIX SEVEN EIGHT NINE TEN ELEVEN TWELVE THIRTEEN FOURTEEN FIFTEEN SIXTEEN SEVENTEEN EIGHTEEN NINETEEN TWENTY TWENTY-ONE TWENTY-TWO TWENTY-THREE TWENTY-FOUR TWENTY-FIVE TWENTY-SIX TWENTY-SEVEN TWENTY-EIGHT TWENTY-NINE THIRTY THIRTY-ONE THIRTY-TWO THIRTY-THREE THIRTY-FOUR THIRTY-FIVE THIRTY-SIX THIRTY-SEVEN THIRTY-EIGHT THIRTY-NINE FORTY FORTY-ONE FORTY-TWO FORTY-THREE FORTY-FOUR FORTY-FIVE FORTY-SIX FORTY-SEVEN FORTY-EIGHT ACKNOWLEDGMENTS ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  PROLOGUE Ten Years Ago He awoke to the smell of burned flesh. The acrid fumes filled his lungs. The crackling roar of fire was deafening, the smoke thick. He was trapped within the passenger seat of a car, hanging upside down, a mangled piece of plastic and metal pressed against his stomach. He couldn’t see the bottom part of his legs, but he felt a fiery heat around his feet and ankles. The car teetered back and forth, precariously, as if at any moment it might roll into the black abyss he saw through the broken windshield. Every muscle tensed. He had no idea how steep the fall would be if the vehicle lost its bearings. His lungs burned. He coughed, tried to breathe, then jerked backward when an arm fell limply through the flames and landed on the middle console. Charred fingers, skin melting from bone. The driver was engulfed in flames. They were both going to die if he didn’t find a way out. Trying to move his legs felt like wasted effort. They were pinned tight and wouldn’t budge.

  ONE Sacramento, California—Present Day Jessie Cole, private investigator, had been detained inside a small room at the Sacramento Police Department for thirty minutes now as Detective Aaron Roth lectured her. Another police officer stood in the corner. She zeroed in on Detective Roth’s mouth as he talked. It was a habit she couldn’t seem to break. In grammar school she’d had a friend who was deaf. Twice a week Jessie had attended speech-reading class with her, not only for fun but because they were inseparable. She also knew American Sign Language (ASL). In eighth grade her friend had moved away, but Jessie never lost her ability to read lips or sign. In his midforties, Aaron Roth was five foot eleven and had a cleanly shaved head and a thick mustache. As he rambled on—lecturing, reading her rights—she thought about the first time she’d met the detective ten years ago. The eagerness she remembered seeing in his eyes appeared to have been replaced with annoyance and resentment. “Did you

  TWO He pushed the dresser to his right, then leaned over and pulled open the wooden hatch. A hot wave of stench crept out of the dark space below. He turned away and coughed before he grabbed his backpack and slipped his arms through the shoulder straps. He then made his way down the stairs and into the underground room his father had built beneath their house before he was born. The room was a one-thousand-square-foot space consisting of two jail cells made of crude metal bars and another enclosed cell with a slot in the middle of the door that made it easy to feed his prisoner without opening the door. He waved his hands around to get the air circulating before lighting the oil lamps hanging from metal hooks on the wall. The space had been reinforced with concrete, which had created condensation. It was dank and damp, and the walls were covered with mildew. A large crack ran through the back wall and across a section of cement flooring. At times he wondered if these walls would cave

  THREE As Colin walked to his car, he inwardly scolded himself for volunteering his services. His reasoning was twofold. Number one, he was busy working the Heartless Killer case. The serial killer had been leaving a trail of fear throughout the city of Sacramento for six years now. Every morning before school, parents warned their children to be aware of their surroundings and never go anywhere alone. Even the wariest residents were unnerved. The FBI profiler who had been brought in to help said the Heartless Killer was a smart, single white male, a loner between the age of twenty-nine and thirty-six who came from a troubled family and had most likely suffered significant abuse. The list went on. Traits of many serial killers. Nothing new. Based on his findings, Colin would add that this particular single white male killer was fearless. He went into people’s homes and took victims from public places in broad daylight without being detected. That was not something a lot of serial killer

  FOUR It was a quarter past five when Ben Morrison left his workplace, a ten-thousand-square-foot cement-gray building that housed the Sacramento Tribune. He’d been working as a crime reporter there for twenty years, the first ten of which he had no recollection of, owing to a car accident that had left him with retrograde amnesia. After the accident he’d had no memory of his sister or his deceased parents. But something beautiful had come from the tragedy. He’d fallen in love with and married the nurse who’d helped put him back together again. At his wife’s insistence, he’d tried to reconnect with his sister over the years, but she and her husband had moved to Florida, and his phone calls went unanswered. Today was another hot one. The air was thick and dry, sucking the moisture out of every living thing and making it a chore to breathe. It had been a long day, and he was eager to get home. As he approached his 1978 Ford Club Wagon, he heard a distant call for help and stopped to look

  FIVE Erin walked slowly around the inside perimeter of the cell, her fingers trailing across rebar and then the rough cement wall as she searched for a way out. She couldn’t stop shivering. She forced herself to sit back down and think for a minute. Instinct insisted she stay calm. The oil lamps had been turned off, but Erin could still see shadows and hear the crunching of straw whenever Garrett moved. “You have to kill me,” he said. “The boss is angry, and that means he’ll be back.” “I won’t kill you, so stop asking. We need to save the battery power and use the Taser on that monster when he returns.” “You don’t have to use the Taser on me. You’re young, and you haven’t been here long, so you’re still strong. Wrap your fingers around my throat, and press your thumbs against my trachea. If I struggle, don’t let go.” He crawled close enough to her that she could see the whites of his eyes. “I’m begging you,” he said. “Please. I can’t do this any longer.” “I won’t do it.” “You don’t hav

  SIX While Olivia sat at the kitchen table doing homework, Colin made some calls and worked on what he needed to go over with his team in the morning. Frustrations in the department were at an all-time high. Now that all leads had been exhausted, he realized it might be time to have one of the retired detectives look over the case files to see if they could find anything that mi
ght have been missed. He also considered getting the media involved, have them do a story on the case and ask for help from the community to see if they could spark someone’s memory. Someone out there knew something. Either he wasn’t willing to come forward, or he had no idea about the importance of what he’d seen. Too many guys in the department had worked long hours, missing out on family events—and for what? The Heartless Killer had been hanging around for too long. He needed to be stopped. And yet it wasn’t going to be easy to find a killer whose MO kept changing. The Heartless Killer was no Jack the Ripper.

  SEVEN Jessie was jolted awake by a bloodcurdling scream. It took her a second to remember she’d slept in jail. The cot was lopsided, and the place smelled of vomit that someone had tried to cover up with bleach. Detective Roth had been kind enough to make sure she was put in her own holding cell, far enough away from the shit disturbers to get a few hours of sleep. She sat up and pushed tangled hair out of her face. This wasn’t the first time she’d been thrown in jail, but it was the first time she’d ever spent the night there. There were no windows, and she had no idea what time it was. She wondered about Olivia. Was she okay? Had Colin made sure she’d gotten something to eat? Did he take her to school? Feeling dizzy, Jessie lowered her head close to her knees and took deep breaths. She’d never done well in small enclosures, and the strong smell of disinfectant wasn’t helping. A few minutes later, footfalls sounded. Down the corridor she saw a guard coming her way. Following close beh

  EIGHT Erin awoke to the sound of chattering teeth. It took her a second to realize she was the one making the noise. She wondered how long she’d dozed off for. She was freezing, and it was pitch-dark. As her gaze darted around the cell, she rubbed the chill from her arms. “Garrett?” No answer. Pushing herself to her feet, she hoped her eyes would adjust to the dark. No such luck. She held both arms straight and stiff in front of her like a mummy in an old black-and-white movie and walked slowly across the small space. A few seconds passed before her hand came into contact with something cold and fleshy. She yanked her arm back. “Garrett,” she said again. “Is that you?” Still no answer. She swallowed as she reached out again and forced herself to touch whatever it was in front of her. It was definitely a human form, bony, skeletal. She held back a cry. Standing on the tips of her toes, she felt the cloth around his neck, and realized then what he’d been doing with the backpack. He’d spe

  NINE Jessie’s first stop after leaving Olivia home with the dog was her dad’s house in East Sacramento off Riverside Boulevard. It was the house where she and Sophie had been raised. With its unstable foundation, cracked walkways, and neglected grounds, she was surprised the property had been accepted as a pledge toward bail. She knocked on the door, three hard raps. Her dad used to be a carpenter, but after he’d started drinking, he couldn’t be trusted to show up on time. Now he worked as a handyman. Ethan Cole’s Handyman Services. She was about to get her hopes up when she heard lumbering footfalls approaching from inside. The door came open. “Hi, Dad.” He tightened the sash on his robe. Although his thick salt-and-pepper hair was all over the place and he needed a shave, for a fifty-nine-year-old drunk, he was in pretty good shape. Clearly he wasn’t expecting visitors. “Can I come inside?” “Yeah, um, sure, of course.” She stepped past him, walked down the hallway and into the family

  TEN “Not now. I’m busy,” Ian Savage said without looking up. Ben Morrison ignored his boss and took a seat in front of Ian’s rough wood desk, which he’d made from a fallen oak tree. Tall and reed thin, the man was nearing seventy. In a crowd, or anywhere for that matter, you couldn’t miss his abundance of silver hair. Old woodsy cologne came off him in waves, which always made Ben think the old man had more than one gargantuan bottle of the stuff hidden away at home. “This will only take a minute,” Ben told him. Ian continued to search through files and papers stacked in front of him, ignoring Ben completely. He was always misplacing something, always grumpy and seemingly discombobulated. “I want to do a serial story. Just enough words every week to keep readers wanting more.” Ian’s reply came out sounding like a grunt, which motivated Ben to continue. “I want to investigate the disappearance of a young woman who went missing ten years ago,” Ben said. “But first some backstory. Two sis

  ELEVEN Fatigue was setting in by the time Jessie arrived at the building on Nineteenth Street where she rented a two-hundred-square-foot space for $400 a month. It was the smallest office in the building, but the only one that had a window facing the street. The best part was that it was only a block and a half away from where she lived. She blew at a light coating of dust on the stainless steel sign on the door that read: JESSIE COLE DETECTIVE AGENCY. She unlocked the door and stepped inside. The first thing she’d done after finding the place was paint the walls light gray and install white crown molding, making it look up-to-date and professional. Her desk, a sturdy piece of wood with four steel legs, faced the door. The window overlooking the street was to her right and provided a lot of natural light. A row of filing cabinets against the wall took up most of the space. The nicest piece of furniture was her client chair. She’d found it on a street corner with a sign that said, TAKE

  TWELVE Colin stood on the side of a frontage road that ran parallel to Highway 80. This morning’s briefing concerning the Heartless Killer case had been short. A career criminal apprehension team (CCAT) would continue to work surveillance and talk to witnesses from past crime scenes connected to the killer in hopes of coming across a new lead. Unlike mass murderers, whose rage often erupted in one catastrophic act of vengeance, serial killers did whatever they could to escape detection. Even with the advancement of investigative techniques, there was only so much forensics could accomplish. Unless the killer was betrayed by an accomplice, identified by a relative, or grew overly confident and, in turn, increasingly careless, he could go on killing for years to come. It had been documented that about 20 percent of all serial killers were never brought to justice for their crimes. It was times like this that Colin felt for every detective who’d worked the case and would never get back ti

  THIRTEEN The house he’d been watching for more than a year now belonged to Mike and Natalie Bailey. From his perch in the highest branches of an oak tree, he had a perfect view of the kitchen window. He saw Mike Bailey step up behind his wife, kiss her cheek, and then wrap his arms around her waist while she rinsed the dishes. Under the soft glow of the kitchen light, he could make out the slight curve of her lips when she smiled. He shifted his weight from his right hip to his left. He hadn’t planned on sitting in the tree for so long. Usually that wouldn’t be a problem since he’d been climbing trees for as long as he could remember. After mastering the art of climbing gangly-limbed oaks, he’d moved on to pines and redwoods. From there he’d conquered fences and walls. His ability to climb trees had often saved him from his father’s tortuous whims. Mike walked away, leaving Natalie alone. His chest tightened. Tonight was the night. He’d learned a lot about the couple just from picking

  FOURTEEN Jessie awoke to the sound of a barking dog. Even then it took her a moment to remember Higgins. When she opened her eyes, she saw Olivia’s cat, Cecil, sitting on the dresser straight ahead, staring at her with his one gold-speckled eye. “How did you get in here?” Cecil meowed. She threw off the covers, climbed out of bed, and walked into the main room, where she could see Olivia in the kitchen making a bag lunch for school. “Good morning,” she said to Olivia as she watched the dog use his three good legs to scoot across the wood floor. Cecil had followed her from the bedroom. His long tail brushed across her calf before he jumped on top of the couch and stared the dog down. Higgins was too focused on Olivia to notice. “Morning,” Olivia said. “I didn’t think you were ever going to wake up.” “You should have woke me.” “Bella is picking me up. And I knew you needed sleep after spending the night in jail.” “Thanks,” Jessie said with a roll of her eyes, knowing she would never live

  FIFTEEN Jessie had been at the office for a while whe
n she looked at the time and saw that it was already ten thirty. Looked like Ben Morrison was a no-show. She would give him until noon before she went to check on Higgins. Her phone rang. It was Adelind Rain. “Sorry I had to run off yesterday,” she said without prelude. “No problem.” “I’m calling to let you know I quit my job. My parents are worried, and so am I. I’m moving back to Seattle.” “Did something happen since I saw you?” Adelind hesitated before saying, “I got a call in the middle of the night. Heavy breathing. Are you sure Parker Koontz is still in the hospital?” “I was told he’s in a coma, but I’ll call the hospital to see if there has been any change.” “If it’s not him, who would be calling me? It makes no sense, and yet it can’t be a coincidence.” Jessie didn’t have an answer for her. There was a long pause before Adelind said, “If you could let me know what I owe you, I can get that taken care of before I leave.” Jessi

  SIXTEEN Arlo Gatley remained in Jessie’s office for another hour and a half, filling out paperwork and talking about Zee. Apparently his daughter heard voices. Zee talked to herself, even got into arguments with her reflection in the mirror. She’d once hidden inside a mail truck, and twice she’d made herself at home at the neighbor’s house. The first time she was making a sandwich, and the second time she was asleep in the master bedroom. Two years ago she was fired from her job at a large retailer after she slapped a customer across the face for being rude. All the stories combined made Jessie realize that this girl could be absolutely anywhere. It was two o’clock by the time Jessie stepped outside and walked down the block toward home to check on Higgins. A few minutes later, she slipped the key into the lock on her front door when she heard someone call her name from across the street. Glancing over her shoulder, she noticed a tall, broad-shouldered man heading her way. She recogniz

  SEVENTEEN Erin could hardly move. Her breathing quickened. Don’t panic. She was on her back, faceup, arms at her sides. When she tried to lift her head, her forehead smacked against wood. Closing her eyes, she forced herself to take calming breaths. But it was no use. She wanted to scream for help. But then what? Would that alert the freak? No. No. No. Don’t scream. She bit down on her lip and counted to five. The sound of her heartbeat pounded inside her head. How had she come to be there? The freak had been angry with her. She remembered that much. He’d said something about a box. That was the last thing she’d heard him say before everything went black. Had he hit her over the head? Drugged her? She had no recollection whatsoever. She used the tips of her bare toes to feel around and get an idea of the length of the box. If she pointed her toe, she touched wood. Damp wood. She could raise her knee only a few inches before making contact. The wood was soft. She jerked her knee upward,