Jake Bryant, a disgraced Chicago PD detective, rushes home after he learns of his best friend's murder. Desperate to redeem himself in the eyes of the woman he loves - the widow of his murdered best friend - he makes it his mission to catch the killer even if that means inserting himself into a police investigation where he's far from welcome. But when the murderer is identified and slips through the fingers of the court system, Jake is faced with the ultimate moral dilemma. Does he let the man get away with the crime or exact his own kind of vigilante justice?
Jake Bryant, a disgraced Chicago PD detective, rushes home after he learns of his best friend's murder. Desperate to redeem himself in the eyes of the woman he loves - the widow of his murdered best friend - he makes it his mission to catch the killer even if that means inserting himself into a police investigation where he's far from welcome. But when the murderer is identified and slips through the fingers of the court system, Jake is faced with the ultimate moral dilemma. Does he let the man get away with the crime or exact his own kind of vigilante justice?
The shape on the bed was barely visible in the dark room. Tom Morgan nervously approached the warm body, a letter clutched in his sweaty hand. It was his insurance policy if things went horribly wrong this morning, and there was a distinct possibility they would.
Long ago, Tom should have confessed to his illegal schemes, but his wife thought he was a good man. Everyone did. They were mistakenâ he was corrupt, unfaithful, and a coward. However, he hoped to change that when he got the final piece of evidence against the man who controlled him. He hid the note underneath her lingerie along with a thumb driveâ a duplicate file was locked miles away. He closed the nightstand drawer with a thud.
The mass of covers shifted, and Maryâs head lifted off the pillow. She brushed her long blonde hair aside to reveal the most beautiful face in the world. After all these years, it could still make his heart skip a beat.
In a voice clouded by sleep, Mary asked, âWhat are you doing?â
Jumping away from the nightstand, Tom said, âNothing. Iâm going into work.â
She stretched an arm above her head and yawned. âBut, itâs Sunday.â
He shrugged his shoulders. âSorry. I have a file that will be late if I donât spend a few hours on it.â
âAll right,â she sighed.
He went to the side of the bed and laid his forehead against hers. Waves of comfort cascaded through his body, giving him strength for the dangerous task ahead. He whispered, âI love you.â
She wrapped a hand around his neck and squeezed him tight. âLove you too, honey.â
Pangs of guilt stabbed at his heart. Heâd tell Mary his secrets tonight once the kids were in bed. Together they could come up with a plan, whether they should turn the evidence over to the police, or the mob, or to run and hide. But first, he needed to find the murder weapon while the office was empty. Tom had been extremely cautious when he downloaded the video, so Dolan shouldnât suspect a thing, but he still felt anxious. With regret, he broke the embrace.
Mary rolled over and got comfortable again. Tom hesitated in the doorway, the brass knob cold in his hand. He wished he could crawl back into bed with her and pretend this was all a nightmare.
âDrive safe,â she whispered after him.
âI always do.â He closed the door softly behind him.
Thunder rumbled in the distance, shaking the house. The forecasted thunderstorm would arrive soon. He checked his watch. 7:30 am. Damn. It was later than he hoped, the office cleaning crew would arrive after lunch to perform their weekly deep cleaning. He needed to be long gone before they showed up and noted his presence. It was the little details that would get him killed. So instead of going down the hall to check on their three kids, Tom descended the stairs and left the house.
Under a green-grey sky, he drove out of his upscale subdivision in Metro Detroit, which was located miles from town. The lonely two-lane road leading to his office was decorated with budding fields of corn on both sides. The houses were few and far. With luck, there would be few witnesses to his mission.
Lost in thought, Tom didnât notice a large snapping turtle creep off the gravel shoulder until the last second. He jerked the steering wheel to the side, narrowly missing it. Shaken, he brought his SUV to a stop on the shoulder, twenty yards past the creature. Heâd always had a soft spot for turtles, owning one as a boyâ heâd see it safely across the road.
He approached the slow-moving reptile. A strong fishy smell caught in Tomâs nose, but he ignored it, breathing through his mouth. The snapper eyed him with beady black eyes, and then it drew its head and feet into its shell. Tom waited patiently. The turtle eventually popped its head back out and continued its sluggish journey. Long claws scrapped on the asphalt, propelling it forward inch by inch.
Before the turtle could reach the other side of the road, a large V-8 engine growled in the distance, its off-road tires hummed loudly. Tom watched as a big black pickup truck crested a rise on the desolate road. It sped towards Tom and his new friend.
âAsshole,â he thought. Guys who drive a truck like that are always overcompensating for something. Tom waved his hands above his head to get his attention.
The vehicle accelerated.
Frantically, Tom motioned for the truck to move to the far side of the road, but it didnât deviate from its course. The reptile crawled forward, unaware of its impending doom. Tom jumped out of the way at the last second. The front bumper barely missing him, but a large front tire crushed the turtle. Followed by the back tire, squirting reptile guts in every direction. Tomâs jaw dropped, and a murderous red haze fell across his vision.
The cracking of the shell rang in Tomâs ear like a bell.
The turtleâs long neck lay slumped on the black asphalt. A trickle of blood ran from its pointed beak.
âMotherfucker!â Tom screamed at the 4x4.
The truck slammed on its brakes and screeched to a stop. Tom glared at the driver, fists clenched at his side. The white taillights lit up, and the oversized vehicle reversed towards him before slamming to a halt. A large boot kicked the black door open.
A man with long brown hair and a coarse goatee hopped down to the ground. He exuded confidence from every pore. With a wide smile, he eyed Tom hungrily. âYou have a problem, asshole?â
Tom pointed to the broken animal. âMeâ Iâm an asshole? You just ran over a poor defenseless turtle!â
âReally? Thatâs what youâre worried about? I almost hit you.â
Spit flew from Tomâs mouth. âRight, so do you always drive with your head up your ass, or was it my lucky day?â
Sneering, the guy stalked forward, his chest puffed out. A deep jagged scar ran down the left side of his face, and the stench of alcohol and sour sweat hung over him like a cloud. He wore a leather vest with motorcycle club patches across the front. Damn! A biker, but not a professional killer. If Dolan were on to Tom, he wouldnât have sent a guy like this to eliminate him. On a public road, this would be sloppy. However, Tom really shouldnât get pulled into a stupid fight; he didnât have the time. Yet, he was already in it, so he might as well finish it. This idiot needed to be taught a lesson, and Tom was sick of being a coward.
The outlaw pushed Tom hard with both hands. Tom staggered backward. The thug cocked a fist back to deliver a giant haymaker. Tomâs left hand closed and instinctively flew out. The martial arts lessons heâd taken for the last five years paid off â he landed a quick blow to his chin.
Tom faked a second punch, and the guy closed his eyes and ducked. Tom waited until the thug brought his head back, and he landed a right to the bikerâs nose, his head rocked back, and blood spilled down his face.
The man roared in anger and let loose a desperate right hand. Tom easily sidestepped the punch and slammed his fist into the manâs jaw. He fell to the ground hard.
Looming over him, Tom said, âItâs over. Stay down.â
âFuck you!â The thug tried to get back up.
Tom punched him in the ear. The man crashed to the asphalt like a sack of manure. He rolled to his side, coughing out blood and mucus. There was no need to debate, it was over. Hastily, Tom walked to his car, but an itch grew between his shoulder blades. He glanced back. The thug stumbled to his feet while he reached inside his vest for something. Shit! That couldnât be good.
Tom broke into a run.
âStop, asshole!â the guy shouted.
A few feet from his vehicle, a bullet whizzed by Tomâs head. His insides turned to ice. He wanted to claw open the door but knew heâd never get inside in time.
âNot so tough now, are you?â the man laughed. âTurn around.â
Tom did as he was told. He tried not to appear scared, but he was losing that battle. Heâd been terribly wrong. This man was a killer. Sweat trickled down the back of his neck. He wanted to wipe at it but kept his hands in front of him, the fingers outstretched. A droplet ran down his back and soaked into a fold in his shirt.
âYou donât need to do this. I can pay you,â Tom pleaded.
âIâve already been paid. Besides, now this is personal.â Sneering, the thug stumbled forward, the gun still pointed at Tom.
Damn it. Tom had screwed up. He only had one option; he needed to survive this encounter, get his family, and run far away.
The thug stopped his advance. Thunder boomed in the distance, and lightning scarred the sky. Tomâs eyes darted in the direction of the bolt. The gun was a foot from Tomâs outstretched hands. Short shallow breaths pushed through his lips as adrenalin poured into his bloodstream.
Shifting from foot to foot, Tom recalled more of his martial arts training. He leaned subtlety towards the gun. His hand ten was inches away from the barrel. His heart hammered an erratic beat. The thugâs index finger twitched on the trigger.
The thunder crashed closer. With exaggeration, Tom shifted his gaze over to the lightning strike. The thug followed Tomâs glance. With the misdirection, Tom pushed off his back foot, but the man tracked Tomâs movement. The maneuver seemed so simple at the strip mall dojo, but this wasnât a classmate with a rubber gun.
Tom was about to die â he could see that fact clearly.
âNo, No, NO!â
Time froze. It was true. His life flashed before his eyes. His childhood. His parents. Mary. Her smile. Her lovely laugh. Their wedding day. The children being born. The love. The pain. The joy. He had lost all of it. He would never see Mary again. He wouldnât see the kids grow up. It was over. Tom prayed that his best friend, Jake, would put the pieces of his puzzles together and find the incriminating video. If anyone, the former detective could save his family from these murders.
Time unfroze. Tomâs hand clasped the thugâs wrist, but as predicted, he was too late. The biker squeezed the trigger. The bullet slammed into Tomâs chest. He remained standing for a second before his body toppled over like a marionette whose strings had been cut. The pain was incredible. It felt like a jackhammer had punched a hole through his heart. He tried to sit up but couldnât. He felt cold. Very cold.
Putting the gun back in its holster, the man walked over to Tom. A crimson pool expanded underneath him. The guy kicked Tom hard in the ribs with his dirty boot, then in his face. Tom didnât feel it. His breathing was ragged and weak.
No traffic came from either direction. The smell of death and gunpowder hung in the air. A drop of rain pelted the road, followed by another and then three more. As Tom lay dying, the thug searched Tomâs pockets. He found a key ring and a wallet but nothing else. Standing up, his eyes fell on Tomâs antique watch. The timepiece brought back one of only a few happy childhood memories, so foolishly, he knelt down and freed it from Tomâs wrist after tossing his own cheap watch into the nearby field.
The storm drew closer. Lightning ripped across the sky as more rain sprinkled the landscape. Tomâs world grew dim. A low deathly rattle escaped his lips. The last thing Tom saw before his soul moved on to a better place was the killer admiring Tomâs watch on his own murderous wrist. An arm covered in a skeletal tattoo. A Devilâs Hand.
By all accounts, Tom was the best- a bit of a boy scout. He was always there for everyone, especially family and friends. Everyone considered him to be more than a cut above the norm. Yet someone killed him in cold blood. Now his friends want to know who, and why.
Jake has been one of Tom's best friends since early school days. He no longer lives in the same Minnesota town as his friends, having moved to take a job with the Chicago police department. But that was then. After having been forced to leave Chicago PD in disgrace, he's moved on to a meaningless blue-collar job,
But detective work is in Jake's blood, and he's not willing to sit idly by, hoping the locals can find Tom's killer. Calling Jake a bit headstrong would be an understatement. He's bull-headed, obstinate, and tough. He's just not wired in a way that will allow him to watch while others do a job he knows he can do well. This, as one could imagine, is something that doesn't sit well with the local police.
With the help of two other friends who rounded out the group of "besties," Jake is making progress. But in finding out who killed Tom, Jake has kicked a hornet's nest. Deception, lies, violence, and disloyalty are now everywhere Jake looks. The more he digs, the worse things get. He's now placed not only himself, but Tom's family in jeopardy. He didn't mind digging his own grave, but he won't be responsible for putting Mary and her children in harm's way.
So, deals are made. Plans are created. It seems things are looking up. But then, when you're lying in the grave you dug for yourself, there's nowhere to look, but up.
I wanted to give this novel more stars. It easily deserves to be a four-star book, possibly even five stars. Except for one thing. This novel is desperate for good editing and proof-reading. I can overlook a few minor spelling or grammatical errors. But this novel contains more than a few, including some recurring issues. For some reason, the author chose to end several declarative sentences with a question mark. I wondered if this was related to a particular character. For instance, a teenager might develop this style of speaking: i.e.-"I'm going outside, now?" instead of "I'm going outside, now." Sadly, this was not related to a specific character, but happened with some frequency throughout.
I was also left with many questions at the end of the book. It's possible the author plans to create a series. That's fine. But if the author had chosen to indicate there would be more to come, that would help lower my anxiety over the number of unanswered questions. Honestly, it felt more like they were simply loose ends that weren't tied up, as opposed to mini cliffhangers that would be exposed in coming stories.
This is a good story. But with a little polishing, it could be a great story. Despite the issues, I enjoyed the read and would recommend it to fans of thrillers/suspense stories.