by Nolon King
No Fear
No Justice Series: Book 6
Nolon King
David W. Wright
Copyright © 2020 by Sterling & Stone
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Contents
Prologue
Chapter 1 - Mallory Black
Chapter 2 - Jasper Parish
Chapter 3 - Mallory Black
Chapter 4 - Jasper Parish
Chapter 5 - Mallory Black
Chapter 6 - Howard Loomis
Chapter 7 - Jasper Parish
Chapter 8 - Mallory Black
Chapter 9 - Jasper Parish
Chapter 10 - Mallory Black
Chapter 11 - Howard Loomis Age 10
Chapter 12 - Jasper Parish
Chapter 13 - Mallory Black
Chapter 14 - Howard Loomis
Chapter 15 - Jasper Parish
Chapter 16 - Mallory Black
Chapter 17 - Howard Loomis
Chapter 18 - Jasper Parish
Chapter 19 - Howard Loomis
Chapter 20 - Mallory Black
Chapter 21 - Howard Loomis
Chapter 22 - Mallory Black
Chapter 23 - Jasper Parish
Chapter 24 - Mallory Black
Chapter 25 - Mallory Black
Chapter 26 - Jasper Parish
Chapter 27 - Howard Loomis
Chapter 28 - Mallory Black
Chapter 29 - Howard Loomis
Chapter 30 - Jasper Parish
Chapter 31 - Mallory Black
Chapter 32 - Howard Loomis
Chapter 33 - Jasper Parish
Chapter 34 - Mallory Black
Chapter 35 - Jasper Parish
Chapter 36 - Mallory Black
Chapter 37 - Jasper Parish
Chapter 38 - Mallory Black
Chapter 39 - Jasper Parish
Chapter 40 - Howard Loomis
Chapter 41 - Mallory Black
Chapter 42 - Howard Loomis
Chapter 43 - Mallory Black
Chapter 44 - Howard Loomis
Chapter 45 - Jasper Parish
Chapter 46 - Howard Loomis
Chapter 47 - Mallory Black
Chapter 48 - Jasper Parish
Chapter 49 - Mallory Black
Chapter 50 - Howard Loomis
Chapter 51 - Mallory Black
Chapter 52 - Jasper Parish
Chapter 53 - Mallory Black
Chapter 54 - Howard Loomis
Chapter 55 - Mallory Black
Chapter 56 - Mallory Black
Epilogue 1
Epilogue 2
Want More?
A Note From The Authors
A quick favor…
About the Authors
Prologue
McKenna Shaw hated the Sundays when their usual babysitter, Cami, had to work her other job. Cami always kept Alice occupied.
It was McKenna’s last day of freedom before going back to school, but she had no freedom at all. Not only was she was forced to wake up early for church then spend half the morning there, she also had to watch her little sister after while her mom worked.
The whole entire day, shot.
It wasn’t fair.
McKenna was fourteen. She was supposed to be out having fun with friends, not babysitting. Alice was eleven, more than old enough to look after herself, or at least to walk the few blocks home from church.
She walked ahead of McKenna, humming a song from Hamilton — annoying because Alice only liked the musical because McKenna and her friends were into it. Why couldn’t she ever find her own thing? Why’d she always have to be such a try-hard?
McKenna looked down at her phone. Her friend, Lexi was texting.
Lexi: Can I come over? Got some tea to spill.
McKenna: What’s it about?
Lexi: I’ll tell you when I get there.
No way, Lexi.
McKenna: Oh, come on. Just a hint?
Lexi: Patience!
McKenna: You suck. I’m on the way home from church. Should be there in five.
McKenna picked up her pace. When she caught up to Alice, she said, “Lexi’s coming over.”
Alice smiled. “Oh?”
“Yes, but you can’t hang out. She wants to talk.”
“Oh.” Alice looked down at the ground.
McKenna delighted in deflating her sister, even though she knew it was wrong. But it was Alice’s fault for being their parents’ favorite and always getting her way. McKenna had to include her sister in everything, and she shouldn’t be punished because her sister didn’t have her own friends. It wasn’t her fault.
McKenna was usually nice enough to Alice. But there was something about her sister that made her want to act unkind for no discernible reason. Still, she never hit Alice or teased her. McKenna just ignored or shut her out whenever she got too cloying.
Cloying, like Carly Jenkins said I am.
That was the first time McKenna had ever heard the word. She looked it up and was disappointed by what her last best friend had called her. McKenna wouldn’t make that mistake with Lexi, though.
She’d play it cool, and that meant not having Alice around. Because her sister was definitely cloying. Desperate for people to like her, enough that it reeked.
Maybe cloying was contagious, and it had made McKenna a bit desperate herself. When Alice hung out with the annoying kid down the road, she turned into somewhat of a pest herself.
Alice walked in silence, the song gone from her voice. McKenna began to feel guilty. Maybe she’d let her sister hang out with them after Lexi spilled the tea.
Maybe.
McKenna noticed something white moving slowly in the street at the edges of her vision.
She turned to see a van slowing down, an overweight man in the driver’s seat looking at them both. A creeper — the kind of guy McKenna and her friends sometimes saw passing by the bus stop or staring at them in the mall. They would laugh, sometimes even flirt with the pedos before mocking them. Not McKenna, though. The creepers scared her too much.
The van stopped, and the guy lowered his window. “Excuse me, have either of you seen a white poodle around here?”
Alice started walking toward the van.
McKenna reached out and grabbed her sister’s arm. “Alice! We have to get home.”
“Just take a look.” The creeper held up a printed photo of a dog. From this distance, McKenna could only make out two things under the photo: LOST and REWARD $50.
She looked at the man’s face. He was still big and creepy looking, but not as threatening as she’d first thought.
“My name is John Franks. I live on the next street. You’re Al and Maryann’s kids, right?”
“Yeah,” Alice said.
McKenna squeezed her sister’s arm and whispered, “Don’t talk to him.”
“He’s our neighbor.” She pulled away from McKenna and moved toward the truck.
She walked beside Alice, straightening her back, glaring at John Franks, trying to intimidate the man, just in case.
He moved over to the passenger seat, leaned out the window, and offered them the paper. “If you can just keep an eye out for Sparky and call the number at the bottom if you see her?”
Alice reached out to grab the paper.
Alice let out a surprised squeal as the van’s door opened, moving Alice with the door, him clutching her wrist through the open window.
What is he doing?
It was all happening too fast. She knew about Stranger Danger and how to respond, but in the moment, McKenna remembered nothing.
Shock and fear overwhelmed her.
“Help!” McKenna screamed, running toward the man with balled fists.
If she hit him hard enough, he would let go of Alice.
He might grab her, but she at least had a better chance of fighting him off. Alice was too young and small.
When McKenna was inches away from him, she saw what was in the man’s other hand.
Then John Franks fired his gun.
Chapter 1 - Mallory Black
Mal sat in the hospital waiting room, thinking about was how much Alice Shaw reminded her of Jessi Price. Not just Jessi, but Ashley as well. She pictured a bright blue sky, like she had taught herself to start doing whenever her daughter’s death came to mind. It was the best way to bar the crime scene photos from haunting her with images of Ashley’s naked body, dumped in a drainage ditch.
Are we going to find Alice’s body too? Dumped like fucking trash?
Her partner, Mike, was at the Shaws’ house with the girls’ aunt looking for any clues to who might have abducted her. Mal was sitting with their mother, Sheila, while waiting for the older daughter, McKenna, to come out of surgery.
Sheila was thirty-five, though she looked closer to forty. Her eyes seemed even older, dulled by heartache and pain. They were a washed-out blue, bloodshot, with smudges of mascara blending into the dark circles beneath and making her look like a racoon. She wore her blonde hair pulled back into a tight ponytail, and she’d chewed her fingernails down to the pinks. Her work clothes — black pants and a shirt with a bright red tie, same as all the servers at Creek County Steak House — seemed to hang on her thin, frail frame.
Mal had questioned Sheila at length, and while the woman could barely manage a pair of sentences in a row without starting to sob, nothing about her actions indicated deception, or that she knew anything about who took one daughter and put a bullet into the other. Sheila had no boyfriends, estranged lovers, or anyone else in her life that had given the girl an unnatural amount of attention.
She was a single mom working two jobs and hadn’t really dated anyone since the girls’ father killed himself nine years ago. Sheila was doing her best with a shitty situation — making an effort, which was more than Mal could say about a lot of people she came into contact with while on the job.
“Who would do such a thing?” Sheila asked.
“That’s what we hope to find out. Do your kids usually go to church alone?”
“Cami usually takes them. She’s our sitter, but sometimes she has to work her other job Sunday mornings.”
“Where does she work?”
“Crescent, that new restaurant on the beach.”
“I’ll need her number.”
Sheila handed it over, and Mal added it to the list on her scratchpad.
“And the girls haven’t said anything about anyone at school, maybe the bus stop — anyone else who might have approached them?”
“They know better than to talk to strangers. No offense, but shouldn’t you be out there looking for Alice? You’ve already asked me a million questions. I know what they say about there being a window when someone goes missing. The longer we’re sitting here, the less likely she is to be found.”
“Believe me, our officers are looking. My asking you these questions helps us know where to look and who to look at. Narrowing down the list of people helps immensely. But I believe I’ve got everything I need here. If you think of something else or remember anything at all, please call me. Anytime.”
Sheila took the card and thanked her.
As Mal departed, she ran smack into two of her least favorite people in the department.
Captain Bill Lummock was the new head of Special Crimes. He was a recent hire brought in when Sheriff Barry cleaned house of all who were too loyal to Gloria. Lummock came from Daytona Beach and had a decent track record overseeing Special Crimes there. He was a red-faced, barrel-chested, old-school cop with an alcoholic’s nose, a splotchy face, and dusty blond-going-gray hair. The guy was loud and obnoxious, always telling crude jokes and calling people snowflakes.
Walking side-by-side with Lummock was Cameron Ford, the ex-journalist, ex-blogger Mal hated more than pretty much anyone other than the sheriff. The asshole helped Barry get elected and earned himself a position as the Sheriff’s Public Information Officer.
Lummock asked for an update. She gave it to him as quickly as she could.
“Thank you. We’re going to have a media briefing downstairs once the Sheriff gets here.”
Cameron, who always seemed to go out of his way to annoy the fuck out of Mal, said, “Good job, detective.”
She looked at him blankly, barely hiding her contempt. “Gee, thanks.”
He looked down at his feet, avoiding eye contact like the coward he was.
“If that’ll be all, I need to follow up on some leads.”
Lummock nodded.
Mal walked away, fast as she could, suffering a shortness of breath. Her skin felt clammy, her stomach churned. She needed to find a bathroom.
She raced to the restroom, burst through the door, then into a stall where she vomited.
A sheen of cold sweat covered her. She felt awful. Her heart still pounded, and she continued to retch, but she had nothing left inside her to puke.
When her pulse slowed and her breathing settled, Mal washed up then left the restroom.
On her way to the elevators, she passed a couple of men, including the last face in the world she expected to see — Paul Dodd, the man who murdered her daughter.
The man she killed in Mexico more than six months ago.
She spun around, hand on her gun, ready to draw when she realized that it wasn’t Dodd. It didn’t look anything like him. These two men were Indian and both wearing doctor’s scrubs.
They looked at Mal like she was tripping. Fortunately, she hadn’t drawn her weapon.
What the fuck?
Why did I just imagine Paul Fucking Dodd?
A tightness in her chest made it harder to breathe. Dizzy and weak, Mal leaned against the wall, trying to calm herself. Her heart was racing faster than before, and she could hear her pulse.
She reached patted her pocket, soothed by the familiar shape of her two Just In Case pain pills. Addicts were supposed to get rid of their drug of choice to keep temptation away. But carrying the pills had offered Mal some sense of comfort in the six months since she’d quit, some sense of control over her addiction.
Knowing she could take them meant she didn’t have to.
That had been working. Until now.
No, no, no. I am NOT gonna relapse. Not now.
Mal clutched at her chest, the tight ache spreading as she gasped for air. Surely she was about to die by either heart attack or suffocation.
Her vision blurred as she lost her footing, even though she was already leaning on the wall.
A rush of movement came at her.
“Are you—”
She didn’t hear what else the woman was about to say.
Instead, Mal collapsed and found the darkness again.
Chapter 2 - Jasper Parish
Jasper would give anything for a moment of silence.
Unfortunately, his podmate refused to shut the fuck up. Jasper lay on the top bunk, eyes closed, just trying to sleep. It was too damned late for this nonsense.
Wally was a light-skinned black guy in his twenties with a tight afro, tattoos up and down both his wiry arms, and a few rather unfortunate ones on his face. The kind of guy who wanted you to think he was tough but was actually nothing more than a big mouth. Those flapping gums got him beef with a rival gang, and now he wa
s doing time for a drive-by that not only killed some of his rivals but also an innocent child caught in the crossfire.
“Way I see it, this whole thing was rigged from the get-go. Folks in power say we choose this life, but we don’t choose where we born, ya’ know? You take the same kid grow up where I was and put him in with some rich family in one of them neighborhoods with green grass, and I guarantee he’s gonna make some different ass choices, ya’ know?”
Jasper didn’t want to argue, but he hated when people drowned in their pity, blaming everybody but themselves for their choices.
“Yeah, well I grew up in the hood and sure as hell didn’t go around robbing people or dealing drugs.”
He stopped there, failing to articulate his chosen profession. Being a cop in gen-pop was a death sentence. No one knew who he was, sentenced to a prison in Georgia with an assumed identity as part of his plea. Malcolm “Mac” White.
It wasn’t quite protective custody, but there was no way in hell he would ever get that, especially since the District Attorney was friends with Oliver Kozack.
“Yeah? So why the fuck you in here with me then? What is it you did? You killed someone or you wouldn’t be up in here. Old Mac preaching to me about morality.” Wally gave him a thin and raspy laugh. “Tell me your life wouldn’t be different if you grew up somewhere else and with different parents.”