Squall Line (The Forgotten Coast Florida Suspense Series Book 9)

by Dawn Lee McKenna

  A Sweet Tea Press Publication

  First published in the United States by Sweet Tea Press

  ©2018 Dawn Lee McKenna. All rights reserved.

  Edited by Debbie Maxwell Allen

  Cover by Shayne Rutherford

  wickedgoodbookcovers.com

  Interior Design by Colleen Sheehan

  ampersandbookinteriors.com

  Squall Line is a work of fiction. All incidents and dialogue, and all characters, are products of the author’s imagination. Any similarities to any person, living or dead, is merely coincidental.

  No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without the prior permission of the publishers.

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright

  Dedication

  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

  Sneak Peek: Chapter 1

  Sneak Peek: Chapter 2

  for

  all our law enforcement officers; those still with us,

  and those who are not

  Ryan Warner felt for the light switch, flicked it on, and watched as, row by row, the ancient fluorescent tubes came to life. They started with the front of the room, over Mr. Carpenter’s desk, then made their way, flickering and popping, over six rows of lab tables. It was late Thursday afternoon, last period, and the sky outside the room’s two windows was overcast.

  Each table was covered in black Corian and had three high stools on each side. In the center of each were caddies filled with forceps, long tweezers, and other tools of dissection and discovery.

  Along the back wall was a bank of cabinets that ran the whole width of the room. The cabinets held locked boxes of scalpels and other sharp objects, formalin, cotton balls and swabs, and many other items frequently used in the 9th-12th grade biology lab.

  On the countertop that covered these cabinets were several cages, and those cages came to life as the lights came on fully and Ryan made his way between two rows of lab tables toward the back of the room.

  “Hey, you guys,” Ryan said softly. In the closest of the cages, two gray and white rats stuck their faces up against the side, pink noses and white whiskers quivering. Mr. Carpenter, the biology teacher, gave Ryan a library pass on Fridays in exchange for feeding the animals during his study hall period the rest of the week. Ryan was always ahead in class anyway, and Mr. Carpenter knew that Ryan was planning on being a vet.

  Ryan reached into the outside pocket of his backpack and pulled out a plastic bag of carrot ends, apple cores, lettuce leaves, and other scraps his mom saved for him.

  At seventeen, Ryan was shorter and slighter than most of the other senior boys. He stood only five foot five and wasn’t involved in any team sports, nor was he interested in going to a gym. He liked books, and he liked animals.

  He was a good-looking boy, in a nerdy way, with deep-brown hair and black hipster glasses, but if any of the girls at school found him attractive, he was too shy and too distracted to know about it. He did his work, ate his lunch with a few other kids that were new, nerdy or otherwise left to the fringes of school society, and went home to lose himself in his books, or connect online with his friends from back home in Orlando, kids he’d grown up with. They were all nerds or geeks, too, but they knew him and accepted him.

  His dad had died two years ago, and after a year of trying to support them on one income, Ryan’s mother had made the decision to move here to Eastpoint, FL, where she had family and the cost of living was a bit lower. Ryan hated it, and he was glad his first year of school in Eastpoint was also his last.

  He didn’t mind living there; he loved being across the bay from the beach, he thought Apalach, across the bridge, was a cool little town, and he liked being closer to his relatives. He just hated the school. More accurately, he hated the way he was constantly afraid there. Adrian Nichols and his buddies had made Ryan’s life a living hell all year.

  There were only two weeks left of school, and then he would be free. He’d spent the last four years fervently believing that he would fit in better at college than he had in high school. In August, he would be back in Orlando, where he’d registered at UCF. They had a great veterinary program and he had a full scholarship, so maybe his mom could quit one of her jobs.

  Milo’s was the last cage in the line. Milo was a white rat, and Ryan’s favorite. He had just filled Milo’s water bottle and was scratching him under the chin when he heard the classroom door thunk closed on its hydraulic hinges. Expecting to see either Mr. Carpenter or some teacher wondering why the lights were on, Ryan looked over his shoulder and felt like his intestines were crawling toward his feet. It was Adrian Nichols and his faithful followers.

  Adrian wasn’t a whole lot taller than Ryan, but he was a good deal stockier, and most of it was muscle. He was a varsity wrestler and also worked on his dad’s shrimp boat. With sun-bleached blond hair and a deep tan, he seemed to be pretty popular with the girls. He had also collected a small group of minions, guys who weren’t as good looking or as popular.

  Drake Woods was a wrestler, too, but he had close-set eyes and a horrible case of acne. Stuart Newman was forty pounds overweight. Brian Gentry was just socially awkward, and his sparse blond goatee didn’t do much for his looks.

  Ryan watched them as they approached, so focused on Adrian’s mean smirk that he ignored Milo’s playful nibbles on his palm.

  “Lookee here,” Adrian said. “Cryin’ Ryan’s hanging out with all the other lab rats.”

  “No wonder it always smells in here,” Drake said.

  Ryan tried not to swallow as the boys advanced. He felt trapped, like a fish in one of those woven fish baskets, wondering why it couldn’t get out the same way it got in.

  “That your girlfriend?” Adrian asked, his eyes flicking to Milo and back to Ryan.

  Ryan had forgotten his hand was still in the cage, and he yanked it out and reached for the door.

  “Ah-ah-ah,” Adrian said, wagging his finger at Ryan. “Let’s see here.”

  “We’re not supposed to handle them except in class,” Ryan blurted, as Adrian’s big hand reached for the cage door that Ryan was trying to close.

  “Really?” Adrian asked as he shoved Ryan’s hand out of the way. Ryan felt a sudden nausea as Adrian reached into the cage and picked up Milo. The rat shied a bit, but he was used to being held and didn’t bite. Ryan wished he would, as Adrian held him up in his palm. “You mean like this?”

  “Gross, man,” the portly Stuart said. “They carry diseases.”

  “Or like this?” Adrian asked, ignoring Stuart and lifting Milo up by his tail.

  It startled Milo and made him nervous. He let out a quick, quiet squeak, and arched his back in a futile attempt to right himself.

  “Stop it!” Ryan said. “Come on, leave him alone.”

  “
He wants to play,” Adrian said.

  “Hey, man,” Stuart said, pulling out his phone and turning on the camera. “See if you can get him to do some tricks.”

  Ryan felt panic creeping from his gut to his throat. Panic and rage. He couldn’t abide animal cruelty, and Milo was his friend. “Come on. Please,” Ryan said shakily. “Just give him back.”

  Adrian ignored him, looking over his shoulder at Stuart the cameraman. Stuart and Adrian imagined themselves the next YouTube stars, and were constantly uploading stuff they hoped would go viral. None of it was educational or otherwise edifying, and much of it was downright brutal or offensive.

  “I bet I can make him disappear,” Adrian said to Stuart.

  Drake, the other wrestler, grinned meanly. “How about a live dissection?”

  Adrian and Stuart laughed, but when Ryan glanced over at Brian, who was always the quietest of the bunch, he wasn’t smiling. His eyes met Ryan’s for just a moment, before he glanced at the floor, then over at his friends.

  “Come on, you guys,” Brian said nervously. “The rats are cool.”

  Ryan couldn’t help shooting him a look of gratitude, but it was lost on Brian, who was focused on his friends.

  “Don’t be a weenie, Gentry,” Adrian said, frowning. “It’s a rat.”

  Milo had given up squeaking and writhing, and hung beneath Adrian’s hand, his only movement the rapid heartbeats jerking his ribcage.

  Adrian looked back at Ryan. “How much cash you got on you?”

  “What? Nothing,” Ryan answered, taken aback.

  “That’s bull. How much money you have on you?” he asked again, this time wiggling Milo’s tail just a bit.

  “I mean it,” Ryan answered. “I don’t have any money on me. My money’s at home.”

  “That’s too bad,” Adrian said. “For ten bucks, I’d let him go.”

  “I can get you ten bucks,” Ryan said, trying not to sound too eager, or too afraid.

  “Nope. Cash in hand,” Adrian said. “Ten bucks is pretty cheap to keep me from squeezing his head right off.”

  Ryan suddenly felt truly nauseous. Milo was a helpless animal, an intelligent and affectionate one, and he was Ryan’s friend.

  “Come on, man,” Brian interjected, more quietly this time.

  “Shut up, Brian,” Adrian said without looking at him. He held Milo up to his eye level. “You guys only live a couple of years, anyway, right?”

  Milo twisted around to see Adrian, and Adrian tucked a finger under the rat’s chin. Frightened, Milo gave his finger a nip. Adrian cursed, and Ryan’s heart sank.

  “You want to play, you little jerk?” Adrian yelled at the rat.

  As Adrian raised his free hand, to do something Ryan couldn’t predict but knew would be bad, Ryan found himself involuntarily launching himself at the larger boy. Catching him unaware, Ryan shoved at his chest.

  “Leave him alone!” he yelled.

  In his surprise, Adrian let go of Milo’s tail, and the rat dropped unharmed to the terrazzo floor and scurried under the cabinet.

  When Ryan looked back up at Adrian, his heart started racing even faster. The pure hatred in Adrian’s eyes was frightening.

  “Buddy, you’ve just made the worst mistake of your life,” Adrian said. “I’m seriously gonna mess you up.”

  “Do it!” Stuart cheered, still holding up his phone.

  “Punk,” Drake added.

  Ryan risked taking his eyes off Adrian just long enough to glance at Brian, but the other boy wouldn’t meet his eyes. His “Let’s just go” was the only help he was offering.

  Adrian took a step toward Ryan, holding his gaze. “I’ve been nice to you till now,” he said evenly. He lifted a fist, and Ryan felt a sudden warmth on his thigh.

  “Dude!” Stuart yelled, smiling. “He just pissed hisself.”

  Adrian had just glanced down at the front of Ryan’s pants when the door was roughly pushed open, and all of the boys turned to look. Mr. Carpenter stood there, one hand on his hip. He took in the situation immediately.

  “What are you boys doing in here?” he demanded.

  “Nothing, sir, just helping Ryan,” Adrian said with a smirk.

  “He doesn’t need your help. You guys have passes?”

  “We’re on our way to practice,” Adrian said.

  “Then get there.”

  Ryan and Carpenter watched as the boys filtered out of the room. Adrian glared at Ryan over his shoulder, and Ryan knew the reprieve would be short.

  “You okay, Ryan?” Carpenter asked when they were gone. Ryan saw him see his pants, and his face warmed.

  “Yeah,” he said. “I have to get Milo.”

  Carpenter walked across the room as Ryan knelt down on all fours and made the clicking noise he used with the rats. After a moment, Milo stuck his nose out, tested the air with his whiskers, and then scurried into Ryan’s hand.

  “You want me to take you to the principal’s office?” Carpenter asked.

  “Why? You didn’t see anything. She’s not going to do anything.” Ryan turned away from his teacher to put the rat back into his cage and used the moment to blink back hot tears of frustration and humiliation.

  “Ryan.”

  “I’m okay,” Ryan said, closing the cage.

  Carpenter sighed. “Come with me to the teacher’s lounge,” he said quietly. “I have some sweats you can borrow.”

  The next morning, Lt. Maggie Hamilton punched the button on the coffeemaker, grumbling to herself about the fact that she’d forgotten to set the timer the night before.

  She and Wyatt had gotten the new coffeemaker as a wedding present back in April, but Maggie hadn’t gotten around to opening it until they’d moved just five weeks ago.

  They had moved into her childhood home on the bay just outside Apalach, and her parents had moved into her old house, a stilt house on five acres that Daddy’s daddy had built. It suited all concerned, but they were still adjusting; figuring out where things went, and then figuring out where they had actually put them. Things like the new coffeemaker that she had managed to learn to use but couldn’t remember to set.

  She turned away from the counter to grab the milk from the fridge, and nearly tripped over her rooster, Stoopid, who was in the middle of explaining that the seagulls were pooping into the chicken run again, or that he needed her to pick up some Cheetos after work.

  “I got it, Stoopid, I got it,” Maggie muttered, though she didn’t get it any more than usual.

  Stoopid tapped along behind her, and when she opened the fridge door, he excitedly implored the scrap bowl to throw itself onto the floor. Maggie grabbed the milk and the scrap bowl and took them to the butcher block island. She took a stainless-steel cat bowl from the island drawer, dumped some vegetable peelings into it, and plunked it onto the floor.

  She

  “Shut up,” Maggie said without enthusiasm. She loved Stoopid, but she loved a lot of people. Just not before coffee.

  She was standing in front of the coffeemaker, waiting for there to be enough to steal, when her seventeen-year-old daughter Sky hurried into the bright kitchen.

  “Hey, is that not ready?” Sky asked.

  “I forgot to set it.”

  “Well, crap.” Sky blew away a lock of dark-brown hair that hung from the messy bun Maggie had never been able to replicate.

  “Why aren’t you gone yet?” Maggie asked. “It’s almost eight.”

  “It’s a half-day today,” Sky answered. “And since I don’t have anything but finals reviews left, I’m just studying in the library.” Sky was graduating in two weeks as her class valedictorian, then she was off to Florida State. Maggie’s chest hurt every time she looked at her.

  “Oh. It is it a half-day for Kyle, too?”

  “Yeah.”

  Maggie’s son K
yle was going on thirteen, and just finishing up seventh grade. “The busses are running, though, right? Because I’ve got court this morning, then Dwight’s promotion ceremony at one.”

  “Yeah, the busses are running,” Sky said. “He just left.”

  Maggie stooped to be eye level with the coffeemaker. There was still less than half a cup. “I’m gonna have to go to Kirk’s.” Maggie visited Kirk Lynch, the owner of Apalachicola Coffee, every day, precisely at 2:45pm, when her internal alarm indicated she would kill somebody and then fall unconscious if she didn’t have a café con leche. In a morning emergency, such as today’s, she had to deal with him twice.

  “Oooh, I’m going, too,” Sky said, tapping around on her phone. Maggie watched her. People said she was Maggie’s double, with her petite frame, long brown hair, and large green eyes, but Maggie thought her daughter gorgeous and herself only marginally pretty.

  “Where are you going?” Wyatt asked as he walked into the room, immediately shrinking the large kitchen with his six-foot four frame.

  “Kirk’s,” Sky answered without looking up.

  “Oh, I thought you were leaving for college early,” Wyatt said, bending to give Maggie a kiss. “I was gonna go ahead and get started on my football room.”

  “You can have my room soon enough,” Sky said, still messing with her phone.

  “No, he cannot,” Maggie said. “You’ll be home at least a couple weekends a month.”

  “It’s okay, I can just sleep with you guys.” She looked up at Wyatt. “You guys have probably gotten that out of your system by now, right?”

  Wyatt, Maggie’s former boss at the Sheriff’s office, and her husband of just two months, tossed Sky a look.

  “You’re a jerk,” Wyatt said. He looked at Maggie. “What time is court?”

  “Eight-thirty.”

  “You’re going to Kirk’s?”

  “Yep.”

  “But the coffee’s over there making itself.”

  “It’s not real coffee, and it’s not making itself fast enough.”

  “Well, then I’m going, too.”

  “What the hell?” Sky said to her phone.