Then There Were None

by V. B. Tenery

  http://www.amazon.com/dp/B00YG5J9AW

  MISSING

  Matt Foley/Sara Bradford Series

  Book 4

  Police Chief Matt Foley’s secure world is collapsing on multiple fronts.

  A shadowy figure from his past seeks vengeance in its simplest form. A life for a perceived injustice.

  The ex-convict-father of Matt’s children has re-emerged into their lives.

  While Matt’s life hangs in the balance, Sara Foley is missing on the wrong side of the Mexican border in the clutches of a Mexican drug lord.

  Their restoration lies in the hands of an old nemesis.

  Coming Winter 2017

  DEATHWATCH

  A WWII Historical Suspense

  Finding a killer in the middle of a blitz is murder.

  When a cryptanalyst in Britain’s top-secret Code and Cypher School is murdered, alarms sound in the highest echelons of Parliament. Was it merely a lover’s quarrel that ended her life, or was she killed after telling the Germans everything they wanted to know? That’s what MI6 Agent, Commander Grey Hamilton must find out.

  He is joined in the chase by an old university friend from Scotland Yard, and a young American genius who has been singled out by the killer as his next victim.

  As the Luftwaffe escalates its reign of terror over London, the unlikely team dodges bombs while searching the Underground and London docks knowing failure is not an option. The lives of English soldiers and perhaps the fate of the British Empire itself, is at stake.

  http://www.amazon.com/dp/B01BVXDXAI

  Against the Odds

  A Novel

  It was the mother of all bad days.

  The date, September 11, 2012. The place, Benghazi, Libya.

  While a brave band of warrior’s fight for their lives in the consulate and CIA annex, outside, a Mossad Agent, a missionary, and a Mississippi giant fight a different battle.

  Caught between terrorist and an enraged Russian arms dealer, they must complete the mission and manage to stay alive until they can escape or the cavalry arrives.

  Never assume things can’t get worse.

  http://www.amazon.com/dp/B01N0W687Q

  Angels Among Us

  Matt Foley Series

  A Novella

  In the season of Love, Peace and Joy, a chance meeting with a young woman in a supermarket sets Detective Cole Allen on an urgent quest to save the lives of three young women.

  It will take the combined skill and dedication of the Twin Falls Homicide Bureau, and a helping hand from God, to locate and end the nightmare of the helpless victims.

  http://www.amazon.com/dp/B074T97D96

  Last Chance

  The Matt Foley Series

  A Novella

  Chance Crawford is back in Afghanistan.

  A place he swore never return to.

  No longer the team leader of a Marine Recon unit. He’s now a CIA agent, searching the mountains of the Hindu Kush for a Taliban chief who wants to defect.

  While tracking his objective he encounters two children in need of a protector. And he’s the only one available.

  It’s mission impossible but he has never run from trouble.

  Coming Winter 2017

  DEAD RINGER

  From the Pelican Book Group

  Mercy Lawrence is terrified.

  Bermuda airport facial recognition software has identified her as missing runway star, Traci Wallace. Despite Mercy’s protests, Traci’s husband, ex-CIA agent Thomas Wallace, is convinced Mercy is the mother of his ill six-year-old son. With only his son’s welfare in mind, he abducts Mercy and takes her to a private island to care for the boy.

  But Mercy soon discovers there are men much more dangerous than a father desperate to save his son. Her doppelganger has made deadly enemies—a relentless team of killers who now want her dead.

  When Thomas is lured into a covert mission to rescue a CIA asset and uncover a government mole, Mercy is left isolated and alone—and Thomas finds himself stranded on foreign soil with a compromised mission and a wounded agent. Fighting against a rogue nation’s timetable for launching a nuclear strike, he must escape Saudi Arabia alive and rescue Mercy and his son before assassins finish the job they started.

  Purchase DEAD RINGER on Amazon

  THE WATCHMAN

  From the Pelican Book Group

  Gifted with supernatural abilities, he’ll protect the innocent and avenge the abused, he is . . . The Watchman

  When Detective Noah Adams meets the abused son of a powerful judge, he knows he must intervene, and fast. The violence is escalating, and even Noah’s special gifts may not prevent the unthinkable from happening.

  Relentlessly pursuing two cases, Noah receives a chilling message: Cody’s deranged father has taken his son and it’s up to Noah to follow the judge’s twisted trail to find the boy before it’s too late.

  Corrupt city officials, a missing socialite, an attempted murder, and a rescue in the middle of a blizzard entangle Noah in the most complicated case of his career. A case that will mean his ultimate redemption or will take him back into the dark history that haunts him.

  Purchase THE WATCHMAN on Amazon

  Preview the first three chapters of

  THE WATCHMAN

  “I have set watchmen on thy walls, O Jerusalem,

  which shall never hold their peace, day nor night...” ~Isaiah 62:6

  CHAPTER ONE

  Hebron, Wyoming

  What if you knew you could learn the deepest, darkest secrets of anyone you touched, but it would cost you emotionally? What if from your earliest childhood you could disappear in thirty-minute intervals and while invisible you could move through solid objects with impunity? What if these anomalies came as natural as breathing—clothing and anything in pockets or hand disappeared—an unknown field that surrounded you erasing everything inside?

  What would you do with such powers?

  I’d settled that question long ago, but this afternoon, as I focused on the scene outside my car window, it occurred to me perhaps I needed to rethink my mission. I’d covered domestic abuse cases during my five years with the Hebron Police Department, and I’d put away a lot of bad people. Different scenario here. I was no longer a cop.

  Ahead, a small boy stepped from a school bus into the upscale Crown Heights neighborhood. Dead leaves and powdered snow swirled around his high-end sneakers as he shuffled along the sidewalk.

  My foot hovered over the gas pedal. The image disturbed me, and I almost drove away. His small shoulders slumped forward, and I was hooked. I had to know.

  He stopped and turned around as if he might go back to the bus stop. He reversed and faced me again.

  Confused? Lost?

  Cute kid, maybe six years old. The designer logo on his backpack bounced with each step. Blonde locks pressed against his brow under a blue baseball cap, reminding me of another little boy—minus the designer gear.

  Decision made, I swung the SUV to the curb, snatched the cell phone from its holder, and texted my friend.

  Got 2 bow out of dinner talk 2 u later.

  I left the car and stepped to the sidewalk. With a glance both ways, I moved into the boy’s path. Slow and easy. Not too close, not too fast. I didn’t want to frighten him.

  With my friendliest smile, I took a step closer. “Hey, son, can you tell me where to find Oak Street?”

  He gazed up at me and shook his head. Eyes dull, as if he’d lived life and found it wanting.

  I patted his shoulder. “Thanks, anyway.”

  He winced and jerked away as if I’d slapped him. I’d suspected abuse, but his pain caught me by surprise. In an instant his life opened up, film clips at the speed of light. Visuals of physical pain, overwhelming fear, helplessness, and a silent scream for help. Emotions too heavy for a child to carry streamed through my consciousness. With proof of abuse came certainty. The violence at home was escalating.

  Something frightening rose within me―rage against
the defenselessness of children and those who caused them pain. Abuse cases drew and repelled me at the same time, reviving memories I’d long ago buried.

  I inhaled a resolute breath. When had I ever walked away from a troubled child? I couldn’t save the world—just the small corner God gave me. A common man, given uncommon gifts—a watchman on the wall.

  I scanned the area for traffic and pedestrians. When I turned back, the boy had quickened his pace through the gated entrance to his home.

  Invisible, I wheeled and followed him.

  Inside the house, a woman’s voice called from the kitchen. “Cody, is that you?”

  “Yes, Mom.” The boy took the stairs two at a time to his room with me close behind.

  “Get ready for dinner. Hurry, your father will be home any minute.”

  At the top of the second-floor landing, a spacious lounge area came into view.

  Kid-friendly furniture, bookshelves, stereo components, and a wide-screen plasma television filled an area with scattered group seating. Four doors opened onto the landing. The boy’s bedroom was the first one on the left at the top of the stairs.

  Cody tossed his jacket and backpack on the bedpost, and darted into the bathroom. Hands shaking, he turned on the tap, splashed water on his face, and grabbed a towel from the rack. After a swipe at his cheeks, he bounded to the stairs. Halfway down, he stopped, and then hurried back to the bathroom. He wiped down the sink with the damp towel and dropped it into the clothes hamper. With a quick glance, he scanned the room before heading back downstairs.

  At the ground floor, the stairway emptied into the living room. The accoutrements of wealth spread out before me. More showroom than a home—decorative and spotless. The room held no smiling family photos, books, or personal touches, no warmth. Even the Christmas tree with its silver and glass ornaments seemed cold and sterile. Not my taste, but what did a former Marine know about interior design?

  On the right, a formal dining room opened into a kitchen exuding homey smells of spices and yeast.

  Cody took a seat in the bay window, drew up his legs, and wrapped thin arms around his knees. His gaze followed his mother as she put finishing touches on the evening meal.

  The woman examined each piece of china with care, and then replaced the dish on the placemat. She picked up the silverware and polished each piece with a towel. Her frantic actions told a story. A lump formed in my throat. I knew the drill by heart. Perfection was an elusive goal she could never attain.

  From the back entrance, a car hummed into the garage.

  With quick, deft movements, she placed Beef Wellington, browned to perfection, on the table. She must have spent half the day preparing this meal.

  A door slammed. “Rachel,” a male voice called.

  “We’re in the kitchen, Harry.” Her mouth formed a thin, strained smile.

  Harry’s linebacker form filled the doorway. Tough guy. He could beat up a woman and child.

  He took the chair at the head of the table. Cody and his mother joined him, taking seats across from each other.

  Rachel rose and filled Harry’s wine glass as he cut the beef into precise, small bites, seemingly oblivious to the tremor in her hand.

  The chimes of the analog wall clock sent a reminder my time limit had run out. I could leave or let the family find an intruder observing their evening meal.

  I left with reservations.

  Cody should be OK for a short time. His father would look for a reason to justify his cruelty, a reason to convince Cody the abuse was his own fault. Tactics used by abusive parents everywhere.

  Back in my car, I drove to the front gate and forced my attention to the job. Cody needed a champion, and like it or not, I’d been tagged his designated knight.

  Half an hour later, again invisible, I re-entered the kitchen. The meal had ended, and Harry sipped coffee from an engraved demitasse cup.

  I braced for the explosion, and it didn’t take long.

  Cody removed the napkin from his lap, folded it, and laid it on the placemat. When he released the napkin, his hand hit the milk glass. The crystal tumbler spilled onto the tablecloth, bounced to the floor, and shattered, sending glass shards across the tile.

  Harry’s glare flashed at Cody. “You clumsy little fool. Look what you’ve done.”

  Rachel jumped to her feet, darted to the kitchen, and grabbed a handful of paper towels. “Don’t yell at him. It was an accident. You make him nervous.”

  A vein popped out on Harry’s left temple. “Proper table manners are important to his future, regardless of his feelings. Obviously, a lesson he’ll never learn from his mother.” Harry turned to Cody. “Go to your room. I’ll be there in a minute.”

  Cody pushed back from the table and stumbled upstairs. I followed his dejected form back to his room.

  Rachel’s pleas echoed up the stairwell. “Leave him alone, Harry. He’s just a little boy. Accidents happen.”

  A sharp slap sounded, followed by dead silence.

  Doors slammed downstairs as though Harry searched for something. Heavy, deliberate steps ascended upward. Cody’s eyes widened as his father drew nearer.

  The knob turned, and Harry stood in the doorway, a leather belt clasped in his hand. He strode to Cody’s window and closed the blinds.

  Rachel slid into the room. She skirted around Harry and stood between Cody and his father.

  Cody screamed. “No, Mom. He’ll hurt you.” He tried to get around her, but she held him back.

  “Get out of the way, Rachel.” Harry bit out each word.

  Rachel’s chin went up, and her shoulders squared. “I’m not moving an inch. Not now—not ever.”

  My hands shook so badly I had to squeeze them into fists to keep from decking Harry. Breaking his jaw would ease the chaos in my gut and let him feel the pain he’d dealt Rachel and Cody. Inwardly, I railed against my limitations, but common sense prevailed. I couldn’t just materialize in Cody’s room without serious repercussions.

  I had to leave again, but this wasn’t the end. I was coming back for Cody and Rachel.

  Outside the gate, once more flesh and blood, I punched 911 on my cell. “I want to report a disturbance at 1220 Cedar Hills Drive. I hear a child screaming.” I gave my name and waited.

  The authorities wouldn't take long, but that didn't stop me from pacing. Crown Heights’ four-man police department received few emergency calls. Vanity cops more than a law enforcement unit, but this wasn’t the time to be picky.

  In less than five minutes a patrol car passed. Brake lights came on, and the vehicle backed up and eased to the curb in front of the estate. Two officers emerged and marched to where I stood. They could have been brothers, both thin and athletic with neat dark hair and brown eyes.

  “Officer Ryan,” he said and thrust his thumb toward his colleague. “That’s Officer Duncan. Did you report the disturbance?”

  “That would be me. I’m Noah Adams.”

  “Did you witness an altercation of any kind?”

  “No, only the child’s screams. Sounded frantic. Perhaps someone should check it out.”

  Duncan strode to the gate and spoke into the intercom. “Police. Open the gate, please.”

  Ryan pulled a notebook from his jacket. He cocked an eyebrow. “Got some ID? You look familiar. You a cop?”

  “Used to be. Five years on the HPD. Private investigator, now.”

  “You packing?”

  “Goes with the job.” I handed him my license and concealed weapon permit.

  He examined them carefully and handed them back. “You don’t live in the neighborhood?”

  “No, just passing through.”

  “How did you come to be outside the home? You couldn’t hear anyone scream driving by.”

  I looked the cop straight in the eye and lied. It didn’t sit well, but I justified it—a kid’s safety was on the line. “I pulled over to make a call on my cell phone. I don’t like to drive through residential areas while I’m on the phone.
” That much was true.

  Ryan pointed at me. “Wait here.” He joined Duncan in the squad car. Someone buzzed them through the gate, and the cruiser inched up the drive.

  Cody’s mother waited in the doorway under the portico as the two cops walked up the steps. Voices drifted from the entrance, too low for me to understand.

  Before long, an irate Harry stood at the door. He pointed in my direction and shouted something unintelligible, and probably unflattering.

  Duncan motioned me inside.

  Ryan took a step toward me as I reached the group. “You said you heard screams?”

  “That’s right.” If the police didn’t believe me, I could always confess an honest mistake. At least Harry would know someone knew his secret.

  “You’re a liar.” The vein in Harry’s temple popped out again. “No one here screamed.” He glared at Ryan. “He’s got the wrong house.”

  “I’m certain the sounds came from here. Where’s your son?” In an instant, I realized my error. The screams could have been those of a daughter. I glanced at the group around me. No weird looks. I eased out the breath I’d been holding.

  Harry’s gaze turned hard. “What do you want with my son?”

  Duncan turned, and locked in on Harry. “Get your son, sir.”