Voice of Fear, page 1
Praise for the novels of
New York Times bestselling author
Heather Graham
“Intense... A wild, mindboggling thriller from start to finish.”
—The Reading Cafe on The Forbidden
“One of the most twisted Krewe of Hunters to date... Well written, devious... New Orleans lends the perfect atmosphere for this paranormal story line with its own past of fame, horrors, and all night partying.”
—Fresh Fiction on The Forbidden
“An enthralling read with a totally unexpected twist at the end.”
—Fresh Fiction on Deadly Touch
“Tightly woven... Delivers a cunning mystery in the heart of Salem.”
—Caffeinated Reviewer on Seeing Darkness
“A dark mystery, surprises and a cast of characters that will have you glued to the pages.”
—Fresh Fiction on Seeing Darkness
“Graham strikes a fine balance between romantic suspense and a gothic ghost story in her latest Krewe of Hunters tale.”
—Booklist on The Summoning
“An intense murder-mystery that kept me turning the pages. Graham never fails to pull me in... Offers rich history, an interesting murder-mystery and a new romance.”
—Caffeinated Reviewer on The Seekers
Also by New York Times bestselling author
Heather Graham
CRIMSON SUMMER
DANGER IN NUMBERS
New York Confidential
THE FINAL DECEPTION
A LETHAL LEGACY
A DANGEROUS GAME
A PERFECT OBSESSION
FLAWLESS
Krewe of Hunters
THE UNKNOWN
THE FORBIDDEN
THE UNFORGIVEN
DREAMING DEATH
DEADLY TOUCH
SEEING DARKNESS
THE STALKING
THE SEEKERS
THE SUMMONING
ECHOES OF EVIL
PALE AS DEATH
FADE TO BLACK
WICKED DEEDS
DARK RITES
DYING BREATH
DARKEST JOURNEY
DEADLY FATE
HAUNTED DESTINY
THE HIDDEN
THE FORGOTTEN
THE SILENCED
THE BETRAYED
THE HEXED
THE CURSED
THE NIGHT IS FOREVER
THE NIGHT IS ALIVE
THE NIGHT IS WATCHING
THE UNINVITED
THE UNSPOKEN
THE UNHOLY
THE UNSEEN
THE EVIL INSIDE
SACRED EVIL
HEART OF EVIL
PHANTOM EVIL
Cafferty & Quinn
THE DEAD PLAY ON
WAKING THE DEAD
LET THE DEAD SLEEP
Harrison Investigations
NIGHTWALKER
THE SÉANCE
THE PRESENCE
UNHALLOWED GROUND
THE DEATH DEALER
THE DEAD ROOM
THE VISION
GHOST WALK
HAUNTED
Bone Island
GHOST MOON
GHOST NIGHT
GHOST SHADOW
The Flynn Brothers
DEADLY GIFT
DEADLY HARVEST
DEADLY NIGHT
Look for Heather Graham’s next novel available soon from MIRA.
* * * * *
For additional books by Heather Graham, visit TheOriginalHeatherGraham.com.
Heather Graham
Voice of Fear
For Jennifer Price with tons of love and all the thanks in the world!
Contents
Prologue
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Epilogue
Excerpt from Danger in Numbers by Heather Graham
Prologue
Alfie leaned against one of the historic cemetery’s obelisk memorials, one that had been commissioned and crafted to honor law enforcement killed in the line of duty.
Like himself.
Not many remained “in spirit” as he did, though he did have friends among the other dead buried in the cemetery, both officers and agents who had served their time, retired, and died peacefully of old age, and those who’d met a violent end in the pursuit of justice.
Day was just breaking. Dead or alive, he had always loved the beauty of a new dawn. And so, for a minute, he just watched the sun rise. He couldn’t feel the warmth anymore—neither could he feel the cold of a snowy night. But he could remember the heat of the sun and smile because simple things in life were so good, and it was important in death to remember them.
Though he remained, he had seen others go on in a spectacular ray of light, wondrous in itself. And when it was gone, so was the soul of the departed.
But he knew why he waited.
It was Susie.
Sweet, innocent, optimistic—no matter what life dealt to her.
He had arrested her once when she had been on the streets, but he’d heard her story, and he’d known why she had run away from her home. On the streets, it was too easy to turn to prostitution, and prostitution too often led to drugs.
She had been so sweet, so naive, so desperate. She had been relieved to be arrested.
At first, he hadn’t believed the stories she’d told him. That there was a criminal mastermind out there who controlled a whole network of people, who was at the helm of all kinds of illegal activities—arms deals, prostitution, murder for hire, drugs—and who sanctioned and supported all kinds of crazy killers.
Alfie now knew that the Krewe had a good idea of who the mastermind was.
Rory Ayers.
Finally incarcerated because his ego won out over his insidious plans. But he’d had a long reign as a criminal kingpin, and even in jail, still seemed to hold power over life and death.
At first, Alfie thought Susie had seen one superhero movie too many. He thought she had invented some diabolical comic book villain in her head because she couldn’t accept the life she’d come to lead.
But when he’d made a point of going to a friend who was the prosecutor for her case, they’d managed to get her probation and a stay at a halfway house. She wanted to be off drugs; she wanted nothing more than a nice, normal life.
She was just a kid. A sweet kid. The daughter he might have had one day.
But she had disappeared from the halfway house. And when that happened, he went over every statement he’d ever taken from her. He’d found and interrogated a pimp who had pushed her out on the street. And putting it all together, he’d concluded she had known there was a compound of supposed family homes and commercial properties where business was being conducted—the business of illegal arms deals, every illegal drug known to man, and more.
Susie had once told him she was always careful. She was so afraid “they” might get her. At the time, she could never quite identify “they,” but she claimed “they” were out there, and the whole hierarchy was so complicated and convoluted, there was no hope if “they” decided you were done.
Alfie’s superiors had looked at the evidence. They had gone in with SWAT and FBI assistance. They’d believed they had the element of surprise. They’d been wrong. The shoot-out was one of the largest and most deadly area law enforcement had engaged in.
They took down a massive criminal empire.
But he hadn’t found Susie.
And he had died in the effort, looking for her so desperately he hadn’t even realized he was dead until he’d found his old partner, quiet tears running down his cheeks as he knelt by Alfie’s body.
It was a shock to be dead.
He didn’t even remember the pain. But he knew, almost immediately, that he would linger. And he believed it all had to do with the events of the day: the fact that their surprise raid had not been a surprise, and there had been no sign of Susie.
And while they had made a massive dent in the “empire,” they hadn’t taken down the man they were after—a man referred to as John Smith.
There were clues as to the identity of this man. It had been suggested through various minor criminals they’d picked up and incarcerated that John Smith just might be Rory Ayers.
And it was all happening again.
Alfie straightened. He’d been waiting as morning had broken. He was glad to have friends among the dead—and among the living. He’d stumbled upon Krewe members by happenstance when they’d been at the cemetery. Now, when he knew something was up—when he could help in any way—he hitchhiked a ride from an unsuspecting driver and headed to Krewe headquarters.
They were more than willing to help him, and had tried to do so before. But he believed rookie Krewe member Jordan Wallace was on to something that might have to d o with “John Smith,” or the man who had been running things when he had died. A man who had cleanly disappeared while his thugs were left to willingly die for him.
Why? Why take bullets for another man?
Alfie thought a series of recent Krewe cases might have been connected. One of the men arrested during an attempted Embracer murder had given them a description of the man who had recruited him.
A man who had called himself John Smith.
Alfie hadn’t recognized the man from the drawing. But it could have been a man they had in custody. A man named Rory Ayers. Not as he appeared now. But a man could easily change his appearance.
Alfie knew Jackson Crow, field head for the Krewe of Hunters, believed him—and believed in him. There was someone pulling a lot of strings. A master puppeteer who could make people do things they had an itch to do—and things they didn’t want to do.
Alfie wasn’t waiting for a Krewe member right now, but rather a man who had his own brand of talents and who was, by chance, related to a Krewe member.
He smiled in relief. He could see Patrick Law was making his way toward him. He’d reached out to Patrick because he’d been concerned about Jordan.
Of course, worried as he was, Alfie could have hitchhiked to the Krewe headquarters. But he wasn’t sure why he was so worried. Though young, Jordan Wallace was a competent agent. She was on an assignment with the full backing and support of Jackson Crow and the Krewe of Hunters. And what she was doing wasn’t crashing into a den of vipers, per se. Her intent was to watch over possible victims.
From the time Alfie had met Jordan, she had wanted to help him. And he wanted to help her. She was young, bright, a crack shot, and a hell of an actress, which made her excellent for undercover work. Maybe too excellent. Just as Susie reminded him of the daughter he might have had, Jordan reminded him of the sister he might have had because of her energy, her passion, and her love for others.
“Hello!” Patrick called to him.
“You came!” Alfie said. He had never suspected Patrick would blow him off on purpose, but sometimes life had a way of getting in the way of promises—especially when those promises were made to the dead.
“As I said I would, Alfie,” Patrick said, frowning slightly at the idea he’d expect anything less.
“Well, thank you, Dr. Law!”
Patrick winced. “I never go by Dr. Law.”
“But you are a doctor, right?”
“Of psychiatry. And I have my degree in psychology. But I’ve never liked people calling me doctor—Patrick is good. Anyway, I needed to let you know one of the first things I’ve been tasked with is interviewing Rory Ayers. Apparently, he’s still crying ‘lawyer,’ denying he was ever involved in anything, and we’re all idiots, and the entire facility where he’s being held is corrupt. But we are going to work on your case. Megan is getting the records together from various police departments and law enforcement agencies regarding the event that—that took your life. I wanted to hear—”
“It’s going to have to wait,” Alfie said.
“Pardon?” Patrick said, surprised.
Alfie smiled. Patrick Law was in his late twenties. That meant little; Alfie knew about his credentials and the many cases he had worked alongside police in the state of Pennsylvania and beyond. Alfie knew Patrick from cases his sister Colleen, a Krewe agent, and his other sister, Megan, an editor and accidental consultant, had worked.
Patrick had come to check on his sisters. The siblings were a real trio—triplets—all with strange abilities. While Alfie had many friends at the Krewe, he had most recently worked with Mark Gallagher, Ragnar Johansen, and Colleen Law—and even Megan Law because of her strange abilities—on the Embracer killings. And he’d met Patrick, of course.
Patrick combined the best of qualities when it came to law enforcement. He understood the human mind. He seemed to know when talking might work, and when violence could be avoided.
But he also knew how to move quickly and effectively when talking wasn’t an option.
He had empathy for those in trouble through no fault of their own.
And he knew when tears were real.
And when they were not.
Alfie was glad Patrick was in the DC area.
Because he needed help. Real help.
“There’s a situation going on I’d like to monitor.”
“Alfie, you could have done so—”
“Ah, but you’re alive. You have a car; you can drive. You have a phone, and you can make calls. I need help right now from the living—for the living.”
Patrick arched a brow. “What’s going on, Alfie?”
“I need your help, Patrick. Please. Keep your phone out. I’ll explain along the way.”
One
“No!”
Jordan didn’t know the pretty redhead who choked out the muffled word. She was among the many young women, including Jordan, who had been kidnapped that evening.
She did know the young woman was terrified.
Jordan was somewhat terrified, too. But she was also a trained FBI agent. She had excelled at Quantico, and she’d been incredibly gratified to join the legendary Krewe of Hunters, where she’d been accepted and respected and was already known for her undercover work. Jackson Crow had warned her, though—never be caught off guard.
She’d thought she had been careful, but now that seemed ludicrous. Her service Glock had been hidden in her clothing in her bag, beneath some towels. She had never thought the danger might come from beneath her in the water as she dressed the part of a woman on vacation in a blue bikini.
Now it was her undercover work—and failing to realize Jackson had meant never, ever, not for a single second, be caught off guard—that had brought her here. She didn’t know where she was exactly, though she had tried to listen to every sound she’d heard as they had driven here in what seemed like a van despite them referring to it as “the meat train,” noting every twist and turn they had taken. She hadn’t been knocked out as some of the girls had been. The big man they called Lefty had disliked her from the start and had given her a good knock on the head, hard enough to send her reeling and for him to bind her hands behind her back. Of course, she had fought him. She liked to believe if she hadn’t been taken by surprise in the pool, she might have beaten him and escaped to save the others. She had gone through many self-defense classes. She knew how to kick hard enough to send someone off-balance, how to lock her elbows around an attacker’s neck, how to duck, twist, dive, and deliver a killer right hook. But she had neglected Jackson’s one warning: she had been caught off guard.
Who the hell kidnapped someone right out of the water at a hotel pool that was popular with tourists and locals, anyway?
He’d hit her good—but he hadn’t tied her quite so well. She’d left her gag in place and used every ounce of her senses and strength to work at the rope around her wrists.
If he’d hit her any harder, she might not have picked up on the men calling the vehicle they were in “the meat train” or realized in terror where they might be going—an old packing plant or slaughterhouse.
She feared that, once inside, there would be a deep cellar or basement. There would be cells of some variety, a place where the men kept their “meat” before it was sold.
But the van door had opened and two men were outside arguing about the product.
Jordan knew they were arguing about her. Lefty thought he should have a turn with her since she was clearly in her twenties, no pure angel to be sold to the highest bidder.
His partner was yelling they weren’t paid to sample the merchandise.
This was her chance.
“No!” the redhead cried out again. She, too, had been bound and gagged.
Jordan freed her wrists and twisted to start working at her ankles. She was up in a flash, tearing at the gag in her mouth.
The redhead was sobbing and rambling beneath her gag.
Jordan knew why. There had been talk on the street. That talk had turned into the reason she was here now.
Months ago, the body of a woman had been found floating in the Potomac River. She had never been identified. She had been shot through the heart after being beaten. Rumors began to swirl. Sister Mary Kathleen had gone to the police, claiming homeless youths who had used her shelter had just disappeared.
