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    21 Weeks: Week 12
    21 Weeks: Week 12
    21 Weeks: Week 12
    Ebook77 pages1 hour

    21 Weeks: Week 12

    By R.A. LaShea

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    About this ebook

    With new information regarding the killer’s pattern and old murder scenes, Detective Beck Nash and team have some idea where their killer might strike next. Focusing their attention on a swanky strip club near The Las Vegas Strip, nothing, however, can prepare them for how the killer’s next murder plays out.

    21 Weeks is a fast-paced police procedural thriller series that ramps up in intensity with each victim that falls until its explosive final week.

    Warning: This series is about a serial killer. There will be violence. There will be language. There will be other adult things. It is intended for a mature audience.

    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherRiley LaShea
    Release dateFeb 12, 2016
    ISBN9781310219078
    21 Weeks: Week 12
    Author

    R.A. LaShea

    R.A. LaShea is a pen name of author Riley LaShea. Under this name, LaShea writes police procedural/thriller 21 Weeks.

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      Book preview

      21 Weeks - R.A. LaShea

      21 Weeks

      WEEK 12

      …

      R.A. LaShea

      21 Weeks: Week 12

      Copyright 2015 R.A. LaShea

      Smashwords Edition

      All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced in whole or in part, in any form, without written permission of the author. Thank you for supporting the author’s rights and buying an authorized edition of this e-book.

      Visit http://www.lasheathrillers.com/sign-up/ to sign up for the 21 Weeks mailing list and receive updates on upcoming Beck Nash thrillers.

      CONTENTS

      1

      2

      3

      4

      5

      6

      7

      8

      9

      10

      11

      12

      13

      Week 13 Teaser

      1 - The Tomb - Sunday, 10:30 a.m.

      Air around her slowly turning to poison, the sensation burned in Beck’s chest. Though she could feel the effects of the drugs coursing through her, not even the sense of calm they were meant to inspire could impede the realization she was dying inside the cramped black confines of the coffin.

      Arms crossed like a corpse, the limited space inhibited their ability to move, but Beck managed to straighten them by her sides, palms turning upward at her hips to press against the lid. Too weak a position, it did nothing but strain the muscles of her hands and forearms, before she maneuvered them up by her shoulders without conscious thought, fingers spreading against the lid of the coffin, rough wood scratching at their tips as she pressed again.

      Muscles proving as lethargic as the rest of her, Beck sighed back, losing concern for the task. Until she tried to pull the breath back in, and the lack of available oxygen brought another piercing pain beneath her breastbone. Hands flying upward, they connected with the wood before expected, and she grunted at the pain as she gave a determined upward thrust. Lid popping free, fresh air poured through the crack between it and the coffin’s base, and Beck sucked in the sweet relief of fresh oxygen, the only thing that stopped her chest from tearing in two.

      Not far for the lid to go, though, Beck huffed in frustration as it hit the barrier above it, knowing the reserves of oxygen-rich air between the coffin and the metal grave liner wouldn’t last long. Breaths coming in weak, shallow bursts, her sense of serenity abandoned her completely. What air there was would be gone in a matter of minutes. Three minutes? Four? She had no clue how long she might have. Justine or Baxton would know. But neither Justine nor Baxton were there with her. Beck was alone. She was weak. And she had two-hundred pounds left between life and death.

      Letting the lid of the coffin fall shut, she rested her arms back at her sides, head lolling on the satin pillow in the restored oxygen as she made an effort to temper her breathing, tried to tell herself she wasn’t going to die in there, not like that, that she could get out if only she could think. Heart still hammering, pulse still thrumming, it had little effect. The body couldn’t be convinced it wasn’t about to die when death was so imminent. It was instinct for it to fight as hard as it could, even through a haze of chemical-induced indifference.

      Shifting to one side, Beck threw her weight toward the other, pain and adrenaline flooding in equal measure as the coffin moved. Sliding over the platform below it, Beck couldn’t be entirely sure, but was convinced enough that it connected with the inside of the grave liner to do it again. Returning to the left, she lunged harder at the right, knee and shoulder pummeling the inside of the box, and a small shout of victory escaped as she heard the scrape of the heavy liner across the platform.

      Lunging again, and again, the liner skidded a little at a time, and Beck fell back startled as the right side of the coffin cracked under the weight that suddenly pressed down on its top right corner.

      Air flowing through the cracks, she could feel by the relief it brought that the metal grave liner had at last cleared the platform’s edge, allowing air to flow unobstructed under its side, taking away the imminence of death. Too restless as she saw the first traces of light that leaked in to recognize she had already made the point, Beck flew one last hard time toward the right side of the coffin, and it sent the grave liner over the line of balance. Heavy metal slipping from the platform’s edge, she gave a small yelp when the wood further fractured, before gravity got the best of the entire situation, yanking the liner over the edge, and the coffin down with it.

      Reflexes impaired, Beck was too slow to recognize what was about to happen to protect herself. Head thudding against the thinly-lined side of the coffin, she groaned as the lid fell slightly ajar and she landed in the narrow opening between it and the coffin’s base, fractured wood pieces poking into her right arm and leg like angry little shivs. 

      Nash?

      Trying to press the coffin all the way ajar, the lid failed to further budge. Within seconds, though, there were more hands, keeping Beck from plunging against the hard metal of the liner as the wood box was pulled from around her and carried off.

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