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    21 Weeks: Week 14
    21 Weeks: Week 14
    21 Weeks: Week 14
    Ebook92 pages1 hour

    21 Weeks: Week 14

    By R.A. LaShea

    ()

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    About this ebook

    Reason to believe a missing woman with a traumatic past and a strange affliction will be their next victim, Detective Beck Nash and team try to figure out where their killer may surface, as a break in the investigation gives them whole new insight into the mind of a madman.

    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 18, 2016
    ISBN9781311833044
    21 Weeks: Week 14
    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 14

      …

      R.A. LaShea

      21 Weeks: Week 14

      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 15 Teaser

      1 - Beck’s Apartment - Saturday (of Week 13), 11:55 p.m.

      Heat blowing through the vents, Beck still felt freezing as the wind pushed at the glass. Knees to her chest, arms wrapped around them, the dark beyond the window was all she could look at.

      It kept her from looking at the dark within.

      Unable to control her shivering, she tugged the blanket tighter, not sure which was more numbing, the unusually chilly night in the valley or the passage of time.

      Or, could it be a lingering aura of death?

      Señora Rivas did sense it on her, so clearly it was potent. And that was seven dead bodies ago, before Beck ended up in the same room as their last few victims in time to fail them personally. In time to watch them die, suffer, and get mutilated.

      Dread setting in some time around ten, when late evening dipped to true night,  it was a time when people were safer than they thought from break-and-enters and snatch-and-grabs, but far more vulnerable to the worst of the worst. Deep night was when petty criminals, like everyone else, returned to the safety of their houses, and killers came out to play.

      Forcing herself up off the sofa, Beck knew she couldn’t keep sitting there. There was always a risk when one got down she wouldn’t be able to get back up. Just because their efforts may prove futile didn’t mean she could embrace their killer’s way for the world. Doing everything she could, there was a good chance it would change nothing. People would still die. Their killer would still win. Doing nothing, it was a guarantee. There were times in life when one had to just put one foot in front of the other, in the hopes that the next block, or mile, or week, or year would prove better than the last.

      Moving to the window, the lights over the city came into view. No true darkness ever on the Vegas skyline, it masked the depth of the dark below. A hotspot of human trafficking, suicide capital of the United States, those bright lights blinded people to a lot of things. 

      Poverty. 

      Mobsters.

      Meth.

      Serial killers.

      It wasn’t like Beck was expecting Homicide to be a walk in the park. She just wasn’t expecting it to be quite the graveyard it had been so far - one where there was no such thing as natural causes, and every grave was marked with a disturbing epitaph. If there was a tagline for the place it would say - 

      We’re all going to die someday. Try not to go out like this.

      On the positive side, Beck imagined the rest of her career was going to be smooth sailing. If she could make it that long.

      If you’re going to San Francisco. Throat scratchy, the lyrics rasped across her lips, but they couldn’t drown out the change of the clock - Beck swore it came with a violent thump - as it ticked past midnight.

      2 - Metro Homicide Murder Room - Sunday, 10:00 a.m.

      Justine’s only day off a week, and a day Dougie would never work of his own volition, Beck felt like somewhat of a jerk for asking them to come there. Though, the generous discretionary fund provided by Martinez, and the fact he trusted Beck’s judgment to spend it, meant they were at least getting fair consulting fees for a change.

      System says… Algorithm to determine the most likely position of their two missing locations already coming up with answers, Dougie’s new query was on the verge of telling them at which of their complete list of locations Psycho Jesus might surface next. Frenchman Mountain.

      Nope. Justine popped the word.

      Okay, Girl. Holding up a hand, Dougie waved in the general direction of Justine and her difference of opinion. I know you got that brain and all, but you cannot really think you are smarter than this computer.

      I don’t, Justine said. I’m just telling you, that computer can’t tell you where this guy is going next.

      It’s a COM-PUT-ER, Dougie returned. It’s like a million, trillion times more capable of logic than any of us.

      Computer logic, Justine uttered.

      Computer logic IS logic.

      No. Computer logic is computer logic, Justine declared.

      Okay, so… Sitting at the table’s head, Beck slid her sweater-clad arms across the table between them, the closest she could get to splitting them up. Where do you think he’s going?

      I have no idea, Justine responded.

      Well, see, that is very helpful. Dougie threw the hand in the air again, and tipped back in his chair with his iced mocha cappuccino and a sense of superiority.

      I don’t know, Justine went onto explain. Because no one can know. Including you. Or him. Or that stupid machine. Not based on this.

      Did you just call Scooter stupid? Chair thudding back to level, Dougie glared into Justine’s eyes.

      Yes.

      Did you JUST CALL Scooter stupid?

      Yeah, I did.

      Oh, hell no. 

      Dougie’s iced drink slamming down, droplets of condensation flung onto the table, and Beck was reminded why she chose to do this today. Martinez off, finally, along with most of the team, the only people in the room with them were Glover and Quinlan, though no one had forced them to be there.

      Conducting their independent research at the other end of the table, the recruits looked up with occasional smirks whenever Justine and Dougie got especially animated, but Beck trusted neither of them were going to snitch to the boss about the unprofessionalism of her qualified experts.

      Okay. Beck was determined to bring them all back into harmony as she looked to Justine. So, if we can’t know where he’s going from this, what are we supposed to do? How do we decide where to focus?

      "I think you need to look at the first murders and see what they have

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