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    21 Weeks: Week 19
    21 Weeks: Week 19
    21 Weeks: Week 19
    Ebook63 pages52 minutes

    21 Weeks: Week 19

    By R.A. LaShea

    ()

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    About this ebook

    A sniper is terrorizing the city. No way it can be a coincidence, the sudden surge in deaths goes against everything their serial killer has done before. Unless, of course, the killer's victim is not one of those shot.

    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 dateMar 19, 2016
    ISBN9781311623782
    21 Weeks: Week 19
    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 19

      …

      R.A. LaShea

      21 Weeks: Week 19

      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

      Week 20 Teaser

      1 - Grace Calvary Chapel - Sunday, 10:50 a.m.

      Bad things happen to good people.

      Standing before his congregation, Pastor Grayson could see the torpidity set in. It wasn’t like these people were apathetic, or unconcerned with where they would be spending eternity. These were the people who were there, after all. These were the ones up and awake for the first Sunday service, while so many across the city slept off nights of lust and gluttony, and overall attendance at churches across the country was on the decline.

      Have you heard this phrase? Bad things happen to good people? He aimed to shock them back to attention.

      Only nods in the room coming out of the first few rows, at least it was response.

      They do. I am sure they do. On occasion. But are there good people? Whenever something bad happens to anyone we know, intimately or through acquaintance, we rush to make our sympathy known, to proclaim the unfairness of it all. But how do we know when life has been unfair? How do we know when God has been unfair?

      A few more heads popping up, he knew he had their attention now.

      None of us are saints. None of us. We are all sinners. When something bad happens to someone, we cannot know what that person did in the days or hours before. We cannot know what was in that person’s heart in the seconds before. Sometimes we have to ask ourselves, ‘Was it bad luck?’ ‘Was it unfair?’ Because sometimes it is not unfair. Sometimes bad things are the Lord’s way of telling us to repent. And what seems like a terrible thing happening to a good person is really the wrath of God.

      Jolting at the sudden intensity of pain in his chest, Pastor Grayson dropped his gaze to the crimson that spread in an uneven blob over the cotton-polyester blend of his white shirt. Reaching for his heart, his hand came away smeared with blood, and the screams of the sinners filled his ears as he fell to the floor.

      2 - Bishop’s Condo - Sunday, 11:55 a.m.

      Soft thuds and clangs from the open kitchen drawing her into semi-wakefulness, Beck still felt the pressure in her head, and at the convergence of her rib cage and breastbone, as she opened her eyes to look up at the reasonably pleasing black and white mountain photography hanging over Bishop’s couch.

      Sorry, Bishop said when he realized he’d woken her.

      It’s your place, Beck uttered, but she couldn’t quite bring herself to move yet. Couldn’t drum up the desire. Every time she moved, it hurt, so it was best to just keep still.

      Do you want some coffee?

      Glancing to the clock on the DVR across the room, Beck noted the time with a squint, realizing she had nearly missed morning. Again. Saturday gone, she had already slept through an entire day. Maybe that was the point of Bishop’s forced boozing. Waking up, or woken rather, every few hours only to consume bottles of water, pee, and take prescription-strength painkillers that had to either come from Bishop’s private stash or from Baxton, for a full day Beck had felt absolutely nothing. And it had been fantastic.

      Adjusting to sit, though, everything that hadn’t been there the day before pushed in. Breaths short and shallow, shoulders bricks, Beck didn’t know if it was the grief or the aftereffects of the alcohol. She’d hoped she would sleep both off by now, but, leaning her head into her hand, she suspected it was from more than just Friday night. She was nursing a hangover from her entire week.

      Here.

      Shoulder nudged, Beck glanced to find a coffee mug dangling next to it, and

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