Free Cross Hairs by Jack Patterson
Authors: Jack Patterson
Tags: Fiction, thriller, Suspense, adventure, Crime, Mystery, Nora Roberts, Action, Hard-Boiled, Reporter, trilogy, Deception, james patterson, conspiracy, Lee Child, New York Times bestseller, new release, mystery and suspense, award winning, award, fbi, &NEW, Stephen King, bestselling, cj lyons, Joshua Graham, George R.R. Martin, like John Grisham, John Grisham, popular, Steig Larson, Kindle eBook, like James Patterson, like Christine Kling, deal, newspaper, John Locke, David Baldacci, similar to Dean Koontz, similar to Nora Roberts, winning, like Aaron Patterson, Aaron Patterson, William Landay, punishment, five star review, Millennium, top rated, kindle ebooks, like Lee Child, Andrew E. Kaufman, New York Times best seller, Cal Murphy, like David Baldacci, 5 star review, Amazon eBook, national award-winning, like Joshua Graham, The Girl who Kicked the Hornets Nest, Dean Koontz, Christine Kling, similar to James Patterson, like Dean Koontz, Stieg Larsson, 5 stars, Steig Larsson, similar to Joshua Graham, similar to John Grisham, Kirk Russell, Dani Amore, Mary Higgins Clark, five stars, similar to John Locke, like William Landay, like Dani Amore, like John Locke, like Nora Roberts
survived the bump off the road, but he vanished as well. This was not the kind of news Gold ever enjoyed hearing, particularly after he had gone to bed thinking his kingdom was safe again.
“Have you found him yet?” Gold barked into his phone.
“No, sir. Don’t worry though. We’ll take care of it.”
“You said that last time.”
“Don’t worry. We’ll keep him out of the way.”
“Good. I don’t want to lose any more sleep over this, you hear?”
“Yes, sir.”
Gold loved ordering the Sheriff around like that. It was one of the perks of controlling a town and its dark secrets. Hunter Jones owed Gold everything, so when Gold said, “Jump,” Jones always asked, “Where to?” It was that easy for Gold.
***
Jones loathed the way Gold treated him. After all, wasn’t he the sheriff? Instead, it seemed like Gold thought he was the one with a badge—and never had to get his hands dirty. Tonight, Jones was about to get grime beneath his fingernails for a good cause.
He dialed Dawkins’ number.
“Yeah, boss.”
“You found Cal yet?”
“Nope. We’re still looking.”
“Well, when you do, charge him with driving under the influence.”
“We can’t do that.”
“Dawkins, have you lost your mind? You know we can do anything we want in this town. I got a call from dispatch that a car matching Cal’s was weaving all over the road. Do you need any more than that?”
“No, sir. I think I can make that work. We’ll find him.”
CHAPTER 24
CAL’S IPHONE WAS PROGRAMMED to awaken him at 8 a.m. every Tuesday. It was his deadline day. The Register went to press every Tuesday at 8:30 p.m. rarely without exception.
The last time the presses were held was two years ago when Paul Hackett brought his pick axe to a board of education meeting and threatened one of the board members. When the appropriately named Hackett waved his axe within inches of the board member’s face, Kelly snapped a photo. With barely six months of experience under her belt, she managed to convince Guy to hold the presses. It turned out to be good journalistic instincts by everyone as the photo won best news action shot for an Idaho weekly.
Cal’s iPhone chimed an airy melody. He didn’t move much.
Cal was groggy. The wild events of the night before left him wondering if it wasn’t all a bad dream. There he was in his bed with his clothes on. What happened?
Cal stumbled into the shower, hoping hot water might rouse him to his senses. Slowly, it began to come back to him. He was meeting Kelly. Then someone hit him from behind on purpose. He slid off the road. He survived the spill down the hill. Someone drugged him, warned him to back off, and put him to sleep in his apartment.
Without a second thought, Cal dashed to the window to look for his car. It wasn’t there.
Cal returned to the shower, trying to squeeze out more details from his beleaguered memory. Who took him? Where did they take him? And why? Why warn him to wait before releasing the story?
None of it made sense. Cal’s initial hypothesis was that someone ran him off the road because he got too close to the truth about the teens’ deaths. Or at least they thought he was getting close. Cal felt like he was no closer at that moment than he was 24 hours before when he was taking a shower just after hearing the news from Guy.
Not that it really mattered anyway. Guy had assigned him a benign reaction piece—and Cal doubted Tuesday before deadline was enough time to sway Guy’s opinion to allow him to write the real story. Especially when Cal had nothing but the memory of those boys’ mutilated bodies in his mind.
Cal finished his shower, toweled off and dialed Kelly’s number.
“Cal? Is that you?!” Kelly asked without the slightest thought of a greeting.
“Yeah, Kelly. I’m OK. Sorry about last night.”
“Sorry about last night? Are you kidding me? I’m just glad you’re alive. I thought you were dead after I heard your car went off the road
“Have you found him yet?” Gold barked into his phone.
“No, sir. Don’t worry though. We’ll take care of it.”
“You said that last time.”
“Don’t worry. We’ll keep him out of the way.”
“Good. I don’t want to lose any more sleep over this, you hear?”
“Yes, sir.”
Gold loved ordering the Sheriff around like that. It was one of the perks of controlling a town and its dark secrets. Hunter Jones owed Gold everything, so when Gold said, “Jump,” Jones always asked, “Where to?” It was that easy for Gold.
***
Jones loathed the way Gold treated him. After all, wasn’t he the sheriff? Instead, it seemed like Gold thought he was the one with a badge—and never had to get his hands dirty. Tonight, Jones was about to get grime beneath his fingernails for a good cause.
He dialed Dawkins’ number.
“Yeah, boss.”
“You found Cal yet?”
“Nope. We’re still looking.”
“Well, when you do, charge him with driving under the influence.”
“We can’t do that.”
“Dawkins, have you lost your mind? You know we can do anything we want in this town. I got a call from dispatch that a car matching Cal’s was weaving all over the road. Do you need any more than that?”
“No, sir. I think I can make that work. We’ll find him.”
CHAPTER 24
CAL’S IPHONE WAS PROGRAMMED to awaken him at 8 a.m. every Tuesday. It was his deadline day. The Register went to press every Tuesday at 8:30 p.m. rarely without exception.
The last time the presses were held was two years ago when Paul Hackett brought his pick axe to a board of education meeting and threatened one of the board members. When the appropriately named Hackett waved his axe within inches of the board member’s face, Kelly snapped a photo. With barely six months of experience under her belt, she managed to convince Guy to hold the presses. It turned out to be good journalistic instincts by everyone as the photo won best news action shot for an Idaho weekly.
Cal’s iPhone chimed an airy melody. He didn’t move much.
Cal was groggy. The wild events of the night before left him wondering if it wasn’t all a bad dream. There he was in his bed with his clothes on. What happened?
Cal stumbled into the shower, hoping hot water might rouse him to his senses. Slowly, it began to come back to him. He was meeting Kelly. Then someone hit him from behind on purpose. He slid off the road. He survived the spill down the hill. Someone drugged him, warned him to back off, and put him to sleep in his apartment.
Without a second thought, Cal dashed to the window to look for his car. It wasn’t there.
Cal returned to the shower, trying to squeeze out more details from his beleaguered memory. Who took him? Where did they take him? And why? Why warn him to wait before releasing the story?
None of it made sense. Cal’s initial hypothesis was that someone ran him off the road because he got too close to the truth about the teens’ deaths. Or at least they thought he was getting close. Cal felt like he was no closer at that moment than he was 24 hours before when he was taking a shower just after hearing the news from Guy.
Not that it really mattered anyway. Guy had assigned him a benign reaction piece—and Cal doubted Tuesday before deadline was enough time to sway Guy’s opinion to allow him to write the real story. Especially when Cal had nothing but the memory of those boys’ mutilated bodies in his mind.
Cal finished his shower, toweled off and dialed Kelly’s number.
“Cal? Is that you?!” Kelly asked without the slightest thought of a greeting.
“Yeah, Kelly. I’m OK. Sorry about last night.”
“Sorry about last night? Are you kidding me? I’m just glad you’re alive. I thought you were dead after I heard your car went off the road
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