Free Stirred by Blake Crouch, J.A. Konrath

supervisor Sgt. Barry Mullins visited the home of Maxine and Rufus Kite on Ocracoke Island, searching for her. Their bodies were recovered two days later, along with numerous others, hanging from chains in the basement of the Kite residence. Also on site was an elaborate, labyrinthine basement consisting of rooms of torture, what appeared to be a homemade electric chair, and in the deepest section, ten bodies hanging from chains in the ceiling, among them Max King and Barry Mullins.
    I couldn’t find any further references to Violet King. But apparently she and Thomas disappeared, and remained hidden until years later when she was burned.
    If Thomas was the killer, would she have run off with him knowing he may have killed her husband and her boss? Or perhaps her finding out triggered his rage, and then his guilt caused him to pay her off?
    Then again, I wouldn’t peg someone who built a homemade electric chair as capable of guilt. Thankfully, there were no descriptions of the labyrinthine basement consisting of rooms of torture . I didn’t even want to imagine what the playroom of a sadistic psychopath looked like. It gave me the creeps.
    I logged out just as Phin walked in carrying a lovely roast beef sandwich and a plate piled high with pork rinds. I don’t think I ever loved anyone as much as I loved him at that moment.
    “Whatcha doing?” he said.
    I clicked on my screen saver as he crouched next to me. “Some research.” Then I managed to fit so much of the sandwich in my mouth at once that I could have successfully auditioned for porn.
    “What kind of research?”
    Telling him I was trying to find a link between Luther Kite and Andrew Z. Thomas would no doubt provoke disappointment in my boyfriend, but at the same time I didn’t want to lie to him. So I grunted something noncommittal as I voraciously chewed.
    “Jack, I hope you’re not pursuing this Luther Kite thing.”
    I made another generic grunt.
    “The spa has an opening day after tomorrow. I told them about your condition and arranged to have your medical records transferred. I had to claim I was your husband in order to get permission. Which brings me to something I’ve been thinking about.”
    I managed to swallow the food in my mouth, and narrowed my eyes at him. “What are you getting at?”
    “Do you like the pork rinds?”
    “The pork rinds are fabulous. Now what are you talking about?”
    “I was thinking…”
    “You were thinking…”
    “It might make things easier…”
    I shook my head, knowing where this was headed. “Phin, don’t…”
    “For both of us…”
    “Phineas Troutt…” Don’t say it. Don’t.
    “If we got married.”

March 15, Sixteen Days Ago
Twenty-Two Hours After the Bus Incident
    H e has been uncooperative thus far, so Luther is stretching him on the rack, cables beginning to sing with tension, the man’s forehead popping beads of sweat like a newly waxed convertible.
    Luther finally stops the pulleys from turning and steps away from the control panel.
    He stands next to the gurney and stares down at the man named Steve, a tall, scrawny guy with the underlying core muscle strength of a life-long manual laborer.
    “Look at me. Look at me, Steve.”
    Steve’s head is immobilized, so he can only cut his eyes toward Luther, grunting against the unbearable strain.
    “Are you ready to talk to me now?” Luther asks.
    “Yes,” the man grunts.
    “For the last time…the worst thing you’ve ever done…tell me, and I’ll know if you’re lying.”
    Steve hesitates.
    “Steve, I know you’re strong, but trust me…my machine will literally pull you apart.”
    “I…killed a man.”
    Luther stifles the beat of surprise. The man’s reluctance to speak at all was the first indication that he was holding on to some secret, but Luther never expected this.
    Never expected to get so lucky.
    “You killed a man.”
    “Yes.”
    “Who was it?”
    “I don’t know his name. No one knows about this. Not even my