Midnight Sun: A Gripping Serial Killer Thriller (A Grant & Daniels Trilogy Book 1)
Midnight Sun
A Grant & Daniels Detective Kidnapping Series
Charlotte Raine
Contents
Authors Notes
Copyright
1. Aaron, 2015 (Late Friday morning)
2. Aaron, 2015 (Friday afternoon)
3. Mason, 2015 (Friday afternoon)
4. Teresa, 2015 (Friday night)
5. Pete, 2015 (Friday night)
6. Pete, 2015 (Late Friday night)
7. Pete, 2015 (Late Friday night)
8. Aaron, 2015 (Late Friday night)
9. Pete, 2015 (Late Friday night)
10. Mason, 2015 (Early Saturday morning)
11. Pete, 2015 (Saturday morning)
12. Aaron, 2015 (Early Saturday afternoon)
13. Aaron, 2015 (Saturday afternoon)
14. Aaron, 2015 (Saturday night)
15. Mason, 2015 (Saturday night)
16. Mason, 2013
17. Mason, 2013
18. Sarah, 2015 (Early Sunday morning)
19. Aaron, 2015 (Sunday afternoon)
20. Teresa, 2015 (Sunday night)
21. Aaron, 2015 (Early Monday morning)
22. Teresa, 2015 (Monday morning)
23. Sarah, 2015 (Monday morning)
24. Aaron, 2015 (Monday afternoon)
25. Sarah, 2015 (Monday afternoon)
26. Teresa, 2015 (Monday afternoon)
27. Aaron, 2015 (Monday afternoon)
28. Mason, 2013
29. Aaron, 2013
30. Aaron, 2013
31. Teresa, 2015 (Monday afternoon)
32. Teresa, 2015 (Late Monday afternoon)
33. Aaron, 2015 (Late Monday afternoon)
34. Teresa, 2015 (Late Monday afternoon)
35. Mason, 2015 (Late Monday afternoon)
36. Sarah, 2015 (Late Monday afternoon)
37. Mason, 2015 (Monday night)
38. Aaron, 2013
39. Teresa, 2013
40. Mason, 2013
41. Sarah, 2015 (Monday night)
42. Teresa, 2015 (Monday night)
43. Aaron, 2015 (Monday night)
44. Teresa, 2015 (Late Monday night)
45. Sarah, 2015 (Early Saturday morning)
46. Teresa, 2015 (Saturday morning)
47. Mason, 2015 (One month later)
48. Excerpt from Devil’s Dawn
Also by Charlotte Raine
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This book is the first installment in the Grant & Daniels romantic suspense . You should read DEVIL’S DAWN next and then BLOOD MOON as well.
Copyright © 2015 by Charlotte Raine
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
1
Aaron, 2015 (Late Friday morning)
WEEDS AND SAPLINGS GROW through burnt boards and rubble. A few weeds are tall enough to peek through the broken windows. Someone could look at my yard and think it’s inspiring. They would say, look at those plants. They managed to grow out of ash and push through the debris, just for the chance to soak in some sun.
I am not one of those people.
My thoughts are more along the lines of, damn weeds. Damn fire. Damn the whole world and its stupid philosophies.
I pick up my Thermos and take a sip. I almost spit it out when I don’t taste the burn of alcohol. I forgot I gave up drinking over the week—not since the fight I had with my father over showing up at the police station hung over. I would have told my old man to shove it and damn him to hell as well, but he told me “be careful,” which is what I used to say to Becky and she would respond, “We take care of each other.”
My main job was to take care of her and I failed. I failed miserably.
My only way to make up for my sins is to stay in the town my wife and daughter loved so much. I would have left this place two years ago, after the fire consumed my family, if it wasn’t the one thing they had loved so much. Wyatt, Alaska—a place untouched by the mess of human existence until humanity decided to make it the last frontier.
I start my riding lawn mower and begin cutting the grass, as I do every Friday morning. I wish I were drunk. I wish I could leave this place, go so far north that I could go years without seeing another person. I wish my wife and daughter were here so I could hold them and never let them go.
I wish I were a blade of grass, pushing past the dirt to greet the sun instead of being suffocated by the remains of my life.
2
Aaron, 2015 (Friday afternoon)
IT’S A GENERAL LAW of the universe that if you think something can’t get worse…your life will inevitably turn into a warning for everyone else—do not test the universe because the universe has no limits to misery.
Dad raps his fingers against the center console. People are always surprised when I introduce him as my father because he looks nothing like me. He’s a little bit overweight, sandy-blond hair, and blue eyes. On the other hand, I inherited all my mother’s dominant traits—dark hair, dark eyes, and a stubborn attitude that could frustrate anyone.
“Are we going to talk about this?” he asks.
I glance out my window as I flip up my directional. “I don’t see what there is to talk about.”
“I don’t know…the fact that I told you I’m retiring. The fact that the oncologist says I have prostate cancer. Either of those sounds like a good starting point.”
“The doctor said you likely have at least fifteen more years, Dad. It’s not a reason to retire.”
“I told you, I was going to retire no matter what the prognosis was. You’re going to be the acting chief until the next general election, which won’t happen until November, so you need to buck up. Shave your beard and stop drinking like you’re going to find answers at the bottom of a beer bottle.”
“I’m not looking for answers, I’m looking for apathy,” I mutter.
“That’s your problem. You need to start thinking about someone other than yourself. You—”
“I am always thinking about someone other than myself,” I snap. “Becky and Lisa. They are who I am always thinking about.”
Dad shakes his head. “It was a terrible tragedy. I know. I loved them both, too. They were my daughter-in-law and grandchild. But they wouldn’t want you ruining your life like you are right now.”
“I don’t know what they would want.” I stop in front of his house. “Because they’re dead.” I lean over and open the passenger door for him. “I’ll see you later. We’ll grab a beer or something.”
“No beer,” Dad grumbles, climbing out of the car. “We’ll get a burger at The Charcoal Grill.”
“Better than burger,” I sing their jingle. “Sure, Dad. With a beer.”
He rolls his eyes and walks away from my car.
I swear, as people get older, they turn back into teenagers. They show more attitude than is normally allowed in public, they sleep a lot, and they take drugs just to feel alive.
My stomach growls. I really cou
ld use a burger right now. The Charcoal Grill makes the most amazing bacon cheeseburger with a secret sauce that’s a mixture of sweet, salty, and spicy.
I drive and try not to think. In all honesty, alcohol doesn’t make me apathetic. In fact, I think about Becky and Lisa even more after a few beers. But the alcohol makes it easier to pretend they’re still around—that Becky will walk through the front door with groceries, or Lisa is telling me about how she wants to reinstate Green Fire, the high school dance squad—or pretend that I can accept their deaths. Alcohol is my hallucinogen and my therapist. It’s the closest relationship I have right now.
I stop in front of The Charcoal Grill and jump out of my car. I lock it—something I never did before Becky’s and Lisa’s deaths because the crime rate here is barely notable. When I walk into the restaurant, I head straight for the corner table. I think of it as the paranoid table—nobody can walk behind me, I have a good view of almost everyone there, and a clear path to the door.
Right now, The Charcoal Grill is relatively empty—I suppose that at two seventeen in the afternoon that makes sense. There’s Mr. and Mrs. Lundberg, who appear to be eating silently with each other. Mr. Lundberg works at the supermarket while Mrs. Lundberg is a hairdresser. There’s Mason Latham, son of Judge Latham, with two guys in their early twenties. Richard Brice, a science teacher, eats a late lunch with his daughter, Jenny.
“Hey, Mr. Grant,” a waitress says, as she walks over to me. It’s Sarah Latham, who had been best friends with Lisa. Sarah’s half sister, Debbie, had been killed nearly twenty years ago when an out-of-control semitruck caused the Green Fire team school bus to slam against a rock wall. Tragedy runs so deep in this town that you would think the government would be afraid to drill for oil here.
“Hey, Sarah,” I say, glancing back down at the menu. Sarah never knew her half sister since she was born after Debbie’s death, but I imagine that Lisa’s death must still affect her. We have to be united by grief, right? “How’s school?”
“Good,” she says. “I’m checking out some colleges. All of the best ones seem to be down in the lower forty-eight states.”
“Hmph,” I mumble. I’m not sure how Sarah could leave Wyatt when I cannot. Her grief must be ingrained in her bones as well, but perhaps not as deeply. Maybe when you’re young, death deflects off your heart so you don’t spend the rest of your life mourning. I set the menu down. “Do you ever miss her? Lisa?”
She flushes. “Of course I miss her. She was my best friend.”
“I remember Becky, Lisa, and I used to come here with you all of the time. We didn’t need a special occasion—sometimes after soccer practice, sometimes just on days I didn’t need to work late. We would pick you up from your house…you and Lisa would gossip in the back of the car. Do you remember that?”
“Um, sure. Did you want your usual bacon burger with a beer or water?”
“Do you believe what people say?” I ask, too far in my thoughts to care about food. “That God took them because He loved them so much He didn’t want to be far away from them anymore? I mean, how can that be? He’s supposed to be in all of us, right? How could He miss them when He’s always with us?”
“I…am going to get you a bacon burger and some water,” she says, tucking a strand of dirty-blond hair behind her ear. “Maybe a beer. It sounds like you need it.” She scurries away from the table.
I lean back in my chair. I know I sound like some strange, desperate man bothering a teenage girl with questions she could never have answers to, but Sarah is one of the last people who connects me to my family.
Everything else burned to the ground or is buried six feet under.
3
Mason, 2015 (Friday afternoon)
“HOW CAN YOU NOT have the money?” I ask, twirling the butter knife between my fingers. I keep my face placid. I notice a nerve twitch near Kenny Rodinger’s eye. My gaze shifts to Pete Sevak as he chews on his lip. I wonder if they have nervous personalities or if the methamphetamine just turns them into anxious messes. I hope it’s the meth because I enjoy the idea that they could have been productive members of society, but because of chemical reactions within their little brains, they’re two useless monkeys playing with pharmaceuticals.
“Look, we know you said you wanted money for the pseudoephedrine—” Pete Sevak starts.
“I said it because I meant it.” I glare at both of them. They are like any two nerdy best friends you see together—Pete is the pencil-thin one with curly brown hair and a mustache that’s a few wisps, and Kenny is the fat-ass with greasy, black hair that isn’t thick enough to hide his oversized ears. “I bought the pseudoephedrine from some assholes in the city since you dropouts didn’t have the common sense to buy cold medicine over time, and then you give me product that the most desperate junkie would hardly get a buzz on.”
“You wanted a higher than usual cut,” Kenny grumbles. “And you got it.”
“I got it because I deserved it,” I sneer. “Maybe if you quit sampling so much of the product, we would have more of it to sell. Maybe you guys are tired of selling it. Maybe you want the police to find out about this operation. Because I’m beginning to think that’s what you want, and I don’t want to disappoint you guys. I’m sure the authorities would love to hear about you two.”
“You would drag yourself down, too?” Pete raises his chin in defiance, but his jaw is tight with tension.
I shrug. “I turn you two in, and then you would turn around and say I was part of it? Do you think the police would really believe that?”
Pete presses his lips together so tightly their usual bright red turns into a pale pink. I can’t believe it’s taken them this long to figure this out. I need to spend my time with smarter meth cookers.
“Hey, Mason.”
I turn to see Sarah, my half sister, nodding toward the two idiots across from me.
“Hey, Pete…and…Ken, right?”
“Kenny,” he corrects.
She smiles with her million-dollar smile. Her dirty-blond hair and blue eyes would make her a dead ringer for Barbie if it weren’t for her nearly flat chest and a more round-shaped face. Still, men of all ages find her attractive and she is the darling of my father’s life. Pete and Ken are three years older than she is, but they stare at her as if she were a Playboy Bunny.
“Did you guys want to order something?” she asks. “I know Mason likes the Eiffel burger with jalapeño peppers.”
“I bet you know what Mason likes,” Kenny mutters under his breath. I glance over at him, but he’s not worth getting angry over. Maybe I’ll get my revenge later. I’ll have to come up with something delectable.
“Hmm. What do you like, Sarah?” Pete asks, licking his lips. These guys don’t know the meaning of subtle.
“I’m a fan of the sautéed mushroom cheeseburger. And the strawberry limeade. The fries are great, too. We make them here, so they’re not frozen.”
“That sounds amazing. I’ll get that,” Pete says, handing her his menu. “That whole thing.”
“Great!” She turns to Kenny.
“I can’t order anything. I just worked out and…you know…don’t want to wreck my form.”
“All right then.” She tilts her head then turns to me. “Do you want your usual?”
“No. I’m just here for a quick chat with Pete and Kenny.”
“It’s probably best,” she says. “Dad wanted you to pick up a truck load of compost at the nursery.”
It takes all of my self-restraint not to roll my eyes. “Well, if Dad says that, I suppose I have to.”
She nods. “Stay out of trouble.”
Condescending bitch.
Pete and Kenny watch her walk away.
“Kenny,” I say. “Nobody is going to ever believe that you work out, so stop trying to lure women in with those lines.”
“I could try to lure them in with cocaine lines, but I don’t think your father would be too happy about that,” he says. “And you shouldn’t be m
aking fun of me. You’re the one who has to do chores for your daddy still, which sucks to begin with, but then you’re also living with the hottest girl in town…who you can’t touch because she’s your sister. Or maybe you two do get freaky. I mean, you’re only half related…”
“Make as many jokes as you want. If you don’t get me my money, you’re going to become prison pinups in every cell in Anchorage.” I stand up. “Twelve hundred dollars. Get it to me within a week. If you don’t, I know some men in prison who will think you two are the hottest girls around, and they will touch you in ways you can’t imagine.”
Both faces pale at Mason’s threat.
Maybe I’ll just turn them in and that’ll be my revenge. It’s not that hard to find some junkies who can make meth when I have my father’s records of who has been in his courtroom.
After I get my money, I just might do that. Whether or not I ruin their lives depends on my mood.
4
Teresa, 2015 (Friday night)
THE WHITE RIVER, A bar in Wyatt, has the best rum and Coke in Alaska, simply because they use a dark rum with a strong molasses overtone. I may have to drive over half an hour to get here, but it’s worth it. The only real detriment is it’s a cop bar. Policemen tend to be bigger jerks than citizens, because they assume you’ll be amazed by a badge and Glock 17, and they become petulant or brutish when you’re not. And, for the record, policemen and FBI agents have never gotten along. The fact that I’m a female agent and have zero interest in dating, I may as well have spit in the face of some of these officers.
But the rum is good.
“Hey.” A man with a round face, short blond hair, and his thumb hinged on his belt loop leans in close to me. I can smell the beer on his breath. “I haven’t seen you here before. Are you a tourist?”