The silent threat blake.., p.1
The Silent Threat (Blake Wilder FBI Mystery Thriller Book 18), page 1
The Silent Threat
Copyright © 2023 by Elle Gray
All rights reserved. Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without the prior written permission of both the copyright owner and the above publisher of this book.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, brands, media, and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of various products referenced in this work of fiction, which have been used without permission. The publication/use of these trademarks is not authorized, associated with, or sponsored by the trademark owners.
Table of Contents
Title Page
Copyright
Prologue
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Five
Chapter Twenty-Six
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Chapter Thirty
Epilogue
Author's Note
Connect with Elle Gray
Also by Elle Gray
Miller’s Scrap & Salvage Yard; Spellman, WA
The day was overcast, and a cool wind blew in from off the ocean west of them. Thunder rumbled in the distance, promising it would be a cold, wet night. Toby West held the chain-link fence up so his friend Dante Morales could slip through the gap. When Dante had wiggled through, he held it up for Toby. They both knew it was dangerous and that they could get in big trouble for sneaking into the scrap yard to play—Sheriff Garrity had warned them just last week—but Toby didn’t think there was a more fun place to play in town.
Toby had found all kinds of cool things in the scrap yard. They even sometimes found money in the old cars. A few weeks back, he’d found a twenty-dollar bill in a wrecked-out Toyota that had been brought in. All the blood in the car’s interior had been gross, but he’d been willing to deal with it for the payday. He was always on the hunt for things he could carry out easily to either keep or sell. And, of course, loose cash.
“You don’t think Sheriff Garrity will be watching the place to make sure we don’t sneak in, do you?” Dante asked.
“What? No,” Toby said confidently. “He’s got more important stuff to do than watch this place just in case we show up. Trust me.”
“I just don’t want to get in trouble with my mom and dad,” Dante said. “I would be grounded until high school.”
“Don’t be a baby,” Toby told him. “All the workers have already gone home for the day, and the sheriff ain’t here.”
“All right. If you say so,” Dante said.
“I do. Now stop being such a little girl and let’s go.”
The boys walked between a row of rusted-out, beat-up cars, most of which looked like they’d been in accidents. Toby led Dante to the section of the scrap yard that held the newest cars. People came to Miller’s to pull parts off the wrecks they needed for their own cars, so they tended to get picked over pretty quickly. Toby had learned to time their forays into the salvage yard with the arrival of fresh wreckage.
“Everything looks the same,” Dante complained.
“What are you talking about? There’s tons of new cars!”
Toby scampered over to the remains of a Range Rover that had been towed in. The front end was crushed and pushed back so badly, the engine block had broken through the compartment and was partially in the cabin.
“Dude, check this out,” Toby called back excitedly.
Dante leaned into the car and grimaced. Dried blood coated the cracked and shattered windshield on the driver’s side. More dark crimson stains had soaked into the driver’s side seat as well as the carpet below it. Toby looked at all the blood with fascination, a ghoulish smile on his face. He turned to his friend and nudged him with his elbow.
“That’s so gnarly!” he exclaimed.
“That’s so gross,” Dante said.
“Somebody didn’t make it out of this thing alive, man,” Toby said.
“Probably not,” Dante replied. “And laughing about it isn’t very respectful.”
Toby rolled his eyes. “Give me a break. When did you get to be so uptight, dude?”
“I’m not uptight. I just don’t think there’s anything funny about people dying.”
“You never used to be like this. You used to like looking at the wrecks with me,” Toby said. “What’s going on with you, man? What’s changed?”
Dante shrugged. “I don’t know. Maybe I just don’t think blood and gore are cool anymore.”
“Then we’re going to need to figure out if we can still be friends because I think blood and gore are awesome,” Toby said.
His friend looked at him with an expression of shock on his face, making Toby burst into laughter. He doubled over, laughing so hard he couldn’t catch his breath. When he stopped wheezing and stood upright again, his stomach hurt from laughing as hard as he had. The smile slipped though when he saw the stricken expression on Dante’s face.
“Dude, I’m kidding,” Toby said, suddenly feeling awful.
It was Dante’s turn to erupt with laughter. He playfully punched Toby in the shoulder as he howled. Toby put his hands on his hips with a sour look on his face as shook his head, feeling like an idiot for falling for it.
“Dude, you’re such a dick,” Dante said once he stopped laughing.
“And you’re such an ass.”
Dante snorted. “And that’s why we make good friends.”
“That’s probably true.”
“But I still don’t think it’s cool to laugh about somebody dying,” Dante said.
“I’m not laughing at them dying, dude,” Toby replied. “I just think blood and gore is cool. It’s like a real-life slasher flick. And you know I love those things.”
“Yeah, I know. But you should be more respectful.”
“I’ll do my best,” Toby promised. “Scout’s honor.”
Dante deadpanned him. “Dude, you were never a Scout.”
“Shut up,” Toby laughed. “Come on, we’ve got more stuff to check out.”
Still chuckling and teasing each other, Toby led Dante through the maze of the salvage yard. They poked through old cars and old appliances. There were several new refrigerators that the previous owners apparently hadn’t cleaned out, given the green, fuzzy things growing inside and the horrendous stench that emanated from them.
“Check this out,” Toby said.
They stopped at a Ford F-150 that was a recent addition to the yard. It was so mangled and chewed up, it looked like it had gone through a woodchipper. Toby stuck his head in through the passenger’s side door and grimaced at the smell inside, but rifled through the glove box and the interior of the truck anyway.
“I found ten bucks!” he cried out triumphantly.
Toby turned around and waved the ten-dollar bill at Dante, a wide, victorious smile on his face. Dante rolled his eyes.
“I told you it pays to poke through these old wrecks,” Toby said.
“For you, maybe,” Dante replied. “All I found was three dollars’ worth of quarters in that old Volkswagen back there.”
“Hey, that’s not nothin’,” Toby said.
“Yeah, I guess.”
They picked through a few other cars that were nearby but came up empty. Toby stood where he was with his hands on his hips, looking around for any other places they could explore.
“Hey, what’s that?” Dante asked.
Toby turned and followed his friend’s gaze. Behind a stack of cars that had been crushed and stacked one on top of the other, he noticed what looked like a giant steel box stashed behind it that he’d never seen before. In fact, he couldn’t remember ever seeing anything like that in the salvage yard before.
“I don’t know. But maybe there’s something good inside,” Toby exclaimed. “Let’s go check it out and see what’s in there.”
Laughing and pushing each other as they ran, Toby and Dante circled around the stacks of crushed cars, coming to a stop in front of the large metal container. The big steel box had been painted a dull orange but was flaking off in spots, giving it a pattern that looked like weirdly colored camouflage. Toby looked at
“It’s like one of those containers you see on those supermassive ships at sea,” Toby said.
“But what’s it doing here?”
Toby shrugged. “Who knows? But what do you think’s in there? Gold? Guns?”
Dante pursed his lips. “Probably nothing.”
“No way. I bet something cool is inside.”
“Dork, it wouldn’t be here if there was something inside,” Dante said. “That’s why it’s in a salvage yard. Duh.”
Toby rolled his eyes. “When did you become such a stick-in-the-mud, dude? Where did your sense of adventure go? You used to be fun.”
“Oh, shut up and open the container,” Dante said, laughing.
Toby walked to the container doors and looked down at the flimsy lock. Then he spotted a metal pole about the length of his forearm on the ground near his foot. Toby snatched it up and with a maniacal grin, he raised it above his head and then rained down a series of hard blows that pinged like a baseball hitting an aluminum bat. It sent sharp jolts up into his shoulders and took about a dozen strikes, but the lock eventually shattered. Breathing hard, he dropped the pole to the ground with a hard thud and turned to Dante.
“See? No problem.”
“Is that why you’re sweating and out of breath?”
“Shut up and help me with the doors,” Toby said with a grin.
Dante joined him at the container and Toby pulled up the latch, taking hold of the right-side door while his friend grabbed the left. The silence of the air around them was shattered by a sharp squeal as they pulled the doors open. Toby immediately clamped his hands over his mouth, his eyes suddenly wide and watering. Dante doubled over and started to dry heave.
“Oh, jeez, what the hell is that smell?” Toby gasped.
Dante shook his head. “Did something die in there?”
His hand still covering his nose and mouth, Toby turned, and as the doors of the shipping container swung wide open, his hands fell away, the stench forgotten. His legs were watery and rubbery, and he felt like they might give out under him at any moment. Toby’s stomach roiled, and he tasted acidic bile in the back of his throat. He grew up loving horror films and slasher flicks, but as he stared at what lay before him, Toby knew he’d never see those movies the same way again.
And as the ambient light flooded into the shipping container, illuminating the scene before him, a flow of warmth ran down his leg as his bladder let loose. It was quickly followed by a blood-curdling scream that erupted from his mouth and echoed across the salvage yard.
First Care Medical Complex, Intensive Care Unit; Seattle, WA
Perched on the edge of the chair beside the bed, I watch Lucas sleeping as the machines he’s connected to softly beep in a steady rhythm. He looks so weak lying beneath the sheets and blanket in that bed. His face is pale and drawn, and even asleep, he winces and grimaces like he’s in pain. My heart feels heavier than it has in a long time. Lucas is in that bed because of me. Because I failed to properly assess the threat or take that threat seriously enough. Because I failed to protect my team. And Lucas paid the price.
A myriad of broken bones—hands, arms, legs, ribs. A fractured skull. Punctured lung. Lucas suffered blunt force trauma with an instrument that looked like a baseball bat. He’d endured multiple stab wounds. Interestingly enough, though, none of the stab wounds were overly serious. It’s like the assailant either got incredibly lucky or has medical knowledge and knew where to slice and where to avoid. The sum total is, Lucas had to go through multiple surgeries because of a collection of wounds that very nearly took his life.
My eyes sting and well with tears that I angrily wipe away. I’m trying to keep from making this about me. This is about Lucas. All my focus and concern should be on him. And it is. At the same time, though, I have to acknowledge that my failures put him here; my failures nearly took Lucas’s life. So, even though it’s not about me, I can’t help but take this personally. I can’t not feel some sense of ownership and responsibility for Lucas’s current condition.
“I’m sorry, Lucas,” I say, my voice a harsh whisper. “I’m so sorry.”
The good news is that he came out of the coma while I was down in Sweetwater Falls helping Sheriff Spenser Song with her case. The less good news is that his doctors are saying that although he’s out of his coma, Lucas isn’t completely out of the woods yet. They’ve cautioned us to temper our expectations. With the sort of severe head trauma he suffered, it’s possible he could take a turn for the worse at any moment. They’ve also said, if and when he does get to a better place medically speaking, he will have a long, arduous road of rehabilitation and recovery ahead of him to look forward to.
“They told me it could be months before he’s fit to get back to work.”
I startle at the voice in the doorway behind me. I’ve been so consumed by my thoughts, I didn’t even hear him walk in… which isn’t very smart considering a psychopath who isn’t afraid to get his hands dirty is stalking my team. Thankfully, though, it’s only SAC Ayad behind me and not some creep with a baseball bat and a knife.
“There’s a possibility he may not come back at all,” I reply softly.
“I’m not going to lie, that’s a definite possibility,” he says. “But this isn’t on you, Blake.”
I sniff loudly and scrub my face with my hands. “I feel like it is. I didn’t protect my team. I goaded this man on, and Lucas nearly paid the price for it.”
“This isn’t on anybody but the man who did this, Blake. He’s responsible. Not you,” he replies. “Where’s Sydney?”
“I sent her home to get some rest,” I say. “She’s exhausted.”
“She’s going through a lot,” Ayad says.
I nod but don’t say anything. They only just got engaged, and Lucas was lit up like a Christmas tree about it. It was good to see that kind of joy—especially given the unrelenting darkness we’re steeped in every single day. It’s a good reminder to me that there is still happiness to be found out there. That sunlight can peek through the clouds and that the darkness only wins if I let it. That’s a lesson I forget all too easily.
“Come on, let’s grab some coffee,” Ayad says. “We need to talk.”
As a sense of cold dread settles down over me, I blow out a long breath as I get to my feet. Whatever conversation Ayad wants to have with me, I’m sure it can’t be good. I follow him out of Lucas’s room and give a nod to the two agents standing guard outside the door as I pass. Ayad leads me down to the cafeteria on the ground floor where we grab a couple cups of coffee and then take a seat at a table in the far corner. I wrap my hands around the cup, leeching the warmth from it as I wait. Ayad takes a sip and leans forward.
“I’m hearing some stories about you helping out with an investigation in a town down south of here… Sweetwater Falls, I think it’s called? Any truth to those stories?” he starts.
“You shut my team down and sent us home,” I say.
“I believe I ordered you and your team to stand down and lay low. To stay off the grid and stay out of sight of this psycho,” Ayad replies. “Working an investigation isn’t doing what I ordered you to do, Chief Wilder.”
“You didn’t specifically say I couldn’t work a case,” I counter. “You simply ordered me to stop working Black Cell cases—which I’ve done.”
He runs a hand over his face and shakes his head. “You’ve heard that old saying about obeying the letter of the law but violating the spirit of it?”
“You can’t expect me to sit at home just twiddling my thumbs, sir,” I push back. “Yes, I helped work a case, but it was in a town well south of here, well out of sight of whoever attacked Lucas.”
“How do you know, Blake?”
“I would have noticed if somebody was watching me, sir. That town isn’t very big, and strangers tend to stand out.”
“Blake, somebody is hunting your team—”
“And I’m going out of my mind because you won’t let us work this case.”
“You’re too close to it. You’re not able to be objective about this,” Ayad says.
“You’re damn right I’m not objective. Nor should I be,” I hiss. “That makes me extra motivated to close this case and to find out who attacked Lucas and who’s hunting us.”
