Once Lured. Blake Pierce

tle>Blake Pierce

      Blake Pierce is author of the bestselling RILEY PAGE mystery series, which include the mystery suspense thrillers ONCE GONE (book #1), ONCE TAKEN (book #2), ONCE CRAVED (#3) and ONCE LURED (#4). Blake Pierce is also the author of the MACKENZIE WHITE mystery series and AVERY BLACK mystery series.

      An avid reader and lifelong fan of the mystery and thriller genres, Blake loves to hear from you, so please feel free to visit www.blakepierceauthor.comwww.blakepierceauthor.com to learn more and stay in touch.

      Copyright © 2016 by Blake Pierce. All rights reserved. Except as permitted under the U.S. Copyright Act of 1976, no part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed or transmitted in any form or by any means, or stored in a database or retrieval system, without the prior permission of the author. This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return it and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author. This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, organizations, places, events, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictionally. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental. Jacket image Copyright GongTo, used under license from Shutterstock.com.

BOOKS BY BLAKE PIERCERILEY PAIGE MYSTERY SERIESONCE GONE (Book #1)ONCE TAKEN (Book #2)ONCE CRAVED (Book #3)ONCE LURED (Book #4)MACKENZIE WHITE MYSTERY SERIESBEFORE HE KILLS (Book #1)AVERY BLACK MYSTERY SERIESCAUSE TO KILL (Book #1)

      PROLOGUE

      The man worried as he sat in his car. He knew he had to hurry. Tonight, it was important to keep everything on track. But would the woman come along this road at her usual hour?

      It was eleven o’clock at night, and he was cutting it close.

      He remembered the voice he had heard, reverberating in his head, before he’d come here. Grandpa’s voice.

      “You’d better be right about her schedule, Scratch.”

      Scratch. The man in the car didn’t like that name. It wasn’t his real name. It was a folktale name for the Devil. As far as Grandpa was concerned, he was a “bad seed.”

      Grandpa had called him Scratch for longer than he could remember. Although everybody else called him by his real name, Scratch had stuck in his own mind. He hated his grandpa. But he couldn’t pull him out of his head.

      Scratch reached up and slapped his own skull several times, trying to get the voice out.

      It hurt, and for a moment he had a sense of calm.

      But then came Grandpa’s dull laughter, echoing somewhere in there. It was a little fainter now, at least.

      He looked anxiously at his watch. A few minutes past eleven. Would she be late tonight? Would she go somewhere else? No, that wasn’t her style. He’d scouted her movements for days. She was always punctual, always stuck to the same routine.

      If only she understood how much was at stake. Grandpa would punish him if he botched this. But there was much more to it than that. The world itself was running out of time. He had a huge responsibility, and it weighed on him heavily.

      Car lights appeared, far back along the road, and he sighed with relief. That must be her.

      This country road only led to a few houses. It was usually deserted at this hour except for the woman who always drove from her job straight to the house where she rented a room.

      Scratch had turned his car around to face hers and stopped it right in the middle of this little gravel road. He stood outside, hands trembling, using a flashlight to peer under his hood, hoping it would work.

      His heart slammed as the other vehicle drove by.

      Stop! he pleaded silently. Please stop!

      Soon, the other vehicle pulled to a stop a short distance from him.

      He bit back a smile.

      Scratch turned and looked toward the lights. Yes, it was her shabby little car, just as he had hoped.

      Now, he just had to lure her to him.

      She lowered her window, and he looked over at her and smiled his most pleasant smile.

      “I guess I’m stranded,” he called out.

      He turned the flashlight briefly on the driver’s face. Yes, it was definitely her.

      Scratch noticed that she had a charming, open face. More importantly, she was very thin, which suited his purposes.

      It seemed a shame, what he was going to have to do to her. But it was like Grandpa always said: “It’s for the greater good.”

      It was true, and Scratch knew it. If the woman could only understand, perhaps she’d even be willing to sacrifice herself. After all, sacrifice was one of the finest features of human nature. She ought to be glad to be of service.

      But he knew that was too much to expect. Things would get violent and messy, just like they always did.

      “What’s the problem?” the woman called.

      He noticed something appealing in how she spoke. He didn’t yet know what it was.

      “I don’t know,” he said. “She just died on me.”

      The woman craned her head out of the window. He looked straight at her. Her freckled face framed by bright red curly hair was open and smiling. She didn’t seem to be the least bit dismayed by the inconvenience he’d caused her.

      But would she be trusting enough to get out of the car? Probably, if the other women had been any indication.

      Grandpa was always telling him how horribly ugly he was, and he couldn’t help thinking of himself that way. But he knew that other people – women especially – found him rather pleasant to look at.

      He gestured toward the open hood. “I don’t know anything about cars,” he yelled back to her.

      “I don’t either,” the woman called back.

      “Well, maybe the two of us together can figure out what’s wrong,” he said. “Do you mind giving it a try?”

      “Not at all. Just don’t expect me to be much help.”

      She opened her door, got out, and walked toward him. Yes, everything was going perfectly. He had lured her out of her car. But time was still of the essence.

      “Let’s take a peek,” she said, stepping beside him and looking at the engine.

      Now he realized what he liked about her voice.

      “You’ve got an interesting accent,” he said. “Are you Scottish?”

      “Irish,” she said pleasantly. “I’ve only been here two months, got a green card especially so I could work with a family here.”

      He smiled. “Welcome to America,” he said.

      “Thanks. I love it so far.”

      He pointed toward the engine.

      “Wait a minute,” he said. “What do you think that is?”

      The woman bent over for a closer look. He tripped the release and slammed the hood on her head with a thunk.

      He opened the hood, hoping not to have to hit her again. Luckily, she was out cold, her face and torso stretched limp across the engine.

      He looked all around. Nobody was in sight. Nobody had seen what had happened.

      He shook with delight.

      He gathered her up in his arms, noticing that her face and the front of her dress were now smeared with grease. She was as light as a feather. He carried her around to the side of his car and stretched her out on the back seat.

      He