Storm warning, p.1
Storm Warning, page 1
Praise for David Bell and his Novels
“When six students are trapped inside Hyde House, so, too, is the reader—helpless to escape until the final page is turned. The Finalists is a smart and compelling look at the dark underbelly of academia.”
—USA Today bestselling author Charlie Donlea
“And Then There Were None meets Knives Out in David Bell’s latest astonishing thriller. With Bell’s customary biting wit and razor-sharp social commentary, The Finalists will have you cackling one minute while racing through its short, propulsive chapters the next, desperate to find out whodunit. Utterly riveting with intricate plot twists. Bell has crafted the summer’s most entertaining and masterful locked-room mystery. I couldn’t put it down!”
—May Cobb, author of A Likeable Woman
“The Finalists is proof positive that David Bell is one of the best thriller writers working today.”
—Alma Katsu, author of Red London
“[A] smart, highly entertaining mystery with red herrings galore and such perfect dialogue, you’ll feel like a fly on the wall…. The characters will play tricks on your mind, the house will feel like it’s closing in, and the story will keep you guessing until the very end. Not to be missed!”
—Hannah Mary McKinnon, international bestselling author of The Revenge List
“David Bell is a top-notch storyteller…. I flew through this twisting, riveting psychological thriller.”
—Cristina Alger, New York Times bestselling author of Girls Like Us
“Terrifically tense…will keep you guessing until the very end.”
—Riley Sager, New York Times bestselling author of The Only One Left
“[A] suspenseful, page-turning thriller.”
—HelloGiggles
“A tale straight out of the psychological thriller territory blazed by the likes of Harlan Coben and Lisa Gardner.”
—The Providence Journal
“A compulsive, twisty, race-against-the-clock thriller…[a] smart and unrelenting page-turner!”
—Lisa Unger, New York Times bestselling author of Secluded Cabin Sleeps Six
“Grabs you by the throat and never lets go…will keep you reading late into the night with a twist you’ll never see coming.”
—Liv Constantine, bestselling author of The Senator’s Wife
“A dark, twisty journey…one of David Bell’s most unique and engrossing novels.”
—Samantha Downing, USA Today bestselling author of A Twisted Love Story
“Only the diabolical mind of the talented storyteller David Bell could concoct this mind-bendingly twisty thriller!…Smart, audacious, and completely original.”
—Hank Phillippi Ryan, USA Today bestselling author of The House Guest
“A tautly told, heart-pounding read…every character’s a suspect and no one can be trusted.”
—Mary Kubica, New York Times bestselling author of Just the Nicest Couple
“Bell delivers a perfect beach read with compelling characters and baffling circumstances…. Even the savviest suspense readers will be shocked by the final pages. Bell is truly at the top of his game with this psychological thriller. Fans of Lisa Gardner and Mary Kubica will want to add this to the top of their reading pile.”
—Library Journal
“This riveting thriller has a deeply involved plot, some twists and turns, and an action-packed ending…. The author brings suspense, action, and intense moments to this fast-paced novel that is full of a sense of urgency and prose that flows.”
—Mystery & Suspense Magazine
ALSO BY DAVID BELL
Cemetery Girl
The Hiding Place
Never Come Back
The Forgotten Girl
Somebody I Used to Know
Since She Went Away
Bring Her Home
Somebody’s Daughter
Layover
The Request
Kill All Your Darlings
The Finalists
Try Not to Breathe
BERKLEY
An imprint of Penguin Random House LLC
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Copyright © 2024 by David J. Bell
Readers Guide copyright © 2024 by David J. Bell
Penguin Random House supports copyright. Copyright fuels creativity, encourages diverse voices, promotes free speech, and creates a vibrant culture. Thank you for buying an authorized edition of this book and for complying with copyright laws by not reproducing, scanning, or distributing any part of it in any form without permission. You are supporting writers and allowing Penguin Random House to continue to publish books for every reader.
BERKLEY and the BERKLEY & B colophon are registered trademarks of Penguin Random House LLC.
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data
Names: Bell, David, 1969 November 17- author.
Title: Storm warning / David Bell.
Description: New York : Berkley, 2024.
Identifiers: LCCN 2023050011 (print) | LCCN 2023050012 (ebook) | ISBN 9780593549995 (trade paperback) | ISBN 9780593550007 (ebook)
Subjects: LCGFT: Thrillers (Fiction) | Novels.
Classification: LCC PS3602.E64544 S76 2024 (print) | LCC PS3602.E64544 (ebook) | DDC 813/.6--dc23/eng/20231030
LC record available at https://lccn.loc.gov/2023050011
LC ebook record available at https://lccn.loc.gov/2023050012
Ebook ISBN 9780593550007
Cover design by Jordan Jacob
Cover images: Universal History Archive and Planet Observer, UIG / Bridgeman Images
Book design by George Towne, adapted for ebook by Kelly Brennan
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
pid_prh_7.0_147413353_c0_r0
CONTENTS
Dedication
Part One
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
Chapter Thirty-One
Part Two
Chapter Thirty-Two
Chapter Thirty-Three
Chapter Thirty-Four
Chapter Thirty-Five
Chapter Thirty-Six
Chapter Thirty-Seven
Chapter Thirty-Eight
Chapter Thirty-Nine
Chapter Forty
Chapter Forty-One
Chapter Forty-Two
Chapter Forty-Three
Chapter Forty-Four
Chapter Forty-Five
Chapter Forty-Six
Part Three
Chapter Forty-Seven
Chapter Forty-Eight
Chapter Forty-Nine
Chapter Fifty
Chapter Fifty-One
Chapter Fifty-Two
Chapter Fifty-Three
Chapter Fifty-Four
Chapter Fifty-Five
Chapter Fifty-Six
Chapter Fifty-Seven
Chapter Fifty-Eight
Chapter Fifty-Nine
Chapter Sixty
Chapter Sixty-One
Chapter Sixty-Two
Chapter Sixty-Three
Chapter Sixty-Four
Chapter Sixty-Five
Chapter Sixty-Six
Chapter Sixty-Seven
Chapter Sixty-Eight
Chapter Sixty-Nine
Chapter Seventy
Chapter Seventy-One
Chapter Seventy-Two
Chapter Seventy-Three
Chapter Seventy-Four
Chapter Seventy-Five
Chapter Seventy-Six
Chapter Seventy-Seven
Chapter Seventy-Eight
Part Four
Chapter Seventy-Nine
Chapter Eighty
Chapter Eighty-One
Chapter Eighty-Two
Chapter Eighty-Three
Chapter Eighty-Four
Chapter Eighty-Five
Chapter Eighty-Six
Chapter Eighty-Seven
Cha pter Eighty-Eight
Chapter Eighty-Nine
Chapter Ninety
Chapter Ninety-One
Chapter Ninety-Two
Acknowledgments
Readers Guide
Questions for Discussion
About the Author
_147413353_
For Molly
PART One
One
5:14 p.m.
Rain smacks my windshield.
The wipers fight a losing battle. The Elantra’s on its last legs, and there’s so much water it’s almost impossible to see the nearly one thousand feet of causeway ahead of me. Waves pound either side of this narrow link between the mainland and Ketchum Island, sending foamy water sloshing across two lanes of pavement. Constructed of dirt and boulders built up and reinforced over the years. Foot-high guardrails offer only a hint of protection to drivers. The water on the road isn’t too deep.
Yet.
I left work early to beat the storm, but I’m barely going to make it back to the island. Even from here, I can see the scattered lights burning in my building. We still have power.
For now.
“Hang on a little longer.” I’m talking to myself, and the words help calm my nerves.
The wind whips the car, makes it wobble. The newscaster on the radio provides a grim update: Hurricane Kylie could soon be upgraded to a Category Three storm. It’s bearing down on the east coast of the state and is expected to make landfall in the next few hours.
“Slow down, Kylie,” I say out loud. “Slow down.”
She was supposed to go up the Gulf side of the state, leave us alone. But Kylie has a mind of her own. She’s already a bit of an outlier—a strong early-November storm, arriving when the season is supposed to be winding down. Now she’s made a sudden right turn, cut across the bottom of Florida, and turned north. She’s lashing the Atlantic coast, gathering strength, leaving me almost no time to pack and get out before she makes landfall.
The car slams into a pothole, bounces across the pavement like it’s a trampoline.
“Shit.”
My teeth clap together so hard I wonder if I chipped one. But I keep driving, hands gripping the wheel so tight they hurt.
The sky is almost pure black, the color of charcoal. It’s only just past sunset, but there’s no light at all. The sun’s gone dark. It’s a scene straight out of a postapocalyptic movie.
A gust of wind shoves the car suddenly to the left. I lose control. The Elantra careens toward the guardrail. I fight as hard as I can, steering into the wind and righting course just before I’d go over the side of the causeway and plummet into the water below.
“Shit.”
My heart pounds in my ears. The air-conditioning blasts, but I’m sweating like a pig.
I reach the far side of the causeway. The island is a narrow spit of land. Fifty years earlier, a developer planted his flag, cleared the land, forcibly removed the alligators and deer, drained the swamp, and erected three large apartment buildings.
Fifty years ago, this place was a dream. A paradise.
Now…well…
The apartment buildings on Ketchum Island have run their course, spent too many days withering in the relentless Florida sun and fighting the unforgiving winds of hurricane season. It’s gotten so bad that all three buildings are scheduled to be demolished within six months.
The palm trees bend one way and then another, nearly kissing the roadway. Garbage blows across the slick, sodden grass. I guide the car right, to the place where I’ve been living the past six months, the ridiculously named Sunset Manor. I pull into the parking garage underneath the building. The rain stops pounding me, and I ease into my designated spot.
Not that it matters. Only ten units remain occupied in this, the last operational building on the island, and there was plenty of parking even before Kylie set her sights on us.
I step out of the car. My shoe sinks into two inches of water, soaking my foot to the skin. Water backs up out of the storm drains, flooding the parking garage like an oil gusher.
“Lovely.”
I splash through the water, rushing for the stairs, while running through my to-do list in my head.
Grab my shit.
Say good-bye to Dallas.
Check on Hazel.
Get the hell out.
Hope like hell the causeway holds.
Pray the cops haven’t blocked the roads on the other side (even though I don’t pray).
If I make it that far—and that’s a big if—find something to eat. Fast food. A Coke. It’s a long drive back to Ohio. I’ll need to stay awake.
Keep moving…
I just need enough time to get out.
Get out. Get home. Start over.
Again.
My building—building C—rises ten stories in the air above the parking garage. There are ten units on each level. Each floor is circled by an external walkway. Three sets of stairs, exposed to the elements, rise to the top, on both ends and in the middle. The slow-moving elevator reeks of burning oil and breaks down every other day.
I don’t like elevators in the best of circumstances. No way I’m trying my luck in that thing with a hurricane bearing down on us.
My shoes squish on the exposed stairs. At the landing on the second floor, I come to an abrupt stop.
Dallas’ door is slightly ajar. Rain blows against me, soaking my clothes. I hear the waves on the other side of the building crashing against the island like god-sized cymbals.
I knock below the sign that says Manager. But there’s no way anyone could hear me over the wind, the waves, the rain.
“Yo, Dallas. You still here?”
His apartment is spare. Secondhand furniture, nothing on the walls. It’s also neat as a pin. Dallas Bryant knows how to take care of things. He’s the only one keeping Sunset Manor standing. I don’t know how he does it.
“Dallas?”
He comes out of the bedroom. When he sees me, he stops. Surprise appears on his face. “Well, holy fuck. Why are you still here, Jake?”
He wears cargo pants and a Bears T-shirt. Chicago—his hometown. Still hasn’t lost the accent.
“I need to grab my shit.”
“I figured you’d be long gone. Barreling up the turnpike for Ohio.”
“I know, I know.”
“Have you been listening to the news? Storm’s getting worse. What on earth could be so important that you’d risk your hide for it?”
“Just things.”
“Shit.” Dallas studies me. He’s fifty-five, my best friend in Florida. Maybe my best friend in the whole world. Okay, he’s more like a big brother than a friend. Or maybe both. We’ve spent many an evening together in the six months I’ve been in the Sunshine State trying to reassess my life and figure out what comes next.
He reaches up, adjusts his paint-splattered cap. “What things?”
“You know, clothes and shit.”
“I told you I’d look after Hazel. I’ve been doing it since long before you got here.”
“I need my toothbrush too.”
“Really?”
“Are you going to make me say it?”
“I am.” He laughs a little. “Go on.”
“Okay, dumbass. I came back, you know, to say good-bye.”
He laughs louder. “How bad is it out there? Really.”
“It’s bad. Getting worse.”
“The causeway?”
“Hanging in. But getting hammered.”
“One beer,” he says, turning to go to the refrigerator. This is what we do. Drink Jai Alai and watch the Marlins play. “Your last beer as an estranged husband before you return to the land of domestic bliss.”
I look outside. The wind slows. A break. Kylie’s taking a deep breath before she delivers the knockout blow. Well, maybe she won’t be that bad.
Dallas turns around, two bottles in his hands. “Ready?”
“Okay, one last beer before I go.”
Two
The beer’s cold in my hand.
We clink bottles and drink. The liquid feels great going down. A pleasant burn. I’m hungry—but there’s no time to eat.
I wish Dallas and I could sit on the landing one more time. Watch the sunset. Talk about the past, the present, the future, the what-ifs. But my life is calling me.
