Devils den a chase adams.., p.1
Devil's Den (A Chase Adams FBI Thriller Book 6), page 1
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Devil’s Den
A Chase Adams FBI Thriller
Book 6
Patrick Logan
Prologue
PART I – The Confession
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
PART II – Empty Promises
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
PART III – The Refuge
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
Chapter 42
Chapter 43
Chapter 44
Chapter 45
Chapter 46
Chapter 47
PART IV – A New Victim
Chapter 48
Chapter 49
Chapter 50
Chapter 51
Chapter 52
Chapter 53
Chapter 54
Chapter 55
Chapter 56
Chapter 57
Chapter 58
Chapter 59
Chapter 60
Chapter 61
Chapter 62
Chapter 63
Chapter 64
PART V – Be Still
Chapter 65
Chapter 66
Chapter 67
Chapter 68
Chapter 69
Chapter 70
Chapter 71
Chapter 72
Chapter 73
Chapter 74
Chapter 75
Chapter 76
PART VI – Tessa
Chapter 77
Chapter 78
Chapter 79
Chapter 80
Chapter 81
Chapter 82
Chapter 83
Chapter 84
Chapter 85
PART VI – The Devil’s Den
Chapter 86
Chapter 87
Chapter 88
Chapter 89
Chapter 90
Chapter 91
Chapter 92
Chapter 93
Chapter 94
Chapter 95
Chapter 96
Chapter 97
Chapter 98
Chapter 99
Chapter 100
Chapter 101
Chapter 102
Chapter 103
Chapter 104
Chapter 105
Chapter 106
Chapter 107
Chapter 108
Chapter 109
Epilogue
END
Author’s Note
Other Books by Patrick Logan
Devil’s Den
Prologue
PRESENT DAY
FBI Special Agent Jeremy Stitts stumbled back from the bathroom. He knocked into an unoccupied stool tucked partway beneath the bar, before managing to pull himself up onto his own. Then he stared down at his half-empty beer. As he did, his vision started to drift in and out of focus and his blinks became more pronounced, prolonged.
It didn’t matter that the bar was two-thirds full, that obnoxious pop music blared from cheap white-van speakers, or that people were constantly bumping into him as they struggled to get the bartender’s attention.
None of this mattered because none of it registered with Stitts.
Life had become a smudge, a smear, ever since what had happened to Chase and the others. The deaths he’d caused, the pain, the suffering.
Stitts brought the glass to his lips and gulped.
He told himself that it wasn’t really his fault, that his mother’s overdose had been her doing, that the Devil’s Den was the manifestation of pure evil, that Chase had led him on that day after the visit to her father’s grave.
But he was a liar.
A liar, a fraud, a fucking murderer.
Someone jostled his left elbow hard enough to nearly knock the empty glass out of his hand.
“Sorry,” a woman said, raising her arm to signal to the bartender.
Stitts didn’t even look up.
“Naw, I’m the one who’s sorry,” he slurred.
In his periphery, he saw the woman sidle as far away from him as possible, while still remaining in the queue for her beverage, of course.
Stitts didn’t blame her. After all, he could only imagine what he looked like: hair a mess, wearing the same T-shirt and jeans that he’d worn for nearly two full days—and slept in once—reeking of sweat and cigarettes.
But he didn’t care; what did a pinch mean to a beaten man?
“Tough day?” someone asked.
Stitts didn’t want to turn in the man’s direction, didn’t want to acknowledge and thereby encourage him to continue speaking.
“Yeah, I’ve been having a rough day, too—ha, day. More like week or month, if we’re being honest with each other,” the man continued without provocation.
Still staring at his empty glass, Stitts wondered if what his mother used to tell him as a kid was true.
Just ignore them, honey, and they’ll go away. Stitts breathed deep. Fuck, mom, I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.
He cleared his throat.
“Listen, I don’t know if I somehow gave you the wrong impression, but I just want to be alone.”
“Yeah, I get that. Me? I’ve spent a lot of time alone, had a lot of time to think.”
It wasn’t the strangeness of the comment so much as the tone that finally encouraged Stitts to turn and look at the man.
The man appeared to be in his early forties, with a heavily lined face. He was wearing spectacles that were slightly crooked, and a button-down shirt that looked a size and a half too large.
And he was grinning.
“I just want to be left alone, man,” Stitts said, suddenly feeling uncomfortable. As he spoke, he started to push his stool backward, but he nearly toppled and had to grab the bar to stabilize himself.
“I can see that. I can see a lot of things, Stitts.”
Stitts’s eyes narrowed.
“How you know my name?” he mumbled, still gripping the bar tightly.
“Ha, I know a lot about you, Stitts. I told you, I’ve had a lot of time to think over the years.”
“Wha—? Who are you?” Stitts said, finally managing to push his stool back and pull himself awkwardly to his feet. As he did, an arm draped over his shoulder—but it wasn’t the man with the lopsided glasses and creepy grin’s arm, but the woman who’d bumped into him moments ago.
“I don’t need your help,” he said, trying ineffectively to shake free of her grasp. He turned, his upper lip curling. “I don’t—what?”
Stitts nearly collapsed then, making him a liar once more.
“Geo—Geo—Geo—” he was unable to finish her name.
It’s not her, he thought, desperately trying to convince himself. You’re drunk, you were thinking about Chase, and now your brain is playing tricks on you. It can’t be her.
Except the woman was smiling warmly as if being able to read his thoughts.
As if she somehow shared her sister’s talents.
Shaking his head, Stitts tried to pull away, but the last sip of beer had really taken its toll on him; his legs suddenly felt like lukewarm Jello and were barely able to support his weight let alone facilitate movement.
“Georgina,” he managed to gasp at last. “What’s—what’s happening? What are you doing here? What—”
The smile on the woman’s face vanished.
“My name is Riley,” she responded coldly. Before Stitts could fully grasp what was happening, he felt himself being led toward the door. His legs were moving, but not of his own accord; the arm around his shoulder, and the other that was now snaked around his waist, were doing most of the heavy lifting. “And since we’re doing introductions, have you met my friend yet? His name is Dr. Mark Kruk—or Marcus Slasinsky. Between me and you, he seems to flip back and forth a lot, depending on his mood.”
PART I – The Confession
SIX DAYS AGO
Chapter 1
“I couldn’t help but notice you staring at me from across the bar,” the man said as he sidled up next to Chase. “I was thinking that maybe you wanted to buy me a drink?”
Chase rolled her eyes and reluctantly tur
“I think you may have mistaken me for someone else,” she said, with a subtle eyebrow lift. Then she brought her beer to her lips and took a big gulp. It was nearly empty, which she hoped was a signal to Louisa that it was about time to go. But when she looked at her friend and saw her patented smirk, she knew that the woman had other ideas.
“Don’t say it,” Chase grumbled with another eye roll. “I’m just going to finish this beer and get out of here.”
Louisa checked her watch, sipped her own drink, a vodka soda, then shook her head.
“It’s early—not even eleven yet. I thought you said that you were off for a few more days?”
Chase nodded.
“Yeah, coming up on three months since Washington—feels like three years. Boss called it required downtime, but it’s really just paid—”
“All right, all right,” the man who had come up next to Chase interrupted, “maybe that was a bit too forward of me. How about I buy you a drink? I can see that you’re almost dry.”
The man reached out for her then, not in an aggressive way, but simply to indicate that her glass was indeed almost empty. Still, Chase instinctively pulled back, and the man’s fingers inadvertently brushed over the back of her hand.
After Washington, she’d gotten into the habit of wearing gloves everywhere she went, but in the absence of a case, she’d gotten lazy over the past week or so. Lazy, and annoyed about having to make up an excuse for wearing gloves in the middle of the summer.
Now, however, she regretted the oversight.
“I said, I’m not interested.”
Her smile gone now, she turned back to Louisa, this time making sure that her body language left nothing to be misinterpreted.
“Yeah, but the boss said that if there’s an emergency I can be called in at any moment.”
Louisa’s smile grew.
“Speaking of which, that means you’re going to be reunited with your partner, with Stitts?”
An image of the man’s perfect hair and handsome smile flickered in her mind. This was quickly followed by his lips on hers, sweat dripping from his forehead, their bodies—
Chase shook her head.
“One-time deal—a mistake,” she shot back quickly. “A moment of weakness after a very emotional time. To be honest, I haven’t spoken to him in weeks. But nothing—”
“Excuse me, but no woman should be without a—”
Chase growled and whipped around, her eyes blazing.
Take a fucking hint, buddy.
“Without what? Her husband? No woman should be without her husband? Yeah, I can see that. And I think your kids are missing you, too. It’s been what? Two days?”
When the man’s eyebrows lifted, and he recoiled as if he’d been struck, Chase pursed her lips.
“No, two and a half days, maybe three. Listen, buddy, I already told you I wasn’t interested. So, either you go back home to your wife and your two kids, or you find someone else who’s willing to sleep with you. Because I can assure you, that person ain’t me.”
The man nearly slipped off his stool. His eyes wide, he started to back away from her.
“How did you—how do you know—”
“I read tarot cards for a living. Now beat it.”
Finally satisfied, Chase looked to Louisa and was surprised to see that her expression matched that of the man she’d just berated.
“What the hell was that?” she asked. “How did you do that? You know him from somewhere? His wife, maybe?”
Chase shrugged.
“Naw, just a lucky guess.”
Chase should’ve known that this reply would leave Louisa dissatisfied. The woman was a hound when it came to information and was incredibly fascinated not just by Chase’s job, but by Chase as well.
By how her mind worked, how she thought, and how she dealt with her past.
Not ideal for a person as secretive as herself, but the woman’s loyalty and compassion outweighed her forthright nature.
“No, seriously. That was amazing. I thought the guy’s eyes were going to fall out of his pretty head.”
Chase shrugged again.
“It was nothing.”
“It wasn’t nothing; it was some strange voodoo, some clairvoyant shit. Look, you either tell me how you did that, or I’m gonna chase down Mr. Blue Eyes and ask him if what he said was true. Then I’m going to slip him your number.”
Chase sighed.
“It’s just a profiling trick that the FBI taught us.”
Louisa still wasn’t buying it.
“Nuh-uh. No way. Your partner’s the profiler, which makes you the muscle. Come on, spill the beans.”
Chase huffed, knowing that she wouldn’t get out of this damn bar until she provided the woman with a satisfactory answer. She finished her drink, then began to speak.
“Well, for starters, I knew he was married because even though he wasn’t wearing a wedding ring and had no tan line to speak of, he was holding his left hand just out of sight, where I could barely see it—a dead giveaway of a man who is conscious of the fact that he usually wears a wedding ring. His beard was also perfectly trimmed, both under his chin and on his cheeks. His neck, however, had about two days’ growth. The latter suggests that a woman is helping him groom, while the former is an indication that they haven’t been around for a day or two. He could have just been one of those metrosexual guys, but not in this joint. No offense, but based on his appearance and outfit, he’s here on business—doesn’t really fit in with the rest of the clientele, if you know what I mean. As for the kids? Just a guess, really. He was in his mid-thirties, married, and two kids are about the national average. I considered three, but I doubt his wife would let him go two or three days away from home if that were the case, business or not.”
Chase finished with a little smile. All-in-all, she was actually impressed with herself. Sure, she’d seen all of those things, and she had no doubt that the details were accurate, but it was a difficult thing to verbalize. Chase was still trying to understand exactly how her ‘gift’ worked but was getting better at it as time wore on.
And yet, Chase had no idea how she knew that this was the first time the man had tried to pick up a woman in a bar in several years, or that his two kids were a boy and a girl. More disturbing still, was the fact that Chase was absolutely certain the girl was afflicted by some sort of palsy or seizure-inducing condition.
Evidently, there were some aspects of her ability that were just beyond the limits of her comprehension.
“Shit, for real? You got all that from the one second that you looked at him?” Louisa asked, amazement crossing her features.
No, Chase almost corrected. Not from staring at him; from touching him.
“Yep, I guess if this FBI thing doesn’t work out, maybe I can get a job as a Carney, traveling the country, guessing people’s ages.”
Carny… County Fair… Franklin, Tennessee…
Chase swallowed hard and nodded at he bartender, indicating for him to come over.
“You know what, Louisa? I think I will have another drink.”
Chapter 2
One more drink led to three, but Chase kept it under control. Louisa liked to talk—and drink—and Chase made a habit of just listening most of the time. The two shared much in common, not the least of which was their intertwined past. Over the past few months, in which they’d spent much time together outside of the clinic, Chase had learned that Louisa had elected to stay in Franklin for most of her life and had only moved to Virginia after getting married. The woman had also admitted that her problems with addiction had mostly manifested after moving away from the comforts of her home town. But unlike Chase, Louisa’s husband and children—two—had stuck by her to this very day.
Brad, on the other hand, had accepted a job in Sweden and had taken Felix with him.
Chase tried not to hold any disdain for the man for what he’d done—she’d come to realize that both of them were better off without her when she was still struggling with addiction—but sometimes… sometimes she hated him for leaving. Sometimes, the way she missed Felix made her physically ill. Sometimes, she missed Brad’s kisses and caresses.
Stitts’s lips against mine, his soft, gentle touch…
When she was working, Chase was working. Her mind was fully and completely dedicated to solving the heinous crimes that the Bureau stuck her with. But now, what with her ‘regulated downtime’, she missed them more and more each day.
