Swing of death, p.1
Swing of Death, page 1
Swing of Death
Everhart Family Book 2
R.L. Dunn
Copyright © 2024 R.L. Dunn.
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, stored, or transmitted by any means—whether auditory, graphic, mechanical, or electronic—without written permission of the author, except in the case of brief excerpts used in critical articles and reviews. Unauthorized reproduction of any part of this work is illegal and is punishable by law.
This is a work of fiction. All of the characters, names, incidents, organizations, and dialogue in this novel are either the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. This book explores adult themes and triggers. Reader discretion is advised.
Because of the dynamic nature of the Internet, any web addresses or links contained in this book may have changed since publication and may no longer be valid. The views expressed in this work are solely those of the author. They do not necessarily reflect the views of the publisher, and the publisher hereby disclaims any responsibility for them.
Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Deposit photos are models, and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.
Certain stock imagery © Depositphotos
Edited by: Krista Venero/Mountains Wanted Publishing & Indie Author Services
Cover by: Mountains Wanted Publishing & Indie Author Services
Paperback ISBN: 978-1-949394-77-1
Created with Vellum
Contents
Prologue
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
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
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Epilogue
About the Author
RL Dunn loves to hear from her readers
Books by RL Dunn
To the tireless champions of grace, discipline, and passion on and off the dance floor, this book is dedicated to you. To the devoted dance moms who sacrifice and support with unwavering love, to the dedicated dancers who pour their heart and soul into every movement, and to the inspiring dance teachers who shape dreams into reality, this is for you. May your dedication inspire all who dance within the swing of life. Thank you for your endless devotion to the art of movement.
Prologue
The spacious dance studio was brightly lit with large mirrors covering one wall. The room was filled with the sound of upbeat music, and dancers of all skill levels moved gracefully across the floor. Calliope, a young woman in her mid-twenties, entered the studio nervously, clutching a small bag containing her dance shoes. She looked around, taking in the scene, before approaching the reception desk, where a friendly instructor wearing a nametag that said “Marcus” greeted her.
Marcus smiled sensually. “Welcome to the Dance Beat Center. Are you here for the West Coast Swing class?”
“Yes, I am. It's my first time here.” Calliope nervously chewed her lip.
“Great. You're going to have a fantastic time. West Coast Swing is all about having fun and letting loose. Have you danced before?”
“A little bit, but nothing like this.” She looked around.
Marcus reached for her hand. “No worries. Our classes cater to all levels, from beginners to advanced dancers. You'll fit right in. Let me introduce you to our instructor for today, Sarah.”
Sarah, a lively and energetic woman in her thirties, approached them with a warm smile. “Hi there! Welcome to Dance Beat. We're thrilled to have you join us for class today.”
“Thanks, Sarah. I'm excited to give it a try.”
“That's the spirit. Let's get started, shall we? Everyone, gather around.” Sarah clapped her hands.
The other dancers in the studio assembled as Sarah took her place at the front of the room. Calliope joined them, feeling a mixture of excitement and nervousness.
“Alright, everyone, let's begin with a warm-up. Follow along as we move to the music,” Sarah said.
The music started, and Sarah led the class through a series of stretches and basic steps, gradually increasing in intensity. Calliope did her best to keep up, focusing on her movements and trying to ignore the butterflies in her stomach.
Marcus watched the newest student carefully. “Looking good, Calliope. Just relax and let the music guide you.”
Calliope enjoyed the praise. “Thanks. I'm trying my best.”
As the warm-up came to an end, Sarah gathered the class together to introduce the first dance sequence. “Alright, everyone, now that we're all warmed up, let's start with the basic steps of West Coast Swing. Watch closely as I demonstrate, and then we'll all give it a try together.”
Sarah moved gracefully across the floor with ease. “Now, let's try it together, shall we? Start with your left foot and...”
The class followed Sarah's lead, attempting to replicate the steps to the rhythm of the music. Calliope stumbled slightly at first but quickly found her footing and began to relax into the movements. You’ve got this, girl. Just keep moving and have fun.
Then Sarah introduced more advanced variations of the steps, challenging the dancers to push themselves out of their comfort zones. Calliope followed along eagerly, soaking up every bit of instruction and feedback from Sarah and Marcus.
“Everyone, let's try putting it all together in a short routine. Remember to keep it fun and playful, and don't be afraid to get creative with your movements,” Marcus said.
The music started, and the dancers began to move across the floor. Calliope focused intently on remembering the steps but let her inhibitions go so she could fully immerse herself in the music and movement.
“That's it, Calliope. You're doing great.” Sarah turned at Marcus’s lead.
Calliope smiled, feeling a surge of confidence as she lost herself in the music.
As the routine came to an end, the class erupted into applause, and Sarah gathered them together for a final word. “Well done! You all pushed yourselves and embraced the dance. Remember, the most important thing is to have fun. Keep practicing, and you'll only continue to improve. Until next time.”
The class dispersed, with dancers chatting and laughing as they gathered their belongings and left.
Marcus approached Calliope, offering her a bottle of water with a charming smile.
“Here, you must be thirsty after all that dancing. You did really great.”
“Thanks, Marcus. Do you think I did okay?” Calliope took a sip of the water as Marcus watched with a gleam in his eyes.
Sarah emerged from the back of the studio, her expression neutral as she observed the scene. “Everything going smoothly?”
“Absolutely. Calliope and I were just having a water break.”
Sarah nodded, her gaze flickering briefly toward the bottle of water in the new student’s hand.
Calliope began to feel lightheaded, her vision blurring as a wave of dizziness washed over her. “What... what's happening? I feel... strange.”
Before she could say another word, Calliope collapsed into Marcus's arms, her consciousness slipping away.
One
The snow fell relentlessly, blanketing the Waverly Junction landscape in a pristine layer of white. The harsh glare of the patrol car's headlights cut through the darkness as it pulled up alongside the abandoned trailer, its tires crunching on the icy road. The desolate highway seemed to stretch on endlessly, devoid of any signs of life.
Inside the patrol car, Officer Ritter glanced out at the ghostly scene, his breath forming a fog on the cold glass of the window. He turned to his partner, Officer Ramirez, who sat beside him, their expressions reflecting a mix of anticipation and apprehension.
“Looks like we're the only ones out here tonight,” Ritter said.
“Yeah, doesn't seem like anyone's been around for a while.”
They exchanged a glance, acknowledging the eerie atmosphere that hung heavy in the air. Cautiously, they exited the patrol car and approached the abandoned trailer. The wind howled ominously, the snow swirling around them as they made their way to its entrance.
Ramirez’s voice was barely audible over the sound of the howling winds. “Think anything's inside?”
“Hard to say. But we won't know until we take a look.”
The blue and yellow trailer was battered and worn. It loomed ominously in the Thanksgiving moonlight, an open padlock hanging on the hinge of its door.
With flashlights in hand, Officers Ritter and Ramirez approached the truck, their other hands hovering over their guns as they prepared for what they might find. As they pulled open the creaky door, the hinges protested loudly against the icy cold. With grim determination, they looked inside.
What they fou nd was an unimaginably horrific scene. Despite the low temperature, the air was thick with the smell of death, a sickening mixture of blood and other bodily fluids that made both men gag. The floor of the trailer was littered with discarded clothing and personal belongings, scattered as if in a frenzy.
But it was the sight of the bodies that stopped Officer Ritter in his tracks. There were ten that he could count, their forms contorted in gross poses of agony wrapped around each other. Their skin was blue and mottled, their eyes, wide with terror, frozen in their final moments of life.
Bile rose in Officer Ramirez’s throat as he took in the grisly scene before him. He jumped from the trailer in time to throw up his family’s fantastic holiday meal.
They radioed for backup and awaited the arrival of detectives and the medical examiner. Whatever had happened in this trailer—they’d have nightmares the rest of their lives.
Molly Everhart headed home after a wonderful Thanksgiving dinner with family and friends, driving carefully as she navigated the snowy roads. Anticipation bubbled inside her. Tomorrow morning, she’d finally get some “me time” at the dance festival at the Waverly Junction convention center and hotel. The thought of spending a weekend immersed in dance, surrounded by fellow enthusiasts, filled her with excitement and energy.
In her bedroom, Molly quickly packed her dance shoes, outfits for each day of the festival, and her favorite songs to set the mood during the drive. She checked her phone one last time, making sure she had all the necessary details for the event. Next, she called her office to remind them she had the long three-day weekend off.
As she settled into bed, her mind hummed with anticipation. She couldn’t help but smile at the thought of the incredible dancers and new friendships that awaited her at the festival. She was especially excited for the opportunity to attend a class taught by instructors from the Haven Dance Academy in Spring Hill.
She hoped to win a chance to attend a class taught by Ethan Haven himself. He was a prestigious champion, having danced around the world. With dreams of smooth moves and rhythmic beats dancing in her head, she drifted off to sleep, eager for the adventure that lay ahead.
Molly’s hand fell groggily across her bedside table, and she picked up her ringing phone. She was immediately pulled out of her deep sleep. The voice on the other end belonged to the night-shift coordinator for the ME's office, and his insistence was palpable.
“Hey, Molly,” he said, his tone serious. “I know you've got the three-day weekend off, but we've got a major incident.”
Molly rubbed her eyes, trying to shake off the fog of sleep. “What's going on? Snow accident?” She was suddenly alert.
“Not an accident. It's bad,” the coordinator replied grimly. “There's been a terrible discovery on the old Waverly Junction highway connector. An abandoned trailer. Ten women dead.”
Her heart sank at the news. She knew she couldn't ignore a call like this, not with so much at stake. Despite her plans for the Waverly Junction Dance Festival, her job came first.
“I'll be there as soon as I can.” She was already mentally rearranging her weekend plans. “Keep me updated on the situation.”
Molly quickly got dressed, her mind racing with thoughts of the investigation ahead. The Waverly Junction Dance Festival would have to keep. Right now, her priority was to uncover the truth behind this tragedy and bring closure to the families affected.
As she drove slowly toward the scene, she made the necessary calls to ensure the mass casualty trailer was en route. She knew the importance of having all resources available, especially in such a tragic situation.
She contacted the office to gather information on the law enforcement personnel in charge. Knowing who was leading the investigation would be crucial for coordination and communication.
As she navigated the roads, her mind filled with questions. What were ten women doing in a trailer?
Ethan Hayes sat at his desk in the Pierre FBI office, a fortress of steel and glass. His fingers, callused from years of service, ran through his thick beard as his tired eyes scanned the latest intelligence brief on human trafficking. It was a dark blanket woven from lives filled with exploitation and suffering. Today's report was no different.
Large numbers of individuals were being pressed into forced labor or sex trafficking, their lives torn apart by the cruel persons who saw them as commodities rather than people. But amidst the grim statistics, one page in particular caught Ethan's eye.
One percent of American women being trafficked did not meet the usual criteria. These women were not sold into brothels or sweatshops. No, they were kidnapped and forced into marriages, their lives stolen away by unseen hands. The thought churned Ethan's stomach, a sickening realization.
What disturbed him even more was the scarcity of data. They'd been able to rescue very few of these women, and those who were saved were often unable to provide many details on their ordeal. Some were found shortly before death.
Ethan glanced at the missing persons list, a grim ledger. Two hundred and seventy-one faces haunting the computerized pages. And of those, forty percent were people of color, their disappearances often overshadowed by the indifference of a society that failed to see their plight.
Forty percent of kidnapped women died. California and Texas stood as the heartlands of this epidemic. The Dakotas had the smallest participation in the evil, with an average of thirty-five between each state. But any missing woman was one too many.
His head began to nod, exhausted from spreading himself between three jobs. He pushed himself to his feet and began to make his way home.
Outside, the city was quiet at the late hour, the lull between the end of Thanksgiving dinner and the lunacy of Black Friday. It didn’t hurt that it was freezing, and snow was falling and blowing fiercely. At daybreak, two of his jobs would combine. He’d have enough sleep to be coherent.
His phone vibrated in his pocket. He answered, expecting it to be his sister, Joanne. “Sorry, Jojo. I got caught up.”
“This is the Chief of the Waverly Junction Police.”
Ethan dropped his chin to his chest. He knew by the time of night, this was not a casual call.
“Is this Assistant Special Agent in Charge Ethan Hayes? That darn switchboard has bounced me around to high heaven.”
“Yes, Chief, this is Agent Hayes.” He continued heading to his Tahoe. “What can I do for you?”
“We have a tragedy on our hands. We’ve got ten women frozen to death in a tractor trailer. It matches your alert.”
Ethan pinched the bridge of his nose with his leather-gloved hand. So much for sleep. “I’ll come take a look.”
After unlocking his truck, Ethan slid into the driver’s seat, the cold leather creaking beneath him. He reached into his pocket, fingers wrapping around a small pad of paper and a pen.
“Give me an address.” Ethan scribbled down the location as it was dictated to him. “Alright, Chief,” he continued, his mind doing its best to make its way through the necessary steps. “Call the ME you use.” There was a brief pause as Ethan wondered whether the medical examiner came from Waverly Junction or the county. It was a detail he'd have to confirm later.
“Also, call your crime scene investigators. I'll be there in the next two hours. I’m in Pierre.”
After ending the call with the chief, Ethan dialed his office. He requested his personnel to assemble at the scene. He started the engine and pulled out into the storm.
Arriving at the scene, Molly Everhart saw the chaos that awaited her. Emergency vehicles lined the road, their lights flashing red and blue against the early morning sky. Law enforcement officers hurried about, securing the area and directing the traffic that was now heading toward the mall for Black Friday sales.
