JACK RYDER MYSTERY SERIES
VOL 1-3
WILLOW ROSE
CONTENTS
Copyright
Hit the Road Jack
Epigraph
Prologue
1. May 2012
2. May 2012
Part One
3. January 2015
4. January 2015
5. April 1984
6. January 2015
7. January 2015
8. January 2015
9. April 1984
10. January 2015
11. January 2015
12. January 2015
13. January 2015
14. January 2015
15. September 1984
16. January 2015
17. January 2015
18. January 2015
19. January 2015
20. September 1984
21. January 2015
22. January 2015
23. January 2015
24. January 2015
25. January 2015
26. October 1984
27. January 2015
28. January 2015
29. January 2015
30. January 2015
31. January 2015
32. January 2015
33. January 1985
34. January 2015
35. January 2015
36. January 2015
37. April 1990
38. January 2015
39. January 2015
40. January 2015
41. January 2015
42. March 1995
43. January 2015
44. January 2015
45. January 2015
Part Two
46. February 2015
47. February 2015
48. May 1998
49. February 2015
50. February 2015
51. February 2015
52. February 2015
53. February 2015
54. February 2015
55. February 2015
56. February 2015
57. February 2015
58. February 2015
59. October 1998
60. February 2015
61. February 2015
62. February 2015
63. February 2015
64. February 2015
65. February 2015
66. February 2015
67. February 2015
68. February 2015
69. February 2015
70. February 2015
Part Three
71. February 2015
72. February 2015
73. February 2015
74. October 1998
75. February 2015
76. February 2015
77. February 2015
78. February 2015
79. February 2015
80. February 2015
Epilogue
Slip Out the Back Jack
Epigraph
Prologue
1. November 2009
2. November 2009
3. November 2009
Part One
4. March 2015
5. March 2015
6. December 2002
7. March 2015
8. March 2015
9. March 2015
10. March 2015
11. March 2015
12. December 2003
13. March 2015
14. March 2015
15. March 2015
16. March 2015
17. March 2015
18. March 2015
19. November 2005
20. March 2015
21. March 2015
22. March 2015
23. March 2015
24. March 2015
25. March 2015
26. March 2015
27. March 2015
Part Two
28. March 2015
29. March 2015
30. March 2015
31. June 2006
32. March 2015
33. March 2015
34. March 2015
35. March 2015
36. March 2015
37. March 2015
38. March 2015
39. March 2015
40. March 2015
41. March 2015
42. March 2015
43. December 2008
44. March 2015
45. March 2015
46. March 2015
47. March 2015
48. March 2015
49. March 2015
50. March 2015
51. March 2015
52. March 2015
53. March 2015
54. March 2015
Part Three
55. March 2015
56. January 2009
57. March 2015
58. March 2015
59. March 2015
60. March 2015
61. March 2015
62. March 2015
63. March 2015
64. March 2015
65. April 2009
66. March 2015
67. March 2015
68. March 2015
69. March 2015
70. March 2015
71. March 2015
72. March 2015
73. March 2015
74. April 2009
75. March 2015
76. April 2009
77. March 2015
78. March 2015
79. March 2015
80. March 2015
81. March 2015
82. March 2015
83. March 2015
84. March 2015
Epilogue
85. April 2015
The House that Jack Built
Epigraph
Prologue
1. March 1986
2. March 1986
3. March 1986
Part One
4. May 2015
5. Cuba 1959
6. May 2015
7. May 2015
8. May 2015
9. May 2015
10. May 2015
11. May 2015
12. Cuba 1969
13. May 2015
14. May 2015
15. May 2015
16. May 2015
17. May 2015
18. May 2015
19. May 2015
20. May 2015
21. Florida 1969
22. May 2015
23. May 2015
24. May 2015
25. May 2015
26. May 2015
27. May 2015
Part Two
28. Cuba, April 1st, 1980
29. May 2015
30. May 2015
31. May 2015
32. May 2015
33. Cuba, April 1980
34. May 2015
35. May 2015
36. May 2015
37. May 2015
38. April 1980
39. May 2015
40. May 2015
41. May 2015
42. May 2015
43. May 2015
44. May 2015
45. May 2015
46. Cuba, April 1980
47. May 2015
48. May 2015
49. May 2015
50. May 2015
51. May 2015
52. May 2015
53. May 2015
54. Cuba, April 1980
Part Three
55. May 2015
56. May 2015
57. May 2015
58. May 2015
59. May 2015
60. May 2015
61. Cuba, April 1980
62. May 2015
63. May 2015
64. May 2015
; 65. May 2015
66. May 2015
67. May 2015
68. May 2015
69. May 2015
70. May 2015
71. May 2015
72. May 2015
73. May 2015
74. May 2015
75. May 2015
76. May 2015
77. April 1980
78. April 1980
79. May 2015
80. May 2015
81. May 2015
Epilogue
82. May 2015
Afterword
About the Author
Books by the Author
What Hurts the Most
Prologue
1. September 2015
2. September 2015
3. September 2015
4. September 2015
5. September 2015
6. February 1977
7. September 2015
8. September 2015
9. September 2015
11. September 2015
12. September 2015
13. September 2015
14. September 2015
15. September 2015
16. September 2015
17. April 1977
18. September 2015
19. September 2015
20. February 1992
21. September 2015
22. September 2015
23. May 1977
24. September 2015
25. September 2015
26. September 2015
27. May 1977
28. September 2015
29. September 2015
30. March 1992
31. September 2015
32. September 2015
33. February 1978
34. September 2015
35. March 1992
Order your copy today!
Copyright Willow Rose 2015
Published by Jan Sigetty Boeje
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any printed or electronic form without permission from the author.
This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance of characters to actual persons, living or dead is purely coincidental. The Author holds exclusive rights to this work. Unauthorized duplication is prohibited.
Cover design by Jan Sigetty Boeje
https://www.facebook.com/pages/Sigettys Cover Design
Special thanks to my editor Janell Parque
http://janellparque.blogspot.com/
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Hit the Road Jack
Jack Ryder #1
This could be Heaven or this could be Hell
~ Eagles, Hotel California 1977
Prologue
DON’T COME BACK NO MORE
Chapter One
May 2012
She has no idea who she is or where she is and cares to know neither. For some time, for what seems like forever, she has been in this daze. This haze, in complete darkness with nothing but the sounds. Sounds coming from outside her body, from outside her head. Sometimes, the sounds fade and there is only the darkness.
As time passes, she becomes aware that there are two realities. The one in her mind, filled with darkness and pain and then the one outside of her, where something or someone else is living, acting, smelling and…singing.
Yes, that’s it. Someone is singing. Does she know the song?
…What you say?
The darkness is soon replaced by light. Still, her eyes are too heavy to open. Her consciousness returns slowly. Enough to start asking questions. Where is she? How did she end up here? A series of pictures of her at home come to her mind. She is waiting. What is she waiting for?
…I guess if you said so.
Him. She is waiting for him. She is checking her hair in the mirror every five minutes or so. Then correcting the make-up, looking at the clock again. Where is he? She looks out through the window and at the street and the many staring neighboring windows. A feeling of guilt hits her. Somehow, it seems wrong for this kind of thing to take place in broad daylight.
…That’s right!
A car drives up. The anticipation. The butterflies in her stomach. The sound of the doorbell. She is straightening her dress and taking a last glance in the mirror. The next second, she is in his embrace. He is holding her so tight she closes her eyes and breathes him in until his lips cover hers and she swims away.
…Whoa, Woman, oh woman, don't treat me so mean.
His breath is pumping against her skin. She feels his hands on her breasts, under her skirt, coming closer, while he presses her up against the wall. She feels him in his hand. He is hard now, moaning in her ear.
“Where’s your husband?” he whispers.
“Work,” she moans back, feeling self-conscious. Why did he have to bring up her husband? The guilt is killing her. “The kids are in school.”
“Good,” he moans. “No one can ever know. Remember that. No one.”
…You're the meanest old woman that I've ever seen.
He pushes himself inside of her and pumps. She lets herself get into the moment, but as soon as it is over, she finds herself regretting it…while he zips up the pants of his suit and kisses her gently on the lips, whispering, same time next week? She regrets having started it all. They are both married with children, and this is only an affair. Could never be anything else, even if she dreamt about it. The sex is great, but she wants more than just seeing him on her lunch break. But she can never tell him. She can never explain to him how much she hates this awkward moment that follows the sex.
“They’re expecting me at the office…I have a meeting,” he says, and puts his tie back on. “I’d better…”
…Hit the road, Jack!
She finally opens her eyes with a loud gasp. The bright light hurts her. Water is being splashed in her face. She can’t breathe. The bathtub is slippery when she tries to get up. Her eyes lock with another set of eyes. The eyes of a man. He is staring at her with a twisted smile. She gasps again, suddenly remembering those dark chili eyes.
“I guess if you said so…I'd have to pack my things and go,” he sings.
“You,” she gasps. Breathing is hard for her. She feels like she is still choking. She is hyperventilating. Panicking.
The man smiles. On his neck crawls a snake. How does that old saying go again? Red, black, yellow kills a fellow? This one is all of that, all those colors. It stares at her while moving its tongue back and forth. The man is holding a washcloth in his hand. She looks down at her naked body. The smell of chlorine is strong and makes her eyes water.
“You tried to kill me,” she says, while panting with anxiety.
I have to get home. Help me. I have to get home to my children! Oh, God. I can hear their voices! Am I going mad? I think I can hear them!
“I guess I didn’t do a very good job, then,” he answers. His chillingly calm voice is piercing through every bone in her body.
“I’ll try again. That’s right!”
Chapter Two
May 2012
She had never been more beautiful than in this exact moment. No woman ever had. So fragile, her skin so pale it almost looked bluish. The man who called himself the Snakecharmer stared at her body. It was still in the bathtub. He was still panting from the exertion, his hands shaking and hurting from strangling the girl. He felt so aroused in this moment, staring at the dead body. It was the most fascinating thing in the world. How the body simply ceased to function. And almost as fascinating was what followed next. The human decaying process. It wasn’t something new.
Fascination with death had occurred all throughout human history, characterized by obsessions with death and all things related to death. The Egyptians mummified their dead. He had always wished he could do the same. Keep his dead forever and ever. He remembered as a child how he would sometimes lie down in front of the mirror and try to lie completely still and look at himself, imagining he was looking at a dead body. He would capture cats and kill them and keep them in his room, just to watch what would happen to them. He wanted so badly to stop the decaying process, he wanted them to remain the same always and never leave.
The Snakecharmer stared at the girl with fascination in his eyes. He caught his breath and calmed down again. He still felt the adrenalin rushing through his veins while he finished washing the girl. He washed away all the dirt, all the smells on her body. He reached down and cleaned her thoroughly between her legs. Scrubbed her to make sure he got all the dirt away, all the filth and impurities.
Then, he dried her with a towel before he pulled her onto the bathroom floor. His companions, his two pet Coral snakes, were sliding across her dead body. He grabbed one and let it slide across his arm while petting it. Then he knelt next to the girl and stroked her gently across her hair, making sure it wasn’t in her face. Her blue eyes stared into the ceiling.
“Now, you’ll never leave,” he whispered.
With his cellphone, he took a picture of her naked body. That was his mummification. His way to always cherish the moment. To always remember. He never wanted to forget how beautiful she was.
He dried her with a towel. He brushed her brown hair with gentle strokes. He took yet another picture before he lifted her up and carried her into the bedroom, where he placed her in a chair, then sat in front of her and placed his head in her lap.
They would stay like this until she started to smell.
Part One
I GUESS IF YOU SAY SO
Chapter Three
January 2015
He took the dog out in the yard and shut the door carefully behind him, making sure he didn’t make a sound to wake up his sleeping parents. It was Monday, but they had been very loud last night. The kitchen counter was still covered with empty bottles.
At first, Ben had waited patiently in the living room, watching a couple of shows on TV, waiting for his parents to wake up. When the clock passed nine, he knew he wouldn’t make it to school that day either, and that was too bad because they had a fieldtrip to the zoo today and Ben had been looking forward to it. When they still hadn’t shown up at ten o’clock, he decided the dog had to go out. The old Labrador kept sitting by the door and scraping on it. It had to go.
So, Ben took Bobby out in the backyard. He had to go with him. The yard ended at the canal, and Bobby had more than once jumped into the water. Ben had to keep an eye on him to make sure he didn’t do it again. It had been such a mess last time, since the dog couldn’t climb back up over the seawall on his own, so Ben’s dad had to jump into the blurry water and carry the dog out.