The Promisor: A Suspense Thriller Read online

  The Promisor

  A Reed & Billie Novel, Book 9

  Dustin Stevens

  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

  Chapter 39

  Chapter 40

  Chapter 41

  Chapter 42

  Chapter 43

  Chapter 44

  Chapter 45

  Chapter 46

  Chapter 47

  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

  Chapter 65

  Chapter 66

  Chapter 67

  Chapter 68

  Chapter 69

  Chapter 70

  Chapter 71

  Chapter 72

  Chapter 73

  Chapter 74

  Chapter 75

  Chapter 76

  Chapter 77

  Chapter 78

  Chapter 79

  Chapter 80

  Chapter 81

  Chapter 82

  Chapter 83

  Chapter 84

  Epilogue

  Sneak Peek

  Thank You

  Welcome Gift

  About the Author

  Dustin’s Books

  The Promisor

  A Reed & Billie Novel

  Copyright © 2021, Dustin Stevens

  Cover Art and Design: Jun Ares

  Warning: All rights reserved. The unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work, in whole or part, in any form by any electronic, mechanical, or other means, is illegal and forbidden, without the written permission of the author.

  This is a work of fiction. Characters, settings, names, and occurrences are a product of the author’s imagination and bear no resemblance to any actual person, living or dead, places or settings, and/or occurrences. Any incidences of resemblance are purely coincidental.

  Promises are only as strong as

  the person who gives them...

  —Stephen Richards

  The great avenging angel does not crawl

  To kill the serpent with a mimic fang;

  He stands erect, with sword of keenest edge

  That slays like lightning.

  —George Eliot

  Prologue

  There was no mistaking the sound as it hurtled down the length of the muddy lane. No misconstruing the source or the obvious intent underlying it.

  Angry braying pushed out one time after another. Deep, guttural calls too many to be produced by a single animal.

  An obvious challenge growing ever closer, piped directly into Billie’s ears by the dense woods bunched tight on either side acting as a funnel. A noise she would recognize anywhere, quite possibly the only thing on the planet that could pull her attention away from her unconscious partner beside her.

  One final thing added to the sensory assault she’d just endured. The bright flash of the shotgun blast a few moments before. The scents of gunpowder, smoke, sweat, a thousand other things hanging in the air.

  The taste of blood resting across her tongue.

  A combination serving to ignite every innate sense she possessed. Genetic programming going back centuries rushing to the fore, her entire being pulsating with anticipation. A tingling sensation that permeated her limbs, filling her with the requisite anger and aggression, but also with something far greater.

  Something calling back to those most basic constructs ingrained in her canine DNA.

  The need to protect.

  Every muscle in her body pulled taut, Billie turned away from her partner. Walking the length of his body slouched against the front grille of the car, she crept forward. Measured steps with her neck extended, her chin lowered to just a few inches above the ground.

  Hairs bristled the length of her back. A low rumbling resonated from deep within her diaphragm. Her toes clenched, the tips of her nails digging into the soft earth with each step.

  In her ears echoed the continued barking of the approaching attack. Intruders unwanted and uninvited, coming to take advantage of an already ugly situation.

  Something she would not allow. Not ever, but damned sure not now, with her partner in such a state.

  One step at a time, Billie continued her march forward. Passing through the gate left standing open, her attention winnowed to the narrow corridor before her.

  Tunnel vision in the most extreme sense, ultimately rewarded by the sight of her opponents appearing before her.

  A pair of blue nose pit bulls flinging themselves forward, more than a hundred pounds of coiled muscle and glistening teeth wrapped in matching gray fur.

  A sight that Billie lingered on for just barely a moment before hurtling herself forward to meet them.

  Chapter One

  The first real promise The Promisor ever made was thirty-four years prior. A pledge he gave while standing in the Army Recruitment Center on Broad Street in Lancaster two days after his eighteenth birthday.

  A vow he would have taken even sooner if not for the wishes of his parents to participate in his high school graduation before enlisting.

  A duffel bag on the floor at his feet containing nothing more than a change of clothes and a toothbrush, he had stood with his right hand raised and his chest puffed out. A young man on the verge of rushing off to conquer the world, so achingly full of pride he felt as if he might burst.

  A sentiment that was shared by his parents standing along the wall, his father unable to hide the clear pleasure he took in the proceedings, his mother constantly dabbing at the moisture lining her eyes. Wholehearted belief both in their son and the vow he was there to make.

  Repeating back the words of the recruitment officer beside him, The Promisor had recited the oath of enlistment, solemnly swearing to defend the Constitution of the United States against all enemies, foreign and domestic. A scene that he replayed thousands of times over the years, both recalling that day in his mind and reenacting it countless times over with future generations.

  Up to that point, he had made what he thought were many promises. Pledges to his friends or girls he was dating or even himself. A litany of oaths swearing everything from showing up to the first day of practice in shape to not getting home too late from a Friday night date.

  Things that all fell woefully short of that day standing in the recruitment office, the full weight of what a promise cou
ld be finally hitting him.

  To the point that only three times in all the ensuing years did he ever issue another.

  Each of the trio riffling through his mind in a continuous loop, The Promisor rested with his body pressed flat to the earth. Perched on a hillside overlooking his target, his body laid on a natural pallet he had scraped together over time. Natural items collected with painstaking attention to detail, coming together to form a shooter’s hide.

  A place he could remain for as long as necessary, completely hidden from the outside world. A spot that wasn’t the most comfortable he had ever devised but was more than sufficient for what he was there to do, any shortcomings in comfort more than made up for by the resolve pushing through him.

  The belief not just in his own abilities, but in the mission he was there to complete.

  Part one of completing his most recent – and what would likely be his final – promise.

  Resting in stony silence, The Promisor’s worldview was reduced to a single circle no more than a couple of inches across. A perfect orb magnified several times over, a series of infrared lines superimposed through the middle.

  Distance markers, courtesy of the Vortex 3-9x40 scope mounted to the top of his Mossberg rifle. Another aspect of his situation that was not the absolute best he’d ever worked with, but was more than sufficient for the task at hand. A weapon that had felled a great many whitetail over the years, enough that The Promisor trusted it to fire straight and true.

  An implement perfectly capable of performing as he needed it to.

  A rare companion through an ordeal that started months before.

  Resting with his torso flush to the uneven ground, The Promisor watched as the oversized SUV rolled into view. The same vehicle he had been watching from afar for weeks, arriving at the exact time it always did.

  A schedule kept with complete precision. A routine that The Promisor could not help but be impressed with, the attention to detail not lost on him.

  A worthy target, serving as a catalyst. An unknowing participant, one of many about to help him accomplish his goals.

  His breathing remaining completely even, The Promisor watched as the driver slowed to barely more than a crawl and made a hard right from the narrow two-lane road into the driveway of the stately brick home directly across from him. A journey that ended with a flare of brake lights, the woman behind the wheel choosing to use the spot closest to the front walk.

  A place usually reserved for her husband, today utilized to provide her with a means of easy access. A way to run inside between her morning yoga class and her upcoming shift at the public library, grabbing a quick shower and change of clothes before being on her way again.

  A woman with a busy schedule, having no idea that it – and all else in her life – was about to be permanently interrupted.

  Lying and watching the woman collect her things from the back seat before heading around the front grille of the vehicle, The Promisor felt the tiniest bit of anticipation creep in. A slight tingling running the length of him, not out of any fear or remorse over what he was about to do.

  Certainly, not from any joy, the last of that having fled his life months before.

  Rather, it was from knowing what was finally about to begin.

  A starting gun – both literal and figurative - to something that had been left incomplete for far too long.

  Chapter Two

  “I’m sorry, I don’t actually know what to say right now,” Serena Gipson opened. Bypassing any form of traditional greeting, she launched straight forth with the line.

  One that Detective Reed Mattox suspected she had rehearsed a few times over, hoping for a chance such as this to unleash it.

  “I’ve gotten so used to talking to your voicemail recently, I’m not sure how to actually do this.”

  Standing on the deck behind his farmhouse, Reed couldn’t help but smile. A grin that stretched across his features, pressing into the device held tight to his cheek.

  A reflexive response both to the voice on the other end and the hard time it was giving him.

  A ribbing he couldn’t rightly argue was without merit.

  “Yeah, yeah,” he replied.

  “Wait!” Serena added. “Is that actually your voice? It’s been so long...”

  “Okay,” Reed said, dropping his gaze to the weathered boards comprising the deck. Lifting the toe of his running shoe, he kicked at the broken shell of an acorn that had somehow ended up there.

  Most likely, a projectile from the blade of his mower just a few minutes earlier. Organic debris joined by a swath of stray blades of grass dappling the area, all waiting to be swept up shortly. The next item on this morning’s task list, Reed just taking a brief pause to hose down the mower when he happened to spot the incoming call flashing across the screen of his phone.

  An impulse decision to pick it up, hoping to catch a few moments to cool down and rehydrate, his attempt to get an early start on the yard no match for the rising heat of June in central Ohio.

  “How’s the wheel?” Reed asked. A blatant attempt to shift the conversation from the fact that for much of the last month or so, he’d been dodging the girl’s calls. Efforts at reaching out that had been ongoing since they first met back in the tiny town of Warner, Oklahoma not long before.

  A trip out by Reed to help his parents move that had placed him in the proverbial right place-right time to see Serena get abducted on the corner two blocks from her home.

  A truly heinous situation that it had taken Reed and his K-9 partner Billie working with local authorities the better part of a week to unravel. Time during which Serena was held captive and subjected to torture, on the receiving end of a madman’s truly depraved fantasies.

  Physical and mental abuse most glaringly apparent in the form of a massive brand covering the entire lower half of her leg. A way of marking her like a cow, the man wanting to claim her as his own for the world to see.

  A physical mar that - even having only known Serena a short time - Reed could not imagine her allowing to stand.

  “Eh,” Serena replied, as she so often did when asked about the injury, “it’s healing. Another couple of months and we’ll be able to start the skin grafts.”

  Sucking in a sharp breath of air, Reed raised his focus from the deck beneath him. Narrowing his gaze into slits, he scanned the rear of the yard, checking among the misshapen shadows surrounding the string of pine trees serving as the property boundary.

  A quick search for Billie, the inky black Belgian Malinois that had been following his progress back and forth across the lawn from her perch on the steps of the deck. A post she maintained until he was finished before bounding down to search for any new scents that might have been unearthed.

  A self-assigned task that had come about in the last few weeks, brought on by the return of summer lawn maintenance and their lighter-than-usual workload.

  A job she took most seriously, having eradicated the lawn of any unwanted critters in record time.

  “Damn,” Reed replied. “I mean, I’m glad it’s getting better, but...”

  “Eh,” Serena repeated. “Worst part is having to keep it covered in baggy pants all the time. In Oklahoma. For the whole summer.”

  Visiting just a few weeks before, already it had been at the point in the calendar where the heat was directly correlated to the path of the sun. Uncomfortably hot days followed by nights that bore the slightest hint of a chill.

  A climate setting that wasn’t completely unbearable, but hinted that worse days were in the near future.

  An eventuality that, it sounded like, had already arrived.

  “Oof,” Reed replied. “Good thing you wear scrubs to work every day, I guess?”

  “Something like that,” Serena said, her turn to dodge a comment. “How about things over there? You guys get that whole kinda-sorta-maybe probationary thing figured out?”

  Pausing just long enough to let her know he recognized what she did there, Reed re
plied, “Kinda. Sorta. Maybe.”

  A sarcastic response that earned a single crack of laughter before he added, “We have a rough framework ironed out, but Lord only knows how it’s actually going to work.”

  “Ah,” Serena replied. “One of those.”

  “Exactly,” Reed answered, hoping that she would let it go at that. Not because he didn’t want to share, but because there was an overwhelming likelihood that he wouldn’t have an answer to whatever she asked.

  Using the word probationary wasn’t quite apt, as that hinted that Reed and Billie had done something wrong, when in fact it was quite the opposite. Almost as if they were being punished for their success in the wake of a few high-profile cases, they had been singled out by the sitting governor to take a new hybrid role.