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

  10. April 1977

  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. Fa
scination 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.