Cold Currents (A Bobby Taylor MysteryThriller Book 1) by Byron Suggs

Author:Byron Suggs [Suggs, Byron]
Language: eng
Format: azw3
Publisher: Fall Line Publishing
Published: 2016-02-15T16:00:00+00:00

Chapter Twelve

I paid little attention to the lines on Tarry Road. Traffic was nonexistent at this hour and I had but one thought as I took the Mustang through its motions: had this madness and violence touched my parents again?

“Slow down, Bobby!” Cheryl yelled as I took a wicked curve in the road, pushing the car’s suspension to the max.

She was right. We were a quarter mile out and I didn’t want to arrive like gangbusters, overshooting the drive and locking the breaks. I slowed and turned off my lights as we approached the turn off. From this angle the house was still blocked by trees as I eased the Mustang down the driveway, conscious of the tires grinding the gravel as we rolled. Rounding the bend, the house loomed out of the darkness. Dad’s car sat under the oak tree, moonlight reflecting off the rear window in a dead glow.

I pulled in behind his car, keeping my eyes open for any movement in the shadows around the house, and killed the engine.

“Maybe they’ve just gone to bed early,” Cheryl said, studying the shadows on the porch.

“Maybe.” And maybe not. That thought had crossed my mind earlier and I’d let it override my instinct. Now, something definitely didn’t feel right. I should have stopped and checked on them before going to Cheryl’s. “You stay here.”

I stepped out, mindful not to slam the car door, and walked around the back of the car, stopping a moment to take in the sounds. Off in the distance a truck backfired, setting an old hound dog to howling somewhere across the fields. I walked up to the porch, put my foot on the bottom step and stopped just as a beam of light flashed across the window from inside. The only time you used a flashlight inside a house was when the power went off…or you didn’t know your way around.

I’ll take ‘Thugs in the Dark’ for six hundred, Alex!

I pulled the gun from my jacket pocket and eased to the top step, sliding back into the shadows of a porch pillow. The door stood partially open behind the screen, confirming my suspicion. I couldn’t wait.

Raising my gun and grabbing the handle, I threw the screen door back and kicked the door as I rushed in low and hit the light switch on my left. Bathed in light, the parlor gave up no clues as I continued further down the hallway, leading with my gun. Entering the den, a flash of light hit my eyes and I stumbled across an end table as I tried to keep my balance.

“Stop or I’ll shoot!” my father’s voice shouted from the direction of the light.

“Dad?” I fumbled for the light switch and found it.

My father sat on the floor in the corner, shotgun across his knees, the flashlight in his hand, blood running down the side of his head from a gash in his hairline. My mother sat in the recliner holding a large towel against her face.

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