The Nightmare at Manhattan Beach (A Thomas Austin Crime Thriller Book 7) by D.D. Black

Author:D.D. Black [Black, D.D.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Darkness and Light Publishing
Published: 2023-10-21T16:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

Sy was already up and making coffee. The light streamed in through the crack in the curtains and, for a fraction of a moment, Austin was happy. He wasn’t sure what it was… something about the fall light in the city that he’d always loved.

But the feeling quickly dissipated when he remembered where he was, and why.

“Coffee?” Sy asked. “They’ve got one of those pod thingies.”

“Please,” Austin said, sitting up and reaching for the phone he’d gotten from Mara.

Sy handed him a cup. “Black, right?”

Austin nodded. “Thanks.” The first sip was only halfway down his throat when he thought of Run. Taking another big sip and sucking in air to try to avoid burning his mouth, he grabbed the burner laptop and logged onto Facebook. Mara had assured him that, though it was theoretically possible to be tracked through Facebook, someone would need to hack into Facebook servers to find his IP address, then fight through dozens of re-directs and anonymity filters. So, unless they happened to have someone on the payroll at Facebook, it wasn’t likely.

He had a new message from Kendall. A photo.

It was Kendall, wearing a black leather jacket and looking as stylish as ever, except for one major difference. Run was sitting in her lap, licking her face. Her torso was wrapped in a white bandage, but she looked every bit the happy pup he’d left behind.

Under the photo was a message.

She’s fine. Another half day in the hospital and I’ll check her out, then I won’t leave her alone until you get back. Only thing is I’ll have to keep her away from Ralph so she doesn’t run so hard her stitches come out.

Austin smiled and sipped his coffee, staring at the photo. It was the only good news he’d gotten in quite some time.

As he was about to close his laptop, another little red “1” appeared on his messages on Facebook.

He opened it and saw that it was from “Sarah Davidson,” a name he didn’t know. He clicked over to her profile and saw that it had been created only one day earlier. Almost certainly a fake account.

His stomach twisted when he returned to the message and saw that it was a video. Jorge, bruised and bloodied, had been tied to a chair that was tipped over, his face bleeding out onto a concrete floor.

He was alive, but breathing slowly.

A hand came in from the left of the shot holding up a copy of The New York Post. The date was circled. It was from this morning. The video had been taken in the last couple hours. They’d probably sent it to his cellphone and email as well.

As horrifying as it was, Austin was relieved that Jorge was alive at all.

As the camera zoomed in on Jorge’s face, a voice came from off screen. “This is your friend. We would like to let him live but that will be up to you. If you receive this message, reply with a simple ‘OK.’ Our next message will tell you where to meet.

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