Nowhere sane, p.1
Nowhere Sane, page 1
N O W H E R E
S A N E
(A Harley Cole FBI Suspense Thriller—Book 10)
K a t e B o l d
Kate Bold
Bestselling author Kate Bold is author of the ALEXA CHASE SUSPENSE THRILLER series, comprising six books (and counting); the ASHLEY HOPE SUSPENSE THRILLER series, comprising six books (and counting); the CAMILLE GRACE FBI SUSPENSE THRILLER series, comprising eight books (and counting); the HARLEY COLE FBI SUSPENSE THRILLER series, comprising eleven books (and counting); the KAYLIE BROOKS PSYCHOLOGICAL SUSPENSE THRILLER series, comprising five books (and counting); the EVE HOPE FBI SUSPENSE THRILLER series, comprising seven books (and counting); the DYLAN FIRST FBI SUSPENSE THRILLER series, comprising five books (and counting); and the LAUREN LAMB FBI SUSPENSE THRILLER series, comprising five books (and counting).
An avid reader and lifelong fan of the mystery and thriller genres, Kate loves to hear from you, so please feel free to visit www.kateboldauthor.com to learn more and stay in touch.
Copyright © 2023 by Kate Bold. All rights reserved. Except as permitted under the U.S. Copyright Act of 1976, no part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed or transmitted in any form or by any means, or stored in a database or retrieval system, without the prior permission of the author. This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return it and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author. This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, organizations, places, events, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictionally. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental. Jacket image Copyright R_Tee, used under license from Shutterstock.com.
BOOKS BY KATE BOLD
ALEXA CHASE SUSPENSE THRILLER
THE KILLING GAME (Book #1)
THE KILLING TIDE (Book #2)
THE KILLING HOUR (Book #3)
THE KILLING POINT (Book #4)
THE KILLING FOG (Book #5)
THE KILLING PLACE (Book #6)
ASHLEY HOPE SUSPENSE THRILLER
LET ME GO (Book #1)
LET ME OUT (Book #2)
LET ME LIVE (Book #3)
LET ME BREATHE (Book #4)
LET ME FORGET (Book #5)
LET ME ESCAPE (Book #6)
CAMILLE GRACE FBI SUSPENSE THRILLER
NOT ME (Book #1)
NOT NOW (Book #2)
NOT WELL (Book #3)
NOT HER (Book #4)
NOT NORMAL (Book #5)
NOT AGAIN (Book #6)
NOT SAFE (Book #7)
NOT TODAY (Book #8)
HARLEY COLE FBI SUSPENSE THRILLER
NOWHERE SAFE (Book #1)
NOWHERE LEFT (Book #2)
NOWHERE TO RUN (Book #3)
NOWHERE LIKE THIS (Book #4)
NOWHERE GIRL (Book #5)
NOWHERE TO HIDE (Book #6)
NOWHERE CERTAIN (Book #7)
NOWHERE PURE (Book #8)
NOWHERE SOUND (Book #9)
NOWHERE SANE (Book #10)
NOWHERE TRUE (Book #11)
KAYLIE BROOKS PYSCHOLOGICAL SUSPENSE THRILLER
LAST BREATH (Book #1)
LAST CHANCE (Book #2)
LAST WISH (Book #3)
LAST SHOT (Book #4)
LAST MISTAKE (Book #5)
EVE HOPE FBI SUSPENSE THRILLER
IN HIS BLOOD (Book #1)
IN HIS SIGHTS (Book #2)
IN HIS REACH (Book #3)
IN HIS MIND (Book #4)
IN HIS WAY (Book #5)
IN HIS THOUGHTS (Book #6)
IN HIS DREAMS (Book #7)
DYLAN FIRST FBI SUSPENSE THRILLER
OUT OF REACH (Book #1)
OUT OF TOUCH (Book #2)
OUT OF TIME (Book #3)
OUT OF BOUNDS (Book #4)
OUT OF LUCK (Book #5)
LAUREN LAMB FBI SUSPENSE THRILLER
SOMETHING KNOCKING (Book #1)
SOMETHING CALLING (Book #2)
SOMETHING WRONG (Book #3)
SOMETHING DARK (Book #4)
SOMETHING TO HIDE (Book #5)
CONTENTS
PROLOGUE
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER TEN
CHAPTER ELEVEN
CHAPTER TWELVE
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
CHAPTER NINETEEN
CHAPTER TWENTY
CHAPTER TWENTY ONE
CHAPTER TWENTY TWO
CHAPTER TWENTY THREE
CHAPTER TWENTY FOUR
CHAPTER TWENTY FIVE
CHAPTER TWENTY SIX
EPILOGUE
PROLOGUE
Gabriela didn’t want to die.
That was all she could think as she stumbled through the muddy tunnel, tripping and splashing, throwing her arms out and occasionally feeling the rough, gritty edges of dirt and stone on either side.
I don’t want to die.
She had too much to live for, too much to fight for: namely, a seven-year-old girl named Jacinta who liked to pour milk into the dogs’ dishes and call it cereal, and cake her face with makeup so she could “be a queen like Mommy.” Gabriela was a single mother of five (the other four of whom had already reached adulthood and left the nest), and though she sometimes doubted she had what it took to fill the roles of two parents for little Jace (these doubts haunted her almost every day, if she was honest), there was not a single bone in her body that believed someone else could do the job better than she could.
Jacinta was her child, her little girl, her princesa. And if Gabriela died in this tunnel, Jacinta would grow up believing her mother had done the same thing to her that her father had: abandoned her.
Gabriela couldn’t let such a thing happen. Not while she had any say in the matter.
The question was, how was she supposed to get back to her daughter? She didn’t know where she was, didn’t know who was pursuing her. All she remembered was stepping outside her home to borrow some milk from the neighbors, and then—
Nothing. A dark window of time, in and out of consciousness, rough fabric against her cheek (the floor of a car, maybe), a sense of motion, and an odor of gasoline. Then the trunk opened, and he was staring down at her, a black shape blotting out the stars.
The rest had been as blurry as what came before: being pulled upward, then led along a rocky path. When they reached the entrance to the tunnel, she’d shoved him aside and run, hardly able to believe she’d gotten away so easily.
Now, however, she wondered if it had been his plan all along to let her run, just so he could chase her. Or maybe he knew there was nowhere for her to go. As far as she knew, the tunnel might come to a dead end.
Stop thinking that way, she told herself. You have to be strong—for Jace, if not yourself.
Spurred on by the memory of her daughter, Gabriela raced forward with a renewed sense of purpose, occasionally throwing a hurried glance over her shoulder. There was nothing to see, of course—the tunnel behind her was as utterly black as the tunnel ahead. A few minutes ago, she’d been able to see the tunnel entrance way back there, a glow of starlight reminding her that the world above still existed.
But now that faint light, too, had been swallowed up by darkness, leaving her alone in the darkness.
Alone with him.
What does he want with me? If he was going to hurt me, why didn’t he do so already? Why did he bring me here?
She was still pondering this when she tripped on a stone and sprawled forward, her chin striking the packed clay underfoot. The iron taste of blood flooded her mouth—she had bitten her tongue. She managed not to cry out, however, and for several moments she lay there in the cold mud, trying to slow her breathing as she listened.
Where was he? He’d been right behind her when she entered the tunnel, but now…
She sniffed the air, wondering if perhaps he might be just behind her, gloating in the darkness. But all she smelled was clay, soil, and the pungent odor of her own sweat.
Her own fear.
Maybe he went back, she thought, desperate for hope, no matter how illogical or unlikely. Maybe this is all just a prank to him, a joke. He just wanted to scare me, not…not…
Not what? Not murder her? Not strangle her with his bare hands, hold her face in the mud until she stopped struggling? That was what she’d seen in his eyes: a terrible, burning fury, as if he would have liked to douse her in gasoline and light a match just for the joy of watching her burn.
Evil man. Evil, evil man.
There was a soft splash in the darkness behind her. She froze, holding her breath. Maybe a clod of dirt had dislodged itself from the ceiling and splashed into the water below. Or the sound could have been made by a rat—there had to be plenty of rats in this tunnel. Why couldn’t it have been a rat?
Because you know better. You know he’s not going to give up that easily.
She did know better and yet, she clenched her eyes shut all the same, hoping that if she continued to lie there, nothing bad would happen. It was a childish fantasy, but she was exhausted from running and desperately needed a way to escape this nightmare. She needed to get back home, needed to hold Jace in her arms again.
If she could just do that…just look into her little girl’s eyes in the safety of their own home…all would be well in the world. There would be nothing to fear ever again.
That was how it felt, anyway, as she lay in the mud of the tunnel, listening to the sound of footsteps growing louder behind her. She could no longer deceive herself. It was not a rat behind her, but something far more terrifying.
She scrambled to her feet, turning around, and holding up her hands in a pleading gesture, even though it was too dark to see. “Por favor, señor,” she begged. “Do not do this. Do you want money? I can get you money. My uncle is very rich—si, muy rico.”
She paused, hoping her attempt at bribery might have struck a chord. But the footsteps continued toward her without pause, implacable, unrelenting.
There was nothing to do but run. She turned around and sprinted forward, unable to slow her flight, driven by a thoughtless panic. The walls of the tunnel seemed to rebound with the sound of her breathing, muffling all other sounds and making it impossible to know how far behind her he was.
Had he kept his slow, steady pace, or was he sprinting even now to catch her? Was he armed?
Despite her panic, her adrenaline could only carry her so far. She was forty-three, no spring chicken by any stretch of the imagination, and giving birth to five children had taken a toll on her body. She wasn’t made to run a marathon.
Exhausted, she stopped and leaned on her knees, trying to catch her breath. She didn’t know how long this tunnel might be, nor where it might lead. She needed a better strategy than blindly running forward.
Maybe she would have to fight. If she could surprise him in the darkness, maybe wait in ambush for him…
She stooped, feeling about for a stone. Her questing fingers touched clay, pools of water…and then something round. Not a stone, but something man-made. Leather.
She froze, trembling. Hardly daring to breathe, she reached further and felt a pair of dangling laces.
Work boots.
“Dios mío,” she murmured, rising slowly to her feet.
There was a rasping sound, then a flickering light as a match caught flame. Gabriela glimpsed her attacker’s face, the eyes twinkling with devious intent, the mouth twisted in a cruel sneer.
“Hello again, Gabriela,” he said. “It’s time for you to be punished.”
CHAPTER ONE
Agent Harley Cole of the FBI cycled through the pictures on her camera, studying them with a mounting sense of certainty.
It has to be her, she thought. It’s too crazy to be a coincidence.
She had spent all morning taking pictures outside El Gordo’s Restaurant, even dropped six hundred dollars on a new camera just for this very purpose. She needed to be certain before she went in there. Though she would happily risk her life to save her sister, she wasn’t about to throw her life away on bad intelligence.
Her search for Kelly had started nearly two decades ago, when Kelly went missing during a camping trip with friends. Since then, Cole moved to the east coast for a number of years and then eventually returned to New Mexico, transferring to a new department so she could be around her ailing father. Her sister’s case had gone cold, with no new information or leads. Recently, however, a series of discoveries had led Cole to a nightclub called the Wild West, where a waitress had claimed to know a woman matching Cole’s description of her sister.
That waitress had texted Cole a picture of Kelly, and after confirming that it was indeed her sister, Cole had managed to convince the reluctant waitress to tell her where Kelly could be found.
Try Gordos, the waitress texted back. Cole asked several follow-up questions, but the waitress went silent, as if deciding she had stretched out her neck far enough and would take no further risks for her.
Now, scrolling through the photos on her expensive new camera, Cole felt certain the blonde in the pictures was indeed her sister, a thought which filled her with both trepidation and excitement. She also knew, however, that El Gordo’s was not the sort of place you strolled into, flashing your badge, and asking questions. As a well-known haunt for members of the Paraiso Azul, a Mexican cartel whose operations sometimes spilled across the border into Texas and New Mexico, it was a place from which the police kept a healthy distance, observing but rarely interfering unless they had clear grounds to do so.
If Cole was going to go in there and come out with Kelly, without starting a gunfight, she would have to play her cards very carefully.
Convinced she had located her sister, Cole stowed the camera in the glove box. Then she opened the door of her Jeep and stepped out into the early sunshine, which blazed over the rooftops of the buildings, summoning waves of heat up from the asphalt. Several vehicles, most of them with tinted windows, clustered in front of the restaurant whose shades were drawn to prevent any prying eyes – like Cole’s, for instance – from seeing what was going on inside.
Just get in, grab Kelly, and get out, she told herself. Keep it simple, and don’t get killed.
As excited as she was at the prospect of seeing the sister who had been presumed dead for about half of Cole’s life, she didn’t want to risk her sister’s life or her own by rushing in there unprepared. For that reason, she headed for the alley that ran behind the restaurant, an alley she had scouted earlier that morning. The back door was locked, but Cole knew that one of the cooks was an inveterate smoker who took a break every hour.
It was only a matter of time before he stepped out for a smoke.
The rancid odor of fat reached Cole as she entered the alley. A pair of dumpsters stood only a short distance from the restaurant’s back door, and flies drifted about, buzzing like bombers.
Covering her nose with the collar of her blouse, Cole leaned against the wall beside a stack of empty, broken pallets. There were no cameras around, no windows, no way for anyone to know she was back there. All she had to do was to keep quiet and wait.
Sweat trickled down her back, as much from anticipation as from the heat. She tried to tell herself this was just another case, no different from the dozens that had come before it, but who was she kidding? This was her baby sister she was looking for, not a stranger she had never met and knew hardly anything about. Despite how much compassion she felt for all victims of crime, whether it be homicide or trafficking or other deviant acts, she couldn’t deny that what she was doing now was entirely different from any work that had come before it.
In a way, this felt almost like her first case: the excitement, the sense of infinite possibilities, the pressure to do everything the right way the first time. She was keenly aware just how deeply any setback here would affect her—and how much she would blame herself if she screwed up this chance at finding Kelly.
Breathe, just breathe. The last thing you need is more stress. Just clear your mind, calm your body, and wait.
She did so, closing her eyes for a few moments and focusing on the details around her, unpleasant as they might be: the buzzing of the flies, the sickly sweet odor of the trash, the sandpaper-like grit of the brick wall behind her. All these things grounded her, reminded her where she was, pulling her out of her worries and back into her body.
When she was calm again, she pushed off from the wall and approached the door, deciding to check it on the off chance it was unlocked. It was a steel door, gray and dented, with a large handle sticking out like some kind of awkward telephone in its cradle. She grabbed the handle and gently pulled.
The door moved just enough for the bolt to click against the interior edge of the wall.
Cole stepped back and sighed, trying not to be disappointed. This was, after all, what she had expected. A place like El Gordo’s didn’t leave doors unlocked, perhaps not even the front one. It would be too easy for a couple of shooters from a rival cartel to slip in.
She was debating whether she should keep waiting or try to find an alternative way inside when she heard footsteps. Dashing behind the stack of broken crates, she squatted and peered through the gaps in the boards, watching as the door swung open with a rusty whine. A short, balding man came out, a large apron draped around his neck and a box in his right hand.
