A Riveting Crime Thriller Book Series
Ronin Nash Thrillers by Stuart Field
Series Excerpt
Nicolas Blake had left early the following day. He had crept about, trying to be as quiet as possible, as he often did at home after working late. But as he made his way into the kitchen, he found the coffee was already made and a note from Nash to say he’d gone fishing for breakfast.
Blake already felt that he’d overstayed his welcome, so remaining for breakfast would’ve been pushing it. Besides, he had to get back to DC before the traffic hit. Blake got his thermos cup and filled it. The coffee had a fantastic aroma, one he’d never encountered before. He hoped it tasted as good.
As he went to leave, Blake stopped, thinking it only polite to leave a note. He went to the desk in the office and started to write. It was a simple, great to catch up and thanks for the meal and the chat, kind of note. He also left his number at the agency just in case Nash changed his mind.
Blake looked back at the computer; he thought about copying the stories he’d gotten most of the way through. They had been pretty good. But he decided it had been a personal thing, therapy, not that Nash needed it.
He closed the front door behind him and climbed into the black Yukon. He was not looking forward to the drive, the sun was already up, and the temperature rose. He put the shift into drive and let the vehicle crawl away back up the path.
***
As the vehicle disappeared into a cloud of dust, Nash stood in the tree line, watching. He had never intended to go fishing. Instead, Nash just used it as an excuse to get out of the house for a while. Nash knew Blake wouldn’t stay; he’d come to do what he had to, and now it was time to get the hell out of there.
Nash walked back to the house, entered through the porchway door, and headed inside the kitchen. He poured himself a coffee from the machine and sat at the breakfast bar. He saw the note and smiled. The telephone number was Blake’s final plea for him to come back, but Nash wasn’t biting.
He took his coffee and headed for the office to check the news sites. Even though he was no longer an agent, he liked to keep up to date.
Nash flicked on the computer and eased himself into his thick padded leather chair. He flipped through the channels, discarding the boring stories, and concentrated on the more interesting ones. Then, suddenly, one story caught his eye.
It was a report on several bodies found in an old mine shaft in a small town in New York. The report was vague, making Nash smile at the rather curious timing. It was as if Blake had leaked the story himself to capture Nash’s interest.
A mine would be on federal land— this was the case Blake wanted him on; he was sure of it. The reporter said three victims had been unidentified adults, but they would know more after the autopsy.
He looked over at the envelope that Blake had conveniently left in his office. Nash shook his head and picked it up, then used the pull opener on the envelope before searching through the file Blake had left. There was little in the report but plenty of photographs of the scene. The bodies did appear small, but they had been found curled up, making a size approximation challenging.
The bodies had been there a while, and decomposition was well underway. If there were any wounds, they would be found at the autopsy. The report said that it was possibly death by exposure because of the bad weather months before. Also, Finchley had a spate of homeless people seeking shelter in the mine in the past. They might have gone inside and frozen to death.
Nash spent some time looking over the file. He even did a web search on Finchley itself.
He studied the information on the internet. He found it curious that the town seemed to be doing okay despite the hardship. It had farmland that was doing more than well. If anything, the farms kept the town afloat. Then, he began to read about the mine and how it had closed after so many years. Primarily because of funding problems and because they hadn’t found gold or coal, which made Nash think, what had they been hoping to find? It was possible someone had found some gold there at one point and had thought it was full of the stuff. So, the mine got deeper year after year but gave up nothing until they eventually stopped pouring money into it. Nash didn’t want to jump into a case, but something about this nagged at him. None of it made sense.
For a start, why was the IIB involved? Next, the town itself was a mystery. But, despite his better judgment, Nash was intrigued.
Nash looked over at the phone on the corner of the desk. He glared at the black plastic as though he was willing it to come to him— or burst into flames so he wouldn’t do what he was contemplating. Finally, Nash grabbed the cordless handset and dialed. “Damn you, Nick,” Nash said as he waited for the ring tone.
The phone rang for several seconds; Nash figured either Blake had hit traffic or was just screwing with Nash to see if he canceled the call. Nash knew that Blake had a theory that the person was committed and had already made their mind up after ten seconds. On the eleventh second, Blake answered.
“I take it you’re in?” Blake asked.
“Depends,” Nash replied.
“On what?” Blake said.
“Is it the thing with the bodies in the mine?” Nash asked.
“Yep. Thought you could do your magic.”
“Okay, but just this one case. After that, I’m done. This is just a favor to you,” Nash said.
“Okay, deal. Head to the New York office. It’s in the FBI building for the moment. Speak to Dixon. He’ll give you the details. And, Nash?” Blake said, his tone full of concern.
“Yeah, don’t worry, I’ll put a suit on,” Nash said, rubbing a hand across his beard.
“Cool, but I was going to say…be nice,” Blake said.
“Don’t push it, Nick. You’re already getting me back on the job,” Nash said and hung up.
Back in the Yukon, Blake was smiling; he’d managed to get the best-damned investigator he’d ever worked with under his wing. But he couldn’t smile too much because Nash was also a pain in the ass and not a people person. The department was not going to be happy with his arrival— and that included Frank Dixon.
***
Nash tossed the handset onto the desk and leaned back in the chair. He looked at the coffee in his mug and watched the steam rise from the dark liquid. Nash was happy in his life by the lake. It was quiet. He had time to himself, but his overactive and curious mind wouldn’t stay calm. Still, it had been a long time since he’d done any investigating. Maybe it was a perishable skill, and he wasn’t that guy anymore; perhaps he’d lost the talent. But then Nash didn’t know what would be worse, to find he had lost all his skills as an investigator, or that he’d still got it even after all this time?
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