Detective Jack Stratton Box Set
Murder Mystery Collection
A Riveting Suspense Series
Christopher Greyson
Contents
GIRL JACKED – First Book in the Series
JACK KNIFED – Second Book in the Series
AND THEN SHE WAS GONE – Bonus Prequel
Also by Christopher Greyson
The Girl Who Lived: A Thrilling Suspense Novel
The Detective Jack Stratton Series:
And Then She Was Gone
Girl Jacked
Jack Knifed
Jacks are Wild
Jack and the Giant Killer
Data Jack
Jack of Hearts
Jack Frost
Jack of Diamonds
Pure of Heart: A Fantasy Adventure
The Adventures of Finn & Annie: A Mini-Mystery Series
Contents
1. Nothing More
2. The Boar’s Butt
3. You Suck
4. Drama Queen
5. Fish Out of Water
6. You Will Know Pain
7. Perpetually Weird
8. Mommy
9. Inking
10. She Slimed Me
11. The Downs
12. Try to Outshout Me
13. Killer Reindeer
14. That’s Always Dangerous
15. A Giant Hobbit
16. Chicken Head
17. It Was Me
18. Sometimes… We All Do
19. First Dibs
20. Good and Bad
21. So Much for Green
22. Homecoming
23. The Void Beckons
24. Aluminum Foil and Other Kitchen Stuff
25. Ask a Better Question
26. But for the Grace of God Go I
27. Dirty Dancing
28. Iron Man
29. Drunken Grasshopper
30. CooKI3$
31. Following the Bread Crumbs
32. Girl Jacked
33. Speed Kills
34. Loose Ends
35. The Pit
36. Stupid but Brilliant
37. Pendulum
38. Box Full of Memories
39. Under the Rocks
40. You Are Sick
41. The Beast
42. I Got This One
Epilogue
The Detective Jack Stratton Mystery-Thriller Series
The Adventures of Finn & Annie — MiniMystery Series
Acknowledgments
About The Author
1
Nothing More
Two women anxiously waited on the hard, wooden bench of the Fairfield police station. Haddie Williams and her much younger friend—one of her many foster children over the years—looked down the hall toward its opposite end, seeking news, not sure they wanted to hear it.
At last, a lanky police detective with a downcast face ambled toward them. As he handed the old woman a copy of the missing person report, he said, in a monotone, “I’m sorry, ma’am, but there’s nothing more we can do.”
The words hit Haddie like a punch in the chest. The old woman stood, though her body shook. Years of hard work had worn her down until she was frail and bent, but that wasn’t the reason she trembled. Right now, her soul ached. She looked up—her brown eyes pleading her case. “I raised that little girl since she was five. I know her. She’d never leave without telling me.”
The detective’s gaze wandered down the hallway as he scratched at the base of his jaw. “Well… you know, she’s in college. She’s over twenty-one. Kids grow up and want to lead their own lives. We get reports like this all the time.” He escorted them to the front door of the police station. “Give her a week or two and she’ll come home, probably looking for money. They always do.” He patted the old woman on the back.
Haddie’s maternal hackles rose. “I’ve raised twenty-seven foster children, including my friend here.” She glanced at the young woman next to her. “I know my Michelle. She never missed one day at school or got into any trouble. She studied hard and helped around the house. She’d never leave without letting me know.” Her companion nodded her head vigorously in agreement, setting her ponytail bobbing.
“Yes, ma’am. You let us know when you hear from her.” As he held the door open, the world-weary policeman’s expression made it clear that whatever compassion or drive had led him to join the police force had long since ebbed away and he wasn’t going to help.
The wind blew cold and bitter around the corner of the building. Haddie shivered as the door clicked shut behind her. It could have closed with a thunderous boom and it wouldn’t have sounded any more final.
At the top of the steps she lifted her face to the darkening winter sky. The thought of Michelle out there, alone, afraid…
Her ebony hands balled into fists. “You need to go get Jack,” she said.
“But Aunt Haddie, he—”
Haddie clutched the young woman’s arm with one hand and the cold metal railing with the other. Almost to herself, she whispered, “Jack will find Michelle.”
“But… he hasn’t been back to visit since he left the Army.”
Haddie’s chin quivered, but her eyes were unwavering. “Something’s happened to Michelle. I’m sure of it. And Jack will find her.”
The young woman’s green eyes hardened. “Are you sure he’ll help us? Why hasn’t he come back since…” Her voice trailed off.
Haddie closed her eyes and shivered a little. “He blames himself for what happened. But I know Jack. He’ll help. He’ll bring Michelle back.”
The young woman fastened the top button of Haddie’s jacket. “Let me get you home.”
“You promise to go?” Haddie squeezed her hand. “You have to promise me. And trust Jack.”
The young woman nodded.
Haddie looked up again at the sky. “Better hurry. It looks like rain.”
2
The Boar’s Butt
“Jack?” The female police dispatcher’s voice crackled over the radio.
“Copy.”
“We’ve got a ten-ten in progress at the Boar’s Butt.”
Jack always laughed at the offbeat name. Calling the Boar’s Butt a restaurant was a stretch. It served a few different types of pizza. If you asked for an appetizer, the waitress pushed a bowl of popcorn closer to you. They served beer, hard liquor, and cheap wine out of a can for the rare drinker who dared to ask. Said establishment was a local bar and pizza joint that mainly catered to a regular crowd of rowdy guys and featured often in ten-ten calls.
“Any other info?” The adrenaline began to pump as Jack swung the cruiser around and hit the lights.
“Bartender called it in. No other details. Backup’s going to be delayed. What’s your ETA?”
“Ten minutes.”
“Ten-four, Officer Stratton.”
Jack grinned. He never got tired of hearing those words, Officer Stratton. He’d survived a tour of duty in Iraq, struggled with money through college, entered the police academy, landed his first job here in Darrington—all pretty much as planned. He was the low man on the totem pole, and routinely assigned the graveyard shift, but he didn’t care. He was living his dream, doing the thing he loved—being an officer of the law. It was the only good part of his life he had left.
Jack’s smile grew as the cruiser’s speed increased. He glanced at the dashboard clock: 11:35 p.m. There wasn’t another car on the road, no nightlife or excitement at this hour as he raced through the sleepy backwater of Darrington. He gripped the steering wheel and settled back into the seat; the leather creaked happily as he took the corners. He felt alive.
The other cops knew Jack had practically claimed
the new, refitted Charger as his own. V8 Hemi engine, 368 horsepower, 395 pounds of torque roaring to life every time he went out on patrol.
And to Jack, the car did belong to him, which was why he’d almost gotten into a fistfight with another officer, Billy Murphy, when someone saw Murphy doing doughnuts with it in a deserted parking lot. Billy Murphy was a beneficiary of clear nepotism—his father-in-law was the county commissioner. No matter how many times Murphy screwed up, nothing changed. So, getting one up on Murphy every time he drove this baby only made it more enjoyable.
Jack cut down a side road that ran straight for a mile, telephone poles whizzing by. When he pinned the gas pedal to the floor, the Hemi purred with pleasure. A rush of adrenaline surged through him as he relished his momentary freedom. Keeping his hands slightly loose on the wheel, Jack made only minor corrections. But all too soon he neared the end of the street and had to slow down.
He killed the lights and rolled into the bar’s parking lot. He was already in enough hot water with Sheriff Collins, so he decided to angle the Charger pointing toward the woods rather than the front of the bar. No need for the dash cam footage to end up on the boss’s desk.
There were fewer than a dozen cars and trucks parked outside. Jack scanned them quickly. Two stood out: an old Chevy Super Sport and an enormous red Timberline work truck. Jack had pulled the Chevy over a number of times and the guy who owned it also owned quite an attitude. He fancied himself a tough guy and a ladies’ man. Jack didn’t think he was either.
The Timberline truck meant he’d find lumberjacks inside. After a dangerous tour of duty overseas, Jack had seen some tough guys, but a lumberjack made his shortlist of guys he didn’t want to fight.
He grabbed a backup set of cuffs and jumped out, instinctively snagging his hat before locking the door. His instincts were now honed to a sharp edge by the academy. Something as simple as a hat could be used for crowd control—from the gold shield on top to the trick of angling your head to hide your eyes.
He ran his fingers through his dark-brown hair. Sensing something in the air, he pulled his hat down a little lower than usual.
It’s a fight. Crowd control: investigate, intimidate, dissipate.
Climbing the steps that led to the outside deck of the rundown bar, he made sure not to touch the thick railing made out of two-inch rusted plumbing pipe screwed into the porch; it would turn the palm of your hand rusty-orange the instant you touched it. He held the large wooden door open for a young couple hurrying out.
“Thank you, Officer.” The man looked nervously over his shoulder back into the bar and prodded his girlfriend to move faster. She flashed a smile at Jack that must have lingered a little too long, because the boyfriend hustled her down the steps, glaring at Jack.
Jack hid a smile. He was used to the unwanted attention, though he played down his looks as much as possible. All he knew was that he’d never had to work too hard to attract the ladies—though keeping their attention, as he was well aware, was not so easy.
The entire restaurant was a single large open area with a kitchen at the back. Opposite the door was a long serving bar with a dozen stools. Booths lined the other walls. Next to them were five large tables, each covered with a red-and-white-checkered vinyl tablecloth. Jammed into a corner beside two pinball machines was a jukebox. The smell of pizza and beer filled the air. The brown floor had been painted so many times it was hard to tell it was wood.
Jack could see the problem the moment he walked in. No one could miss the three drunken lumberjacks standing next to the jukebox, laughing. None of the men stood less than six feet, and one was a giant of a man—three hundred pounds easy.
Figures. Paul Bunyans. Wonderful.
The jukebox was playing Dwight Yoakam’s “Little Sister.” Jack cracked his neck and rolled his shoulders. At six-one and a hundred ninety-five pounds, he could easily intimidate most guys, but that wouldn’t work with these three.
The bartender, a fat guy with a beer belly, hustled over to Jack. He looked pale. “I didn’t serve them. They showed up stewed. They said they ain’t leaving without a drink.”
Jack nodded.
“These same guys were here last season. They smashed the place up when the owner kicked them out.”
“You want to press charges?”
“No!” The guy wiped his brow with a stained dish rag. “I just want them out of here.”
“Okay, thanks.”
Jack looked around at the other people in the room. Some stared at him blankly. Others just peeked up. A few even smiled. The one emotion they all seemed to share was hope. Jack felt the weight of the badge on his chest. They expect me to handle it. That’s what cops do. We come and bring the peace.
The three men stopped laughing and turned to look at Jack. The biggest one held a nine-inch hunting knife. As an uncomfortable silence settled in, the bartender moved away.
Backup is going to be delayed, Jack cautioned himself.
“Hello, Officer,” the drunken goliath with the knife hollered out. “We’re just playing darts!” He looked at his buddies. “But they didn’t have any, so we had to use our own.” He laughed and launched his blade across the room at the tattered dartboard. When it hit with a thump, the three men cheered wildly.
“Are you here for a game?” mocked one of the other men—Chevy Super Sport.
Jack saw two knives sticking out of the board and scanned the hands of the lumberjacks. Empty.
He looked around the tightly packed room full of innocent bystanders. He had to get the troublemakers outside. “Can I have your attention?” Jack’s voice was calm as he held up his hands. He didn’t have to shout. Everyone was already looking at him. “Would the owner of a red pickup truck please come to the front of the building?”
“Why?” sneered the third lumberjack, the smallest of the three.
Jack lowered his arms. “Because his truck is on fire.”
The lumberjacks looked at one another in bewilderment and then scrambled for the front door. The smallest man reached it first and yanked it open, but the giant pushed him aside. Then the Chevy owner charged through, leaving the small guy holding the door.
Perfect.
As the last man stepped outside, Jack moved like lightning. He slapped one of the handcuffs over the man’s wrist and the other through the door handle.
As the second guy started down the deck stairs, Jack yelled, “Watch your step!”
In his drunken stupor, the man panicked and grabbed for the railing. Jack dashed up behind the pudgy one and handcuffed his fat wrist to the railing.
Two down—one to go.
The giant had stopped in the middle of the parking lot. He looked at his truck, and his face scrunched up. “My truck’s fine.” He turned to Jack. “There’s no fire!” Confusion quickly turned to anger when he saw his friends in cuffs; he crouched and prepared to charge. “You stopped my dart game,” he slurred. “I’m gonna stomp you!” He rushed forward.
Jack stepped to the right and grabbed the hulking man by his collar and belt.
This is gonna hurt.
Jack pulled the guy against his leg, twisted his body, and pivoted his hip, leveraging the three-hundred-pound lummox right off his feet. Both men groaned as the guy’s feet went straight up and Jack strained, pushing him toward the pinnacle of the flip, then stepped aside. His adrenaline rush, pushed into overdrive, caused everything to slow. The man seemed to hang in the air like a basketball player whose slam dunk had gone terribly wrong.
The giant landed flat on his back with a thud and an explosive groan that blasted all the air from his lungs.
As the lumberjack opened and closed his mouth like a fish out of water, Jack flexed his shoulders, took a step forward, and leaned over. “I’m sorry, sir. It seems you tripped.”
The lumberjack winced.
“You’re going to leave now, and everything will be fine.” He waved his hand like Obi-Wan Kenobi. “But if you give me any lip, I’ll take the three of you
in right now.”
The large man nodded, and Jack gave him a hand to get to his feet. He tried to look menacing as he walked over to the other lumberjacks, who had silently watched the scene unfold.
“We’ll go. Sorry. We’ll go now,” the tough guy, who no longer looked so tough, babbled.
Total surrender. Cool. Jack allowed himself a little smirk, set him free, and the man hurried over to his friend, who was still panting and gasping with his hands on his knees.
The last lumberjack stood cuffed to the door. Jack crossed his arms and furrowed his brow.
“Sorry,” the man muttered sheepishly as he looked at his feet.
Take out the big guy and the little ones fall into line.
“How many drinks have you had?” Jack asked as he unlocked the cuffs.
“Two, sir.”
“You’re designated driver. Got it?”
“Yes. Thank you, Officer.”
The two smaller men helped their giant friend to the truck just as another police car, its lights flashing, skidded to a stop in the parking lot. All three lumberjacks looked nervously back at Jack. He waved them on as Officer Kendra Darcey jumped out of her cruiser, her shotgun at the ready.
He gave her a quick nod. “Everything’s under control.” Both of them watched the red truck pull slowly out of the parking lot.