Die Cold Read online

  Die Cold

  Jake Boulder Book 4

  Graham Smith

  Contents

  Author’s note

  Also by Graham Smith

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  Chapter 38

  Chapter 39

  Chapter 40

  Chapter 41

  Chapter 42

  Chapter 43

  Chapter 44

  Chapter 45

  Chapter 46

  Chapter 47

  Chapter 48

  Chapter 49

  Chapter 50

  Chapter 51

  Chapter 52

  Chapter 53

  Chapter 54

  Chapter 55

  Chapter 56

  Chapter 57

  Chapter 58

  Chapter 59

  Chapter 60

  Chapter 61

  Chapter 62

  Chapter 63

  Chapter 64

  Chapter 65

  Chapter 66

  Chapter 67

  Chapter 68

  Chapter 69

  Chapter 70

  Chapter 71

  Chapter 72

  Chapter 73

  Chapter 74

  Chapter 75

  Chapter 76

  Chapter 77

  Chapter 78

  Chapter 79

  Chapter 80

  Chapter 81

  Chapter 82

  Chapter 83

  Chapter 84

  Chapter 85

  Chapter 86

  Copyright © 2018 Graham Smith

  The right of Graham Smith to be identified as the Author of the Work has been asserted by him in accordance Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.

  First published in 2018 by Bloodhound Books

  Apart from any use permitted under UK copyright law, this publication may only be reproduced, stored, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means, with prior permission in writing of the publisher or, in the case of reprographic production, in accordance with the terms of licences issued by the Copyright Licensing Agency.

  All characters in this publication are fictitious and any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

  www.bloodhoundbooks.com

  Author’s note

  One or two readers have commented that the Boulder novels are written using UK English, rather than US English, despite them being set in the United States. This was a conscious decision I made when first starting to write about Boulder. To my mind, he is born and bred in the UK, therefore, UK English fits him and his stories best. Any mistakes made with the American language are my mistakes, although I make no apology for the fact that Boulder still thinks of certain things in a British way.”

  Cheers

  Graham

  Also by Graham Smith

  Jake Boulder Series

  Watching The Bodies ( Book 1)

  The Kindred Killers ( Book 2)

  Past Echoes ( Book 3)

  Praise for Graham Smith

  "This is one hell of a rollercoaster that just kept me glued to my kindle, but it was a roller coaster I didn’t want to end." Claire Knight - A Knight's Reads

  "The story itself was very entertaining and kept me gripped throughout the entire book. It seems that Graham Smith has a knack of really capturing the story and ensuring it’s pleasing to the reader." Sean Talbot - Seans Book Reviews

  "Graham Smith has a talent for writing characters that are so personable and I do wonder if my emotions can handle much more! A fantastic addition to the Jake Boulder series; five stars from me." Ellen Devonport - Bibliophile Book Club

  "Past Echoes is an excellent title for this extremely exciting book that is full of gameplay..." Alexina Golding – Bookstormer

  "Another book I could talk about forever…I cannot tell you all the WOW, OMFG and WTAF moments because this is one book you NEED to read for yourself." Noelle Holten – CrimeBookJunkie

  "I find Graham Smith’s writing to be unique like the work of Karin Slaughter. His prose is completely purposeful and done with taste..." Samantha Ellen - Clues and Reviews

  "This is another fantastic cat and mouse thriller. I haven’t been disappointed yet by Smith and his writing – you’re on the edge of your seat for the majority of the book." Jessica Robins - Jessicamap Reviews

  "Past Echoes gives you thrilling, psychological drama at it’s best with Jake Boulder, meaner and tougher than ever before." Sharon Bairden - Chapter In My Life

  "There were a lot of “OMG!” moments in this book, and I can’t wait to see what Mr Smith has planned for Jake in the next instalment." Danielle Ryan - The Blonde Likes Books

  "Raw, evocative and deliciously intense. I loved it!" Emma Welton – damppebbles.com

  "If it’s possible, the Jake Boulder series is getting even better. This book just grabbed me and didn’t let go until the very end..." Ashley Gillan - (e)Book Nerd Reviews

  "Great characters, a fast-paced narrative and an addictive storyline all add up to make this thriller a must read!" Joanne Robertson - My Chestnut Reading Tree

  "Smith excels in scenes where Boulder has to face down his adversaries. There's plenty of smart dialogue and great action." Colman Keane - Col's Criminal Library

  "I thoroughly enjoyed this book, it was one of those books that you want to read in one sitting, it is fast-paced and full of action!" Donna Maguire - Donnas Book Blog

  "I have loved each and every one of these books, I love Graham's style of writing, the knack he has to get the reader involved in the story is first class." Vicki Wilkinson - ILoveReadingUK

  [I’ve] had a wonderful evening but this wasn’t it.

  Groucho Marx

  Chapter 1

  Singers aren’t supposed to scream. Not even thrash metal singers – if they can be classed as singers – make a sound like the one emanating from Debbie Boitoult’s mouth. Her scream, magnified around the room by the microphone in front of her, gets everyone’s attention.

  It doesn’t take much to understand why she’s screaming. The black-clad men holding submachine guns could well be blamed for her terrified wails, but I think it’s the brunette holding the hunting knife to Debbie’s throat who scares her the most.

  My first thought is to grab my cell and dial 911. As my hand is reaching into my pocket, the lights go out.

  The lights come back on within seconds, flooding the blackened dining room with an eerie half-light that seems to echo the fearful shrieks and screams emanating from the customers.

  I stop myself, and leave my cell where it is. In today’s world, just about everyone has a cell phone on them at all times. For a group of armed people to invade a place like this there will have been a certain amount of planning beforehand. I figure almost two hundred people trying to call 911 would have been very near the top of their list of things to consider.

  Therefore, I think it’s only fair to credit the terrorists with enough intelligence to have blocked any cell signals and disabled all other communication methods.

  The way they are moving tells me a lot. They’re organised, and each terrorist seems to know their role. This means they’re well trained and working to a pre-arranged plan.

  Other than the woman, I’ve counted five armed men, and I can see other members of staff being herded out from the kitchen areas.

  When I look at the faces of the waiting staff, chefs, pot washers and chambermaids as they are driven out of the service areas, I see fear, trepidation, and very little fight. I also see more black-clad figures. My best estimation is there’s at least a dozen of them in the dining room. How many have been stationed outside the room or are engaged in searching the other areas of the resort, is an unknown.

  The fact none of the customers or staff are have-a-go-heroes is a good thing. The terrorists appear to be professionals and it would also appear that they’ve all had some level of military training. Should any of the staff or customers try and take them on, it will be suicidal at best.

  For the time being, other than a body bag and a mention on the local news, there’s little to be gained from heroics.

  I have to marvel at the ingenuity of the terrorists; a ski lodge, halfway up a mountain, that’s only accessible by cable car or helicopter, is the ideal place to stage whatever they’re planning.

  The fact they’ve chosen the most exclusive, most expensive resort in Vermont suggests the reason they’re doing this is money related. The resort’s clientele is made up of the obscenely wealthy. At twenty big ones per person, per day, RidgeTop Resort excludes the vast majority of the population through price alone.

  How I
managed to land a job tending bar in such a place is beyond me, but then again, since the events that drove me to leave my home in Casperton, Utah, I’ve been something of a drifter, and, with no ties, working twelve hour shifts right through the holiday season appealed to me in a way that repulsed others.

  My loved ones are left behind for their own safety. In the last year alone, I’ve witnessed the deaths of five people I cared for, and I blame myself for each of the lives that were taken.

  I may not have killed them myself, but four of them died because of actions I’d taken and decisions I’d made.

  Rather than endanger any more lives, I left town and drifted until I wound up taking on the role of bartender at RidgeTop Resort. I’m now earning big bucks on New Year’s Eve, while all those I care about are getting ready to party.

  The resort is an ideal target for terrorists in a lot of ways. It’s isolated, near the summit of a mountain, and the snowstorm that’s raging outside gives them a perfect cover for whatever their nefarious plans entail.

  For the police to respond to the threat they’ll have to fight through the blizzards that are covering the valley floor, just to get within a couple of miles of RidgeTop resort. After that, they'll have to find a way to get up the mountain. The cableway will deliver any would-be rescuers into the terrorists’ hands, and the snowstorm is sure to prevent a helicopter from ferrying a police assault team to the resort.

  One of the terrorists ushers me and my colleague out from behind the bar and directs us over to the knot of staff occupying the left-hand side of the dining room.

  On the right, two gunmen are standing guard over the customers, while a steady stream of people are being shepherded into the dining room by more gun-toting hoods.

  I figure there will be demands made of the customers’ loved ones – for their safe return in what is basically a mass kidnapping.

  The terrorists being predominantly western in their appearance gives me hope that this isn’t some kind of religious attack, but I could be wrong.

  What takes that hope away is being able to see the faces of all the terrorists. That isn’t good, because, with so many witnesses also being able to see their faces, they’re sure to be identified by the authorities once they leave.

  Unless they don’t plan to leave any witnesses to give descriptions.

  Chapter 2

  I take my place with the other staff and, at the insistence of the nearest terrorist, we sit on the floor.

  The last vestiges of staff and customers are being brought out from the bedrooms and service areas.

  Next to me on the floor is Sharon Bairden. Like me, she’s ex-Glasgow and, unlike me, she has military training. Upon leaving the army she had a couple of kids and divorced the major she’d married in haste.

  Sharon is a typical Glaswegian woman; she has short hair and a shorter temper, which she uses to disguise a heart of gold. I don’t have the heart to tell her that the disguise doesn’t fool anyone. Her sharing a Christian name with my sister is just one of the many things that draws me to her. She’s a good woman in every sense of the word: straight-talking, honest, and, best of all, she’s laden with a garrulousness only a Glaswegian upbringing can foster.

  I can see her eyes flicking around the room, taking in the position of every terrorist and assessing their weapons. Her face is stern and gives me the impression that my own opinions about the terrorists are shared by her.

  Rather than do nothing, I focus on the nearest guard. He’s around forty and has the wedge-shaped body of an Olympic swimmer. What disconcerts me about him more than anything is that he appears to be relaxed as he watches over us. The expression on his face is akin to that of someone sitting on a beach watching the world go by.

  Like his fellow terrorists, Swimmer wears a black T-shirt and combat pants. The boots on his feet look to be military grade and there’s a pistol in a holster on his right hip. His left hip has a knife handle sprouting from a sheath. It doesn’t take much imagination to picture the knife as being razor sharp with a row of serrated teeth on the top edge of its blade.

  I cast my eyes along to the next terrorist. He’s got the same knife and gun combo as Swimmer. His hair is cropped close in a military buzz cut.

  The most disconcerting thing about him is his gaze. Where Swimmer is relaxed and confident, Buzz Cut seems to be strung out. His eyes are darting back and forth all the time and there’s a quality about his sneers and snarls that tells me he’s just itching for someone to try their luck against him.

  His eyes find Sharon and he gives her a thorough looking over. I don’t like the way his eyes lock on Sharon’s chest and, knowing her as I do, I’m sure if he looked at her like that in a bar, he’d get either a beer shampoo, or a knee buried into his groin.

  From the corner of my eye, I see her trying to suppress a shudder. She’s too strong a woman to let him see she is disgusted by his lechery, but I can tell how she’s feeling.

  A gunshot pierces the quiet sobs and turns all our heads. The female terrorist is still on the stage and she has a handful of Debbie Boitoult’s hair that she’s using to pull the singer’s head back, exposing her throat.

  I take a look at the knife she has pressed against Debbie’s larynx, and it’s just like the one I imagined Swimmer having. A proper military knife with a serrated top edge and a blade that’s sharp enough to shave with.

  The woman presses the knife a little bit harder against Debbie’s throat. I can see the skin indenting under its pressure and the beginning of a trickle of blood forming.

  ‘Ladies and gentlemen, if I can have your attention.’

  Chapter 3

  The woman’s voice is clear and crisp with the hint of an accent. To my ear the accent is French, which makes sense given our proximity to the Canadian border.

  However, it doesn’t mean the terrorist is necessarily French Canadian. Terrorism is a global problem faced by virtually every country on earth, in one fashion or another.

  The woman, whom I’m starting to think of as being in charge, is addressing the crowd. She’s tall, lithe and clad in the same black clothes as the men. A lot of men would call her pretty and, despite being on a mission, she’s styled her hair and put on lipstick. While it would be easy to picture her as a ballerina, I can’t christen her that in my mind; it would be too ridiculous to call her that when she has a knife at someone’s throat. Instead, I simply think of her as Hannah. The name is innocuous and unthreatening. A friend’s two-year-old daughter is the inspiration for the name, and, while it might be trite to use her name for the leader of a group of terrorists, I want to manage my own growing fears that everyone who’s not a terrorist will die tonight.