The Evan Buckley Thrillers: Books 1 - 4 (Evan Buckley Thrillers Boxsets) Read online

  EVAN BUCKLEY THRILLERS: BOOKS 1 - 4

  BAD TO THE BONES

  KENTUCKY VICE

  SINS OF THE FATHER

  NO REST FOR THE WICKED

  JAMES HARPER

  CONTENTS

  BAD TO THE BONES

  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

  KENTUCKY VICE

  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

  SINS OF THE FATHER

  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

  Epilogue

  NO REST FOR THE WICKED

  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

  EXCERPT: RESURRECTION BLUES

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  GET TWO FREE EXCLUSIVE EVAN BUCKLEY MURDER MYSTERIES

  ENJOYED THIS BOOK? YOU CAN HELP THE NEXT READER TO ENJOY IT, TOO.

  MORE BOOKS BY JAMES HARPER

  DEDICATION

  Copyright © 2017

  www.jamesharperbooks.com

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means without the prior written permission of the publisher, nor be otherwise circulated in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published and without a similar condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser.

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

  BAD TO THE BONES

  EVAN BUCKLEY THRILLERS #1

  Chapter 1

  ‘HEY, YOU! WHAT THE hell you think you’re doing, you pervert?’

  The indignant shout carried all the way across the quiet of the parking lot, cutting through the steady drizzle that had been coming down for the past hour. Evan turned towards it, saw a guy coming out the motel lobby, starting towards him, something black in his hand.

  I’m going to kick this door in, what does it look like?

  But then the guy stopped, thinking better of it.

  ‘I’m calling the police right now.’ He turned back towards the office, paused again when Evan didn’t move. ‘You hear me?’

  Evan heard him, he wasn’t deaf. Wet and cold, feeling slimy, but not deaf. It was now or never.

  He hated this.

  He hated all of it, but this was the worst by far. It made him loathe himself. Made him want to poke his own eyes out. It brought home just how grubby and squalid it all was. How far into the stinking gutter of humanity he’d fallen. How warmly that gutter had embraced him. The guy was right. It had turned him into a degenerate and a pervert.

  It was confrontational and d
angerous with all the testosterone and adrenalin bouncing around the room. He could look after himself if it all kicked off, but you never knew how they’d react, what kind of drugs they might be on or if there was a gun on the nightstand, so he’d backed his car up as close as possible and left the door open with the motor running, the rain soaking into the driver’s seat.

  He’d followed the woman making the oh, oh, oh sounds on the other side of the door to this shabby, sad motel and watched her as she waited in her car, the windows misting with her hot, excited breath as the rain beaded on the glass. The guy he’d dubbed Mr Pneumatic had arrived, unfolded himself from his car and stood, his hand resting on the car door, surveying the place like he’d built it. Evan had got a number of shots as they embraced quickly and dashed into the room together. That was the easy part squared away. Now he needed them naked, their faces clearly identifiable—what he thought of as the money shot.

  But still he hesitated. You’d think he’d got used to it by now, but each time it got worse, not easier. He stood in front of the door, the sounds on the other side increasing in their intensity, took a deep breath and drove the heel of his boot into the cheap door just below the lock. The flimsy frame splintered with a sharp crack and the door flew open, revealing the cheating minx and her lover in all their sweaty, naked glory.

  Perfect.

  He stepped quickly into the room and breathed in the warm, salty aroma, the dirty, musky smell of sin. He shook his head to clear it as the earthy odor rose up from the bed and flowed zephyr-like across the room to welcome him.

  ‘Hey. What the . . . you can’t do that.’

  Outside in the parking lot the manager changed direction again, broke into a run. A door opened a couple of rooms down and a guy in a striped bathrobe stepped out to see what all the commotion was, pressed himself into the wall when he saw the look on the manager’s face as he charged past.

  Evan got off a half-dozen fast shots as they gawked at him open-mouthed, too astonished to even cover up. He was back at his car before the guy’s indignant shout was past his teeth. The manager was twenty yards away, coming on fast, his blackjack arm already raised, an unintelligible howl spewing from his mouth. Evan jumped in and stomped on the gas, slamming the door and spinning his wheels as the tires bit and he took off.

  But the guy in the room was fast, unbelievably fast. He’d either had a lot of practice doing this or he was just naturally fast at pulling on his pants. He pushed himself off the woman. His elbow squashed her firm, tanned breasts, making her squeal like a stuck pig. He pole vaulted off the bed, pulled on his pants and was out of the room before Evan had gone ten yards.

  He didn’t get much further as two fast-moving bodies came together as one. He smacked bang into the manager, their heads colliding with a bone-jarring thump and the two of them bounced off each other. The manager went down on his ass and landed in a puddle, blood pouring from his nose. The guy from the room flew backwards into the door frame, pushed himself off again, leapt over the manager’s sprawling arms and legs and ran, holding up his pants with one hand as he chased after the car and screamed blue murder at it.

  And, despite his remarkable bedroom performance, he still had a ton of energy left. His adrenalin-fuelled legs pumped up and down like well-oiled pistons, his bare feet pounding across the parking lot, impervious to the grit and the gravel and the broken glass that littered the ground.

  Behind him, the nosy neighbour helped the manager to his feet. The manager gave him an irritated, ungrateful shove and started running again, yelling at the top of his voice. All around the parking lot lights went on and doors opened, curious faces peeked out.

  Evan pulled out of the lot and slowed to a crawl. He looked in his mirror. The guy was almost touching the trunk, his mouth stretched into a rictus of fury, streaks of spittle spraying across his face. He’d never seen such wild eyes—not on anything that walked on two legs and didn’t live in a cage. He had to time it just right. He stamped on the brake. The guy slammed into the trunk, bounced off and landed hard on his ass in the gutter. Two yards behind him the manager tried to stop, to swerve, but he was too close. He slipped on the wet pavement, his knees caught the guy in the side of the head, their legs got all tangled up and he went down on his chin.

  Evan gave the horn a couple of toots and pulled away slowly. The guy pushed and shoved at the manager lying dazed across him, scrambled up and tore after him again. Evan smiled to himself. It was working. The guy had to think he had a chance of catching him and keep chasing after him. He needed to draw him as far away as possible before rational thinking overrode the testosterone and the guy turned around and went back for his car. The down side was that the guy was getting a good long look at his license plate.

  It took the guy two blocks before he finally realized what was going on. Evan watched him in the rear-view mirror as he stopped and bent forward, his hands resting on his knees, chest heaving and his head hanging down as he stared at his feet, blood mingling with dirty rainwater on the wet asphalt. He raised his head again and even at the distance away he was, Evan felt the burning hatred in his eyes on the back of his neck.

  This one would be a problem.

  The slowing down trick had worked, but, even so, his heart was trying to kick its way out of his chest. He needed a drink to calm his nerves. He drove slowly back to his office. The guy wouldn’t follow him now. Another day, yes, but not tonight. He had a lot of explaining to do tonight.

  Chapter 2

  HE PARKED IN THE shadows behind his office building and sat still for a long time, staring out into the empty darkness. The indefinable smell of sex lingered in his nostrils, taunting him, the guy’s feral eyes still fresh in his mind. He picked up his camera and looked through the images he’d just taken.

  Perfect.

  The pair of them, buck naked in high definition. Two startled faces looking exactly like a pair of stupid goldfish with their mouths hanging open. He spent a moment admiring the woman’s obvious attractions and then turned his attention to the guy. He had no idea who he was, but he clearly spent all his time in the gym when he wasn’t screwing somebody else’s wife.

  He dropped the camera on the seat and rested his head on the steering wheel. A rising tide of self-loathing and disgust overcame him, as it always did after the adrenalin had leached away. What on earth had happened to him? This wasn’t how it was meant to be. Not exactly Philip Marlowe chasing down long-lost heiresses for aged billionaires in sunny California. And the worst was still to come.

  He went up to his office, made a pot of coffee and loaded the images onto his computer while he waited for his client to arrive. The client was already late—nobody shows up early for an appointment with the man who’s about to bring their world crashing down around their ears.

  The coffee was long since cold by the time the elevator pinged and he went to the door to greet his client, feeling like a cross between an undertaker and a priest about to administer the last rites. Stanton kept his eyes on his shoes as he entered. Evan was used to that, made sure his own were always presentable. He didn’t mind but sometimes a grunt would have been nice.

  It never got beyond an uncomfortable, stilted formality with any of his clients. He liked to keep a certain professional detachment. It made things easier when it was time to dismantle their lives. As for the clients, you don’t rush to get on first name terms with the man who’s just finished watching your wife being screwed by another man. And who’s about to lay out the evidence in front of you on his grubby little desk. And who then expects you to pay him for humiliating you.

  Kevin Stanton looked dull. A forgettable man in his early forties, medium height with a blue suit, no tie and brown suede shoes. Not fat or ugly, adequate personal hygiene—he just didn’t look like he was much fun to be with. He wore rimless eyeglasses like an accountant, the impression reinforced by his battered leather briefcase. It wasn’t surprising his wife looked elsewhere for her kicks. The man sitting in front of him was just p
lain dull. And now it was his job to add pain and unhappiness to his sad life.

  Stanton had come to him a week earlier and poured out his heart. He was sure his wife was having an affair. He had no idea who the bastard might be. Often Evan was the first person they confided in, the first time they voiced their concerns. And so it all came gushing out. Then, once it was out, they were embarrassed. They either clammed up entirely or resented Evan as if it was his fault or he was judging them.

  ‘Well? Is she seeing someone else?’ Stanton asked in a brittle voice.

  His cheeks were slightly flushed. He took off his glasses, inspected them and decided they were clean, put them back on. He still didn’t look Evan in the eye. Evan was used to talking to the top of people’s heads. With a lot of people, it was the best view.

  Evan nodded.

  ‘I followed them to a motel earlier this evening.’

  Stanton stifled a low moan.

  ‘You’ve got evidence? Photos?’

  ‘They’re on here.’

  Evan tapped his computer, adjusted the screen so they could both see it. He was about to open the file when Stanton put his hand on top of his to stop him. The hand was warm and moist, his whole arm shaking.

  ‘Is there any chance it’s a mistake? A misunderstanding?’

  He looked up into Evan’s eyes for the first time, and Evan forced himself to not look away from what he saw—the last vestige of hope. Hope that he was about to grind into the dirt.

  He bit his lip, shook his head slowly.

  ‘No.’

  God, how he hated this.

  ‘I’m sorry.’

  Stanton dropped his eyes again.

  ‘I don’t know if I can do this.’

  ‘It’s your decision. I’m not here to make you do anything you don’t want to. But, in my experience, if you don’t see it for yourself, you’ll end up convincing yourself it’s not true.’

  Stanton swallowed hard and nodded, told him to just get it over with.

  Evan opened the first image. It showed Stanton’s wife and Mr Pneumatic climbing out of their cars in front of the motel room. Stanton shot his hand out and clamped it over Evan’s, a look of horror spreading across his face. Evan was surprised by the strength in his grip.

  ‘Stop! Zoom in on that.’

  Evan twisted his hand, pulled it out from under Stanton’s. He zoomed in on his wife’s face.