D.C. has Cross, Minneapolis has Davenport, but what about Tampa? Now, Tampa has Wylde. Detective Elizabeth Wylde is unleashed on the Tampa Bay Area with full force in this first of a series titled Project Dark Savior. The Westshore murders were a series of killings that will be remembered for years to come. A tragedy imposed upon Florida so grisly, it caused Floridians who were here in the seventies to recall the moment they first heard the name… Ted Bundy. Billy Vegas was the most fascinating homicidal maniac Detective Elizabeth Wylde had ever encountered. He was responsible for elevating Wylde’s notoriety to zenith status, well beyond the fame she had earned in the early days as the Bureau’s highly publicized golden girl, but at an enormous price. On the cusp of healing from the nightmare that has been her life after losing her family, the murders on the West Shore of Tampa begin again, as if the ghost of Billy Vegas had returned from beyond the grave to exact revenge for his execution. She quickly discovers that no spirit is responsible for the new murders; the truth is far worse than that. A new breed of serial killer has arrived in the Bay area in order to make his final stand. Project Dark Savior is the first book in a series that introduces Detective Elizabeth Wylde, Tampa Police Department’s finest contribution to Law Enforcement.             Excerpt Part I Gazing Into the Abyss “He who fights with monsters should look to it that he himself does not become a monster. And when you gaze long into an abyss, the abyss also gazes into you.” Nietzsche Chapter One The early morning sky had a slightly pinkish hue that reminded Ewan of blood-tainted water. The green of the bay made a disturbing contrast to all of the colors that surrounded him, making him feel as if he was in a cartoon. It was all too vivid for six in the morning. No one else was up…just him. It had been a week and three days since he had slept at all, and he was more than certain that he would never sleep again; however, that was of no consequence to him any longer. He came outside to clear his head and to watch the sunrise. It was so beautiful here, but he knew that the true beauty he longed for far surpassed even this haven. The others, the ones not like him, must see this place as a true paradise. Palms, mangroves, sugar sand, clear blue water, and an explosion of flowers were everywhere you looked. Westshore Boulevard, where he lived, was one of the most beautiful areas in Tampa, and for good reason; the ultra rich resided here, and would accept nothing less than the best landscaping that Florida had to offer to surround their multi-million dollar homes. A few neatly kept, but older, and cheaper neighborhoods were still around here, but not for long. Soon the investors would come in, as they always did, and would demolish the old to make way for the new. Change, a culprit to most people, but what he longed for most of all. He did not intend to change what he was; he was comfortable with that. He knew; however, that he didn’t have much time left, and he shouldn’t waste it on those who didn’t deserve his…attention. When he first came out to watch the sunrise, he was content with the thought that last night would definitely be the last time. He would not waste any more of his energy, or resources on useless pursuits. Of course, he knew that was what all addicts say. He had been chanting his little mantra for weeks now, telling himself that he could stop anytime he wanted, but deep down, he knew better. He couldn’t stop. He had a taste for it now, and it tasted good…and last night was particularly delicious. Nevertheless, it was stupid, and excessively risky. He tried to tell himself that these little encounters were beneficial, dress rehearsals for the final performance, but that was merely an attempt to fool himself into believing it was an acceptable risk that was necessary. He was no novice and never needed any type of practice; besides, he got as much practice as he wanted back at the shop. He hadn’t expected to run into the girl at all. She had been after him for weeks now. So, finally, she wore him down. She got him, whether she wanted him or not. She wasn’t the one, and he knew that shortly after meeting her, but he couldn’t help himself. It didn’t go as he had expected, and was just as much of a disappointment as all the others. Nonetheless, he didn’t consider last night to be a complete waste; but instead, a valuable lesson. Right after, while cleaning up, he had decided that his career should end now, before something went sour. After all, it would be tragic to be placed on the bench, just as the game was getting good. Regardless of his feelings about last night, he was, for the moment, satisfied. Then, as he started to think about it on the way home, the need returned, gnawing at him, making him feel empty and incomplete again. It was more intense than he could ever remember. His days and nights were running into each other. There was no stopping point, no rest. He spent almost all of his time searching, searching for the one. He believed that he would find her nearby. He went to the Green almost every night. Living at the Cove proved to be a hazard for him. Perfectly bronzed bodies were everywhere he looked. In addition, the Green being just across the street proved to reinforce his bad habits. The Green Iguana was a Tampa institution, and was always full. Full of half naked, baked to perfection, tourists and locals. To Ewan, it was like a beacon that constantly called out to him. After all, it was his heightened perception that drew him here to Tampa in the first place to find her, and not just Tampa, but the Westshore area specifically. All of his neighbors spent at least seventy-five percent of their free time at the Green… and that was a conservative estimate. They all cheered when he would arrive, thrilled to have the golden boy among them. He was the most beautiful and charismatic of all the regular patrons. In addition, he appeared much more successful than most of the tenants at the Cove. Women never left him alone, which was making it increasingly difficult for him to keep it together. He had to be low key for a while. He had been too careless lately; but he couldn’t help himself. He thought he might be spiraling out of control, and he hated that. Control was the one thing he always had, and could always count on. He knew that having control over all that he did was the sole reason that he hadn’t been caught. But they all looked so…tempting…so exquisite. He could bring out their true beauty, make them come alive and discover their real potential; however, he couldn’t be weak, couldn’t give into his urges. He must have control. Besides, he could wait. It wouldn’t be long before he would meet the one. She was all he needed, not any of these… imposters. He felt that he was running out of time, had reached his tolerance; it was becoming harder and harder to stay satisfied, and satisfaction was the one thing in his life that he would not compromise. For most it was food, water, and air in order to live, but for him…satisfaction was what he required above all else. It was getting so much harder for him to be out in the real world, each day that passed. He had never feared old age, but he did fear the inability to control his hunger. It was like being possessed, and when it took him, he felt unreal…otherworldly. He had a vague memory of being slightly human when he was very young, but humanity was a distant, fleeting thought at best for him now. The tides of change had arrived and were coming in to drown him. He was resisting as hard as he could, but resistance was not something that was easy for him. Dark currents were seeking him out to wash him away; the undertow was coming for him. Was it his destiny to be pulled down into the darkness…along with all the others? Victims…his victims. When he thought of them, they appeared in his mind as a collage, instead of separate individuals, a single grotesque, molten, and masked figure that followed him, hunting him into the night. That was the main reason he felt that he could no longer sleep. That relentless Hunter was closing in on him, and he knew that his time was short, which was why he must carry on with all of his plans as quickly as possible. What he truly longed for, and was near at hand, was the ultimate release just before death. The end would have to come quickly, or else the hunger would leak in, infecting the whole experience, soiling it. His last victim must be perfect, his piece de’ resistance. He must keep the beauty of his work intact and marvelous. His victims, he felt, after a brief bit of introspection had to see the perfection of it all. Those who were once losers were now immortal in his eyes, participants in a moment of greatness that would never have evolved, if it had not been for him. He thought of all those who surrounded him, here at the Cove, and at the Green: stupid...small...insignificant losers. He would find her eventually, and then, much like the viper that he was inside, he would strike. He would finish it when nothing in this world mattered anymore. He was seeking his Queen, the special one who would take part in the final act. It would be her finest hour…their finest hour, and then, finally…much like Mary Shelly’s Frankenstein…he would be complete. Chapter Two Detective Elizabeth Wylde stared at the useless frozen screen wondering at what point she was left out of the loop during the computer age. Everything changed so fast and she felt like she was the only one who couldn’t seem to catch up. Not to mention, with all of the software/ Gizmo changes, nothing seemed to work around the precinct anymore. Everything was out of date and they needed all of it upgraded, including their IT people. She had three new homicide cases, so now time was in short supply, and due to this ridiculous contraption, she was in limbo. She just sat there staring at the thing with contempt, trying to decide what to do next. She desperately needed to profile her latest case before she could continue with any other facet of the investigation, but instead of moving forward, she was at gridlock. Just as she decided the best course of action was to pick up the monitor and throw it in the can, Jason, her partner, startled her from her trance. “Hey, Liz, since you’re on downtime and all, how about we go to the Loading Dock?” She looked up at him with an exasperated grimace and said, “I can’t.” “What? Is technology getting you down?” he said, and laughed, but only a little so that he wouldn’t piss her off. He loved to see her smile, but he could see that she was not receptive to teasing right now. She smiled back at him in spite of herself. She couldn’t help it. He always had that effect on her. “No, I mean, yes. This computer crap is getting on my nerves, as usual, but that’s not why I can’t go to lunch. I have some...an appointment. But thanks for asking.” “Okay, suit yourself. If you want, I can bring you back a Reuben?” “Thanks, but I’ll probably just pick something up on the way.” “Okay. Hey, are you gonna be back for Carter’s weekly?” he asked, then immediately grimaced after realizing what he’d said. Chief Carter was the last person she needed to think about when she was already having a bad day. She waved her hand in an attempt to show him that they were on the same page, and that the mention of the Chief didn’t bother her. “Yeah, I’ll be back long before the show starts,” she said, “but you better quit worrying about me and get out of here while you still have a chance of getting a table. You know how packed that place gets anywhere near noon.” “Oh no, it’s almost ten till! Crap, Betz is gonna kill me!” he said, as he started out the door to the parking lot to meet a hungry, and most likely slightly peeved, six foot three, German pile of muscle, otherwise known as Detective Herman Betz. She smiled as she watched him leave, thinking about how his thoughtfulness never failed to amaze her. Jason Reeves was the type of guy that most people would never notice in a crowd. That was part of what made him good at his job. In addition to his natural ability to be overlooked; however, once you knew Jason, you couldn’t seem to do without him for long. He was young, only twenty-seven, but he was definitely the best example of an old soul she had seen to date, one of those people who are born with some mysterious ingrained wisdom. That hidden wisdom of his was also not apparent to strangers. His features were plain, but not at all unattractive. His hair was a medium brown, his height was average for a man, and his face was comprised of simple but pleasant lines. He was working with her to learn the blood trade as she so grotesquely referred to it; It was her little pet name for homicide. He was currently a vice cop and was more than anxious to move up, and in her opinion was ready for the transfer. It meant that she would lose her one and only friend, but she couldn’t, in good conscience, hold him back due to her need for companionship. She would miss him, that is, if Carter even went for it. She doubted that he would agree with her assessment, but she just felt these things…knew them. Jason could see things in much the same way she did. He would make a great detective. She was able to talk to Jason about her life, things she had never told anyone before, and he always listened. More importantly, he cared about her. He was the best partner in training that she ever had, but it was time for him to move on. She just didn’t think it was the right time to involve Carter…but soon. She sure would miss him, though. Despite her successes, she was horribly lonely, and working herself to death was no longer taking the place of the emptiness in her life. It never did. She just used to be able to fool herself into believing it was working. Her career had progressed far beyond any expectation she ever had, but it had taken its prisoners as she climbed the ladder of success. The road had been a long and difficult one, littered with the sacrifices she had made along the way. It had been thirteen years of hard work and bitter determination that had gotten her where she was today, and she was more than proud of what she had accomplished, but none of those things kept her warm on cold nights. She guessed she was just lucky that it didn’t get cold here very often, except for lately. It was turning out to be the coldest winter she had experienced in the four years she had been back here, but not the coldest of her life, that was several years ago, during the worst case she had ever been a part of, and that was saying something substantial. She had worked in the Special Homicide division of the FBI for five years before returning to the Tampa Police Department, where everything had started for her so many years before becoming an agent. She had made a name for herself there, even while just a rookie with the Tampa P.D. when she solved that first groundbreaking case that helped her career flourish. That was nothing compared to the one that devastated her life. That winter had been unusually cold, much like the one she was experiencing now. Granted, to some, it may seem silly to think that the temperatures experienced during a Tampa winter are anywhere near frigid, but she believed that the process of human acclimation was real, actually a translation of her own theory of relativity. After spending only one winter at Quantico, she was perfectly acclimated to the harsh Virginia climate by the time the second winter arrived. She always hated the cold weather. Since she was a native Floridian, only palms, sunshine and shores, were what she considered to be acceptable. She believed that growing up here had spoiled her. Living in a place where most people come to escape for vacations wasn’t so bad. She made sure that she never took the beauty of her own hometown for granted either. She was always surprised at her childhood friends who hated living here. More than most of them, she remembered, couldn’t wait to move away. She guessed it was the classic syndrome of wanting what you didn’t have, the grass being greener, and all that. She was sure that was the case with most of them, especially since now that they had all grown up, most of them had returned. She was also surprised that out of all of her classmates, she turned out to be the most successful, at least career wise, that is. This idea of true success; however, also fell within the boundaries of her theory of relativity. It depended on what you used for a measuring stick to determine how successful you were. Using the rulers of some, she had become a complete failure. She had no husband, no children, and no life outside of her work, not even any blood relatives since the murder of her sister and father. She believed that Irony and cruelty often went hand in hand. Catching their killer was what fueled her career to star status. Their murders, however, were what turned her into the desperate creature she was today…something that used to be made of mostly sorrow, but was now only fierce rage. She hadn’t felt human since before her father was killed, and she didn’t know if she ever would feel that way again. The Westshore murders were a series of killings that everyone was sure to remember for years to come. They were reminiscent of Bundy for number and Dahmer for horror. Billy Vegas was a homicidal maniac, serial killer and all around asshole. He was also the most unusual serial killer she had ever encountered; which was a bold statement indeed, since she had seen her share of psychos working at the FBI. He was also the man who brutally raped, tortured, and murdered her sister Theresa. The chief had assigned her to the case before he got to Theresa. She was his eleventh victim. She was sure that he took Theresa much like the rest of his victims. She was not very different from the other girls, pretty, young, and vulnerable to his charm and good looks. He was so smooth that she felt as if she was under his spell as she tried to complete his initial interrogation. This only worked when he was merely a suspect, before he snatched her sister; after that, any spells he had wore off, and she tried to blow his head off in front of two other officers. Billy had many people fooled, his talents even took in the male officers, but she never believed him, not even before Theresa. The way he tried to manipulate her during that first interrogation convinced her that he was the one. He did have a strange way about him that seemed to hypnotize you. It was almost surreal…like if you tried to reach out and touch him, he would just dissipate like a fresh smelling cloud of smoke. He was like an idea, an enigma…definitely nothing tangible, and most certainly unreachable. There was not sufficient evidence to link him to the other murders and no one else shared her belief that he was responsible. She knew he did it, so she started to watch him, monitor his every move. Day and night, she was on his ass. The department took a lot of shit because of Billy’s attorney, who was way too prestigious and expensive for him to retain. Most thought he had somehow blackmailed the slime into taking the case. Richard Stephens was the best in the city, and the slimiest. Somehow, Billy came into a lot of money after his asshole father’s demise in prison...but only movie stars and sports jocks retained Stephens, and he didn’t have anywhere near that kind of money. They even threatened to sue the entire Tampa P.D. for police harassment of an innocent University of Tampa college student. She remembered thinking…Yeah, if he is just an innocent college student, then she was Smokey the Bear. He was a cocky, spoiled, murdering piece of shit. Liz was assigned to another case…another benefit of having several famous cases at the FBI notched in her belt. It seemed that being the FBI’s golden girl for a few years finally paid off. Any other cop causing this kind of ruckus would have been on suspension. Liz, of course, didn’t listen to her new orders, especially since the case was one that was long dead and only given to her for show. She, accidentally, well, actually by eavesdropping, heard about a tip that she didn’t think would go anywhere, but followed it up in case it turned out to be something tangible. It just so happened that the caller was a female, older, probably an indigent, who said that a young white man chased her from the old loading dock in downtown Tampa late at night, and threatened to kill her if she didn’t leave. The caller wasn’t taken very seriously because she sounded like she was drunk, but if that was where he took his victims…it made perfect sense why he wouldn’t want anyone around. Who else would be at an abandoned loading dock in the middle of the night except a homeless person looking for a crate to sleep in? She felt like the information just might be valid. Billy’s father used to work at the loading docks, at least he did before he went to jail for beating his wife to death, that is. When she arrived there, she felt like she hit pay dirt. The place was not just a loading dock but was an old boatyard with an abandoned boat storage facility located right up against the water. It was across from the Florida Aquarium, so she parked there. She suspected that if this were the place, there would be more than enough evidence to fry his ass. She just had to connect him directly to the boathouse. She went in and saw more than enough of the standard tools of the trade for eliminating bodies; but she had already gone way out of bounds with this one, and had to keep her distance...so she kept watch as much as possible. She went into the precinct and took fake calls during the day, so that she could leave without question and watch the boatyard, just in case he came by to tidy up. There was one last girl still missing. It was possible that this was where he came to do away with the remains. If she was right, he would wait until nightfall, so he would not be seen. If she couldn’t catch him there, she couldn’t link him to anything. She was no longer assigned to the case, but she did find out that the tip was going to be investigated. The officer on the case; however, thought it was worthless and put it last on his list of things to do before his vacation. So, it was up to her, she thought. She hadn’t let the place out of her sight long, just to go back in and be seen by the Chief. She watched the boathouse for most of the day and got ready to stay the rest of the evening after her shift ended. She watched and was almost ready to fall asleep around three a.m. when a car pulled up to the doors of the building. She was across the street, parked at the aquarium and couldn’t make out anything but a figure carrying something from what looked like the back seat of a sedan. She moved quickly, and got out of her car and made it across the street. Just as she reached the parking lot of the boathouse, the figure, still unrecognizable, got back in the car…this time without the package. She hid behind some old packing crates as he left, and tried to get an ID on the car, but it was impossible due to the lack of any lighting; the moon was not even out that night. She surveyed her surroundings and ran over to the boathouse. No lock restrained the doors, so she went in making sure to be quiet, side arm ready. She used the edge of her jacket to pull open the doors. She did the same and pulled on a chain that hung from a light that she had to feel around for to find, but one she knew was there from carefully looking the place over earlier in the day. The light, even though it was dim, hurt her eyes at first. After she adjusted to the light, she noticed that nothing had changed since she had seen the place earlier, except for two large, black, heavy-duty trash bags sitting on an old table…the type of table used to clean fish. Another thing that was very different was the fresh blood that was pooling on the table; which would be normal if this building was in use, but it wasn’t, and hadn’t been for some time. The blood seemed to be coming from one of the bags that had a small tear on the bottom. Liz felt sick at the prospect that she may be about to uncover one of his victims. She approached the table slowly, and used her gun to move the tear on the bag, just slightly, so that she could see in the hole. It didn’t expose much, but it was enough for her to see the bag contained a human body, or rather, what was left of one. It was more than enough to call in back up, and the forensic techs. She claimed she was on her way home and saw some suspicious behavior, so she investigated. The team showed up, and carefully started to unpack the bags…not carefully enough however; she watched in horror as her own sister’s head fell out of one of the black garbage bag onto the filthy boathouse floor. She screamed, and then lost consciousness. They took her to Tampa General, via ambulance. She came to in the ambulance, ripped her IV’s out and started beating up the EMT’s as she tried to leave the moving vehicle. The driver stopped and she emerged from the back to see Chief Carter standing in front of her. He and another car had been following, and he saw the struggle from the windows in the back. She was hysterical. As he talked to her to try and calm her down, one of the techs came up behind her and gave her a shot. She swung around hard, ready to punch him (again, he already had a bloody nose)…but he was able to give her the injection of sedative just before she whacked him again, and then only after a few moments of thrashing around half dazed in the middle of the street, looking for someone else to beat up, she collapsed. The Chief caught her before she hit the pavement, and they put her back on the gurney and headed back towards the hospital. They called her father from the Tampa General and told him that she was okay, but that he needed to come down. He first told him that they had admitted her as a precaution, due to a violent encounter with a suspect earlier…but that she was all right. Then, came the hard part when he arrived…Chief Carter told him, as gently as he could, that Theresa was dead. After John seemed to calm down a little, he instantly wanted to know more, and he knew there was more, because of Lizzie’s involvement. He asked Larry to give him the details. The Chief refused at first, demanding that he wasn’t ready to hear it all yet, but John insisted; so he told him, reluctantly, that she had been butchered, how Lizzie was the one who found her, and the events that transpired in the boathouse. Larry couldn’t believe how strong he was…hearing this and not coming unglued. He was like a rock, and he thought he knew why. He had one other daughter who needed him right now, and he was determined to stay strong for her. He told Larry later that having Lizzie to hold onto, and his promise to Patty to take care of them as she died, were what kept him going. “Who did it, Larry, was it Vegas?” John asked. “Yeah…looks like, although, we don’t have anything yet that links him to her murder, so don’t go getting any ideas. You just take care of Liz, okay. This is not your job anymore. We’ll get him, and we’ll make him pay. I swear it John…I swear it.” The Chief couldn’t hold back his own tears as he watched John, trying to hold it together for his little girl. John swallowed hard, got up slowly and thanked Larry for telling him the truth. With tears streaming down his face, he went to Lizzie’s bedside and held her tight, sobbing uncontrollably, as she continued to sleep in a heavily sedated fog. The next day, she insisted that Billy was brought back in, based on what she swore was his car at the boathouse. His lawyer, of course, knew she couldn’t have seen him from that far away in the middle of the night, but she wanted to see him again. She wanted to face the monster who murdered her little sister. She wanted one chance. One chance to kill him. The other officers now knew she had been right all along. In addition, they knew not to leave her alone with him, or allow her to take in her gun. Little did they know, she carried another piece, hidden in her boot. Guns were strictly prohibited in the interrogation room, but she didn’t care about regs anymore…that was over…everything was over now. All that mattered to her was that she was able to see pieces of his pea sized brain sliding down the wall. She sat down calmly, looking into his remorseless eyes, eyes that screamed of a certainly that nothing could touch him. He was a predator, but what he didn’t know was, so was she. She was positive that he was fully aware of what he’d done. He was one of those killers who, according to the M’Naughton rules of sanity, was found to be sane. He just liked killing people, plain and simple. She sat down calmly to question him first, to get something out of him, and brought up the standard testing he had willingly taken previously. “Always was good at bluffing tests.” She remembered him telling her. That was the last thing she remembered him saying before she attacked him. That remark got him a bloody nose and almost a bullet through his head if intervention had not been ready and waiting. They got to her just as she was pulling her piece out and stopped her. They had no choice but to let him go. They didn’t have anything to link him to the boathouse. As he was walking out, he lit a cigarette and waved goodbye to her with a big sarcastic smile. A giant asshole with a God complex, she thought. Even up until the end, he really thought he would get away with it. She was convinced that with his unique abilities, he was able to persuade his victims, with a little help from some laced booze, into being willing participants…all but her father, of course. He was trying to catch Billy, but Billy didn’t want to be caught. Although, in one respect, he did catch Billy. His change in M.O. was what ultimately led to his destruction. It seemed that working with an unwilling male murder victim led to a messy situation that someone even as smooth as Billy Vegas couldn’t seem to handle. He resorted to stereotypical behavior, or rather, assumed, stereotypical behavior. The stereotype he was going for was that of a homeless mugger who roamed the streets of downtown Tampa regularly. The murder, most accurately described, was the bumbling attempt of a desperate man. The body of her father…and her stomach turned when she thought of it…was left in the alley close to the back of the HUB, which was the most expected place to commit a murder, at least, so Billy thought. He was caught off guard and the murder was not at all planned. He left all the evidence they needed to put him away in the Hub’s alley that night, the night when Billy Vegas took his twelfth and final victim. The Hub was where she was going to now. She did, after all, tell Jason she had an appointment, didn’t she? And I’m already late, she thought, as she picked up her things and headed out. She looked at the cluster of skyscrapers as she descended the exit ramp into the city, thinking about the city, the Hub, the murders…her father…and Billy. It always came back to him. He was the Alpha and Omega of everything terrible in her universe. He was the puzzle that she would eternally seek to solve. She pulled onto Ashley Street and tried to fill her mind with something else, people, buildings, street signs…anything except for the murders. She tried to recall the smell and the feel of the place, trying to prepare herself. Tampa has a rich, old history and even older landmarks that are in working order (and that term is used loosely for some) to this day. What the HUB is known best for, besides its age and the stiffness of the drinks…is that the drinks were priced at an amazing bargain…and it welcomed all types of people. On any given Saturday night, the clientele would include the likes of Tampa University Alumni, street people, stockbrokers to prostitutes…all under the same roof. The common theme was the small item that Billy was unaware of: unity, among the naturally divided. The Hub was a haven for true, hard-core drinkers, no lightweights allowed (she even remembered a while ago that they had that posted on the door). There were no wine coolers served, no frou-frous blender drinks…only liquor and beer. If you were bold enough to order a liquor drink, you had better be ready. At the HUB, there was not much attention paid to mixers, just the main ingredient. And complaints were never tolerated. The lack of heavy crime at the Hub, she always felt, was amazing due to the amount of drinking that occurred on a daily basis. She guessed the secret to such an unusual amount of calm in that type of an environment was due to the sheer potency of the drinks; the bar-goers were usually too drunk to be a problem. Not to mention, the same customers that showed up at lunch were back at dinner. Billy’s fatal mistake took place in the alley next to the hub. He staged evidence in an attempt to frame a homeless man who would never hurt a fly for her father’s murder; not only that, but the alleged murderer had an alibi, something not expected of a downtown Tampa street bum. It was common knowledge by all who frequented the hub that the suspect lived in the alley where they found her father’s body; however, they couldn’t find a trace of the homeless man who went by the name of Leroy P. He was a harmless drunk; his only crime might have been loitering, but there were never any charges for that or anything else. The owner of the Hub, Vic, would take him inside when the cops would show up and try to run him out of the alley. He never bothered anyone, just stayed at or around the hub most of the time. The patrons at the Hub all knew and liked him; well him, not his scent. No one even knew what his real name was. Everyone just considered him as a sort of mascot for the Hub. To them, he was just a drunk bum with a sense of humor. Someone in the bar started calling him Leroy, and it had stuck. His last initial, the P part of his name, however, unfortunately was tacked onto the end of his first honorary name the day he mistook the Hub door as a urinal. He went missing the day after her father’s murder. There was enough hard evidence once the forensics reports came in for her father’s crime scene to link Billy to both Theresa’s murder and her father’s. Leroy P., later found out to be one William Stuart Tucker, Jr. washed ashore a few days after he was filed as a missing person and a possible, however unlikely, suspect for her father’s murder. Billy hadn’t’ bothered to weight his body down, so he didn’t stay missing for long, and provided plenty of evidence linking Billy to his murder as well. They found out his name after they ran his prints, and not just that, but they also made a startling discovery; old Leroy was not at all who he appeared. He had earned more medals than you could count during the Vietnam War. He was a true war hero and no one ever knew it. No one knew that they shouldn’t have addressed him as Leroy, but Captain William S. Tucker, instead. His father, Colonel William S. Tucker, Sr., was a heavily decorated WW2 hero who died overseas saving an entire battalion by blowing himself up as a decoy to get his men to safety. Everyone who knew the man known only as Leroy was astonished…well, everyone except Vic, that is. Vic knew a lot more than anyone else, and was very good at keeping secrets. Liz wondered, was William’s situation just another case of this great country of ours not taking care of him as much as they should have for all of his valor in those dreaded jungles when he returned? Or perhaps, he could no longer take living a normal life after all of the horrors he had witnessed without constantly marinating his brain. She could relate to that last scenario…big time. Now that everyone knew he was a war hero, the government buried him honorably, in the tradition befitting a military hero. The bartenders, patrons, and Vic attended the funeral. Vic was crying openly at the funeral service. This was a shock to everyone else there, since no one thought that crusty old Vic had a heart. He also amazed them by purchasing a ton of flowers for the service (he had a reputation for being extremely cheap). What they didn’t know, was that Vic secretly allowed Leroy to sleep on a cot that he kept back in the storeroom after he closed up the bar. Vic even brought him blankets and food each night. Not only that, but he fixed it up to look like a bedroom, with a lamp, a small refrigerator, and various other amenities most storerooms lack. He told the staff that he worked too late a lot of times and wanted to fix up the back when he was here overnight. The bar patrons never thought that Leroy slept anywhere else but in the alley. Turned out the alley was just a ruse. Vic had served in Vietnam years ago, as well, and could spot a damaged soldier from a mile away. When he met Leroy…he made it his mission to try to make up for what he lacked in his life, as best he could. He didn’t have to worry about William hurting his reputation for being a hard case, he was a soldier, just like Vic, and even though many of his brain cells were missing…he would never, could never, forget the code. Both William and Vic lived by the code, just as all who had made it out of there did, well…those who weren’t institutionalized, that is. The code, he explained to Liz, (only because of the circumstances), was quite simply that anyone left from Nam never spoke of those days spent in the jungles, which to them, was the closest place to Hell itself. To a Vietnam Vet, Hell is not the color of red fire, or the burnt black color of brimstone; it’s green and bushy. He knew what kind of Hell William had been through, and that there was no coming back from there. The jungle took your soul, and destroyed it; so there was no chance for a normal life for some…just a hope that you could stay drunk enough to forget, and for the end to come quickly. Vic made sure that Leroy stayed as drunk as he wanted, on the house, and made him as comfortable as he could be until his time came. It was the least he could do. Too many men died to keep him alive over there, and he was not about to dishonor them by leaving a fellow soldier behind, who, because of his sacrifice, was now only a mere shell of a man that went by the name of Leroy P. Liz saw his reaction at the funeral and questioned it. He told her everything, since she was a cop. He knew that if he tried to hide it, there could be trouble and the truth about his own time in the military would come out for sure, which was not part of the code he lived by. He made Liz swear never to tell a soul. She promised that she wouldn’t, and even consoled him for his loss; because no matter what he said, he cared deeply about William. Vic knew that they could have traded places, if fate had not intervened. The tears Vic shed for William were bizarre to everyone who attended the funeral, but when Vic asked to keep the flag from William’s coffin, since he had no next of kin, that really floored them. But we all have our little secrets, don’t we? she thought. Again, Liz wondered about the scene at the funeral, and the unity, among the naturally divided. It looked just as it had the last time she was here. There were two doors to the place, only one of them was accessible, and neither door was marked. The Hub was a place for regulars, so the less signs, the better. Both door windows were covered in a plain paper that was old, yellowed, and stained from a decade of use. To those not acquainted with the establishment, it would appear only as a bar that was abandoned long ago with no use and no one within. Nevertheless, as the saying goes, she thought, never judge a book by its cover. Although, on entering, she thought that the saying didn’t apply to the place after all. The stained and yellowed paper on the doors was actually a fairly tell all cover for the place. The inside, in fact, looked worse. She found a seat at the far end of the bar and placed her things in the chair beside her. A waitress shuffled up, and asked what she wanted to drink. She asked for a coke, received a strange look from the waitress and realizing she was about to get the heave-ho, pulled back her jacket, revealing the badge clipped to her belt, instantly turning the girl’s grimace into an almost toothless, albeit super-wide smile. “I’ll just be a bit,” she said. The waitress shuffled away, much quicker than she had approached her. Probably in a hurry to get my coke and get me the hell out of here, Liz thought. She returned and plopped the can of soda down in front of her. “Want a glass?” she asked. “No. this is fine,” Liz said, and started to pull out some money. “This uns’ on the house.” The waitress muttered something under her breath as she walked off, disappearing into the back of the bar. She sipped the coke. This was the last sight he ever saw. The outside of this filthy hole, she thought. She closed her eyes, as if a barrage of horrible memories were going to take shape as ghostly forms, making ready to attack her. She took in a deep breath to try to calm herself, and realized that she could shut her eyes, but could not do anything about the smell. Just as she started to zone out completely…she heard a familiar voice… “Lizzie Ann?” A soft, but masculine voice brought her slowly out of her trance. “Lizzie Ann! Oh my Gawd, what you doin’ here chile’?” Liz looked up to see a face that she had not seen in…in, she thought, how long had it been? It was her father’s funeral since she last saw him. It was a face that she had not forgotten, could never forget, but instead she had put the image of him away…hid him from her memory…somehow thinking if she forgot everything and everyone…she may keep herself from falling into the abyss of insanity. “Julius?” she said, dreamily. She stared at him for a moment, waiting to see if the dark massive figure that was now hovering above her from the other side of the bar would dissipate like a cloud of smoke because it was nothing but her imagination playing dirty tricks on her. “Yes chile’. It’s me. Now, what in tarnation are you doin’ here? Today of all days.” He put one large black hand over her much smaller, and paler one, causing it to disappear from sight completely. Julius Simmons knew exactly why she was here; it was Death Day…the anniversary of John’s death, the same reason he was here this early in the afternoon. His shift didn’t start until late tonight, but something had told him to come here…and now, he knew what the reason was. “Girl, you got no business here, ‘specially not today.” He gave her a slightly condescending look as a parent might, but then smiled. The smile was a small, smile that he was trying to hold back, but he couldn’t…he was happy and worried all at the same time about seeing her. The smile was sincere and seemed to be filled with a deep sadness. It slipped easily through the cracks of the previous false and scolding demeanor he had tried to present before. “You need to let ‘em rest, honey. Jest as much as they need to know you can rest yo’self.” She suddenly felt a wave of guilt roll over her as she looked up at him, wondering how she could ever have stayed out of touch with him for so long. Wondering how she could have gone so long without seeing his kind face, but she knew, and she suspected that he did as well. He was not only the best private detective she had ever worked with, but he was one of the two souls, left on this earth, that knew her inside and out. She had been avoiding him, and as far as the other one; she had just shut down emotionally when they had to be around each other. “Jules?” She reached up and touched the side of his face, and on doing so, slowly came out of her trance. “Oh God, it is you, Jules!” She stood up on the base of the stool, leaned over and hugged him tightly. She let go of him, but kept holding his hand and landed back down on the stool. “I’m so sorry. I guess I blanked out there for a minute. It’s just been so long since…well, you know.” She looked down in an effort to hide the pain that no one else would ever be able to notice, but that she knew he would spot in an instant. “Thas why you gotta let ‘em go, baby girl. It’s time…actually, long past if you ask me. I know thas why you been staying away for so long, but I already told Louise that if you didn’t cut this out soon, I was gonna put a stop to it myself!” He beamed at her and when he did, she could see several small tears escape out of the corners of both of his big dark eyes. He had missed her. More than she would have ever guessed. Julius had known her father from years ago. They met during an AA meeting when she was only a child of about five. Her father, John, had been in AA for three years already when Julius found himself at the steps of the First Baptist Church in Saint Petersburg on a Friday evening, late in July of 1977. Her father had first set eyes on him as he turned the corner of the church. He was finishing a cigarette, made the corner, and found a large black man staring intently at two massive wooden doors, all color seeming to drain from his face. Jules continued to stare, unaware that someone was watching him, then finally dropped his head and turned to leave. On doing so, John spoke to him and, nearly scared the bejesus out of him, according to Jules. He had admitted this to her on more than one occasion. Elizabeth had heard the story plenty of times from both Jules and her father and could recite it by heart. “I wouldn’t do that if I were you,” John Wylde said nonchalantly as he threw his cigarette butt to the ground and stepped on it. Jules jumped almost three feet upon hearing his voice, or at least according to her father, he did. Each time they got to that part, Jules would just say, with a dismissive wave of his hand, that Johnny was always prone to fish stories, roll his eyes, and let him finish his story. “He jest gave me a little fright, tha’s all,” Jules would add. After he landed, according to her father, Jules just stood there looking at him as if he was some type of Marlboro Angel or Prophet sent from Heaven that had just caught him in the act of pilfering the collection plate. Jules didn’t have much to say at that point except “say what?” “I said… I wouldn’t do that if I were you,” John said again, and took a drag off a newly lit cigarette. “I heard what you said white boy, I meant who are you and why’d you say anythin’. I don’t know you from shat!” Jules said, raising his chest in a defiant gesture that replaced his earlier startled and frightened tone. “Not yet you don’t, but if you go inside you will before long. In fact, you’ll know all of the stupidest things I‘ve ever done as a drunk. So actually, you will know me pretty well.” He stared at him for a moment and then added… “If you stay, that is.” Jules always interrupted John at this point in the conversation and said that all he could do was stare at the weird white boy on the church steps, and listen, as he talked about all of the stupid shit that he did when he used to drink. Every time Liz heard the story, Jules would always say to her with the same amazement, “Before I knew it Lizzie Ann, I was in that church standing up in front of a bunch of strange cats telling all of em’ that I was an alcoholic. And crying…me, crying like a little ole baby! Honest to God.” Her father had a way about him. He could talk you through any situation, no matter how scary it was, until before you knew it, it was over and you realized that it wasn’t half as bad as you thought it would be. No matter if it was a shot at the doctor’s office, a trip to the dentist, your first AA meeting or even, well…going to your little sister’s funeral…he could get you through it. Jules was the first who suspected what John was up to after Theresa’s murder. John was a retired cop, but once a cop, always a cop. Jules knew he would have done the same thing if he were in his shoes, which made him feel that much more responsible for his death. Jules knew there was nothing he could have said or done to stop him from hunting down Vegas. John had saved his life and had been the best friend he ever had. He missed him terribly. He had always thought of Lizzie as blood family and wished he could find a way to help her get over all the hell she had gone through. He wanted to call her so badly, and so did Louise, his wife; he knew; however, that she needed to sort through everything in her own way. He wanted to be there for her. He wanted desperately to take over where John left off as a father, but he knew that you must let go of children and hope they will come back in their own time. If you don’t, they suffer all that much more. He could not hold back the tears on seeing her again. She hugged him again and cried, and cried, until she had no more tears, it seemed. She told him that she loved him and never wanted to run off like that again. She couldn’t imagine why she thought that was a good idea at all. He tried to explain to her that it was natural. “You ever seen a wounded dog, Lizzie Ann?” He asked. “I guess, why?” “Well, they go off on their own, when they’re in the wild, and heal or either die alone. We humans are a lot like dem wild dogs at heart. It’s jest human nature, little girl. But I shore am glad you done healed some. Me and Louise will help you get the rest of de way.” His face was wet with his own tears as well. They both grabbed napkins and started laughing at how hard they were crying, remembering her daddy and the story about Jule’s first AA meeting. They talked for an hour or so, at least until the bar started getting customers, then parted with another big hug, promising to meet for dinner at his house next week. She kissed him on the cheek and waved goodbye before anyone came in. She had come back, he thought, and he could hardly wait to tell Louise. *** She cried. It was the hardest cry she had ever experienced, and she thought she was out of tears after the episode in the bar. It was so bad that she had to pull over before she was even halfway back to the station. She wasn’t paying attention to where she was going and somehow ended up at the Burger King just off the exit to Ybor City. She sat there for at least fifteen minutes sobbing uncontrollably. She had never cried that hard in her life, not even when her father and sister had died. She had cried then, but nothing like what she was experiencing now. This, she thought, was inevitable… and long overdue. Her face swollen, her eyes red and itchy, she headed back to work. She felt better and confused at the same time. It was strange to feel such an overwhelming happiness after seeing Jules again, and so plagued with horrible memories simultaneously. She never thought in her wildest dreams that she would have seen Julius today of all days, and at the HUB, of all places. Even though it was his turf, it was way too early for him to be there. However, she was there early also… and most likely for some of the same reasons. But that was Jules, always three steps ahead of the rest of us. She had come to this wretched place to face her past and try to move on with something resembling a life. Fear paralyzed her, fear and guilt over her father’s death. She was tired of those feelings controlling her and longed for it to stop. The HUB was ground zero. She couldn’t think of a better arena to start battling her demons. However, instead of demons, her guardian angel greeted her. Jules was her family, and she looked forward to him and Louise being a part of her life again She fully intended on taking what was left of her family back…this time…for good.

Professional Reviews
kirkus Discoveries Review of Project Dark Savior
The first installment in a projected series featuring Tampa police detective Elizabeth Wylde... The villain is the mysterious Ewan, introduced after a night of murder, a “practice” session for some kind of evil climax. While Ewan seems to be your standard-issue psychopath with delusions of godlike grandeur, he turns out to be much more troubling. Mourn spends some well-paced time introducing the other players, most notably troubled detective Wylde and her military counterpart, Nick Sanders. While Wylde is unaware of Ewan’s identity, the series of grisly murders have set Tampa on edge,and Wylde is suspicious of Nick’s assignment to the case, suspecting some kind of military coverup. Nothing can prepare the reader for the book’s sudden shift into gothic, supernatural science approximately halfway through, as the author reveals Ewan’s origins...her asides and observations on her Tampa setting are well-conceived and convey a genuine sense of place that... would serve as a good backdrop for a series.
A fun thriller... Kirkus Discoveries

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