Stone Free: A Stone Cold Thriller (Stone Cold Thriller Series Book 5) Read online

  Stone Free

  A Stone Cold Thrilller

  J.D. Weston

  Contents

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  1. Bad Air

  2. Chateau Stone

  3. Some Monsters Pounce

  4. Cruel Intentions

  5. Fly Baby

  6. Truth or Dare

  7. Sick Puppy

  8. Winged Beast

  9. Wakey Wakey

  10. Angel of Darkness

  11. Silent Night

  12. Surprise

  13. Ladies and Gentlemen

  14. Exposed

  15. Operations

  16. Broadcast Death

  17. The Suffering Crowd

  18. Old Man

  19. Mall Rats

  20. Dig for Victory

  21. Dirty Rats

  22. Hidden Gems

  23. Desert Bang

  24. London Heights

  25. Team Effort

  26. Reinstated

  27. Bells

  End of Book Stuff

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  Also By J.D.Weston.

  A Note from the Author

  Stone Cold

  Stone Fury

  Stone Fall

  Stone Rage

  Stone Free

  Stone Rush

  Stone Game

  Acknowledgments

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  For Brian.

  1

  Bad Air

  When Angie Turvey turned on the lights and laid eyes on her dead neighbour, who hung from Angie’s living room wall with six-inch nails through her wrists and ankles, she knew her life was about to change forever.

  Emirates flight EK5110 landed at Dubai International Airport at twelve thirty in the morning. Among the business class passengers were Angie Turvey and her eight-year-old daughter, Anya. Angie held her daughter close as they made their way past the flight crew and onto the gangway. She pulled her Louis Vuitton carry-on case behind her, and her daughter pulled her own small bag beside her. The girl’s little, pink carry-on contained only a stuffed dog that resembled her own Yorkshire Terrier in London, some colouring books and pens, plus a photo of her with Mickey Mouse and her mum and dad at Disney World. The photo was in a small, wooden frame with the cartoon mouse on the top right corner. Her father had placed it in there without her knowing to keep beside her bed in the family’s Dubai villa. He wanted to remind his daughter that he wasn’t far away, and even though he couldn’t join them on this particular trip, he was thinking of them both.

  The chauffeur-driven limousine doors locked automatically with a reassuring, soft click as the car began to move, and the child lay her head on her mother's lap to sleep.

  “No, baby, we need to get home,” said Angie. “If you sleep now, I’ll have to carry you, and I have the cases to carry too.”

  “I will help you, ma’am,” said the driver, with a glance in his rear-view mirror.

  “Thank you, sir, but that won’t be necessary.” She nudged her daughter. “Why don’t you tell me what we’re going to do on our first day of our holiday, Anya? We’re nearly home.”

  “Tomorrow?”

  “Yes, what would you like to do first?”

  “Can we play in the sea?”

  “Of course we can. Maybe we can have pancakes and then lay on the beach for a while. Would you like that?”

  Anya nodded. “Can we also play in the swimming pool?”

  The mother took a sharp breath in. “You want to play in the pool, and the sea?”

  Anya nodded and gave a little giggle. “Yes, and I want juice with ice.”

  “Please?”

  “Please.”

  “That’s better. I asked Julie to stop by and drop off some basics, so we should be able to make breakfast. But we’ll need to go shopping at some point, okay?”

  “Shopping?”

  “Yes, Anya, we need to buy food for the holiday.”

  “Okay, but after swimming?”

  “Of course. We’ll have a nice morning then we’ll go buy some food, and if you’re a good girl, you know what I’ll get you?”

  “What, Mummy?”

  “Ice-cream.”

  The girl beamed up at her mum and looked out of the car window.

  “But you have to stay awake for another ten minutes, okay?”

  “Okay, Mummy.”

  The Mercedes pulled up outside the villa on frond H of Dubai’s prestigious Palm Jumeirah. There was a double garage, which contained two cars, a blue Porsche that Angie’s husband drove when he was in Dubai, and a larger BMW SUV that was big enough for the whole family, plus shopping and luggage.

  “There we go, that wasn’t so bad was it?” said Angie as she opened her door. “You‘ll be in bed in just a few minutes.”

  The driver walked to the rear of the vehicle to extract the cases, while the mother helped her daughter from the car. She tipped the driver one hundred dirhams and watched as he pulled away. The street was quiet. Each frond of the man-made, palm-shaped island had security at the entrance. The security guards allowed only residents and named guests to enter. The tight security had been one of the features that swayed her and her husband to take the villa. It also limited the amount of traffic on the narrow roads.

  There were only fifty villas on each frond, and most of their neighbours were never around. Julie, who lived in the house next door was the only nearby permanent resident. The house on the other side of the Turvey house was rented to holidaymakers, and during the cooler winter months, had a variety of people coming and going.

  The mother dragged the large case and the smaller carry-on, while her daughter pulled her own little bag to the front entrance. The large wooden door swung open, and she noticed that Julie had left the lights and the air-conditioning on for her. She made a mental note to thank her for the gesture.

  She closed the door behind her and put the cases down. “Right then, Anya, how about you get off to bed? Do you want me to come and tuck you in?”

  Anya nodded and pulled her stuffed dog from the little carry-on.

  “Okay, well go get changed, and I’ll be up in a sec, okay?”

  “On my own?”

  “You want me to come with you?”

  “It’s dark up there.”

  “Okay, well come on then. I’ll come and turn the lights on, but you have to go straight to bed, okay?”

  She settled Anya into bed and stroked her hair until she fell asleep then closed the bedroom door behind her and walked down the stairs, hoping that Julie had left a bottle of wine in the fridge.

  The stairwell took her back down to the large hallway where her cases were. She left them there and walked towards the rear of the house to the kitchen, which was halfway along the hallway on the right-hand side. She found a bottle of Pinot Grigio in the fridge, silently thanked Julie, and poured herself a glass.

  The housekeeper had been there recently and cleaned the kitchen, so she relaxed, leaned against the hidden fridge, and took a long tired glance around the immaculate kitchen with its Carrara marble surfaces, and top of the range appliances. They’d done very well. Her husband had taken promotion after promotion, and they had been able to afford a modestly luxurious lifestyle. But she smiled at the fact that she still preferred to drink cheap wine from her crystal glasses.

  She shoved off and walked out into the hallway, turning right into the huge lounge and dining area at the very back of the huge, five-bedroom villa.

  Angie kicked off her designer boots and reached for the light switches on the wall to her right.

  The first switch lit the chandelier above the twelve-seater, lignum vitae dining table in the dining area to her left. The second switch powered the ceiling-mounted spots that were spaced equidistantly around the edge of the room, and on one wall lit the large, three-meter square oil painting by contemporary artist Leonard Afremov.

  On the opposite side of the living room, the spots lit the naked and broken body of Julie.

  Her head hung limply, and her wide eyes stared as if she’d died in fright. But the blood all over her skin, and the bruises on her face told Angie that Julie had put up a hard fight, and lost. She’d either bled to death or died from internal injuries.

  The crystal glass smashed on the tiled floor.

  Anya suddenly began to scream from her room.

  Then from behind Angie came a chilling, gravelly voice.

  “Welcome home, Mrs Turvey.”

  2

  Chateau Stone

  Harvey Stone woke at his usual five am, in his usual naked manner, and climbed out of bed onto the ancient hardwood floor before stepping into the en-suite.

  The old farmhouse, built in the typical French manner using a tasteful blend of stone and timber for the structure
with a slate gabled roof, offered little protection against the brisk winter air outside. There was no double-glazing, and most of the doors were ill-fitting wooden panels that swelled with the summer humidity and shrank to allow the draughts through in the much cooler winter months. But Harvey loved the house. It was everything he needed and nearly everything he owned.

  He padded to the kitchen to be greeted by his dog, Boon, then stoked last night’s embers in the wood burner. He added a few logs and some kindling then set about putting the kettle on to boil. He found his shorts on the couch and slipped them on; they had been pulled off the previous night when things between Melody and him had gotten lively, and they’d moved their sins to the bedroom.

  Harvey leaned against the kitchen worktop, which was wooden and polished to a smooth finish that was flawed only by the century of use it had seen. The old farmhouse still had some work to be done, and although each morning he surveyed the interior, he knew his efforts were needed on the exterior; work on the interior was for the summer. Until then, the roof needed fixing, and gaping holes in the rotting window frames needed caulking. Harvey wasn’t really a handyman, but he’d been retired for six months and found the work filled his day nicely.

  The kettle started to boil and began its low warning whistle. Harvey took it off the stove and poured the water into the French press. He gave the coffee a minute then added it to the waiting tray, and walked back to the bedroom with Boon at his heels.

  Melody lay on her side facing the window. The thick duvet clung to her hip, and her naked back welcomed Harvey. He set the tray down on the dresser beside the window and poured coffee into the two mugs. He added fresh cream to Melody’s coffee and left his own black.

  “There’s my man,” said Melody. “You made coffee already?”

  “You were sleeping.”

  “Coffee can wait. Why don't you come back to bed?”

  “I’m going for a run,” said Harvey, and Boon’s ears pricked up.

  Melody raised herself up onto an elbow to take the mug of coffee from Harvey. “One day, I’m going to teach you how to use long sentences.” She smiled up at him as he reached down to kiss her.

  “One day, I’m going to teach you that I can’t be changed.”

  “Made of stone, right?”

  “Something like that,” replied Harvey.

  He pulled on a t-shirt, socks and his running shoes while Melody read the news on her phone.

  “What’s the plan for today then, mister retired man?” asked Melody, looking up at him from inside the covers.

  “Windows, and maybe see about getting someone in to sort the roof out.”

  “Don’t you want to come to town with me?”

  He stepped across the room to her, bent and kissed her on the forehead. “I’ll see you later.”

  “Is that a yes or a no?”

  Harvey didn’t reply.

  He glanced around the house, pulled the front door closed behind him, and checked it was locked. Then Harvey jogged the two hundred yards from the door and along the muddy driveway to the lane that connected the small farmhouse to the beach road at one end and the town of Argylles at the other. He sped up to his usual pace and settled into his breathing rhythm. The lane was quiet and dark, and soon the horizon showed the pale, misty blues of the morning Mediterranean.

  The only other movement was Boon, who ran in the fields alongside him. A few cars passed sporadically, and each time, Harvey moved from the lane’s hard tarmac surface to the rough, bumpy grass hillock to the side. The cars were locals judging by the plates, but the third car had UK plates. It wasn’t unusual as tourists often ventured to Argylles as a reprise from the less tranquil Riviera further east.

  He reached the beach and ran through the long, wild grass that grew on the edge onto the soft, clean sand that led down to the sea. Harvey ran every morning, and each morning he ran a different route; it was an old habit he’d been taught by his mentor Julios to avoid people planning an attack. Many of the routes he took across fields, through the town or through the nearby forests found their way onto the beach eventually, usually as a last sprint before he headed home. Each time he ran on the beach, he’d see the same old guy, stripped down to nothing and swimming in the ocean, no matter the temperature.

  ”You are early this morning,” the man called, holding his hand up in a wave, completely unabashed by his nudity.

  Harvey nodded as he passed, and lifted his hand to acknowledge him, and then put his head down and pushed himself harder. He didn’t plan his route, he just ran where his legs took him and avoided the places he’d run recently. Harvey turned off the beach before he came to a small village and headed into the fields opposite. As he crossed the road, he caught sight of the small, blue saloon with UK plates. It was parked outside the coffee shop that he and Melody used. Harvey bounded across the field and into the wild forest that lay behind.

  An hour later, he turned into the driveway to his farm and slowed to a walk with Boon at his heels. Melody stood in the kitchen clutching a fresh coffee when he opened the back door and they walked back inside.

  “Hey, you want more coffee?” asked Melody, reaching down to pat Boon.

  “No, I’ll take a shower, and get started outside.” He headed out of the kitchen.

  “Erm, Harvey?”

  He stopped and turned to look at Melody.

  “Aren’t you forgetting something?”

  “No, I rarely forget anything.”

  “My kiss?”

  Harvey smiled and stepped across the terracotta-tiled floor, then landed a kiss on her lips.

  “You’re all sweaty,” Melody said. “I like it.”

  “Are you wearing that today?” asked Harvey.

  “What?” said Melody, looking down at the loose-knit sweater and jeans. “What’s wrong with this?”

  “You’re going to get dirty.”

  “Dirty? How?”

  “Outside helping me.”

  “Who said anything about helping you? I’m going into town.”

  “Oh right. Are you going to walk there in those shoes?”

  “Walk? No. I’ll take the car.”

  “Is that right?”

  “Yes,” said Melody.

  “Okay then,” said Harvey as he left the room pulling his shirt off.

  “Harvey?” called Melody, as he turned the shower on to let the hot water pull through.

  “What?”

  “Where are the car keys?”

  Harvey didn’t reply. He smiled to himself, stepped into the shower, and let the hot water run over him.

  “Harvey?” Melody was at the bathroom door, leaning against the doorframe. He looked up at her. “Did you hear me?”

  Harvey switched the water off and ran his hands through his short hair.

  “Hand me a towel.”

  “Where are the keys?”

  “Hand me a towel.” Harvey broke into a smile.

  Melody reached in and took the towel from its hook on the wall. “Where are the keys?”

  “Towel.”

  After a long pause, Melody said, “Keys.”

  Harvey stepped from the shower cubicle. Melody took a step backwards.

  “Give me what I want,” he said.

  “Give me what I want.”

  “You want keys?”

  “Among other things,” replied Melody with a smirk.

  Harvey walked slowly toward her, as she stepped slowly backwards into the bedroom. The backs of her legs found the bed, and she let herself fall onto the duvet. Harvey strode up to her and looked down. But movement caught his eye and he froze. At the far end of the driveway, parked on the lane, was the blue saloon he’d seen twice already that morning. Harvey moved away from the window.