The Blackest Crimson. Debra Webb
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He’s known as the Storyteller—and all his tales end in merciless death.
Detective Bobbie Gentry’s hunt for a heinous serial killer is interrupted when the sadistic Storyteller finds her first. Captured on Christmas Eve and held in a cabin deep in the woods, she must survive for the sake of her family. Bobbie cannot leave her little boy orphaned and alone—and she craves the chance to avenge her husband’s murder. But not one of the Storyteller’s fourteen victims escaped his torturous game alive, and he’s obsessed with breaking Bobbie. From tattooing the story of her torture onto her back to violating her in every imaginable way, he’s determined to make her victim number fifteen.
In the depths of winter and the shadows of a rustic prison, Bobbie must make a choice to either end the torture with surrender, or fight like hell for survival.
Debra Webb’s new Shades of Death series is guaranteed to thrill fans. Don’t miss the page-turning prequel, The Blackest Crimson!
DEBRA WEBB is the award-winning USA TODAY bestselling author of more than one hundred novels, including reader-favorite series Faces of Evil, the Colby Agency and Shades of Death. With more than four million books sold in numerous languages and countries, Debra’s love of storytelling goes back to her childhood on a farm in Alabama. Visit Debra at www.debrawebb.com.
The Blackest Crimson
Debra Webb
There are some stories that simply beg to be written, and once in a great while the characters refuse to be left behind in just one book. When that happens a series is born. I hope you’ll follow Detective Bobbie Gentry’s journey from a broken, shattered victim to a fierce, determined survivor and beyond.
Debra Webb
This story is dedicated to my precious elder daughter, Erica, whose strength and courage continue to inspire me.
Contents
Ryan Ridge, Montgomery, Alabama
Friday, December 24, 6:30 p.m.
“It’s snowing!” Detective Bobbie Gentry smiled, her heart feeling glad for the first time in nearly a month. It rarely snowed for Christmas in Alabama. If they got snow at all, it usually showed up in January or February. She pressed her hand to the glass of the big bay window that overlooked their front yard. All the houses in the cul-de-sac, including theirs, were decorated with twinkling lights and garland, chasing away the darkness of the cold winter night. She needed this Christmas to be peaceful. She yearned for the normalness of family, for the roar and crackle of a fire as they gathered around the tree they had spent the day decorating.
A contented sigh slipped past her lips. The way those big flakes were falling the neighborhood would look like a classic Christmas card within the hour. Maybe tonight would make up for the endless hours of overtime and weekends away from her family she’d put in this month.
Her husband moved up behind her and circled her waist with his arms. “Man, it’s really coming down out there. The weatherman said we’re on the lower edge of the storm, but we could get several inches. Maybe more. Wouldn’t that be nice?”
“Very nice.” Bobbie leaned into him and covered his forearms with hers. A snowstorm bringing more than an inch or two was nearly unheard of this far south. Suited her just fine. In fact, the timing couldn’t be better. Today was her first day off this month. She’d slept late and she’d been wearing her husband’s Alabama sweatshirt and a pair of lounge pants all day. She might not bother with real clothes until after the holidays. She was so damned glad just to be home. “I really needed this.”
James nuzzled her neck. “I’m glad it’s over.”
Would it ever really be over? The killer was still out there. God only knew where.
For the last three weeks Bobbie and her partner had been working with the FBI on a serial murder case. The Storyteller. If she lived ten lifetimes she wouldn’t be able to adequately clear the horrors she had seen and heard from her mind. The images of his victims... The endless reports and profiles about the unknown subject’s—the killer’s—methodology and psychopathy. The Storyteller was the sickest bastard Bobbie had encountered during her career with law enforcement. If she were lucky, she would never encounter that level of pure evil again.
As rough as the past twenty or so days had been, she was home tonight. She could stand right here for hours and watch the beauty of nature turn the landscape white. When she was a little girl her mother used to tell her that snow was a gift from God to brighten the long, dark winters. Those words had never been truer than they were at this moment.
Bobbie turned in her husband’s arms and smiled. “Thank you for taking care of everything while—” she shook her head “—while I was so involved in the case. I was afraid Jamie wouldn’t even remember who I was.”
James pressed his forehead to hers. “No need to thank me.” His arms tightened around her waist. “And, for your information, our son thinks you’re a superhero.”
She