Abby Kane Thriller Starter

Corktown: A mutilated body has Corktown residents nervous and for a good reason. Detroit Metro Police recognize the handiwork of the serial killer known as the Doctor. But there’s a problem with that. They locked him up seven years ago. When FBI Agent Abby Kane visits the Doctor behind bars, he swears he’s innocent and not the psychopath everyone thinks he is. Oddly enough, Abby believes him.

Tenderloin: When the body of a dead DEA agent pops up in Bogotá, Abby is ordered to Colombia for answers. Her investigation takes her deep into the Amazon jungle, where she discovers evidence of strange experiments at a rundown lab.

Russian Hill: Famous tourist attractions in San Francisco are being decorated with body parts. As Agent Abby Kane digs into the investigation, she believes the killer is trying to put on a show, maybe even send a message. As she races to determine where the killer will strike next, he’s already found his next victim and is preparing for a final act. The first installment in the Chasing Chinatown trilogy.

Lumpini Park: In the second installment in the Chasing Chinatown trilogy, Agent Abby Kane hunts the mastermind behind the sadistic challenges the only way she knows how: by playing the game and moving up the bloody leaderboard herself.

Coit Tower: In the climactic conclusion of the Chasing Chinatown trilogy, Agent Abby Kane is the ultimate target, and the stakes are life and death. The mastermind has set the stage with a single objective: claim Abby’s life and earn a staggering $10 million bounty.

Kowloon Bay: Abby takes the family on a trip to Hong Kong only to discover an unsettling revelation. Her late husband is the prime suspect in a murder investigation.

Preston Carter observed the couple from his vehicle. Their playful grabbing, the light kissing… She was doing an excellent job with Rick the Prick. Preston couldn’t help but give him a nickname; the man was, after all, groping his wife. 

The two made their way across the parking lot, got inside a black Cadillac Escalade, and drove off. Preston started his engine and followed the SUV. He wasn’t in any hurry and didn’t bother to keep up. He knew exactly where they were heading. By the time he parked outside Rick's home, the two had already exited the Escalade and headed inside.

Preston sat unnoticed in the vehicle parked under a large maple tree, patiently tapping his fingers against the leather steering wheel while he hummed. He kept checking his cell phone like a teenage girl. Close to an hour had passed before his phone finally beeped.

“I’m ready for you,” the text message read.

Preston exited his vehicle and quickly moved across the street. A tingling sensation prickled his skin as he neared the house. Within seconds he stood on the porch. He quietly let himself in, gently closing the door behind him. He could hear moaning—a man’s voice—coming from upstairs. His footsteps were muffled as he made his way up the carpeted stairs. With each step his chest tightened, amplifying the beating of his heart. He loved the lead-up; it was almost as exciting as the act itself.

Down the dark hallway, he moved toward the master bedroom. The door was slightly cracked, and a sliver of light shined out. He pushed the door open; standing near the foot of the bed was his beautiful wife, naked except for her heels and latex gloves. She reached for her dress on the floor.

“Don’t,” Preston said. “Stay the way you are. I love it.”

Katherine returned a devilish smile to her husband while waving her finger at him. Preston kissed his wife while he reached around to her behind, gripped a cheek in each hand, and squeezed. “I want you,” he whispered.

“You can have me when we’re done here,” she answered. 

Preston kissed his wife once more before looking over to the bed, where an unconscious Ricky Pricky lay naked and tied up. “He doesn’t appear to be excited.”

Katherine looked at Rick’s genitals. “Hmm, he showed signs earlier. I guess the scalping turned him off.” She laughed. 

The top of Rick’s head was a bald, bloody mess. It wasn’t enough to kill him, but it appeared to be awfully painful. Preston reached inside of his jacket and removed his own set of latex gloves and a fresh scalpel. He snapped them on and removed the safety cap from the tiny but deadly blade.

“Wake up!” Preston called out, slapping the unconscious man in the face.

Rick opened his eyes and repeatedly blinked until he could focus on the man sitting on the edge of mattress. To see another blade set loose the tears, accompanied by muffled moaning. The more he cried, the more he bled. Boohoo. 

Preston scooted toward the foot of the bed. He grabbed hold of Rick’s inner thigh and nicked the femoral artery. The instant eruption of thick red left a spattering of tiny dots on Preston’s face. He continued with the other leg. Rick screamed uncontrollably when he saw the mini geyser of life spurting from both legs.

Preston grabbed Rick by the face, forcing the man to look him straight in the eyes. He leaned in close, his stare never wavering. He brought the scalpel up and held it off to the side. Rick’s eyes darted to the blade, but Preston yanked on his head to get his focus back. He wanted to see the terror in Rick’s eyes when he opened up the prick’s neck.

I sat on the bench and understood why the victim loved to sit there. The view was idyllic and peaceful. I wonder how the killer found out about this park or how he even came upon her. Certainly he didn’t happen by and say, “Hey, I think I’ll kill that lady.” 

If she had fallen asleep, it would have been the perfect opportunity. But the park was small and not well known. I found it hard to believe that the killer had happened upon her by coincidence. 

Had he spotted her earlier and followed her home? How long did he watch her? Days? How did he know she walked her dog every night? He knew her routines. He stalked her.

And what about the cutting of the finger? 

I stood and looked around, hoping something might pop out. He had taken her finger with a diamond ring but none of her other jewelry. I pulled out my phone, pulled up the report Kang had emailed over and scanned it until I found what I was looking for. Interesting. For some reason, I assumed it had been her wedding ring finger that had gone missing. It wasn’t.

Kang said the victim lived two houses up, so I searched the report and found the address. The street number was odd, so she lived on the left side of the street. I counted two houses and stopped in front of a beautifully renovated, two-story Victorian with a very ornate, colorful, wood-trimmed façade.

The home sat high, away from the sidewalk, with stairs that required three switchbacks on their way up to the front door, mimicking the famous crooked street nearby. It was beautiful, but I couldn’t imagine making that climb every day. As I admired the residence, something sparkly in one of the lower hedges directly in front of me caught my eye. I moved in closer for a better look. Holy moly! I found myself staring at a large, diamond ring. It was on a finger. 

Could it be? I moved a few branches and answered my own question. It had to be the victim’s missing finger. But why leave it here? Why would the killer risk coming back to the victim’s home to plant the finger? It makes no sense.

If the killer had indeed placed the finger here, it felt more in line with the gold teeth in the pan. Both victims had suffered body mutilation with the body part moved to another location, away from the body. Was the body part the killer’s objective or was the kill? Was the removal of the body part a way to prolong the kill? He was trying to make a statement, but about what, I wasn’t quite sure. It was a strange way to communicate, but riddles from killers aren’t unheard of. 

Still, that’s not what I thought the staging of the body parts was trying to do. And why did I continue to think Kang’s killer also did my hiker? Aside from the medical examiner’s findings and my hunch, nothing more connected the two crimes. Unless…

I pulled out my phone and dialed.

“Kang, here.”

“Kyle, you’ve got it turned around.”

“Abby is this you?”

“Yes, it’s me. Did you hear what I said? The motivation—it’s wrong. Your guy isn’t collecting.”

“What is he doing?”

“He’s thrill killing.”

Whack! Whack! Whack! 

His hands attacked the wet hanging vines, slapping them out of his way as he dodged mossy tree trunks and hurdled thick, exposed roots. He had navigated that trail countless times. He could do it blindfolded. He practically was.

Whatever sunlight was left in the day lacked the strength to punch through the thick canopy of the jungle. With every passing second, the shadows around him faded together, forming the inevitable darkness that would envelop the slippery terrain. It forced his eyes and ears to work harder at navigating. It wasn’t a worry. He was born in the jungle. It was his backyard. Nothing could stop him from moving at full speed. Nothing could prevent him from reaching his village. Nothing except the thing chasing him. 

At first, the boy kept a pace that had him thinking he was in the clear, but when he heard movement behind him, he realized he had misjudged his pursuer’s speed. Impossible, he thought. How could that thing have caught up? He forced his eyes to adjust to the dark and willed his legs to move faster. He wasn’t the only one.

Sooner than he expected, the burn in his thighs set off a warning: slow down or run the risk of losing all power. How much longer could he maintain his speed? He didn’t want to know the answer. 

Ten minutes, he kept repeating to himself. That was the distance separating him from the safety of his village. He had to hang on for ten more minutes. Fail, and he would face the terror behind him. 

He shook those thoughts from his head and concentrated on moving. By then, the rain had soaked him to the bone. It snaked its way down his face, forcing him to wipe his eyes clear every few feet. Or were those tears? He couldn’t tell. 

Suddenly, flashes of movement appeared on either side of him. What was that? Could there be more than one chasing him? He shook his head and told himself to focus. The jungle was playing tricks on his eyes. His ears would have to take the lead. And when they did, the throaty growl behind him grew louder. 

With the spring of a panther, the boy hurdled over a half-rotted tree stump; so did the thing behind him. The loud smacking of leaves and vines behind him grew louder. Whatever it was, it had caught up.

At times, it sounded as if the beast had backed off, but at other times, it appeared as if it were off to his side, ready to flank him. Again he asked himself how something could move with such agility. Nothing he knew of in the jungle could move like that—nothing human or animal. 

Worry exploded into fear and ravaged his body like never before. No matter how hard he tried, he could not lose what was chasing him. Tears flowed freely from his eyes, and muffled cries escaped between breaths. His head shook. His eyes widened. His heart thumped against his chest. “Faster. Faster. Faster!” it shouted. It took the young man all he had to keep trying. He willed his legs to move quicker, but they wouldn’t; they couldn’t. At times, it felt like that thing hunting him was right on his heels, able to strike at any moment, but nothing happened. How could something so close not strike? 

And then it all made sense. It was toying with him. It chose to extend the chase. The situation had worsened more than he ever could have imagined, and the hope of reaching his village safely dimmed.

He darted to the left then to the right. No matter the path or the direction, he could not escape that growl. But there was hope. He had an idea.

A large tree had fallen across the trail earlier in the week. Impossible to see in the dark, but the boy knew exactly where it lay. Whatever was chasing him would run smack into the trunk, break a leg even. He could hear it gaining once again. Maybe it, too, knew the village was near. It was no more than a few steps behind. He hurried. The tree trunk was just ahead. Five steps. Four. Three. Two. Jump!

Upside down, sideways, right side up, the jungle spun around him then stopped.

The boy lay dazed on the jungle floor. He couldn’t have tripped. He leapt at the right moment. Yet, there he lay on his back, staring up at the treetops.

Footsteps off to the side quickly gained his attention. The slow stepping appeared to be methodical as they circled him. Was he being sized up? Was this still a game? Before he could react or give it more thought, his attacker pounced on him, thrusting his shoulders against the ground. The boy twisted his body, looking for a way out. It was useless. 

Rapid breaths forced his chest up and down. This time, the instigator was fear, not exhaustion. His attacker leaned forward, close enough that he could feel blasts of hot air against his face and glimpse the black eyes staring at him. 

Noooooo!

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