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Ty Hutchinson Books

The Curator

The Curator

⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐ 2,555+ 5-Star Reviews

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In the thrilling sequel to the Suitcase Girl trilogy, Abby finds herself caught in the crosshairs of a mind-boggling circle of evil.

The Curator is book two in the trilogy and book eight in the Abby Kane series.

"When you think it's over. Boom!" ⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐ — Reader Review

Series: Abby Kane FBI Thriller #8

Synopsis

People are waking up in strange places, unaware they've been abducted.

In the thrilling sequel to this trilogy, people in the Bay Area vanish without a trace, only to reappear without memory of their ordeal. Abby is convinced these puzzling disappearances are linked to Suitcase Girl.

Her bosses want answers and push Abby to untangle the mystery behind Suitcase Girl. As she inches closer to unveiling the truth, Abby finds herself caught in the crosshairs of a mind-boggling circle of evil.

Read An Excerpt

A man stood slightly hunched over and leaning against the trunk of a pine tree, uncertain of his next step. With each exhale, his breaths billowed in smoky plumes across his chattering teeth. His eyes shifted erratically from side to side. 

Where am I?

He had just taken two steps away from the security of the tree, his bare feet sinking into mossy dirt, when the crack of a branch jerked his head to the left. 

What was that? 

He squinted and scanned the misty woods, carefully moving forward and nearly tripping over his own feet at the sudden appearance of a mountain bike flying right past him. It landed a few feet away, its back wheel kicking up dirt. 

“The crazies are out early today,” the rider spouted off as he pedaled hard, disappearing into the maze of trees as quickly as he had appeared.

The man looked down at himself. A tattered hospital gown hung from his bony frame. He gripped it and tugged. A rip formed near the shoulder. He grabbed the thin fabric with his other hand and yanked. The gown fell away from him, exposing his pale nakedness.

Aside from his breathing, the woods were eerily quiet. There were no birds singing or breezes rustling the tree branches. He walked in the direction the mountain biker had disappeared.

Am I dreaming? Maybe I am. God, I hope so.

The situation was surreal; it had to be. He hoped it was, for the last thing he remembered was puffing on a cigar and sipping scotch. There was a warm glow of a fireplace, and he wasn’t alone. Others were gathered around him. It felt like he knew them, but he couldn’t be sure. His memory was nothing more than spotty imagery. 

He struggled to find clarity, something that could begin to explain the oddness of his predicament. The harder he tried to recall, the more confused he became. Random people and places popped into his head, but they meant nothing. He couldn’t remember his name or what he did for a living.

Do I even work?

He continued down the side of the mountain, his body warming from the physical movement. Perspiration appeared, creating a slickness across his skin. 

Picking up speed, he tripped over an exposed tree root, nearly falling flat on his face. In fact, his balance seemed off kilter ever since… well, he couldn’t remember. A filmy substance in his eyes marred his vision, which he couldn’t clear no matter how much he blinked or wiped at them. But he remained focused as best he could and pushed forward. All he wanted was to go home, wherever that was, and climb into bed. 

A clearing in the trees up ahead revealed the tops of buildings—a skyline with a large bay behind it.

I hope this is where I live.

It seemed slightly familiar to his gut. But if he did live in this city, he had no clue as to where. 

I’ll just ask for help. Someone will offer it. 

He kept his pace, skirting trees and bushes along the way. The sounds of urbanization began to fill the quiet void: a blaring horn, a barking dog, the engine of a large vehicle shifting gears. With each step, the city revealed more and more of itself.

Almost there, keep going.

Just as he’d walked out of the woods and onto a sidewalk, a loud shriek filled his ears. 

He looked in that direction and spotted a woman pulling her child close to her as she backed away, while a couple carrying coffees stopped in their tracks. They all had horrified expressions on their faces.

Wait—what’s wrong?

Vehicles slowed as drivers and passengers pointed and stared.

Why won’t anyone help me? Can’t they see that I’m not well?

A man walking his dog shouted at him. “Back off, buddy!”

What’s wrong with these people? I’m just asking for help.

A siren could be heard, coming closer. 

Finally, someone heard me.

A police vehicle screeched to a stop along the curb. The doors flew open, and two officers exited with weapons drawn. “Stop right there.”

Is that really necessary? I just need help.

One of them advanced on him. “Get down on your knees now, or I’m tasing you.”

Tase me?

“I’m not telling you again. Get down now!”

Before the man could comprehend the situation, an intense explosion of pain ripped throughout his body, causing him to collapse onto the sidewalk. His body clenched into a withering ball, and his eyes rolled back into his head as he struggled to breathe.

I just need help.

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