Worst Fear

by Matt Hilton

Overview

Private investigator Tess Grey discovers that someone from her past is pursuing a deadly vendetta and she could be the next to die.

'If I'm dead, contact Teresa Grey at Cumberland County Sheriff's Dept. Tell her'

When the body of a young woman is found on a rocky Maine beach, having fallen from the cliffs above, the initial verdict is suicide. But hidden on the dead woman's social network page is a post requesting that Tess Grey be informed in the event of her death. And why would Chelsea Grace, who was terrified of heights, have chosen to end her life in a way that invoked her very worst fear?

Having not seen Chelsea for years, Tess has no idea why her old university roommate would leave such a message. But, determined to find out what really happened to her, Tess and her partner Po discover that Chelsea isn't the first of her old university friends to suffer, and she won't be the last. It would appear that someone is holding a deadly grudge: could Tess herself be a target?

Product Details

ISBN-13:	9781847518606
Publisher:	Severn House
Publication date:	05/01/2019
Series:	A Grey and Villere Thriller , #4
Pages:	240
Product dimensions:	5.55(w) x 8.74(h) x (d)

About the Author

Matt Hilton worked for 22 years in private security and the police force in Cumbria. He is a 4th Dan blackbelt and coach in Ju-Jitsu. He is the author of eleven novels in the Joe Hunter series, and three previous Grey & Villere thrillers.

Read an Excerpt

The new day broke as a thread of pearlescent light on the eastern horizon, vivid delineation between the surging Atlantic and the waning night sky. It grew to a nimbus that flared and struck myriad colours from the belly of the heavens, and sent roseate fingers across the ocean. It was beautiful.
  But Chelsea Grace didn’t bear witness to the dawning of her last morning on Earth. Resolutely she faced west, where all remained in darkness but for a few distant pinpoints of light on the Maine coastline. Even those faint gleams were wasted on her because her eyelids were pinched as tightly as her mouth, and the skin between her shoulder blades.
  She took another shuffling step forward.
  
The ground crumbled underfoot, and dirt and pebbles rained. She heard their clattering fall and the distant splashes as they struck water. She stood at a precipice and the only way to go was down. She rested her weight on her back foot.
  Something nudged her in the spine and she flinched.
  Yet she resisted that final step.
  She didn’t want to die. And yet behind her death was assured, before her it was only probable. She had no idea how steep the cliff was, or how high, but perhaps it was the lesser of two evils. She could hear surf lapping, and the pebbles she’d scuffed loose had found the sea below. Maybe stepping off the edge of her free will was preferable to being forced. If she jumped, arcing away from the cliff’s edge, she’d plummet to open water – there was a possibility of survival. No. She couldn’t bring herself to take such a leap of faith. Heights had always terrified her, and she couldn’t force herself to look. Without checking she couldn’t be positive what she was jumping into; perhaps there were jagged rocks at the foot of the cliff.
  She should turn and fight.
  Except the fear of falling had her in its grip . . . and it would be worse if she was pushed and went backwards over the edge. Worse again if she was shot in the stomach and punched from the cliff wall by the bullet’s impact. .
  She sobbed. Her features pinched tighter.
  ‘Go on,’ said a voice from behind her.
  The barrel of the gun again nudged her. .
  ‘I . . . I don’t want to die.’ .
  ‘It’s easy,’ said the voice.
  ‘Please don’t make me . . .’ Chelsea opened her eyes. Tears washed her vision and the pinprick lights of distant Portland danced wildly. Instantly, vertigo assailed her. She clenched the material at the front of her jacket, as if she could hold herself upright. ‘Not like this.’
‘I’m making you do nothing,’ said the voice. ‘The choice is yours.’
  ‘Some choice,’ Chelsea sobbed, and her eyelids screwed once more. .
  ‘Need some motivation?’ a second voice chimed in behind her, this one higher-pitched. ‘A little nudge in the right direction?’ .
  ‘Please . . . please don’t touch me. Just let me prepare myself.’ .
  ‘I’ll count to ten.’ Behind her, the hammer on her first tormentor’s revolver clicked back. .
  ‘No . . . no . . .’ Chelsea covered her face with both hands. .
  ‘One,’ said the deeper voice. .
  ‘Stop. I’m . . . I’m not ready yet.’ .
  ‘Two.’
  Chelsea leaned back further, and the gun barrel nestled directly between her shoulders. .
  ‘Three.’ .
  Maybe if she threw her weight backwards, it would be enough to catch her captor off guard. She could run, find somewhere to hide until the sun was up and other people around. She would have a chance at least; better than taking either choice she was now faced with. But if she tried to run away she could still easily be shot. Shot then thrown from the cliffs weakened and bleeding, perhaps even shot dead.
  ‘Four.’
  Chelsea didn’t want to be shot. No less did she fear falling to her death from a great height, but the promise of a bullet sounded more agonizing. If only she could get across to her tormentors how wrong this was . . .
  ‘Please. You don’t have to make me do this. There are other ways to—’ .
  ‘Five.’ .
  ‘—make things better again.’
  ‘Six.’
  ‘For God’s sake! This is insane!’
  ‘Jesus Christ!’ the higher voice snapped, impatient now. ‘You’re going to keep this up, aren’t you? Oh, to hell with it then.’ The gun withdrew from Chelsea’s spine.
  The briefest spark of hope flared in Chelsea. But it was short-lived. The gun hadn’t been removed as a threat, but to clear space. .
  The flat of a foot shoved Chelsea in the backside. A scream rose to her lips, but was never voiced. Her feet skidded out from under her and she went down on the lip of the cliff, her tailbone smacking painfully on rock. The shock transferred from her coccyx all the way up her spine to her brain in a bright flash of agony. Her fledgling scream became a groan, and then a wild moan of dismay as she felt herself teeter, then pitch forward. In desperation, she slapped at the edge of the cliff, grasping for handholds, but her fingers found only crumbling stone and then empty air. .
  She prayed that the cliff was sheer, the water below deep.
  Evidently her god wasn’t listening.

Editorial Reviews

"This is a beautifully constructed and written suspenser"

Booklist

11/20/2017
In Hilton’s action-packed fourth outing for Portland, Maine, PI Teresa Grey and her colleague and lover, Nicholas “Po” Villere (after 2017’s Raw Wounds), the body of Chelsea Grace, a college roommate whom Tess hasn’t seen in years, is found on the beach at the base of a cliff. She has left behind a Facebook post that reads: “If I’m dead, contact Teresa Grey.” At first, it appears that Grace wanted Tess to investigate the circumstances of her death. But when more former classmates end up brutally murdered, Tess realizes that the message may well have been a warning. Meanwhile, hoodlums have vandalized the Bar-Lesque, a retro bar that Po owns, and terrorized its manager. As Tess’s situation becomes more pressing, Po is torn between handling his own problem and protecting the woman he loves. In the fast-paced, terrifying free-for-all finale, Tess’s bravery and resourcefulness keep her alive in the face of her tormentors’ irrational rage. That Tess and Po always prevail when they kick butt is a big part of this series’ appeal. (Jan.)

Publishers Weekly

"This is a beautifully constructed and written suspenser"

Booklist