Chris Carter [Carter - Hunting Evil

Hunting Evil is the tenth novel in the Hunter thriller series. Its also the first ever sequel Ive written. It follows on from An Evil Mind , the sixth novel in the series, where this story really begins. Though all other books in this series can be read individually, as the storyline in one novel does not depend on a previous book, Hunting Evil is different. I would recommend that you also read An Evil Mind at some point to fully understand the history between Hunter and Lucien.

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In all of my novels I have always tried my hardest to use factual locations not only in and around the city of Los Angeles, but also wherever else the story might take Hunter and Garcia. For that reason, I feel the need to apologize. To better suit the plot in Hunting Evil , I have taken the liberty of creating a few fictitious establishments and localities inside the United States of America.

I also feel that I owe everyone an apology for altering a scene in Hunting Evil . At the end of my previous novel Gallery of the Dead I give readers a quick preview of whats to come in the next book. Gallery of the Dead ends with what is essentially the first chapter in Hunting Evil . After revising that chapter, once I started writing Hunting Evil , I decided to add a little more impact and tension to that initial scene. Therefore, the opening chapter in this novel differs slightly from the final chapter in Gallery of the Dead , including a character name change. Please forgive me for that.

This novel is dedicated to all the readers from all around the world for the most incredible support over so many years.

From the bottom of my heart, I thank you all

That morning, due to a broken-down truck partially blocking one of the slip roads on US Route 58, it took Jordan Weaver exactly twenty-eight minutes and thirty-one seconds to drive the almost nine miles between his house and his work place; about twelve minutes longer than usual. Parking and the walk from his car to the staff entry door cost him another one minute and twenty-two seconds. Security check, clocking in, dumping his bag in his locker and a quick trip to the bathroom added another eight minutes and forty-nine seconds to his time. Grabbing a quick cup of coffee at the staff cafeteria and the final walk down the long, L-shaped, west-wing corridor that led to his station one minute and twenty-seven seconds, which meant that in total it took Jordan Weaver, an infirmary control-room guard at Lee high-security federal prison in Virginia, exactly forty minutes and nine seconds to go from his front door to the worst day of his life.

As he rounded the hallway corner and his eyes settled on the squared control station just ahead of him, Weaver felt his throat constrict and his heart pick up speed inside his chest. The station, which was encased in large bulletproof-glass windows, was never, ever left unattended, but from where he was standing Weaver could see no one inside the control room, which was worrying fact number one. Worrying fact number two was that the rooms assault-proof door had been left wide open, an absolute no-no according to the rulebook, but what really sent a shiver of fear down Weavers spine, making him drop his cup of coffee and pray to God that this was just a horrible dream, were the blood splatters and smears that he could see running down the inside of the windows.

No, no, no...

Weavers voice got louder as he went from walking to the fastest sprint hed ever done. With each step, the large ball of keys that hung from his belt bounced loudly against his right hip. He reached the control-room door in four seconds flat and nightmare became reality.

On the floor, inside the bulletproof enclosure, the bodies of Guards Vargas and Bates lay in one massive pool of blood, both of their heads twisted back awkwardly, revealing the extent of the injuries to their throats thick, crude lacerations that ran the width of their entire necks, slicing through the internal jugular vein, the common carotid artery and even the thyroid cartilage.

Fuck!

Across the room from the two guards was Nurse Frank Wilson a 24-year-old Asian American who had recently graduated from Old Dominion University in Norfolk. His body was draped out of shape over a swivel chair. His throat had been slashed so ferociously, it was a miracle he hadnt been decapitated, but unlike Vargas and Bates, Wilsons eyes were still wide open and full of terror. Oddly, given the angle in which his head had fallen, Wilson seemed to be staring straight back at Weaver, as if even after death he was still begging for help. All three bodies had been stripped of all their clothes, with the exception of their underwear. The guards weapons were also missing.

Jesus H. Christ! What the hell happened here?

Confused and shaken, Weaver had to step over Vargass body to reach the main control console and the alarm button. As he slammed his right palm against it, the entire complex was instantly enveloped by the deafening screams of sirens.

The facilitys west-wing infirmary housed eight individual medical cells and according to the daily manifest, only one prisoner had stayed overnight the prisoner in medical cell number one. Weavers eyes immediately moved to the blood-splattered monitors just above the central console, more specifically to the one on the far left cell one.

The cell was empty, its door wide open.

Shit! Shit! Shit!

Weaver felt his legs weaken under him. Hed been an infirmary guard at Lee federal prison for nine long years and in that time, not a single prisoner had ever escaped.

Shit! Weaver yelled at the top of his voice. How the hell did this happen?

His gaze rounded the control room one more time. Weaver had never seen that much blood before and despite the perils of being a maximum-security prison guard, hed never lost a colleague to the job.

Shiiiiiiiiiit!

Suddenly Weaver paused, his brain at last registering something that it had somehow missed until then.

A blinking faint white light that was coming from inside a semi-open drawer.

What the hell?

Once again, Weaver had to step over Vargass body to get to where he needed to go. As his right foot touched the ground, the thick film of blood that lay between his sole and the linoleum floor caused his foot to slip. Instinctively, Weavers hands shot forward, desperately searching for something to hold on to. His left hand found nothing, but his right one managed to grab hold of the semi-open drawer, where the blinking light was coming from,. As he tried to steady himself, his foot slipped again. As a consequence, his grip tightened on the drawer, fully pulling it open.

Even through the loud shriek of sirens, Weaver heard the odd click that came as the drawer was pulled open.

It was the last sound he ever heard before his entire head exploded into a mess of blood, bone and gray matter.

The National Center for Analysis of Violent Crimes (NCAVC) was a specialist FBI department conceived in 1981, but only officially established in June 1984. Its main mission was to provide assistance in investigations of unusual or repetitive violent crimes to law-enforcement agencies not only inside US territory, but also across the globe.

The head of the NCAVC, Adrian Kennedy, coordinated most of the divisions investigations either from the departments headquarters, located at the FBI training academy near the town of Quantico in Virginia, or from his spacious office on the top floor of the famous J. Edgar Hoover Building in northwest Washington DC. That morning though, as luck would have it, when his cellphone rang inside his breast pocket, Kennedy was in neither of his offices. He had flown to Los Angeles to conclude a joint serial-murder investigation between the FBI and the Los Angeles Police Department.