Steven James - The Bishop (Patrick Bowers Files Series #4)

James writes smart, taut, high-octane thrillers. But be warnedhis books are not for the timid. The endings blow me away every time.Mitch Galin, producer, Stephen Kings The Stand and Frank Herberts Dune Move over Alex Cross, theres a new FBI special agent in DC, Patrick Bowers. Steven James joins the ranks of James Patterson in his spine-tingling thriller The Bishop . Horrifying villains, diabolical murders, and rapid-fire twists make this gripping novel impossible to put down. Youll think about these characters long after you read the last page. Patterson fans are going to love Steven James.Kathleen Antrim, bestselling author, Capital Offense Steven Jamess The Bishop should come with a warning: Dont start reading unless youre prepared to finish this book in a single sitting. An intense, intelligent thriller with characters as real as your next-door neighbors, The Bishop goes beyond the exploration of good and evil to what it means to be human. Riveting!Karen Dionne, International Thriller Writers website chair; managing editor, The Big Thrill The Bishop full of plot twists, nightmarish villains, and family conflictskept me turning pages on a red-eye all the way from New York City to Amsterdam. Steven James tells stories that grab you by the collar and dont let go.Norb Vonnegut, author, Top Producer ; editor, Acrimoney.com Steven James locks you in a thrill ride, with no brakes. He sets the new standard in suspense writing.John Raab, editor, www.suspensemagazine.com Every time I read a novel by Steven James, I want to climb a ladder into his mind and dig around in the uncommonly rich soil from which springs Patrick Bowers. Incredible.Ann Tatlock, award-winning authorForget what you know. Steven James turns everything upside-down in The Bishop . This is thriller writing at its absolute best.C.E. Moore, TheChristianManifesto.com

We hold these truths to be self-evident, that all men are created equal, that they are endowed by their Creator with certain unalienable Rights, that among these are Life, Liberty and the pursuit of Happiness.The Declaration of Independence

Dedicated to all those in the military
and their families.

Thank you for sacrificing
to protect the Constitution
and all that it represents.

Contents

Saturday, May 17
Patuxent River State Park
Southwest Maryland
53 miles north of Washington DC

Spring, but still cold.

9:42 p.m.

Officers Craig Walker and Trevor Meyers rolled to a stop in front of the squat, paint-peeled home of Philip and Jeanne Styles, the only house on the vacant county road winding around the state park.

They exited the cruiser.

A few dogs barked in the distance, but the forest behind the house swallowed most of the night noise, so apart from the muffled shouting coming from inside the home, the evening was silent and dewy and still.

Craig ascended the porchs crumbling steps, Trevor at his heels. He tried to distinguish the words of the people hollering inside. Tried to catch the gist of the argument.

After a moment Trevor cleared his throat. Arent you gonna knock? Hed told Craig earlier in the day that he liked to be called Trev, of all things. How nice.

Easy, Tonto. Even though Craig had only been on the force five years, hed already dealt with more than his share of drunk husbands and battered wives. Domestic disturbance calls are the worst.

The voices inside were loud but indistinct.

You been called out here before?

No.

Craig almost told him that hed heard this guy, Styles, had a history of spousal abuse but then remembered that Trevorwait, Trev had been in the car with him when the dispatch call came through.

More shouting from inside the home. Two voices: one male, one female.

Craig opened the screen door and rapped on the wooden one. Mr. Styles. He made sure he called loud enough so that anyone in the house would be able to hear. Sir, open the door. Its the police.

Is that him? the man inside the house shouted. That the guy youve been

Stop it! Her voice was shrill, frantic, filled with fear. Get away from me!

Craig shouted, louder this time. Mr. Styles, open the door!

The man: Put that down, you

Craig Walker unsnapped the leather holster holding his weapon and gave one final warning. Open the door or were coming in!

The man: Gimme that thing.

Stop!

And then.

A shotgun blast.

Splitting open the night.

Craig yelled for Trevor to cover the back of the house, cover it now ! But then the words were mist and memory and he was only aware of the doorknob in one hand and the familiar feel of his Glock in the other as he threw open the door and swung his gun in front of him.

Stepped inside.

No overhead light, one lamp in the corner. A smoldering fireplace. A plaid couch, a green recliner.

And a woman on the other side of the room, trembling, shaking. A Stoeger 12-gauge over-under shotgun in her hands.

Craig leveled his weapon at her. Put down the gun!

A man was lying on the floor six feet from her, his chest soaked with blood, his feet twitching sporadically. He coughed and then tried to speak, but the words were garbled and moist and Craig knew what that meant.

Maam! Put down the shotgun! Craig had never drawn on a woman before and felt his hands shake slightly.

She wore a pink housecoat. Her face was smeared with tears. She did not lower the gun.

He was gonna kill me. They were frantic, breathless words. I know he was this timehe said he was gonna kill me.

The man on the floor sputtered something unintelligible and then stopped making sounds altogether.

Wheres Trevor!

Put it on the floor, Mrs. Styles. Slowly. Do it now.

At last, staring at the man shed shot, she began to lower the shotgun. He hit me. He was gonna kill me.

Okay, Craig said, now set down the gun.

She bent over, a shiver running through her. This wasnt the first time. She let the gun slip from her hands. It dropped with an uneven thud onto the brown, threadbare carpet. He liked to hit me. He said he was gonna kill me this time. I know... Her words seemed to come from someplace far away. Shock. Already washing through her.

Maam, you need to step away from the gun.

The gun went off. She stood slowly. I didnt want to hurt him, but it just went off. She took two unsteady steps backward.